The Decay of Cities

Would I prefer to live in Bombay or Manali or Auroville? This question (with a variation in the specific cities tossed your way, skyscrapers and all) has been posed often and dealt with more frequently. Everyone agrees that Bangalore, Madras and New Delhi are excellent places to live in because the quality of life is much better. "You get everything there", I often here. Bombay was always such a promised land "as long as you can find a decent house". These are places where a child can be assured excellent education, wives can find the best malls and salons, husbands can find the best jobs and so on. Cities attract growth and infect prosperity into neighbouring localities.

The growth we see is primarily in the concentration of commercial establishments (malls, companies, hotels etc.) and not in the holistic sense of the word. It seems as if growth can only be inferred if there are establishments providing employment opportunities and/or monetary transactions. There is growth only if the geographical entity has more options and a variety of avenues for entertainment. More multiplexes, international schools, MNCs, high-rises, multi-cuisine restaurants, fashion shows, F1 tracks, bowling alleys, BPOs and **llyWood, the more likely are we to consider those cities as growing. The fact that the economic divide is ever-widening implying that the rich are getting richer and the poor, poorer, that basic amenities are ill-provided (so what if they are worse in towns and villages?), that the crime rate is increasing, that the pollution level is chokingly high, that food prices are unbearable, alcohol consumption high, diseases high and accommodation is ever so hard to find has no telling on our definition of "growth".

Would I rather stay in a decent place, where the morning air is clear and filled with bird calls? Where food is seasonal and available at very reasonable prices? Where people are honest and care more about helping each other than making a quick buck? Where people are not in a hurry to over-achieve their neighbour? Where there is plenty of open space where children play through the evening? Where it is absolutely fine to make enough money to feed your family and a little more? Where the greenery surrounding me is revered and maintained? How difficult would it be for me to setup a shop there and provide employment to a few others so that we can all be productive without being obnoxiously differing in our economic status?

Why would I struggle and strive in a place where I need to live through power cuts, polluted roads, poor drainage systems, overwhelming concrete, petty politics, magnified prices for basic commodities (and I was stupid enough to believe that we were living in a shortage till I read the recent agricultural and financial reports) and fearing the criminals that lurk in the dark?

What do I lose out by boycotting the cities (oh! we can't repair the damage done. Trust me! It is simply not possible)? Accessibility, conveyance, connectivity (telephone/Internet), material delights (gadgets, latest books, fashion), culinary experiences (multi-cuisine restaurants, coffee shops), entertainment (bowling alleys, pubs, discos, movie halls), medical facilities (no super-specialty hospitals) and certain other things which we have come to believe that we must have because "we are worth it". What do I get in exchange? Fresh air, fresh seasonal food, simple people, simple facilities, slower sustainable life, lesser information overload, simpler joys, open spaces for children to play in, lower cost of living and a much better overall health. Though the disadvantages make it seem like non-cities resemble life in the Andamans, things aren't that bad. I have been to places (which are also decaying, though very slowly) where most of the above can be availed though with a little extra effort. 

The point remains that quality of life is not about the various things I can buy but about not having to buy things to make me feel that my life is good enough.

Mien Khum And Fragranced Rice with Thai Curry

In the midst of all the studying and pointless planning, I continued my perennial quest for culinary prospects. More than finding amazing restaurants, I usually seek out places which sell fresh vegetables (exotic) and herbs, not to mention cheeses, curry pastes (semi-exotic) and the like. I love Maison de Gourmets in Chennai and Bangalore, American Food market in Chennai and Food Gourmet in Bangalore. But none of these places ever served Kaffir lime leaves or galangal (though I did find it once at Food Gourmet) or shiitake mushrooms, let alone miso paste and the like. Even ingredients like brussel sprouts, zucchini are rare. I would manage with whatever I did find (including in Namdharis and other such joints in other cities). 

Well, today made me the happiest. I really am the happiest man today and I doubt whether there is anything that can spoil my mood today (unless I meet a liar, hence, I am staying indoors!) I was hunting for some ingredients as today is Thai-day (you didn't know!?). Surely, I wasn't looking for kaffir leaves or galangal as I had nearly decided that they are only available to the major restaurants (especially at 4-5 star hotels). So I hopped from one store to another and wasn't satisfied. Hence, I decided to drive over to a Namdhari where I know that most of the ingredients should be available. I took this sequence of narrow roads to go there and saw some colourful activity at a house in a narrow gully. People were loading and unloading crates of yellow capsicum (bell peppers) and bok-choy. I simply had to stop and mustered requisite courage to enquire into their business. Would they sell me their goods? Yes, they said. Even if I didn't buy in bulk? Yes, again. Was there a minimum quantity I had to buy? No, only as much as I wanted.

I was simmering with an excitement which grew to unmanageable measures as I passed one crate after another. So that you may fathom what warmed the blood in my veins you must know my relationship with vegetables. I adore them. No, you still don't get it. I dream about them. Hmmm, nope! You still don't get it. Let me help you: I once swore that I would marry a garlic bulb and take a vegetable garden in dowry. Now you get it? Fresh, tender, sweet vegetables drive me crazy. I can simply hold each beautiful supple zucchini in my hand and cry or admire a ripe avocado for hours. Don't even ask me what I would do with freshly plucked cherry tomatoes and capsicum! So imagine my delight as I slowly walked past the crates. There was nearly everything I had ever imagined out there. Looseleaf lettuce, romaine lettuce, yellow bell pepper, red bell pepper, bok-choy, Brussel sprouts, basil, iceberg lettuce, zucchini and so many crates of wonderful veggies which titillated me no end. The only picture that came to my mind was of Po (the Panda) in the Jade Palace, hysterically going from one item to another.

To cut a long story short, I found all I wanted and more. This place happened to be the supplier for all the Taj hotels and other retailers. They even had kaffir lime leaves and galangal, rhubarb and so much more. The prices were much lower than what the retailers quoted. I got what I was looking for (except mushrooms) and had a wonderful Thai-Day.

The first set of pictures is my attempt at conjuring the delightful Mien Khum I once had had in Benjarong. The dish is amazingly simple but delightful once in your mouth. I had received bored and skeptical looks when presented this dish and predictably all of them transformed into surprised appreciation. The last dish is simply fragranced rice with Thai yellow curry.

Shabby Post

I know, I know. This is not even a post. It is nothing. It nearly seems like an excuse to link to my own post. Why it also seems like a forced output! I know, I know.

I was just going over some old posts (needed some info) and stumbled on this. I realised how much this post still makes me smile. Nothing seems to have changed since then although so much has happened. So much! Just felt like sharing this:

http://inagardencalledlife.blogspot.com/2005/05/woh-kaagaz-ki-khashti.html

So here I am...

But I might be away for a while. Why? Because I have a few things to do which might not give me time to blog as frequently as I would like to (and as my dear says, "Why do you announce, E? You will change your mind anyway?"). Firstly, I would like to return to the world of technical reading and hacking around (which I haven't done since 2005). Secondly, I am ... well, doing things. Thirdly, I want to work on something which I just thought about (and hence, the post). I would like to peek into the reader's ample resources (I restrict my curiosity to the contents of your mind) in helping me with this. I plan on writing a script (and there she goes again, "Why, E? Why?") which will, like a beautiful re-done Gaussian algorithm, wave in and out of the protagonist's life culminating in the rather decisive mid-life where he (or maybe she) did something which is, well, interesting. This script will question the commonly held assumption that if you know the beginning and the end then you will most likely know what happened in between. Have you ever seen a movie directed like that? A movie which alternated between a man's beginning and end and closing with what he did in between which makes the end possible given the beginning but still something which the viewer never imagined? Please let me know of any such movie that you might recall as I would like to study it.

Killer Red Pasta

So I have come to enjoy dry pasta. After having cooked several versions of it (combining anything from charred tomatoes to brinjal/eggplant wafers to drunken mushrooms) I have to come to realise that this is as much fun as the saucy versions. All the pictures below are shot in my kitchen (of which you get to see absolutely nothing). What you see is pretty much all of what I used (and limbs of baby-corn added as they were threatening to get spoilt!). Yes, the pasta was slightly overcooked. Was too busy shooting the images to remember that I had to arrest the cooking! Anyway, here goes...

Dancers Among Us - Jordan Matter Photography

The Fallacy of Patriotism

'My country, right or wrong' is a thing no patriot would ever think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying 'My mother, drunk or sober.'

Chesterton said a lot when he said that. To most people, all that it means is that patriotism cannot be taken to an illogical extreme. I would take that one step further and say that GKC actually said that if you let rationality govern your judgement, then patriotism is not something you can subscribe to. This post probably seems apposite (or otherwise) given that we are less than a week away from India's Independence Day.

Frankly, I never did care who ruled over me. Khushwant Singh wrote this interesting article about how the days of the Raj were not necessarily bad. Actually, most of us don't care about who rules over us. I haven't heard of one Indian who packed his bag and left India because the party he didn't vote for came to power. If you are going to use the "Democracy" card, then bear with me while I laugh. When I say, I don't care who rules over me, I mean, I don't care who rules over me as long as s/he has a sense of Rightness, Goodness, Fairness (which is not the same as equality or uniformity) and Honesty. All need to be in uppercase, because we have come to a world where words are abused to the extent that they need differentiators. Tomorrow, when Honesty is abused, I will use hOnEsty. Till then, read with least strain. I couldn't care a damn if I was living in a country run by the Brits if only they could be good people. Unfortunately, they are human beings, like the Indians. I would love to be ruled by Scandinavians as this will bring in some blondes to this rather monochrome population! Yes, blue eyes too. Anyway, my point is made. I don't think Independence helps unless I am being released from evil and brought to good.

India, has been released from evil and paraded naked through a bunch of parties and governments with every single person stripping a pound of flesh as India walks by. To consider this Independence, is short of stupidity. We think we have achieved so much and become an IT superpower and so on. I can debate each and every point in there, but will leave that to a later date. We are only independent in our capacity to have our own flag and constitution (which is skewed in so many places). I think if we had sensible rulers, we could have been granted the privilege to have as many flags as we wanted and in wonderful colours.

But this post is not about Independence. It is about this wasted industry called patriotism. It features in everyone's speech and is something everyone has to vote for. From the Sachin Tendulkars to Asha Bhonsles to every Bollywood actor and actress to every person whom NDTV gets on screen for their sentimental advertisements about the nation's unity in some matter, everyone has to be patriotic in order to score some brownie points. No matter what, no Indian (or AnyCountrian) can stand up and say, I do not feel patriotic. It is unacceptable. It is like saying "I do not like my mother", perhaps worse (since the number of people charging at you would be more in the former case, most people not caring about your mother).

Patriotism is stupid and pointless in the light of intelligence and wisdom. When the citizens are intelligent and wise, they will know how to take care of the place they reside in. No matter where they go. To fragment the world into ego-centric plots of land with imaginary borders and even more imaginary sense of belonging, is ridiculous and highly unnatural. But we still do it. Go up in the air and you will see no border dividing a country from another (except in the cases like that of Sri Lanka, etc.). Then why do we insist on setting these lines? Would you spit on the floor in the house of your neighbour? If you wouldn't, then doesn't it make sense that you wouldn't rape or pillage in Pakistan or Nepal? Then why can't I walk into these countries and engage in work that makes me useful and benefits people? Because I am Indian! I wish I wasn't. I wish I had a global citizenship.

Why do I need to be patriotic? How many people claim to be patriotic towards their own house? I like JK's words:

"Identification with the rag called the national flag is an emotional and sentimental factor and for that factor you are willing to kill another - and that is called, the love of your country, love of the neighbor . . .? One can see that where sentiment and emotion come in, love is not."

If caste based distinctions is an evil in a country, then so is nationality based divisions in this world. In which case, patriotism is a highly unnecessary "virtue".

Patriotism has come to mean rivalry against other countries, a sense of I-am-better-than-you. Patriotism means that I do not trust people enough thus wanting to have a military force to "protect" me. Patriotism means that only I care about my country and others are out to ruin it and exploit it. Patriotism means that I should turn a blind eye to the wrong that happens within my society. Patriotism gives us sanction to wage war on other countries. Patriotism means that if the entire world burns, we must only concern ourselves with saving our countrymen. Patriotism means that collateral damage in a war is unavoidable and ok as long as it happens in another country. Patriotism means that I have to be proud for something I haven't been part of. I need to be proud of the art and architecture of a place although I haven't chipped a rock. I have to be proud of the ancient scriptures and literature even though I have never read them or understood them. Any proliferating group of human beings can produce something good (technologically, artistically, philosophically, etc.). Patriotism tells me that I should feel indebted to my country and hence, obliged to do it favours. Patriotism expects me to enlist when the country goes to war. Patriotism expects me to love the county's soil, flora, fauna, natural entities, etc. I do, but I also love the Alps and the Amazon. Patriotism is also this sense of belonging which is the refuge of a hollow person. Patriotism is the sentiment people appeal to in order to make their pointless statements find some followers. As Samuel Johnson said, 'Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.'

One of the things I would like to see is the dismantling of the entire military. In the land that coined the word "Ahimsa" (and it has nothing to do with Mr. M.K.Gandhi) having a military unit is rather contrary. Or we agree that we never cared about "Ahimsa" and we were just glad that Mr. Gandhi's stunt got the Brits out of India and we are happy for that. The military is our continuing affirmation of patriotism. It is our knee jerk reaction to every situation of conflict. It is what we think we should deploy the minute something goes wrong and "threatens our freedom". I think we would be better off investing that in making life in India worth living and hence, creating an army of understanding citizens versus a small battalion. Having interacted with a few people in the army, I only feel sorry when they speak with great pride about India. I am yet to understand how someone can pride themselves for an act or phenomenon that had nothing to do with them. I think the day the military is dismantled and all we have is internal security for law enforcement and managing petty crimes like thefts and riots (I wish we could even do away with that but that requires everyone to be sensible), that day we can bury patriotism and be a sensible nation/world.

A lot of rather strange people would respond with "What do you mean? Aren't you grateful that your country has given you good roads, hospitals, educational institutions, industries, electricity, transport, food, etc.?" My response to that is "What do you mean? Isn't the country grateful that I pay my taxes, pay my school fees, paid money at all shops, paid my electricity bills and bought medical insurance and paid all the hospital bills on time?" Subsidies are in place to make it attractive for people to stay on in a country and not out of a sense of patriotism. I don't think I will be patriotic towards Big Bazaar though now it would be called brand loyalty! The country is doing us no great favour. Make it difficult for people and the country loses their best minds and hands and hence, their place in the market and economy. The country will move Earth and heavens to ensure that the big MNCs and super-big IT companies of India get all the privileges but not your little cobbler joint. Loans for houses are packaged with all kinds of deals while farmers in Maharashtra die because they cannot repay loans taken from shrewd moneylenders. India, and for that matter any country, doesn't care for you because you are an Indian. They care about you because that might improve their image (as a political party or institution or market for FDIs) or because you resemble a chest of gold for them. This is not a cynical take on things. Why else would I (the government and the people) act to the effect of widening the rich-poor divide? If patriotism must be, then it should be a two way traffic and since the land will not care a damn to produce golden apples for you, the people demanding me to be patriotic must do something which is selfless and overwhelming for me. Better still, we all relate and connect at a level of Fairness, Goodness and Honesty. No need for sentiments and faith.

A true patriot cares so much about his country that he will disallow anything wrong being done to and in his country. He will fight against all liars and cheats and exploiters of natural resources and fellow countrymen. He will be honest and work to his best abilities in order to ensure that his country prospers. He will work every single day to the improvement of living conditions in his country. He will be honest, fair and genuinely good, wishing the best for the country he lives in. He will ensure that there is no corruption in his country. He will ensure that the laws of the land and the policies are well formed and are not favouring just one segment of the population or one geographical sub-zone. The country's good mirrors his own good and hence, he strives to be morally good. And in a while, he and you, my dear reader, recognise that he is simply being a good human being who recognises how to live Consciously in a world which needs Honest, Fair and Good citizens. He then ceases to be restricted to a country and expands to become a global citizen. By this measure, no one is a patriot.

Think about it. You can either cease to be patriotic or bring ruin to this country. Either way, Happy Independence Day.

[Epilogue] I thought I was singular in my conviction regarding patriotism although I quoted a few big names. Before hitting the publish button I decided to search a bit and was delighted to find fellow mad-men! Some are shared below:

1. http://www.marxists.org/archive/ryner/1934/anti-patriotism.htm
2. http://www.thirdworldtraveler.com/Society/Patriotism_EGoldman.html

Ninne Kandu Kothi

Some memories don't stand alone by themselves. They hold hands with and usher in others and before you know it, your entire life blossoms all over again with a different cynosure every time. How amusing it is to find a slightly different life pulled up in front of you every time based on what you started with. Like a vast flat landscape pinched by Providence's hand and pulled up to create different scenes. How much we might try to isolate that one gem from the bag of glass marbles which we reach into! How much we claim to want just that as if it is merely the fall of Autumn, an ochre leaf which we can place between page 216-217, forget for a while and then exclaim in genuine joy in having found it after several years making your day smile with the same sunshine as that day when you had found this leaf. See? How can that leaf come alone to you without the sunshine of that day? That Tuesday, when you had asked L to meet you by the bridge and then she called to tell you that she would be late? When you were angry that she always did that but were forced to smile when that little boy ran behind his Golden Retriever, and in his wake, you saw this one leaf drunkenly trip over every passing waft on its way down to the dry earth? You walked up to it and picked it up thinking you would gift it to L. She would be touched, you had thought. She would be touched to know that you see her in everything in your life. She would, wouldn't she? What happened afterwards perhaps shortens your smile now, but that day... how could it not warm your heart? That day when you ingenuously believed in the goodness of people and the sweetness of romance. That day and days thereafter dragged into your today by a single withered leaf skeleton, holding just a fragment of what it was that day, but fresh with the memories of that day, full, warm and still populated with that funnily fragrant canine still running after so many years. No, ladies and gents, memories aren't as fragmented as we would like them to be.

Though we had a Murphy radio entertaining us through the early days of my life, all I remember of it is the rough cloth which covered the speakers. It was the colour of mustard and honey. I don't even have a picture with it though there is this really cute picture of my sister sitting on it. Yes, the music systems of the yesteryears weren't an iPod and people could actually sit on them (imagine someone sitting on your iPod Nano). Most of my recollections are from the time when we bought a National Panasonic two-in-one music system (the first in the entire family). I recall my uncle brining it with him to Bombay (where we lived) and I enjoyed it. When he was leaving, everyone told me that he was taking it back and what was placed on the shelf was actually a cardboard replica! I wept my heart out and perhaps even hated my uncle for doing this to me. I realised the prank later on, and felt rather stupid though infinitely more relieved that my music system was still with me. I listened to my first Michael Jackson and Madonna tracks on it (blue and white Maxwell brand cassettes).

But there are other genres which I was exposed to which seems to have defined my tastes and sensibilities. I would, surely, write about them some other day and would restrict this post to the collection of Ayyappa songs my father had. We rarely chose what was played, when he was around. He was the king of the house. When he wasn't around or when he was involved in something else, we would play some of our choices. Given that we never bought tapes on our own (the concept of pocket money was sacrilegious) our selections were a subset of what he thought was good music albeit not his favourite. Dad's collection of Ayyappa bhajans were nearly all sung by Yesudas (or Jesudas). His voice carried the melody and overflowing love that is vital for singing bhajans. I remember singing those bhajans in words made up to sound like the ones that were being sung. We understood none of the words nor their import, but somehow, in all that ignorance, we recognised Beauty and tried our best to mimic it in the hope that our hours be filled with the same goodness that we heard on tape.

Of the many songs that played through the chambers of my childhood, I will present and translate one of them. I do not know Malayalam (though I can understand the gist of a conversation) and hence, sought the help of a couple of Mallu friends (thanks to you, D). What I offer is to the best of what I carry with me. All errors welcome correction. Before you read my translation, I would request you to wait for the evening and when no one is at home, switch off the lights and listen to the attached song. Close your eyes, too. Once done please read the translation (yes, wipe those tears, too). I agree that the background score is not necessarily the most apt, but that is merely an infinitesimal blemish (like that on the moon). Nevertheless, it is far far more melodious than what is currently boomed out of speakers on roadsides during the Dec.-Jan. months (esp. in Madras). Sheesh!

Ninne_Kandu.mp3

[Refrain]

Ninne kandu kothi theernoru kannukalundo

Ninne thozhuthu thripthiyadanja kaiyyukalundo

Ninne kumbittaashasamecha shirassukalundo

Ninte naamam paadi maduthoru naavukalundo

Ayyappa...ayyappa...swami ayyappa [Refrain]

Having glimpsed your beauty once, can anyone's eyes be satiated?

Having prayed to your glory, can there be hands that have had enough?

Bowing down to your greatness, are there foreheads which won't repeat [bowing]?

Is there a tongue which sang your praise and felt tired?

Ayyappa, Ayyappa, Lord Ayyappa!

Kandaal mathi vannidumo ninnude komala roopam

Kettaal mathi vannidumo ninnude keerthana jaalam

Kaduppamaanennaalum kerum karineelaadrikalil

Maduppu vannidumo manikanda chavittuvaan veendum

Ayyappa...ayyappa...swami ayyappa (refrain)

When my eyes see, all they see is your soft features.

When my ears listen, all they hear are praises sung to you.

However daunting the stride, I would still climb Karimala (Kari+aadri)

Can I ever tire, Manikanda, to climb your hill (to see you)?

Ayyappa, Ayyappa, Lord Ayyappa.

(Manikandan is one of the names of Lord Ayyappa and it also happens to be one of mine!!!)

Orikkal nin mala pon mala pookiya bhakthanu veendum

Orukkamalle bhagavaane pon padikal kereedaan

Thudichidum nin chaithannya palaazhiyile

Poonthein thirakalil mungi kulikkuvaan kothiyillaathavarundo

Ayyappa...ayyappa...swami ayyappa (refrain)

Having once been blessed with a trip up your golden hill

Aren't they drawn to climbing it (the golden steps) all over again, Oh Lord!?

Oh Chaitanya! In your throbbing ocean of milk

Doesn't everyone want to bathe in those nectar sweet waves?

Ayyappa, ayyappa, Lord Ayyappa.

Somehow, these songs and others remind me of a time when life was a lot simpler and filled with moments of joy. As we grow up, we seem to be empowered to rid our lives of difficulties and fill it with joy, but we seem to be largely incapable. Why else would people always miss those days?

The Unbearable World

Of the three worlds possible, I hate the one I see in my bedroom. It is the same world in a brothel too. In a brothel, the worlds stretch out and ebb like the dance of light from that swaying bulb on the second floor of Kanta's shack. At once you see flesh and then there is an offer to show flesh. I had met Yamuna in one such place, but she has disappeared. So did she belong to the third world?

World of real, world of suppressed-real and world of beauty - can't you see it clearly around you? Then why call me mad? Why buy me a small room on the terrace of a butcher's shop and ask me not to visit you? Can you look around and not see the trichotomy into which every unquestioned fragment of this world falls and is comfortable? Why then do you deny the walls? Why do you feel better when I tell you that the walls are porous? No, I am not saying that to make you feel better. Nor am I slowly sliding into accepting your definition of a singular world (how daft!). You will know, soon, reluctantly, but soon.

Soon she will take off her clothes, and I will have to leave soon. Strange that I can only leave after she takes them off. How each layer brings her into that other world? She thinks she is going to make me yearn for her. How silly! She reveals one hasty breast. How it flops there, ugliness precipitating to the bottom in a dark cone of unexcited business. Rivulets of her humaneness flowing down like the ruts on a weathered bota bag, collecting sediments near the snout. She looks at me with practiced coyness and I reach for her clothes.

Clothes are what makes a man or a woman beautiful. Like a mottled table made the neighbour's envy with a rich table cloth, clothes ensure that we can walk on the road amidst other human beings. You surely are a woman? A man? Don't even hope for kind words from me. Take your clothes off and stand in front of the mirror. What do you see? Skin gathering in warts and hair, skin hanging wherever it can, dragging the rest of you into a stooped revulsion! Women are more unfortunate. What must hang does so shabbily and what should stay hidden realises secrecy by wrapping itself up in an overdose of flesh and skin. Stretched and crumpled, patches of discolouration, sagging and smelly. Perhaps an undressed woman is uglier for the contrast is more stark between her suppressed real (isn't that lace, seen through her blouse, so beautiful!?) and real (a sudden strand of unruly hair near her navel).

Navel thrusts are what she serves me as I reach for her clothes. I look away and hold the right shoulder of her blouse in my hand. I push it back up and while it stays on her shoulder, her breast hasn't been hammocked yet. I reach for my wallet (I carry a separate one for such sojourns) and she screams at me. Several men have come to her but her pride still hurts when a man walks away paying her for putting her clothes back on. She abuses my father and curses my mother with barbaric rampages. She throws the note back at my face but I know she will quickly take it and shove it into her blouse once I leave and tell her friends that she would never take money from a man who made savage demands. I keep walking while she screams from the corridor. I reach the road and walk beneath her flailing arms, now spanning the breadth of the road and moving in black sweeps under the fluorescent bulb above her head. I smile at her soothing shadow which touches me by not touching me. Soon I walk beyond the reach of her shadows.

Shadows converse as they merge into the other on the roads leading to the river. I wonder whether people are the projections of each shadow, each one wanting to be dressed differently. That in red and that one in chiffon, each greeting the other without collisions and emerging from the other, never the same. I lie down on the cobbled road with my right eye close to cool stone. The sudden coldness makes my skin cringe into a tightness (that should reduce the sag around my midriff). I watch the shadows talk to each other while their hopes stand in a line outside the wine shop. Their intelligent conversations are the breeze over the puddle and leave a rainbow on the film. Where men collide, shadows merge. Where women stink, shadows leave it to your imagination. Where men are shabby, shadows are well turned out. Where women are shapeless, shadows are well cut (move the light a bit that way and that broken nose could belong to a Greek God).

God created light before he made this world. Why? I ask you that, and you hurriedly walk away. Because he had to create the third world of beauty. Single tone and hue, egoless, honest, loyal (has your shadow ever left your side?) and non-disruptive (which war was ever fought between shadows? All war is a war of images not shadows). But in that same light, the real world also became visible. And God regretted it enough to give us clothes as an apology. The Sun and the Moon both cast shadows and scorch the the inhabitants of the real world. You do see this and still you deny my three worlds? Let me show you all of it. People clothed and when they are naked (not undressing) and when all you can see are shadows of the very same people. And you don't find the shadows most beautiful? No? No? Look again! Lie down by my side on this road and see again. Don't make my heart grow heavy.

Heavy footsteps rush towards me. They think I am drunk and rush to me with sympathy laced with quotidian annoyance. When I raise my hand to tell them I am fine, they grip it and hoist me up. Poor shadows stare at me wondering at the commotion. I explain to the people that I am fine and I haven't had a single sip of anything even remotely intoxicating. They are angry at their kindness gone in vain. Someone calls me stupid. No, not his shadow. His shadow is still looking at me but with no cruelty. Someone reveals that I was also at the nearby brothel and had created a lot of nuisance out there too. I try to explain but someone hits me hard.

Hard are your hands as they hold me down, in fear that my walls might become real. Every time I raise my head you think the walls are growing stronger and you hit me again. You were there too, weren't you? Did I do something wrong at the brothel? And you hit me harder lest the other think you are my friend. But you are. You and I walked the entire evening together. Why are you telling them that I am a madman who was stalking you? I didn't. I wouldn't. All I did was talk to you. They look at you, but when you beat me harder, they are convinced I am a madman. They abuse my parents for having soiled society by giving birth to me. But they aren't even here to listen to this. Someone kicks me in my stomach. I hear a familiar voice from a distance. Blows come to rest on my bones and cheeks and hips as I curl into something that yields a beautiful shadow shaped like a stuffed bag. A bag of shadows.

Shadows too merge with mine and ebb and return to my foetal hemisphere on the road. All I see are these elongated black ropes reaching out to me and caressing me as the voice grows stronger. Blows lessen and the shadows converse sharing news about the afternoon meal at the Irani cafe. Yes, the chicken was burnt and he was stingy with the cardamom. But the tea was good as always. Not a single shadow knows me before today or will know me beyond today. Why, yes, we are all keepers of shadows though I would let you into the real secret some other day when I am in lesser pain.

Pain from the last blow leaves my shadow throbbing to a beautiful rhythm. All the other shadows stop and admire. The voice scolds everyone back to their work while the shadows mingle to create new patterns on the cobblestones. A pair of hands reach down and stink of lamb gut. I throw up and he withdraws, though his shadow does so, slower than he. He pours a jug of water on my face to wash the vomit and picks me up.

"Didn't I tell you to stay in the room till I throw the bones to the dogs?"

I smell the sweat near his neck and shudder. His apron against my cheek gladdens my heart. I try hard not to imagine him naked for I had once seen a large lump under his armpit. Is that Yamuna there turning around the corner? A shadow follows her and beckons. And more shadows glide along in unchoreographed harmony. Shadows which an entire world is made of.

Virgin

A lake untouched by breeze

Is beautiful

To a man untouched by love.

Speechless

How terrifying to imagine a day where I'd have nothing to say!

How beautiful it is when such a day arrives!

The New Face of Tolerance

A woman once asked a man why he clicked pictures of a popular religious function. The man in all innocence replied that he found the event beautiful. She then began condemning the pictures and went on to say that all this was nascent religious fanaticism and that she thought that he was a saffron robed VHS without the robe.

A man once told another man that he should give up his personal religious practices as he was likely to travel abroad and sticking to such practices was ridiculous and impossible to follow and that he would have to be practical and give it all up.

Belgium and other European countries have banned people from wearing the veil. Governments now consider themselves to be in the rightful position to decide on the wardrobe contents of the residents.

These and several such examples are the kinds that people are proud of. Today is not about being tolerant but about refusing allegiance. People who are, in their personal capacities, aligned with a belief system which is unlike what is popularly accepted, are ostracised to varying degrees. Today it is not important to understand and hence, accommodate each person's individual preferences. When people have a particular set of rules for their home, then they are considered conservative or old-fashioned. The same approach is acceptable at the work place (though even that is now being considered old-fashioned and newer companies think that allowing their employees to come in shorts and torn clothes is being tolerant).

The human mind is uncomfortable in the midst of people who are different. Hence, there is a constant attempt to homogenise. Religion is one such attempt. National boundaries and patriotism are also similar strategies (though it tends to unite by dividing). Try standing in the midst of a gathering on Independence Day and, once the anthem is over, state clearly that you have the least feeling of patriotism! And these very same people, who frown at you and ensure that the distance between you and them is ever increasing, will claim that they are very open minded and tolerant. 

I call it lazy tolerance, because these people would rather distance themselves from taking a stance because it involves a lot more work and the effort is significantly more than giving in and acting tolerant. The intelligence and goodness required to understand is simply not as interesting as an episode on your favourite sitcom. When we were kids it was called peer pressure and resulted in every young lad wanting to take a swig and every girl wanting to have a boyfriend. Then we were excused as not being mature enough, but when that continues into one's youth and mid-life then it is no longer something one can roll eyes about. People find it largely convenient to not have to follow rules, or strive to understand why someone has a particular set of preferences. I can only imagine what Muslim girls and boys must be going through all over the world when they want to adopt religious practices that they were raised in. The very Westerners who denounced this practice as against their "democratic" spirits have to face research which hints at religious fanaticism being at the root of the inability to realise the brotherhood preached in churches.

Each person is allowed to choose their preferences, practices and beliefs. This is usually uncomplicated as long people are individual entities. When they get into relationships such as marriages, employment, friendship, etc. then their persona would have to be adaptable to these settings. If I join a legal firm, I cannot go to court in striped pajamas (at least in India). If I am getting married to a woman who loves her job, then it is unreasonable of me to expect her give it up for an opportunity that I am getting in some remote place where she has little opportunity. If my friend cannot afford parties and living a lavish life, then I would tune my interactions with him such that he doesn't feel awkward. If I am an island, then my preferences should be largely uninfluenced. If I find the environment unacceptable, I search for one which is conducive to my personality.

Unfortunately, the world has come to become a place where being progressive, tolerant and open-minded are confused and people have come to believe that having any religious, cultural, regulatory, societal and personal affiliations is old-fashioned. In other words, if you can claim that you don't care about any religion and disrespect all tradition and cultural norms and love to break all rules, then you are open-minded! I fail to understand how that can be so.

As long as people continue to remain uncomfortable in the midst of differing opinions, universal (or even localised) camaraderie is an impossibility. Children are not being educated to appreciate differences but are being groomed to join the coterie with the maximum representation. And then there is the club which believes in being contrarian to all that others say. I see this especially in the arts. There are some true artists who create material which is beautiful whether Avante-garde or not. The rest simply mimic or cause a noise without understanding what they are opposing.

I am reminded of a couple of verses in the Tao Te Ching which speak about benevolence and kindness and how they are the natural consequence of the absence of the Tao. This is applicable to this state of affairs. People have ceased to understand and relate to each other and in that lacuna, tolerance creeps in. When tolerance is difficult, being open minded is essential and in the absence of that, people resort to being progressive.

As long as people continue to be lazy and refuse to expend the required effort to understand other people, they will be kind and grace those people with tolerance and the urge to civilise them (as motivated the East India Company). Mustn't the Koran reading gent and the top-knot donning Kerala Brahmin boy be made to drop their beliefs and be made more open-minded? After all, being open minded is about being closed to individual preferences, isn't it? Being tolerant is to not have any allegiance? Being progressive is to sip your Cosmopolitan and smirk at those who refuse to consume alcohol?

Age of Celebrity

I don't know what made me write that post but I am glad I did as it provided Parvati-ji an opportunity to share a link to some interesting thoughts. I was also reading Flavorpill's recent piece about 20th century's most reclusive writers and J.D.Salinger's obit in the NY Times.

It would be sufficient to read the second link above as it does discuss a similar issue in great depth. I actually had a poem to write about this but thought that I had written too many in the recent past. I loved a sentence in that article: "Virginity is classically the outward sign of spiritual inviolability, of a self untouched by the world, a soul that has preserved its integrity by refusing to descend into the chaos and self-division of sexual and social relations". I recently amused a young friend when he asked me "Do you like dogs?" and I replied, "Most definitely. Anything non-human has my attention."

Today's generation (and I would consider everyone below the age of 50-60 as members of this generation) simply cannot stay alone. When I read somewhere that torture mechanisms included keeping a person in isolation, I wondered (and at the age of 12-13 I wondered a lot) what was so torturous about that. I thought it would be rather normal with the person singing songs and perfecting his voice, creating stories and poems and most importantly, introspecting and learning from previous deeds and re-affirming one's previous decisions based on sound principles (Come, let's away to prison; // We two alone will sing like birds I' th' cage). Recently I counted my book collection (non-technical) till it crossed the 800 tome mark and figured out that if I read them leisurely, I would take 20 years to complete all of them (some are simply too huge) and after 20 years I would most certainly want to re-read the ones which I had read 20 years ago. That would amount to another 20 years! That takes care of 40 years of my life. That afternoon was my happiest in a very long time. And all this in the solitude of my room. And that is when I considered the scenario of not telling anyone about this. What indeed happens to joy if there is none to share it with? Does it lose its lucre!?

I used this question as my lens to view motivations for most action in this world. Would someone become a general manager if there was no one to notice that progress? Would someone hit six sixes in a cricket match if there was no broadcast mechanism to tell the world about it and no newspaper to make a loud noise about it? Consider the complete closure of the advertising industry! No Rs. 210 crore for Dhoni who has done nothing more than play a game occasionally well and get married. Stupidity would be a lot more localised and offer little inspiration for other fools. Do I send my child to painting classes so that he wins the competition in school and make me proud!? What if he alone participated in it?

I realise I am taking the discussion along a different track, but I consider it vital. While the articles above discuss about the reluctance for being alone, I wish to discuss why people cannot enjoy for enjoyments sake. They all probably merge at a point in the self, but that we shall arrive at in another post. I feel people consider an achievement worthless if it doesn't have the sanction and cheers of many more people. Why else would America have so many thousand Halls of Fame? Why else would every single person who can write rush to publish his work? Why will a dancer (and I know a few such specimens) not care about realising the complete beauty of a form but worry more about the dance reviews and how many places have invited her to repeat the same piece over and over again? Why will every sportsman care so much about being a celebrity and not about playing remarkably better than the previous season (do we hear about what a sportsman is doing to ensure that his average score doubles?)?

Because the beauty of an act has been stamped under the incessant cries averring that joy and celebration cannot be done alone. People are depressed (or are told that they must be) if they spend their birthdays alone. People are shocked when they hear that someone simply sat by a lake reading a book throughout the weekend (I would give my right arm to have such a weekend). I had once backpacked to Ooty with no reservations made and a bag full of books and little else. People thought I was angry, depressed, sad and everything other than sensible for having done that.

While one reads this post, one might imagine this to hardly be a significant thing, but consider a whole month where your joys and sorrows and achievements are private, your plans and goals are private, your wounds and accolades are private, your satisfied meal is known to none other than yourself and you already think that I am signing you up for a torturous month of living like a recluse. No! You will still be the same and joke with everyone and eat with everyone and travel in a bus with everyone, except that your life's details are known to none.

I nursed this dream of being published. I sent out my articles (which I haven't yet put up on this blog) to renowned magazines and they all got rejected. I didn't feel sad but kept wondering why I wouldn't get published. I was willing to buy the "Your writing is pathetic" reason but not in the light of stuff that was getting published. Soon I realised that it was quite against my grain. I agree with Salinger: To write and not be published, feels far more honest. There is no pretense about wanting to be a "writer". You simply are that. I read this post now as I type it and realise that anyone could have written this, but that is pointless enough to keep me past my bedtime and have me type away at my computer. Now I automatically delete all calls for submissions not because I consider it wrong to publish but simply realise that it is not something I am comfortable with (sour grapes?).

People ask, why shouldn't you be popular if you are good at something? Why shouldn't I share my joys with the 2252 friends I have on Facebook? Even if it something like "Sunday mornings are so lazzzy"? And here is where I wish to represent all the writers (including the authors of the links above including myself): Aloneness is choice and loneliness is a reaction. If you refrain from making the choice out of fear for the reaction, then it is a matter of concern for you. JK talks along similar lines about boredom and escaping from it (without understanding it) towards entertainment and company and anything that can keep you busy and unconscious. If you are good, you probably will be popular (at least after you are dead, like Van Gogh). But neither is being good nor enjoying the goodness of being thus a collective affair. You cannot vote someone into feeling good about something though that is what is happening nowadays!

The age of celebrity has caused people to fear the consequences of not being heard and known and connected, of not finding "Likes" to reaffirm our choices and tastes, of being the only one to enjoy a quiet evening on the terrace. In the process, a lot is lost and nothing substantial gained. The works that endure the tests of time, have all been created in solitude (Tao Te Ching, Pieta, Hamlet, etc.) and great saints and hermits have found what most of the world craves for, in solitude. Though I do not wish to fight a case for solitude, I wonder how irreversible the effects of the age of celebrity are on the human psyche. For one who cannot be happy in himself, cannot find happiness in many like himself.

Other Links, you might find interesting:

1. http://zenhabits.net/solitude/
2. http://www.theamericanscholar.org/solitude-and-leadership/
3. http://zenhabits.net/creative-habit/

Relevant

Young hands reach

For the temple bell, again -

Such devotion I pray for.

Memory

Choreographed

Silent drops fall on upturned vessels -

Childhood's wind chimes.

Silhouettes

Even flowers darken,

So none will miss

The full moon tonight.

Soul's Architecture

I build a slight alcove

With a single beam of light,

Where I shall find none,

Not even myself...

Toe Tagged

Been a while since I responded to a tag (or even been tagged). Sangeeta tagged me so I thought, why not! Here goes...

1. What one material thing are you hoping/ scoping to inherit?

A large house, with a huge, huge, massive library on the first floor with around 30,000-40,000 books bound in leather (fake is ok) and stacked in oak shelves with a walking platform to each level of the library. At the centre of the library is this huge Mahogany desk with real leather top and brass drawer pullers (don't want to call them handles). Of course, the person from whom I am inheriting has a taste identical to mine, so the books are only those that I would love to read! The other floors and lawns and porticos are essentially styled and constructed to my preference (remember that we share a taste in everything). The kitchen is huge with its own library, wood fuel oven, large cauldron in a corner, several pots and pans and an amazing array of knives, spoons and forks. The minor stoves are in the centre (like a DJ's turntable) built on a toroid, so that I can enter and work nearly 360 degrees. All of this is set in white marble, silver, copper and occasionally red and black shades. Predominantly white, though. There will always be instrumental music playing in here and hence, the speaker systems are built into the paneling. There is a mobile reading kiosk on which I can place a book I might want to refer to while cooking without having to place it on the counter and getting it all stained! The lawn, undoubtedly has simple plants altered as per the season, but at the centre of this hemisphere (well, the drive is along the curves of the hemisphere, hence, it must be a hemisphere) is a smallish tree under which is this large block of pink marble half done into a lounge diwan (the upper half is polished and shaped but the lower portions are as it was cut from its mother block). In front of it is a small bird water feeder made of wrought iron (yes, the patina shows). There is a large teak wood and brass knobs swing as soon as you enter the house, but that is only what I would notice as I rush into my library! The basement, of course, is acoustically architected as an audio visual theatre. Sleep!? Of course, in the library.

2. If You were a character in a movie that you've seen who would I be and why?

I would say Wolverine. I like spreading out my hands and having clean metal coming out of my knuckles. Though I would never do it, I loved it when he withdrew all but one talon to spite Cyclops. I would love to do all of this (and shave too) but I dread having to dig my nose and suddenly have one... ouch! But the hairdo and razors win the argument. The fact that I cannot be wounded long enough is also interesting. If I were in a naughty mood I might have picked Hollow Man or Mystique (ooh! I will be that naughty little fly hovering on the ceiling while you... oooh! naughty, while you... you know, eat Tiramisu without me!).

3. If You could do one thing for Someone, no matter what it was, what would it be for Who?

I would bring sense to him and her. I mean, all of humanity.

4. You’re driving. It’s great weather. Attractive member of opposite sex in expensive car looks at you and half-smiles. You’re in a relationship. Do you return the look and half-smile back?

I don't think an attractive member of the opposite sex is ever seen in an expensive car alone! And if she is alone, I would wonder why is she smiling at ME!? So I would do more than return the look and smile back. I would stop my bike (car!?), walk up to her and ask her what she found so amusing! And then you know, the usual stuff happens. She tells me to get lost, I obey, and then I go to my friends and tell them stories about ... you know! So, smile and look I would definitely give unless I am eating in which case I don't want crumbs flying out, so no smile.

5. Pick a situation

a. You’re 42. Would you rather go without sex for three years and win a lottery after that, enabling you to never have to work again? Or
b. Get twice the lottery money now (at 42) but have your partner sleep with your boss?

Go without sex for 3 years!? That makes me 45. If I do win a lottery which funds me for the rest of my life... what does that have to do with 3-years-no-sex!? As in, I was holding back for a lottery!? I thought people held back for something great in the same domain. Like a gorgeous Carmen Electra who never has a headache or something like that. I don't see the logic in A so I will consider B, now. If I get twice the lottery money now, that means my wife and I can live a funded life. Why would she have to sleep with my boss (maybe he is younger!? More handsome!? More.. you know, stupid!?)? And if my life is funded, why do I have a boss? If this woman is the same one who was going to give me the 3-years-no-sex thingy in option A, then my boss can have her! Let him also end up having to pick A or B. Share your suffering, they say!!

6. What has been the craziest thing u have ever done?

And I would be telling you this? What makes you think I will be telling you about the time when I ... naah! You don't get to know about the time when I... naaah!

7. God gave u chance to alter any one event in the past, present or future. What wud that event be?

The point when this one monkey decided to stand up erect and start a specie called homo sapiens. Hmm. Yep, that event simply must go.

8. Would you rather go bald or lose your front tooth?

I think I will go bald. I don't use my hair to bite into food! That activity must go on, and on, and on, and on... Hence, teeth:yes hair:whatever!

9. Your sibling is sleeping with your married close friend. Who do you go to first, sibling or married close friend?

Wow! This is as weird as Q5. What is happening to this world!? No sex for 3 years, wife sleeping with boss, sibling sleeping with married close friend, this person still being my friend... God! Sex does turn this world around! BTW, who do I go to first for what!!? Aaaaaargh! This is getting kinkier by the minute!? It gets confusing. If my sibling is a girl, then my friend is a guy and that is out of the question (I mean going to him). If my sibling is a girl and my friend is a girl, then they don't want me. If my sibling is a guy and my friend is a girl, then I am most probably married to her which is equally out of the question. Gets messy!! Forget it. I will release a few mice in the room and shut the door behind me!!

10. Would you rather your kid turn out to be a nymphomaniac or gay?(For my amusement, please answer in the format: I would rather my kid be —)

I would rather my kid turn out to be gay and confused the daylights out of people around him/her.

I need to tag, but I doubt anyone reads this blog beyond a few people who do not have blogs of their own. Hence, anyone who would like to be tagged, please accept this tag. Yes, I mean you, you and you.