My regular readers would know that, long time back- in 2009 Feb, to be precise, I began a new venture inspired by "Jawaharlal Nehru's Letters to his daughter". However, my dear father had been quite busy all these while, even to write a letter to me! But here now, I have a letter, that I am not only sharing- just because this continues this series. But this is a letter, that makes me feel proud that I'm his daughter! Please read on and feel free to comment:
HUMAN ZOO – An Alternative to Capital Punishment
‘Rape’ is a heinous crime; it is not only an offence against the body but it maims the soul of the victim for the rest of her life. Our supreme court has observed that capital punishment (cp) s must be accorded in the rarest of the rare cases of heinous crimes.
The debate for and against capital punishment continues for eons.
Let it be so.
To my mind it appears that cp is not at all severe enough; the criminals involved in such cases, deserve a more severe punishment than cp. In fact, hanging, allows the culprits to pass out rather easily and without giving them time for remorse.Whenever we hear or read about the details of various heinous crimes- Priyadharshini mattoo,Madhumati shukla, and thousand such other cases,- rape and murder of foreign tourists, and Nithari killings our blood boils and we crave for proper retribution. But such rage proves to be rather a fleeting emotion and we are carried away by so many other tamaasha news- day in, day out; and by the way the culprit, escapes popular condemnation. This should not happen. I, therefore, feel that the ends of justice would be better served if we can device a punishment which would sustain the public rage and also accord the criminals, full time for remorse. I, therefore, suggest that we can create a Human Zoo ( in all the state capitals -- to start with) where such criminals can be kept in spacious cages, "barely clad, and absolutely unarmed", and beyond the reach of physical violence from the visitors. The details of their crime record must be prominently displayed in a hoarding outside their cages-along with whatever graphic representations as may be available …
Punishments for crimes are meant to act as deterrent towards commission of such crimes by others or by the same criminals in future. But fear of punishment will not be efficacious as a deterrent in cases where the crime is motivated by personal vendetta or by the desire to seek vengeance or to seek retribution for ‘ injustice’ suffered – real or imaginary… under such circumstances crimes are committed by persons who are in a state of
emotional imbalance and who are hardly in a position to think /reason out/ratiocinate …
( Such persons will not fall under the category ‘heinous’ criminals ) However , the deterrent value of punishment still holds good in cases of professional / mercenary criminals…in fact, the deterrent value will be directly proportional to the severity of the punishment … Therefore ,the visitors to the Human Zoos will be allowed to express their condemnation of the criminal acts, by any manner they like – of course without resorting to physical violence… A non-violent form of public stoning/lashes…( ? ) I am able to imagine that this will have tremendous ‘ effect’ on the ‘inmates’ and what is still more , this will have tremendous deterrent-value as a punishment vis-à-vis professional /mercenary-criminals...
After observing the working of this scheme for some time , certain years of incarceration in Human Zoo might even become an accepted form of punishment, as part of our criminal jurisprudence; all offences against humanity-- terrorism and corruption by people occupying powerful positions – must be accorded this punishment …How long are we going to watch criminals in powerful positions, waving to the crowd ‘happily’ and walking to the waiting van…?
We may also think of enhancing the deterrent value of such punishment; perhaps we may think of transferring such convict-inmates, to different Zoos, every year, so that they are given wider public view…
The convicts in the Human Zoo shall not be allowed the facility of private visitors nor private communication of any kind..; they will be served a frugal and bland diet and if they fall ill, only simple symptomatic treatment will be given and that too within the Zoo Complex; they will not be entitled for cozy hospitalization and treatment…
This is only a virgin thought, and I agree that the idea can be further elaborated and refined towards achieving operational efficiency… I may , however, hasten to add that while those who plead for abolition of Death Penalty are apparently ( mistakenly ) motivated by their compassion for the culprit, my suggestion is impelled by my compassion for the victims…
It's like dreaming of rain drops when the foot is parched due to heat. All these thoughts. All of a sudden, he stood up. He felt his feet on the hardness of the floor beneath. Books. Luxury that could never be lived! He walked towards the washroom. The mirror introduced him to a man. Strange man he was. He looked as though he had not met another living soul in his entire life. His glasses needed a new frame. His lips were dark. Dark. Just like her hair. He felt his fingers touch the lips of the man in the mirror. The mirror shook on his touch. He left the washroom as though he remembered something. His room was grey. Scattered oddities of things. Books. Ash. Kaleidoscope. Anklet. Photographs. Posters. Papers. Papers with ink. With words. Clothes. A broken wooden ruler. A long rope. Empty glass bottles.
***
It was in the lost and gone ages. May be there was a time, when a soul knew to talk his heart...
***
".. rags of gold and a bowl of silver. Hunger for power. Thirst for lust. A country of blind men who pity them. What can we do? Shout? Cry out? Talk sense to them? Do you think these people can hear? If they could, they would have heard by now. Let the world burn. And one day, it would. There would be ash. Ash all around. I'll bathe in that pool of ash. Shout. Cry out. The world would hear me then. My voice would ring their end. The finale.."!
"Shiva", she said. Her voice soft. Yet, there was something about her voice, that would bring one back to reality, wherever they were.
"..My name is Dhruv..", he said smiling.
"I know. It's Shiva- the finale you were talking about. His dance of destruction", she replied.
"Good. Let him join me then!" , he added lazily, lying down beside where she was sitting, on the moist grasses of the football field. He did not see her. His eyes were enjoying the joy of the football game- the kids from the street were playing nearby. The unsophisticated version of football, played on the wet grounds after rain- where the soil splashed herself upon the players, each time she was hit by the ball! It was energy in its pristine forms!
"You know, I don't like your ideas about.. all these things! It's my belief and I.." She retorted, sounding offended by the way he spoke.
"I know. But if I don't tell you, how will you learn? The essence in it? Who will show you it's sheer strength? These people of the world? They are like a written code. Accepting things without understanding it's true nature? Exploring it's real potentials. That's what I do. And I promise you. The Finale- would happen. Shiva or no Shiva. And you would be beside me, to see it happening.." His eyes were closed, as he uttered these lines. As though, he visualized something no one could ever dream of seeing! The vision, made him smile!
"You would cease to dance if He joins you. I don't wish that to happen soon..", she said, looking at him. Her eyes looked angry. The hair. Even the blackness in it, appeared red. She had the most perfect lips. From all of her, it felt as though an inaudible whisper, kept saying her name to him. His eyes, met his Drishti… His Drishti.
***
Eyes. They only wish to see in one direction. Sometimes, when the eyes get diverted from where they usually see, the vision it sees, affects. Disturbs. It doesn't fit in. The eyes, till the time they cease to see, they curse that sight. That misfit. Abnormality is pleasant. A happy truth. The only happiness that invites no emotions. He sat on his bed. Thinking. An unheard prayer, was being sang for him. Just for him, from miles away. He still felt it's truth. He did not believe in prayer. He believed that hope was a falseness that was forced upon mankind. He believed in truth. Truth was the only truth, that existed. Like death. It was beautiful. He liked talking to people about truth. Even back then...
***
A cup of tea, and a dying cigarette- created odd effects in a man's mind. It made him speak, what he thought. Not one word less. Not one word more. Just those words, as he thought them! In the way he wanted them to be in...
***
"..I am not a great man. I am a man, who is taught not to lie", said he.
"We were all taught not to lie by hypocrites who lied to us, everyday, to keep us away from their world of lies. It's a lie that brings days and nights upon us. It's again a lie that keeps us happy each day of our life. Fire all around us. People dying everywhere. Misery. Sorrow. Hunger. Copious tears forming the oceans and seas. Yet, with a 'lie of tomorrow', we sleep with a smile upon our lips. Safe. We dream of lies. We live our lies. And still, you lie that you are not taught to lie"? Shreyas asked him. Shreyas. The only man, who understood him. The man, who spoke his language.
"I agree. But the truth in it is this, that it's a lie. And that's the only thing I am concerned about", said Dhruv.
Shreyas stared at him for a few seconds. Smiled. He said, "Your survival surprises me".
"I'm no way less surprised", Dhruv replied, and they ended up laughing- for how long, neither of them, ever knew!
***
There were, the faded images of the faces he'd lost the right to think about. All he was left with now were the sounds of empty bottles clinking. They wanted him to see the light, outside. His insides, cherished the darkness. It kept him alive. But he knew, that the darkness he cherished, would cease to remain if he did not visit the light outside. There was no limit to his life. A life far beyond days and nights. Like colours. Splashed by a mad painter's brush. He took the last cigarette in the pack. The smoke from it were circling around, in front of his eyes. For some strange reason, it made him think of strange things. He sat himself on the window. Sounds of life, in a fast forward, were drilling his ears. Flashes of lights- from the cars that went by on the roads. The sun being eroded away by the moon's flush of rays. The stars were beginning to rise up. Here and there. Like, birth of order from chaos. Reminded him of the moment when they had last met. If he jumped off his building, would he feel the pain of the fall? He thought and looked down, from his window. No. May be he should try the skies. But neither would take him to her. Did he want her? This was the first moment of his life, he had thought of something like that. "Did he want her"?
***
"..Dhruv.. I love you", she said, her eyes, sparkling like the starts of the night sky. The tears voiced the truth in her words.
"I know", he replied. He did not know how he must feel. He has never known how he must feel, sometimes. It was as though, the sadness or happiness were beneath him. He felt something more than that. He never named what that was. He was never able to. But he knew. He knew that others did not feel it. In fact, others, would never feel it.
"No. You don't. No.. Or.. ", she said, looking confused. She moved towards the window of his room. She stood there, looking at the sky above.
"Dhruv, if I ask you a question, would you tell me the truth?Or lie to me"? she said. Without looking at him.
"You know me.." he replied! He was puzzled.
"...Then tell me." She turned. Looking directly at him, she asked him, "Tell me, is the sky blue"?
He looked at her. He could not understand, why he was looking at this woman, who stood in front of him. What was it that he felt? He could not judge his emotions. He felt himself crumble in front of her. He ceased to exist. For her.
"No. It is not blue", he replied. His voice rang with a strange sound that he had never used before. She had felt it too. She kept looking at him. Her eyes, they were still glistening... But now, it was something else. It was what she called 'hope'. In which, he never believed.
"I would love you, till my soul turns into puffs of smoke. You know that yourself. Don't you"? she asked, her voice, trembling.
He looked into her eyes. A fire in it, was turning into ice. He said, "I know you will".
"I will not ask you anything, but this. Let me go". She said, looking at him. Only that, her eyes were not looking in him.
He did not reply.
She was a mystic presence. His liking for her, he was never able to imagine, how it happened! She was so different from him. But may be, thinking about it, now.. It was because, she was real. She was Earth. Maybe this was why! Her reality. Her existence. Her emotions. They belonged somewhere, so much unlike him. May be this was why…
"I can live with the lie of your memories. But I cannot live with the truth of your existence. You are a great man. I.. I am not.. I don't deserve you". She said. She was not crying. She was not lying.
He stopped thinking. She was real. And he wanted her to remain, that way. To want her be that way meant that she should be allowed to accept only things, real! And as he listened, her voice spoke of the truth in her. The truth of her world! The truth compelled the words out of him…
"I will let you go", said Dhruv.
***
The first rains of the year, fell upon his face.
His eyes were closed. It looked as though, he knew every drop of that water that fell on him. He smiled, greeting his old friends. He was thinking about his other friend. His 'better version', as he called him. Why though, he wondered?
***
He called the number, which he had not called for a long time. He did not know why he was calling. But he..
"Hello"?
The voice still sounded the same. His voice, however had changed. It was unsure if it should let itself being heard. Yet..
"Hello.. this is.."
"Dhruv? Are you Dhruv"? asked the other voice. There was joy in it. A joy, as of that small boy who got his lost bycycle back!
"I am… Shreyas.. I.."
"I know. It feels great to hear you", said Shreyas.
"Are you.."?
"No. To you, I wouldn't lie", said Shreyas.
"I know”, said Dhruv. And he did know it.
The silence was enjoying the gentle breeze that brought in the wet friends. And suddenly, the rain was growing louder. May be it wanted his attention back. It kept calling him. Splashing herself on him. He felt, that they were urging him to ask the question he wanted to ask.
"Shreyas.. I wanted to ask.."
"Dhrishti is fine", said Shreyas.
Dhruv. All of a sudden, it was as though something heavy had fallen off his heart. Or else, it had fallen off, long time back. But he had never realized it. There was now a strange happiness, that comes due to something called- gratitude!
"Thank you"- and he meant it.
"Do you.."
"No Shreyas. I don't want to talk to her. I will see you if I.."
"I would be waiting for that day..", replied Shreyas.
"Bye.."
"Bye, Dhruv. My friend..."
***
He closed the window and switched on the lights. He sat himself upon a chair. He took a book in his hand. He opened it. Closed again, smiling to himself. He took the photos on his bed. Walked towards the window. Opened it. Stretched out his hand and opened his palm. The memories, flew towards his old friends.. Flying away from him.. Far into the wide spread space, in between the sky and the earth.. Flying past his life...
".. the hole in me may be dark and deep but I've got little time to cry or weep Happy I'm, to be born with the hole Than pretend to be pure and live, sans a soul..."
The morning waves to the night's dark Trees, upon their dying barks Dogs, brawling over a piece of bone The air's filled with cries and moan
It's the death's cradle of eternal sleep It's never too late to get up and weep Rise and shine Or give-up and whine It'll never leave you, in peace again
It's your death's cradle of eternal peace Just tuck in and be and all will cease Rise and shine Or give-up and whine You'd end-up being neither yours nor mine!
The lullabye is now elegy What suffers, is vitality Mirrors showing the faces, gone I've got no mind to just move on
It's the death's cradle of eternal sleep There's no way you can ever have a peep Nobody, is your destiny Give up and plead on your knees
It's your death's cradle of eternal peace Your legs are locked without the keys Nobody, is your destiny Give up and don't take chance, any! It's the death's cradle of eternity...
Saying it aloud sometimes, makes it mean less than what it should mean. That communication, I do not think can happen anywhere else. Sometimes, there are so many candles around to sustain the light, that otherwise does not exist. The smile, that comes from within us at that moment- that private joke. With whom was it enjoyed? Who shared the smile with you? It makes me think at times. I need not bother thinking about these. There are so many other stories, lying deep within, left to be woven into words. I can think about those. Else, I can take pleasure in spending a thoughtless life. A nine hours of practiced, uncomplicated, precise, thought-free life and the one after that too. Why is that I wish to talk? Talk with this someone deep within? Enjoy a smile that I cannot enjoy with any other soul around, anywhere else?
*****
Have you ever spoken to yourself? Each time I read about Schizophrenia, or be it any other kind of, say- psychosis- you feel you actually have it. That's the beauty of psychology. But seriously speaking? Have you ever spoken to yourself? Sometimes, I do enjoy listening to myself. May be, that is my way of liking myself. Some people do. I know just one other person who does that. She said that to me. No. I do not have Schizophrenia.
*****
As I type these words down, there is some strange voice, so much like mine, that keeps repeating these words along with me. It sounds just like mine. But the difference is this. My voice, can never say these words. My Appa, sometime back told me this. That he thinks that I get possessed when I write. May be this is what he had meant when he said that. Strange words! As though, I am reading into someone's personal journal! I am not supposed to. But when the "not supposed" enters into the frame, it means, it wants it to be heard. These words. Here. The black, the white. They are from the one within. Not mine. Do I make sense? I do not know. "I", here is who? I do not know!
*****
Whenever I say the word "I", I feel that it resonated with some other sound from within. Some say, it has something to do with religion! No. Self is truth. Who am I to lecture on truth. A fellow dunce, in this institution called "Life". When you read me, lecturing you about truth, don't you feel something deep inside churning the stagnant pool that you are? "Who the hell is she to lecture me on this"? Do you hear it? I don't lie!
*****
Talk to it. It does not have any sound. It wants to come out. Help it come out. It has just one means. Giraffes use sound that is beyond human hearing capabilities. They are not mute. So I have heard. The only muted soul, lies deep inside us. Listen to it's voice. Feel it's sound. Feel that sound vibrate through your vocal chords. Feel it's pleasure soaring up through your veins. Feel it's smile on your lips. Help it share it's private joke with you. And remember this! You do not have Schizophrenia!
The blackness is the beauty. The blackness too. The eye, when sees beyond the usual monotony called- the beauty- sees things that it can't see. It does. There are words that describe things in such way so as to make the brain understand about those better. Mind does not understand words. Mind knows. The blackness, in it, needed no words. It was there. To be understood. Sometimes, the eyes become moist. Most times. Why? I have heard people say- "It's because of the beauty". Is that so? I think it is something more than that. Beauty is material. Something like the rock. Something like- green. The point that is beyond is the 'Black'. That is not beauty. That is something more than beauty.
*****
I am thinking. The 'black'. What could that be? What powers does it have to make the eyes moist? It is not allowed to make me weak. It could not control me. It is 'black'. I am thinking. But it is something beyond thought, as well. What is it? It's the beginning. It is the end. "Beginning is beautiful", I've heard people say. It's not Earth. It's not water. It's beyond all that. Hence, it is not beauty. It's 'black'. It's present, everywhere. Only that, one needs to see it. Identify that which one can't see.
*****
It flies, I found. It's movement is found by the blackness it leaves behind. What brings the smile in me is this. The black left behind, can never be seen. Can never be found. There are times when one feels like seeing that blackness just once more. Feeling guilty for not identifying the black when it was present in front of them. It's chosses to remain a faded memory.
*****
It flutters, the black, here, in front of me. I realize it. The moment I do, it's all around. Revealing itself to me. Black. The moment before life. The pulse of life. The world inside the one who lives in the world outside. The self reflected through another's. The moment of the pulse lost. Present, then gone. The vaccum. The Black Butterfly. Pulse. Life.
So many things had changed, since I had left the place. But travel, remained the same. Long, tiresome but exciting. The bus was slower than the bullock cart riding along with us. Yet, I was happy. I got to live the past again- as I crawled through the roads, the trees, the temple. But the air was new. The people were new.
Parimalgram was not some place that would go away from one’s mind- that easily. It had the life in it, that made it eternal- a cherished memory-in the minds of people who had been there. The soil, the aroma- the birds and trees- hawkers, butchers, sweet vendors- school masters. Everything about the place, had life in them.
At a certain age, in one’s life, just when we would think that the people around you are the ones who understand you perfectly, you’d actually begin to realize that they, in reality, could never understand you at all. There was always this gap in you that could never be filled. And you learn to live with it. Accepting differences- which you could never do, until a few years back!
Sometime back, I had this thought that I should visit Parimalgram with my family- show my wife where I was born- my kids- the school where I studied. When I expressed this thought to them, they would not hear one word of it!
“A village! Do you even realize how unhygienic it would be…” said my wife. I didn’t feel like arguing. My kids too, wouldn’t hear about being somewhere without T/V or A/C. But I couldn’t help it for long. So, one day, I just left. Following my heart. Seeking my destiny.
The bus came to a halt. The board was painted new. The soil was the same. I started to walk on those roads- once again. On those roads, I had left my foot prints as a boy. On them, I had dropped toffees- and had cried all the way back home. The soil reminded me of the boy who was the first to leave the place- to seek a different life- a better life. The soil, welcomed her son, home.
There were new houses. New streets. But my eyes, couldn’t wait to see the home I had lived. I lived on the third street. Everyone knew me as the “Pandit’s boy from the third street”. Will anyone recognize me now? I didn’t think so. I was now, different from what I was then. Suddenly, I heard someone call out “Oh! Pandit’s boy”! I was surprised and turned back. I saw someone calling out to a small boy about ten- who went running to answer, as soon as he heard the call.
Things had indeed changed. I was indeed a stranger who was desperately trying to see things around, the way they used to be. Trying to see the past from the present- assuring myself that I belonged there.
The thoughts had driven me to the third street- where I stood now, facing a series of houses and people, unknown. I walked past them, wondering about the changes- excited about my return. There, I could see my house. The house, where I was born, where I had uttered my first word- where my mother looked young!
Only now, it looked different. There were strangers, living in it. They took no notice of me. How long I had stood there, staring at the house- I do not know. But when I had realized that, I had started to walk.
Things change. And one must learn to accept and appreciate it. The bus was as slow as ever- and I could feel a strange emotion as I , moved away from Parimalgram. The place may have changed. The people may be different too. But the soil and the trees had recognized me. I had felt it. I traveled back to my future, carrying along the memories of my past- again, as a boy- who had left Parimalgram- to seek a new future- a new life.
