TOMORROW...

What is that-
that which is tomorrow?

A hope for a new day?
Or a new day of hope?
A change in the making?
Or making new change?

That which is tomorrow-
Is it a blossoming dream?
Or a dream still a dream-
within a mind fast asleep?

Is it a life in progress?
Or a search for a life?
A beginning? An end?
Or a means to them both?

That which is tomorrow-
Is still but- tomorrow;
An uncertain truth
Or a certain untruth

A mirage, nevertheless-
A wonderful sight
It is, but not-
That which is tomorrow...

WOMEN'S EMPOWERMENT?

Today, I heard something about a friend of mine. This was not something I would have wanted to hear about a friend after almost 4 years of no news about her.

Padma was in my class in my 9^th and 10^th std. She had a very good handwriting. She sang very well. She danced Bharatnatyam with such grace! She went to a different school for 11^th and 12^th std. and studied commerce later. After almost three years, I found out that she joined a BPO in Chennai and got married to a guy working in Software Company in Chennai. That was the last I heard of her.

Today, I found out from a common friend that she had given birth to a baby girl recently. I was so happy for her, until I found out that, she was blamed by her in-laws for giving birth to a ‘girl’ child and was sent out of her home! She is not being allowed to meet her husband and neither was this husband of hers doing anything in this matter.

I do not know what is happening to her now, as I don’t have her contact details. But this has been worrying me since the moment I had heard about it.

I feel like confronting her in-laws and her husband this very minute and slap them hard in front of everyone. Her mother-in-law too is a woman and why the hell was her mother not punished for giving birth to her? I always used to think that this was an issue in the rural areas in India- Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, Jharkhand, or Rajasthan. But here? In town? Among the educated? And to think that the guy did B.Tech! Wouldn’t he have the sense to correct his mother or father? Wouldn’t he know that giving birth to a boy or girl is not in anyone’s hand? ‘XX’ or ‘XY’ is a process of science! And there is no person in this world who does not get “Fooled by Randomness”.

I am disgusted.

Whatever is the purpose of having so many Acts for women? Domestic Violence, Sexual Harassment, Trafficking and what not? Celebrating an International Day for women? What purpose do they serve? They are all one big farce! Practically speaking, I have no reason to believe that they have any chance of proving their effectiveness unless the society wakes up to them. This is a social issue. If such an issue is happening somewhere around you, it is your duty to put a stop to it.

Will there not be at least half a dozen reasonable and respectable people living in the same street? Can they not one day visit the house and try to drill some sense into these idiots. I feel that that’s the only practical thing to do. Legal action must be the last resort as it would take 20 years or more and the affected people rarely get justice.

I hope Padma gets this support from her society. Meanwhile, friends of mine who are in touch with her, if you’re reading this, please let me know her details, if you know...

26/11- HISTORY?... NO- NOT YET...

Three years. I think we must stop counting the years. Counting the years is one way of making things ‘history’. An event of the past, something that we have done away with. This, however, is not a thing of the past. It is very much alive. The day may come and go. And one fine day- it may cease to exist. News channels would get tired of reporting about it. There would be no news about the day. It would just be another day of the week. A good day or a bad day. Then finally, it would become history. Washed away with time. Human emotions diluted to words in history books. Like Jalianwalah Bagh or hanging of 172 Indians post the Chauri Chaura incident, which was not even reported.

One fine day, the clock might tick and we would not even realize which day was making it tick. Many years later, may be one day- two old people would sit on the porch and talk about the old times. And even then- this would be an incident that happened. A tiny drop in their ocean of a life. Or may be in future- a child may ask. “Who was Grandpa, Granny? How did he die”? And the Granny may reply- “He was a good man. He was not meant to be dead. But fate had other plans. And one day he was dead”. As simple as that. Why should we corrupt a child’s mind? Let’s blame it on fate. Let’s make things easier for the child. She is the future. Let’s weave a bed of roses for her.

But the bed of roses is not what is life. The reality should never be allowed to be washed away. Three years back, the quiet room echoed with the loud ring tone I had set for myself. It was from home. My mother starting listing off her usual list of do’s and don’ts. The list now included- don’t go to hotels. For a person like me, living away from parents, this sounded strange. She burst out crying all of a sudden. “Gopu no more... Gopu no more...”. I don’t even remember how the news entered into my mind. How was that possible? A terrorist attack killing a member of my family was just absurd! Calls kept coming throughout that evening. Mama’s last words, I was told, were the names of his children. This is not a history or incident that needs to be recorded and reported and be done with. A man’s last words. Last sound of a voice that would soon be muted for ever...

I sometimes think the terrorists understand ‘human life’ better than Government. They know that the damage to life would earn them ‘fear’. People are not numbers on Government’s records. Government would do well to realize that.

I have not come out of this realization that it forces me to rethink and re-realize it over and over again. No matter what the magnitude is, the intensity of the news that flashes on the TV screen can only be felt when the numbers of the casualties on screen cease to remain numbers for you. And no matter whoever you are, whatever you do- for a moment, for a day, forever, you shall feel it happen once again deep down. What is that, that is to be done? Least that can be done- is to keep the lives lost, alive. For the ones who have lost loved ones, they lose them every single day of their lives. This can never be understood by anyone else.

Memories are the most powerful records in the world. It doesn’t just contain numbers. It contains life. Memories must be kept alive. They would guide us. They are the cause for the future. And for this future, let’s leave behind memories, and not history...

Older Articles on this: "Home" Calling... , A Reason, to Cry..., 26/11- The Numbers
Remembering.... P.K. Gopalakrishnan (Maternal uncle)

RAINING TEARS

On the tip of the green

lies a crystal tear

Holding on to the green

As her end comes near.

Up and down

waved the green in rage

On it was the tear

Clutching her edgy cage.

At the Earth's womb

burst a little pod

It longed for a tear

And begged the green to nod

Scared of the Earth

the tear begged not

She wished to be caged

But freedom, she got.

She saw a bloom of life

When on the pod, she fell

Now happily, she rained on

with her tales, she would tell...

THE OTHER SON OF GANGES: PART 11

11. THE OTHER SON OF GANGES

He was wet… (PART 10)

He was wet. But so was the dog. But the difference was this. The dog had soon found a shelter in a broken piece of wooden box. But he was still out there. Beneath nothing. He was wet. He was sad- a castaway. A man, whose life ceased to exist for him to live, still, he was wet.

Who was he? Did he have a name anymore? Was he good or was he bad? What was his life?

The dog shivered. The water was trying to befriend the dog. There was water all around the wooden box. The dog moaned for soon his box would float upon the water. Where would he go? The water would drown him, if he jumps off the box. He tried to stay steady inside his little wooden box. He grabbed the dog out of the wooden box. The box floated away.

The water was one. Here and all over- it was just the same. Just water. The wooden box floated along- crunching, jumping along with the water, that was carrying it off. Where would it go? That only the box can decide for itself. The water can carry it away. But the box shall decide where to stay. The water entered an iron grill. The iron bars of the grill tried to control the water- but the water is all powerful. She shall go where she wants to. She was free.

The Ganges is never calm. Even though, she was a mother to many, she was always in a hurry to meet her destiny, the ocean. People have satisfied themselves, with a tiny drop of Mother Ganga. What is human in front of the Ganges? She is the final abode of everything. She is the medium between the worlds. And all that goes into her stays, forever, within her. Hence, in a way, loving her, is loving everything.

The Maha Arti at Dasashwamedh Ghat had never left his mind. It was not an easy memory to forget about. Especially for someone, who was a son of Ganges. Why did he think of it now? Was it saying something to him? A life, however it may sway, the end lies within Mother Ganges.

Mother Ganges, he felt, was reminding him of the promise, he made to her, long time ago. “… I would go back to her. One day. Some day…”

The dog had been sleeping all morning, oblivious of the noise all around him. The oar kept touching the Ganges, occasionally. The boat floated over the Ganges, rather cautiously. The people on the boat kept asking him questions and wondered when they heard him reply. The Ganges was so new to them. Shravan tied the boat on the bank and the people on the boat got off. They paid him well. He sat down on the banks of Ganga. Ganga touched his feet as she raged on further to meet her ocean. He scooped a handful of her water and placed it upon his forehead. It was a familiar feeling. It was saying to him, that his mother was within those waters. It was saying to him, that mother Ganga shall always stay with him, wherever he may be. It was saying to him- that he was home…

***THE END***

THE OTHER SON OF GANGES: PART 10

10. OF POWER, TRUTH AND WHO…

Tomorrow, Bhanupratap, would become- Bhai… (PART 9)

“… A Pandit turning us all into this… this…”, shouted Vishwa in rage.

“.. I know. I trained him…” , said Sinha.

“Why don’t you do something about him…? Like arrest him…”, said Vishwa.

“Arrest him? What did he do? I mean- who is he”? said Sinha. He was troubled and confused.

“What do you mean- who is he? Don’t you know him? You brought him to us… remember…”? said Vishwa. He was looking at Sinha in disbelief. He could not imagine the events that had been happening for the past four months. A Pandit, was running the whole show. Bhai had chosen a Pandit to lead them all. Vishwa had lost Bhai’s trust. And he did not know how that happened. He was frustrated.

“I don’t know him. And now- even if I ask him, he says his name is Bhanupratap. What am I to do…”? said Sinha.

“Kill him”, said Vishwa.

The Pandit was not an easy man. He was not Bhai. But sometimes, everyone thought he was better than Bhai. Bhai now rode the car that the Pandit drove. The Pandit had out-grown the Teacher, himself.

“Kill him? That’s not easy…”, said Sinha.

“Who said it is? I’ve heard of a tale long back. There are two boys and a man. The boys fought and the man tried to make peace among them. But the boys did not want to make peace. So they solved it in a different way…”, said Vishwa.

“Where are you getting at”? asked Sinha.

When Bhai spoke to them that day- he said it was all with the Pandit now. Whatever he said- they would do. If the Pandit says- ‘Quit’- they all quit. If he says- ‘Kill’- they do that. And suddenly, there was blood. The Pandit’s hands and face was drenched in blood. There was confusion and commotion. It was Sinha who saw it first. Bhai lay there in a pool of blood. Near him was the Pandit, unsure of what happened. Someone in the crowd shouted- “Pandit killed Bhai”!
“How can I kill myself”? asked the Pandit.

“What do you mean? We all were there…”, said Sinha.

“Yes. I did not kill anyone. And you cannot arrest me for killing Bhai- for I am Bhai. Remember”? said Pandit.

“Bhai..? You? No one would believe that”! said Sinha- he was laughing. “I created you. This is where we first met. See this place- the prison? You were a nobody…”, said Sinha.

“Yes. I still am. And your prison records have my details listed under Bhai’s name…”, said the Pandit, smiling.

Sinha stood there looking at the Pandit. He did not know what to do. But the Pandit had it all planned. He wanted it all to end. Sinha was his solution. This was where- power would be made to meet the truth.

The police force was now in search of the whereabouts of Bhai. No one seemed to know where he was. But his gang was captured and sent to prison. A tip-off from a reliable ‘source’, earned Sinha glories, he had never imagined to receive in his entire career! But no one seemed to know of Bhai. And no one seemed to know the identity of a mysterious blood covered body, either…

He was wet.

(..To be continued., Part 11: “The Other Son of Ganges”…)

THE RAMLEELA

I remember, a couple of years ago, during one of the Group Discussions in college, I spoke vehemently against the effectiveness of “Gandhigiri” in the modern times. But today, I am happy that I was proved wrong. When the Movement Anna began- I had not heard of it. It only remained a “lunch time” topic at work place. But the turn of events, the arrogance of the “people in power”- forced me to think about the issue in a different perspective.

I am not very optimistic most of the times. The system perhaps, has made me cynical. I remember the six hours I stood outside the passport office and was denied one, citing reasons, unfathomable. Peoples’ mindset was changed. Most people, when asked what they would do if caught by police for violating traffic rules, they reply- “I would pay Rs. 200 or 300 to the traffic police”. No one knows the actual procedures anymore. I had always felt that we had no one to show us a way. The vicious circle of corruption all across the nation, the series of scams, the incompetent government, made sure that there was no hope left in the minds of the “Aam Aadmi”.

Then came Anna.

My involvement came in unexpectedly. One day, at office, a friend said that he was going to 153, LB Road, Adyar, where “India Against Corruption” (IAC) protest was happening in Chennai. Something spoke to me that moment and I decided to be a part of it. I am still sceptical about the execution of Jan Lokpal, for I do not trust the politicians of this country. I believe that they can deny anything that they say, any moment. Why, even during the historic debate in Parliament, on Lokpal- Lalu Yadav said, “Doctors should research and write a book to reveal the secret behind Annaji's stamina for standing such a long hunger strike”. Why Doctors? I say- the secret behind Anna's stamina is Moral strength, will and dedication towards a "Cause" with no personal axe to grind. Alas! None of these could be explained to Lalu, for he wouldn't understand the meaning of any of these! My complain had always been about “nothing actually happening”. And here, when “something” was indeed happening, it would only be right, to be a part of it. Now here was someone, a leader- who earned his respect. But I must confess that it was not Anna Hazare, but Kiran Bedi, who was the main reason for my motivation. She has always inspired me. The clarity in her speech and thoughts- is something very genuine! My father says, “If there are two people in this country who are really efficient- they are Kiran Bedi and T.N. Seshan”.

153, LB Road, Adyar. Here was a glimpse of “Ramleela”. The “Ramleela” ground- such an irony in the name! Like Rajnikanth says in the film “Padayappa”- they were not crowds who were paid for. They were crowds who came voluntarily! People like you and me. The Aam Aadmi. Young, old, children! It was amazing! Students-it was their enthusiasm which was drove the entire movement here. There is one incident which I would cherish forever. There was a mother, a housewife, who had brought along, her 5 yr old to 153, LB Road, for the IAC protest. She had made him hold a small Tri-colour. The kid pointed to the LCD, which was playing the news and asked who the man in it, was. The mother replied- “Athu thaan Anna thaaththa” (That is Grandpa Anna!). This was a sign that this Nation has made him, its own!

Today, 28th August, 2011. We, my father and I, went over to 153, LB Road. There was a small group of, say 30 people. We had all gathered around a laptop to listen to Mr. Arvind Kejriwal’s Vote of thanks, cheering and clapping whenever we felt like it. When Anna Hazare ended his fast after 13 days- with a glass of coconut water and honey, offered to him by two tiny little girls, the whole Nation, it felt as though, spoke with one voice. This voice- the only antidote for pessimism and cynicism that has been absorbing the Nation, so far- it is called- "HOPE".