My Winter Rhapsody

I don't know about you but I spend the better part of the year looking forward to those 3 months of winter.(It has shrunk to 1 month actually.) I cannot for the life of me write either prose or poems about the sun or the summer living in a country where its unrelenting blaze scorches everything in sight. That's why the thought of those months or month(!) of reprieve from its glare is enough to make me write this. If you haven't already guessed I love the winter. It is the best time of the year. The only time when I can match my western counterparts in waxing lyrical about the sun and its warmth. The only time when I actively seek its warmth and light. Having lived all over India I've lived in places like Chennai and Guwahati where there are no winters. That's why I appreciate it all the more. 

Winter for me brings lots of images: Breath frosting on the air, the smell of wood smoke from burning roadside fires, the carts of roasting groundnuts( mumfali) by the roadside with wisps of smoke curling from it, and the air itself. Cold, smelling of flowers, brushing the tip of your nose making your eyes water with its bite, the early morning fog outside your window. It is the time when you snuggle into your woolens and take long brisk walks to keep yourself warm. 

Winter is also the time of indulgence for me. When you can gorge on sweet vegetables and fruits, eat rich gravies and get away with it, munch on chocolate and chikkis. Not to mention hot fried chaat. It means outings, picnics and generally an air of suppressed bonhomie. With Christmas holidays and New Year around the corner and Diwali just past it introduces a cheer that carries you along on a tide irrespective of your own mood. I cannot but feel an uplift of my spirits as this season begins no matter in what doldrums I might find myself. No matter how much life sucks I cannot help the smile that flits across my face with the cold wind brushing it. Even power cuts don't matter much because it's winter for god's sake!! 

Like all things short lived it is incredibly sweet. Even the groan that leaves your lips when discarding the warmth of your razai in the morning is welcome. Those cold blustery days when the mercury dips and the sun plays hide and seek are welcome. The blue blue skies above are welcome. The fog curling outside my window and bringing the smell of wildflowers at night is welcome. Winter you are welcome.

With the global warming changing our climate winters are shortening, becoming hotter. One day this season might just become a memory. A thing of the past. And summers will continue unabated. What a pity that will be! 

Between you and me

Have you noticed how our perceptions alter magically the moment the words "mine", "my" or "ours" enters the equation? Every little endeavour, every enterprise however insignificant becomes imbued with importance simply because it is ours, it belongs to us. And what set me thinking on this track was simply an exercise I witnessed just now while returning home. A flower seller sweeping his small circle of area clean. Prior to opening shop he was making sure his boundary, that small circle of space was presentable. It is not an uncommon sight is it? Nor is the scraping sound of brooms in the morning. We all like to keep our houses clean. Even a hovel is swept clean by slum dwellers, for it is the space they have fashioned into a home. But what happens the moment that we step out of that magical perimeter of mine, ours, my? Then of course it ceases to matter altogether. Rubbish might pile up and overflow by the road but we avert our faces because it is not our problem is it? To keep our areas clean we might dump our rubbish outside but after that it ceases to be our problem. We shrug and say "it is not mine." 

This is just a small example. There are so many things we ignore so many wrongs we do not right because it is not ours. We pay attention only to those things which directly affect us. The moment we put the stamp of possession on anything- marriage, relationship, things, work, enterprise- we attach ourselves to it like limpets. We are ready to fight to defend what we construe to be our territory. Because directly or indirectly it is related to our selves. To us. The pain caused by stubbing your toe and the pain perceived by the stubbing of another's toe are miles apart. Perceived pain cannot match your experienced one. That is precisely why these possessive pronouns make the world of difference. Between you and me there stands a gulf which can be bridged only when "you" becomes "me" and "I" become "you."

Creepy weird eh? But true nonetheless. Only when your perceived pain becomes experienced then you truly understand. When your circle of my or ours widens to include you, or the other as they say, then the magic happens. When you look out and see rubbish on your street or staircase, then of course you are impelled to take action. When you find someone writing graffiti on the walls of your heritage monument then you protest. When someone molests your sister, friend or woman then you take a stand. When someone drinks and bashes your car then you shout at them. Otherwise it's just a sign on the road.(Do not drink and drive) So go on. Say mine. Ours. My. Put your stamp of possession on everything you see. Your country. Your colony. Your son. Your son's school. Your road. Your world. Because then and only then it will be truly yours. Your world. Your planet. Because YOU care.

Your worst enemy

A five letter word. A teeny tiny niggle in your mind like an invisible worm eating away at your insides nibbling away incessantly till you are transformed from a serene confident person to a mass of shivering uncertainty. You want to know what on earth I'm talking about. I'm talking about Doubt of course. That little worm Iago inserted so successfully into Othello's ear till maddened by suspicion he killed his wife and love, Desdemona. Suspicion is just another guise that Doubt wears. Another name for the same thing. Only in this case Doubt is far more lethal. Because it can attack you from inside turning your "I know" to "I don't know" in seconds.

It is a rare person who is not besieged by doubts. We all are at some point or other in our lives. We all ask questions of ourselves like: Am I doing the right thing? Will I get there? Does God exist? And many more like these. From a believer you change into a nonbeliever in the twinkling of an eye because this demon worm enters your mind. From a person confident of his or her abilities you become a wreck because you don't know. For sure. Because Doubt is playing havoc with you. 

A person who is strong enough manages to drive it out but you might not get lucky every time. Sometimes it lingers on in the recesses of your brain destroying you from inside. Weakening you. Making you vulnerable. Preying on you. Then your confidence oozes out little by little. And you become its victim. 

See the thing is: ten times out of one you are not sure. In any situation. If it is the right path you are on. If you are going to end up where you want. If...A million Ifs. But some are. A handful. Who just know. Whose confidence blazes out like a beacon in the dark. And these are the ones who make the roads others walk on. 

Recognize your worst enemy and give it wide berth. Next time you are plagued by doubts look in the mirror bolster your sagging confidence and continue. Because that's how history is made. And battles won. Both internal and external.  

Band Baaja and Birthday Bash

Generally I steer clear of politics. Not being politically minded and not having studied my civics( Pol science- as it is called these days) in my youth - at all- it is a source of constant mystery to me how that body functions. But today I'm compelled to speak. Not about politics but about politicians.

We are constantly told by our khadi clad figures that we are an absymally poor country always in need of funds from other more powerful nations- Australia, US or what -have-you. 

And these ministers who are elected to their posts are Jan- sevaks ( servants of the people who have elected them to their thrones). And yet yesterday my eyes popped out at the photograph in the front page of the HT of the 75 foot long birthday cake of our erstwhile minister and father of the reigning Chief Minister Akhilesh Yadav. Mulayam Singh Yadav. Yes. The guy who said "Boys will be boys" and not rapists when they rape women. That's the one. 

WOW!! Make that a double WOW!! Man what celebrations! They put any of our Bollywood star celebrations to shame. Carriages from England, flowers from Netherlands, 75 foot long cake-  can anything beat this? Did you say we are poor? Hey! I bet even the Queen Of England can't afford this show of extravagance. How much money does Mulayam Singh or his son have? Even the erstwhile royals cannot afford this kind of extravagance. And Mulayam Singh does not belong to a royal family. As far as we know he wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth. So where is this money flowing like champagne coming from? Is it out of our pockets? 

Mayawati made a spate of statues in some park and invited- justly- a lot of flak about the misuse of public funds but this kind of beats it hollow. And even if they have that kind of cash(amassed over the years- politics being so lucrative) to spend why not organize a dinner for orphans or the starving millions that feature so prominently in our ads and do some jan- seva? That's why they've been elected right? That's why they've got the votes. So that they can serve the public. Not have extravaganzas like this.

The next time any politician mentions our poor country show him the photo of the 75 foot long cake. What is the use of asking for black money in Swiss accounts when such politicians exist? Next time use your vote with discretion. Or Mulayam might just set a trend among political families where sons succeed their fathers. And have birthday celebrations like this. 

It's all in the tale

I just finished reading two more books. Somehow my little blog is turning out to be all about books.( bookworm that I am) So these two I'm told are both "life changing" books. John Green author of "Fault In Our Stars" assures us that it is all fiction and he has tweaked facts to suit himself and that a story which is fiction can be life changing too. I agree. Some of my best philosophies are derived not from classic tomes but from fiction fiction. The other book - before I stray off the path- is Paulo Coelho's "Alchemist" about the shepherd boy in search of buried treasure which he does find after a journey in self discovery. It is, I quote "a magical fable about following your dream". At least that's what the book's cover tells me. I've to confess that nothing life altering has struck me down yet; no revelation has burst upon me and changed my life after reading them. I found "Fault In our stars" to be a sweet tender romance of 16-17 year olds trying to fight death (Old old story- remember Ankhiyon Ke Jharonko Se or better still Love Story) with heavy philosophy and doses of poetry thrust in. It is a fresh take on cancer patients and to some it has probably made a difference.(I'm too old I guess) Just as "The alchemist" I'm told has inspired many. Even the President of United States who swears by it. I believe he carries a copy of it around. Sorry. It didn't do a thing for me. Especially the line about the universe conspiring to get you what you want. It's not happening dude. Not to me. Not to a lot of people I know. Life is just giving us lot of sour lemons and we're trying to make lemonade with them only not succeeding I'm afraid. So call it a case of sour grapes or sour lemons - whichever you prefer. 

Maybe it's just sourpuss old me. 

But our fascination with magic, with fairy tales, with the paranormal, the supernatural, the other realm is never ending. Me included. I was a sucker for Cinderella when I was a kid(ages ago!) and I love Harry Potter. What lies behind it? A deeper search for meaning to this life on earth? Or just a desire to escape into a fantasy world where "happily ever after" exists? Because If Santiago in "Alchemist" had failed to find his treasure then maybe we wouldn't have tagged the book "life changing" right? Because we know there is no treasure at the end of the rainbow. But we like someone who tells us there is. So I guess it's a bit of both. The need to find some meaning to our lives as well as escape into the "happily ever after" fairy tales and supernatural worlds that offer tales of these splendid beings with amazing powers while in reality we labor on in Mr. Biswas's (Naipaulian) little universe. Slightly ridiculous, resilient, vulnerable, poignant and tragic beings fighting our little battles. And losing most of the time. 

What is your food-entity?

Yep. I did it just now. Coined a new word. Food +identity= Food- entity. So. I have just completed Interpreter of maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. Not what I expected of an award winning novel. No intellectual gymnastics. No complexities. Just simple ordinary stories in simple lucid prose. Rather good I must say. And in her work I found constant references to food -whether it is Mrs. Das munching on puffed rice in the Interpreter or Mrs. Sen using her boti (shaped like the prow of a ship) to gut and slice fish and vegetables. Lahiri uses food to convey her Indian-ness. Her characters derive their sense of self( as i suspect she does) their roots from the food they eat. Food that clearly separates them from their American counterparts. In the rice, puffed or otherwise, in the spices, in the egg curry, fish curry or curried chicken they find their identities separate and distinct. It is what they hold on to in a foreign land. 

I found it a novel point of view. To think that food somehow connects you to your roots, to your self, gives you  your identity is a possibility I've never taken into account perhaps because I've taken my identity for granted. That I'm a Indian- Bengali has never been in question but to those settled in far flung places around the globe food becomes a way of life. Of staying in touch with your roots. In Lahiri's world food is not not merely what you eat but who you are. 

I thought back to the time when I read Enid Blytons as a child. References to muffins, scones, tarts were unfamiliar, unknown. But for today's generation exposed to an explosion of cuisines from all over the globe nothing is unfamiliar. Mexican, thai , chinese, Italian, French, Lebanese, American, Japanese- you name it we eat it. But our daily diet still consists of dal chawal subzi. So food does not occupy us in the same way it does an expat. To them it is a taste of home. Even though they maybe American Indians born and brought up there. 

To most Indians food is a big deal. It is our medium of expressing ourselves. It is an affirmation of life itself. Every occasion -joyous or sad- ( wedding, birth, death, festival) is marked by food. 

But for some it is also a means of clinging to their roots and finding their identity. Their food- entity. 

Fame or Bane?

I can't quite decide whether its a good thing to be known or unknown. To be noticed or be ignored. Most people will vote against the latter. To be ignored is some kind of humiliation which no-one wants to be stuck with. It is so much better when the world sits up and takes note of you. Then you're famous!! Heck who doesn't want to be famous? 
But I've begun to wonder. What happens when you get trapped in that fame? When you become a victim of it? When you can't break out of it no matter how much you try? 

You love Harry Potter. I love Harry potter. Everyone loves Harry Potter. With that series J.K. Rowling achieved unprecedented success. She did something magical with her books that no-one, no writer achieved. She made history. Broke all barriers of gender caste race color and reached out to millions of readers around the world. Male writers wondered how a woman writer could achieve that kind of success writing children's books, for God's sake! And in the commercial genre. Mind you its not an intellectual over- the- top series that is beyond the grasp of the common reader. Both the adults as well as the children love it. Both the literary discerning reader and the simple intellect of a child can enjoy it on different levels. 

I know. I know. You already know this. J.K. Rowling doesn't need my recommendation. She has established herself without any doubt. Since she ended the series she has written three more books. One a satire; two murder mysteries about PI Cormoran Strike. I've read Cuckoo's Calling. It's very well written. Cormoran Strike bounces off the pages vividly, almost a caricature but...but something's missing. In spite of her superior writing, command of the English language, in spite of her talent for portraits, her books haven't achieved even one fourth of Harry Potter's success. The latest I heard was she was now writing a story about the wicked headmistress of Hogwarts- Dolores Umbridge. Try as she might she can't break out of her own success. Will she eventually succeed? Remains to be seen. 

The hero of Harry Potter movies Daniel Radcliffe is floundering similarly- trying to do everything to break out of the mold his role has placed him in. He's trying out different roles - right from romantic to theater - to prove his metier. These are just two examples of so many. 

But the way I see it, in many ways fame is a bane. Because once you are famous you are expected to repeat that success. And you are expected to do that in precisely the way you've done it before. And before you know it there's no way out. That's why I can't decide. Better to be ignored or noticed. What do you think? www.facebook.com