As I came out of the hall, I was trying to take in the things- moving and still all around me. Work tags, new goodies safe inside branded plastic bags, hand bags, coolers and tri-colour battered and pinned on shirts. For some reason these things did not enter into me. Something bigger was occupying my mind. A bigger question. Was I in it? The place around, the world around me?
When I saw the tri-colour on people- I wanted to have one too. My mind went back to the school grounds where I stood fourth from the first, singing flag songs and the National Anthem- waiting rather impatiently for the distribution of toffees. I used to get hold of the entire stack of tri-colour that was left over. The stack would find its place inside a big bag, along with other broken toys and tiny pieces of pencils and erasers where it would remain for the next few years until the entire bag would be chucked into the trash.
I wanted to ask one of them- from where they had got the tri-colour? I don’t know why I did not ask. I was just watching around and trying to take in the blur of colours around.
Be it the rain pouring down outside the window or a Baai’s daughter reciting Tennyson’s ‘Brook’. Munna insisting on his photos being taken in a studio or Arun washing the silver ring left behind by a house wife- Yasmin. From Shai’s photographs, Munna’s ‘Salman’ bracelet to Arun’s painting and Yasmin dissolving into light in her video letter to her brother. The fifth character in the film, Mumbai- left me with a bigger question deep down in me. Was I the sixth character in it?
The auto ride back home was all thoughts. A sun-lit Chennai had become a part of my life for the past two years. Its different shades never escaped my thoughts throughout. Yet, I’m a stranger trying to identify places around. The city was a part of me- but never became mine.
As the auto tuned in with the rocky roads beneath- my eyes were searching for tri-colour s around. School children and a teacher leading them around. A man making ‘parotta’s outside Sri Pandi Vilas hotel. An old man whose knees came in together while he bent back- waiting for his bus.
A point on paper. I sat there, leaning against the cold, hard wall- imagining myself to be that single point over that sheet of clean white paper. That was what I was. An atom. Years of life had taught me finally, to define myself. Place myself into that frame of life's camera. An atom. A closer shot, perhaps might give you an idea of how I look. The length and breadth or may be, even the depth!
He, however always believed that we spread out! We take shapes. Forms. "What do you mean"? I remember, asking him once. He would not know. But he was more than an atom. He believed it. Simiyon.
Villages. Now that I think about them- provide you spaces deep within- that later expand within you. Spaces- so vast, that the valleys in our heart- begin to fill with memories of the dust from the first harvest of the season. The bunch of Neem leaves in the hands of the temple priest. Bangles from the fair. The statues of silver and bronze in the temple. They held life in them. A life that came out of thoughts, beliefs and hopes of people- who believed that tomorrow could be a day that would end all their sufferings.
The music in the school bell. The era of black or white; no grey. Careless. Unafraid. An age characterized by its innocence. It’s a pity that the beauty in innocence is only realized after losing it. I now would wonder at times- "I was all that"! Some people, I've seen, are born old. Old granny says, ".. remains of the gone lives..". I don't know. I would imagine myself dying and being born. In flashes. A splash of colours. Cockeyed. But wonders, back then!
Our school was quite big. Children from neighbouring villages would also come in there- to learn. Just before the bell rings at four in the evening, we’d hear the coconuts, being broken and offered to the Lord, in the nearby temple. There begins a race- the first race of my life, the winner- collects the maximum coconut pieces off the ground. A rush of life, straight towards the temple, where the broken pieces of coconut awaited the tiny little hands to pick them up and dust them.
“Krishnaa….”
I turned to my left. Dark- yet his eyes, sparkling like diamonds- his forehead, sweating hard- his eyes knew joys unknown to others. His words, his voice, his thoughts- were all unlike those of the boys of his age.The shirt was torn- yet it held, in it- a small bundle, which he held close over his upper abdomen- his prize!
"Didn't you get any? Here.. Take some..", said Simiyon and offered me a few of those coconut pieces! He gladly shared his prize, with me.
A hero is someone who inspires. Kind, helpful and efficient - the one, everyone looks up to! Simiyon, I could tell, was one. His bright eyes- always looked for new paths to tread, new tasks to try. Often, between classes, he told me stories of his “work”.
“Giving shape to a piece of wood”- he would say. “You would see the shape grow in front of your eyes- it’s as though you create! Like God”! He would say. “Fetching the fallen vessels from the bottom of the well…”! I would ask him- in wonder- “But how would you go into the well? Aren’t you afraid? My granny says, there are ghosts down into the well”! “Afraid?” he would reply, “Why should I be? It’s a very simple job! And believe me; I have been there many times. There are no ghosts. Besides- the well is a step closer to Earth. Don’t you feel so”? I remember very well- how I could not sit for a week, after I was beaten up by father for trying to get down our well!
A pocket full of coins! A rarity. A symbol of richness. Especially for a school boy. When he showed me a hand full of coins, I could not help but wonder at his achievement. Simiyon was my Hero! He said he “worked”. He can do anything. He can be anything! I remember the autumn fair- in my village that year. I was a crying little boy- named Krishna, craving for the unaffordable sweets and cotton candies! And there he was- actually selling them! I secretly prayed that night- “Oh God! When I grow up, I want to be like Simiyon”!
May be it was my thoughts- that had outlined my life. Limiting my transformation- to an atom! Thoughts have been my hobby! I used to wonder, what he sought. I used to ask him- what he wanted to be. “Oh.. Many things..”, he’d say, smiling. “How can you be many things? You can be just one thing”, I would say. I wanted to prove, at times, that I can be impressive to him. But he’d just say- “Oh yes, you can be”! Just that. Nothing else.
Years had re-written my life into the pages of the city. A life I had not imagined back then as a small boy. A life away from all my friends- yet a life that gave me new friends, a better education, a job and a new family! But I wanted to look back- see the reflections of a boy Krishna, whom I had left behind. And last summer…
Simiyon knew me the moment he saw me. His eyes reflected the same joy as mine. He was just the same. Dark- yet his eyes sparkling like diamonds- beads of sweat upon his forehead. Yet, his wrinkles could pass him for an older man. His face was that of a man who had endured wrath of the Time. A family to support and money scarce- he worked round the clock- on jobs, countless. The hero in him lived, still young- though I realized that this time, it was my eyes that failed to see the hero in him.
Heroes- I realized for the first time- are a fantasy that kept human minds alive. My present eyes saw him as a kaleidoscope. An ever-changing pattern of colourful images, blurring the eyes with beauty beyond imagination when seen in light. Yet, deep down, they are, but broken pieces of glass. Heroes are just the same. The big screen shows only the white. No Black, no Grey.
I needed the eyes of a little boy named Krishna, whom I had left behind, long ago- on the sand and rocks of a small yet beautiful village. I had left him behind, hoping that he’d live there, forever- unblemished by the burning rays of a stubborn rat race. He, I knew would certainly to see things the way they are- uncontaminated by the ego of intelligence. I looked into his eyes and tried to see my friend again, to see him in the light, to see my lost hero, my Simiyon.
I don’t wish to write movie reviews here! Let’s say- I just want to be a part of it, as I too am one among the thousands, who signed in my name in the forwarded e-mail petitions for the cause “Justice for Jessica”!
The inspector says-“Maine bhi liye the sattar lakh, uspe haath na utaane ke liye”…
I saw a man there, who was totally crunched by the system- helpless and angry at himself for being so. I saw a man afraid of what example he could be to his son. I saw in his eyes, a cold, raw hatred for a murderer- who murdered a woman who had refused him ‘a drink’, even after he offered a ‘1000 bucks’! The helpless inspector, bound by money- forced not to raise his hands at the man- for whom a life was cheaper than a ‘glass of drink’!
A performance, in its best, nevertheless- it was for me, very real. I imagined myself in front of ‘Manu Sharma’ or ‘S.P.S. Rathore’ or ‘Amarmani Tripathi’ or ‘Santosh Kumar Singh’ or ‘Moninder Singh Pandher’. How would I react to their presence? How would I feel if there were people threatening to kill my family if I reacted in front of them? It was suffocating.
A high profile lawyer discusses what all needs to be ‘taken care’ of. The ‘bullets’ at the Forensic lab needs to be altered. The man assigned the ‘task’- says nothing- gestures of complete understanding- which just conveys- “I know what to do. Forget about them…” Makes me wonder in awe at the power of ‘Power’! Is it that simple? All the hue and cry, ‘aam junta’ hoping that things will all be fine someday- it that all bogus?
300 witnesses saw nothing. Sitting there, at the cinema hall and watching the scene, which was very much what had happened during the actual Jessica Lall trial- made me think of SPS Rathore, smiling as he walked out of the court after a 19 year trial’s verdict was announced- 6 months prison (though he had the bail in hand in minutes) and Rs. 1000 penalty?! Is this the judiciary system of this country? Is this what we call “Mera Bharat Mahaan”?
I wouldn’t call this a movie. It was very much the fact- just the names of people changed. For someone who had followed the case ever since the ‘Justice for Jessica’ cause came into motion- at least for me, it all looked very much real! Be it Shayan Munshi.. that is, Vikram Jai- in the movie- a Bollywood actor who claims in court that he does not know Hindi! It was very much real!
“Justice for Jessica”- prevailed. Candles may have melted, but the fire still burnt deep down in the minds of thousands of ‘aam junta’ who were only waiting for something such as this to happen. Often times, the older generation accuses the younger ones of being ‘irresponsible’ and ‘callous’. They say- during their times, in our age, they were ‘fighting for a cause’!
Youth today are fragile. More than that- they are not aware! When I was talking to a colleague that there was a movie based on Jessica Lall murder case, I got a reply- “Who is Jessica”? They can’t be blamed. Youth today have so many other attractions/distractions. There is a media that glorifies glamour and entertainment becomes the ultimate quest! There are malls and disposable income. There is ‘Munni’ and ‘Sheila ki Jawani’! The older generation had none of these. Their youth was filled with ‘partition’, ‘unemployment’ and ‘Emergency’! There was a radio, perhaps. That’s it!
‘Give us a cause’. We don’t know what to do. ‘Lead us’. That’s all we say. There was a ‘cause’- and we did what was right for it. Media proves it’s might throughout the Jessica case! There have been allegations that “media has been acting judge”. There was even a scene in the movie that portrays this aspect. Sure it does. We just saw an instance of “media acting judiciary” in the Arushi - Hemraj double murder case! Yes, media is over-enthusiastic. Yes, it is intruding. Yes, they can stoop down to ‘get stories’ (Yes, yes- I’m talking about the ‘Radia’ tapes). But despite all that- media has become a medium to help our voices be heard. We appreciate media for that. We do.
Not even 50% of the cinema hall was full. But sure, this was a movie that re-ignites the minds of the people for a girl ‘who was shot for refusing a drink’. Watch it, people. It may not be as good as ‘Sheila ki Jawani’- but again, if that’s all what you like, this is not a movie for you!
It was as somewhere in a land, foggy with dreams and memories- I remember a day when I got caught stealing the fresh lime pickles off the porcelain pickle jar. Those were such strong hands that turned my ear and made them red. I was teased for almost a week for having red ears. How I hated going to school with my red ears! And all for a pickle?!
My granny made the best pickles in the world! I am sure all grannies make the best pickles in the world. Just the taste and the smell of those pickles! You can’t wait until it is time for you to eat. You just need to have it, all the time! Besides, there’s always this secret pleasure in thieving. We were raised with stories of God stealing butter for pleasure. I mean- what the heck? If He can, so can we!
All those years there has been something down there- churning out a man or woman from deep within ourselves. Looking back- we seem so strange to even ourselves! Almost every individual has an “Eat Pray Love” moment in his life. The self discovery sometimes leads to nothing! While at times, it breaks down every shred of belief you had ever held dear about yourself.
We make friends- we see them part ways. We meet people. We see them left behind. All the dreams that we had dreamt once- we see them fading away. As though it was not ours’- estranged! We see ourselves changed. Sometimes for good too! All that and more!
We have all grown older in the same manner. Well, almost. I have heard a friend say- that she wishes to skip a few years and reach the future. We have all felt it at some point of time in our lives. But as I thought about it- I felt that it is just a red ear- that won’t last for more than a week!
But the pickle jar still- is out there. It now stays behind the curtains of cobwebs. No one knows how old it is. No one has taken it out for a long time. It had been there- behind those thick curtains of cobwebs, looking exactly how it had looked the first time I saw it. Did it have my grandmother’s lime pickles in it still? Or maybe my grandmother had made something very special and kept it in there and forgot all about it!
All it requires is a touch! It requires your guilty, tickling fingers to touch it. To see what’s inside. For who knows? May be it holds in a hidden family treasure- if not pickles? Or a Genie- that would grant you whatever you need, perhaps? For all I know- it could hold anything! Gems and jewels or a mighty Genie- you only need to look in once. It might even contain a self that was lost once- to time!
I have been staring at the ceiling for nearly 45 minutes now, trying to think of “memorable” events that had happened in my life this past year- 2010! I haven’t come up with many. Year 2010 had just been another year- uneventful and wasted.
But then, all of a sudden, I remembered a few things that not only made me eat my own thoughts but also made me think about a few other things, as well!
I began with my Tamil blog this year- ‘Maiththuligal’ which means ‘ink drops’. Even after a year, I have no idea how this blog came about and how it has been sustaining for this long with almost 31 posts in the past year! What began as my ‘idle-play’ to while away time on 25th Dec., 2009- trying to write my name in Tamil on a bit of paper, just to check if I knew the language, for I never had formal training in it- ended up as a blog with genres ranging from abstract essays to day-to-day ‘blah-blah’s to a peep into my life through my mother’s eyes! This has sure been an ‘unexpected journey’, a very pleasant travel, nevertheless.
‘Thuppaandi’- the cat. 2010 had brought him home one sunny evening- and before we knew, he was jumping up the open window, crawling beneath the sofa and stretching himself on top of my dad’s just pressed shirt! With his curiosity and laziness, he had kept us all engaged; a show-man who enjoys all the attention he gets- this chap had managed to get a smile on all our lives and helped us all to like him with all his naughtiness! I had never had a pet in my life, though I had always wanted to have a cat. I am scared of dogs. I was never allowed one. But Thuppaandi, took us all by surprise. And now, he’s not just our pet- but family!
‘The Banyan Trees’. Nivi from the e-zine thebanyantrees.com had mailed me in 2009., Nov about the new venture that was on the rise and had invited contributions. Back then, I had no idea on what I would write in there- considering the fact that I happened to read her ‘highly inviting’ e-mail during an especially ‘boring’, ‘depressing’- weekend afternoon at office! But then- ‘The other son of Ganges’ took shape- and I had been contributing to the magazine- my first ‘series’ since around May 2010- ‘The other son of Ganges’. It was an experiment- and is still. And sure enough, my year 2010- ended with me becoming the ‘featured writer’ for the month of December 2010!
No matter however hard I kept thinking, I could not find anything else to go on to make up that list up there. It made me think that- there are a lot of things that we say, we do and things that happen to us and also happen due to us. But there are only a few of them, that we remember- or put it even more abruptly- that actually ‘matter’ to us! Whatever they might have been- in some way or the other- they have made me feel happy about them! But that ‘short’ list made me think- this year comes to me with its hands outstretched. But before I embrace it, I must keep in mind what exactly I must take from it!
Hoping for a great year ahead and a New Year resolution- “to be happy!” in hand- I travel once again through an unknown path towards, destiny, perhaps?
daughter reciting Tennyson’s ‘Brook’. Munna insisting on his photos being taken in a studio or Arun washing the silver ring left behind by a house wife- Yasmin. From Shai’s photographs, Munna’s ‘Salman’ bracelet to Arun’s painting and Yasmin dissolving into light in her video letter to her brother. The fifth character in the film, Mumbai- left me with a bigger question deep down in me. Was I the sixth character in it? 
