Connections

Have you ever thought what role the arts(very very loosely termed)- books, music, painting, movies- play in our lives? Do they even have a role to play? These are what we can term (again very loosely) fringe benefits. They are not integral to our survival. Food, clothing, shelter is. These supply our basic demands. Our very human animal needs. It is only after our bellies are full and we sleep securely in warm soft beds at night and our banks are stuffed with notes that we even contemplate the existence of  these arts. To most they are peripheral. To some, only a few, they are integral to survival. But they do have a role to play in all our lives. The role maybe marginal but a role it is. Having established that, I'd like to proceed with that role they play. 

Why is it that a book written by an unknown author from an unknown country I might never have visited reaches deep inside and touches me? Why is it that a painting by a painter I've never met and whose existence I've never been aware of speaks to me in ways I cannot even begin to enumerate? A song by some unknown singer moves me to tears? A movie by some director makes me sit up and think? These might be people I've never heard of or met before in my life. But through their work they speak to me. Establish connections that are so intimate that they reach inside me. Inside my head. Inside my soul- if you believe in its existence. (We believe in so little these days. Can you blame us?) 

What is this connection between individuals who have never met each other and who might never meet ever in their lives? A book that gives you solace when you most need it, which makes you feel you are not alone in this wide world or even one that makes you smile at a time when you have nothing to smile about- isn't that a connection? The connections between family and you, between friends and you, are ones which are voluntary. Blood ties. Friendship ties. What ties are these that touch your soul and leave you the more enriched for it and ask for nothing in return? Because before that day you might never have heard of that author or artist, or director or musician. The person in question might not be aware of your existence or of the change his or her work wrought in your life. He or she might not even connect if you meet in real life. But inside that other world where all art takes you the connection exists. So the next time you feel inclined to look down and sneer upon art because it cannot be equated to the work that an engineer, doctor or businessman does stop to think. Of all those times when you laughed at something written by another, when you paused and stared at a painting marveling at the artist's dexterity, when you shut out the world to listen to the voice crooning in your ears, when a book spoke to you. Then you might acknowledge what you've always known but not admitted that arts are not marginal. That connections can be formed between strangers. And these connections make us human. 

The Good and The Strong

Hi folks! Happy New Year and all that. My first blog this year- 2015. Sorry to be a damp squib but this new year feels old and soiled already. To quote somebody(?): Same old, same old. The same religious disputes, the same problems, the same life. Sigh! The same humankind. Rabid, tearing each other to pieces, gunning each other down. Humor is also becoming costly. Might cost you your life. Ask the French. Anyway today I've a question for you. Have you noticed how we always prefix "poor" before addressing anyone we deem good? Why do you think that is? I had a lesson in Hindi once. It was titled" Bechara Bhala Aadmi" which literally translated into English means "poor good man." It is a lesson which I will never forget. The writer raised the same question I've asked you. Why does goodness only evoke our contempt and sympathy while evil become synonymous with strength? Why does the good man never get a pat on his back and even if he does he also secretly invites our sympathy because he's weak? You don't believe me? You think this is not the case? Tell me what would you call a person who has been through hell and back because one of a particular person and when is in a position to retaliate desists from doing so? What do you call him- a hero? Do you revere him? Do you admire him? Do you look up to him? No! You call him a fool! All you feel is contempt. You think he is weak. You don't think he is strong to resist retaliation. See? 

There are two categories which are mutually exclusive. The Good and the Strong. The good cannot be strong. They can be pitied. Never admired. The saint who turns the other cheek is a fool who has no place in our world; the man who has the power to strike a blow does. The saint maybe right but it does not matter. Because strength as we know and revere it has nothing to do rightness. Intellectually we might admit that it takes far more strength to stand up and do the right thing but emotionally and secretly we admire the strength of the man who strikes back. Our heroes are not the persons who turn the other cheek; they are people who are not afraid to do the wrong thing to right a wrong. Our perception of strength then comes not from forbearance and tolerance but a show of power. We may hold up Gandhiji to the world and to ourselves as an example but none of us are prepared to go down the same path. Tolerance is only a word in the dictionary; ahimsa the language of the fools. Strength is synonymous with power and always will be. Sad but true. The right and the good have no place in our psyches. For therein lies another dispute. Who decides what is right and who is good? Yes. It takes so little start a dispute doesn't it? This is what I think. What do You think? 

   

All for a cause

All my life I've felt life has to have a purpose, a meaning. And that believing in a cause, any cause gives it meaning. Not anymore. Not since that shocking attack on Army Public school children in Pakistan. Much has already been said on the issue and I'm too late to add anything to the outrage such an attack provoked. But I can say this much - this is what it finally leads to. Believing in causes. What fight for freedom, what cause can justify this massacre of innocents? What promised land do you inherit with their blood staining your hands? Which Allah Or God Or Maker can justify taking the lives of these innocents? Taliban claimed this attack was in retaliation of what the Army did to their families. So why target children? Why not attack the Army? Why take the coward's way out? The easy way out? 

I am beginning to intensely dislike causes. Any cause. Every cause. Good or bad. Because from what I can see it is turning men into rabid, foaming at the mouth fanatics incapable of thinking or reasoning. Either you want a separate state or piece of territory, or you want freedom, or some such crap you feel justifies all the bloodshed and chaos you leave in your wake. The crimes committed in the name  of freedom are legion. All the bombings, the violence, the murder of innocent people are unleashed by terrorists because of this shining cause they believe in. Wars are fought because men believe in some cause or other. Shias fight Sunnis because they believe in some cause dictated by their Allah(?). Men divide break destroy kill maim because they think some cause justifies it all. 

"We are fighting for a cause" they say unable to see what it is doing to them. 

So I say do away with all causes but one- humanity. First be human before you can be free. Before you stake your piece of promised land on this earth learn to be of this earth. Learn that you cannot be truly free until you know what freedom really is. The ability to be humane. And any cause that invites the destruction of millions of innocents cannot lead anywhere but to one place alone. To hell. Only in this case it is of your own making. The one you have fashioned with your hands. 

Is it science- or karma- every action has an equal and opposite reaction? 

So next time before you destroy in the name of any cause think.

Busy bee

Normally I am the laziest person around. I spent the greater part of Sunday snuggled under my warm razai reading a book. And...I'm not gong to recount episodes to demonstrate my laziness. Just that this blog is the result of lot of discussions and hearing people claim that they hate activity. After thinking on it I realized I could not for the life of me imagine a world without activity of any sort. Most inactive people claim they are doing nothing: Just watching TV, reading a book, or sleeping. But those, mark you, are activities too. They are all verbs or action words. 

Even when you are sleeping your brain is active. Hence the dreams. Take activity away from us and you take away life. It is a comatose state. Where you are nothing more than a vegetable.

Try for a second. Close your eyes and imagine a world without any activity of any sort. Successful? No? I couldn't either. Life demands action. Passive action but action nevertheless. You might sit in a chair and think. But thinking is an activity too. 

See? Everything you think is not an action actually is. 

I know people are stressed today. We are dealing with a scenario where so many things are happening simultaneously that each moment we live brings its share of stress. Wellness gurus cannot emphasize enough the need to chill out and reduce stress levels through various mediums- exercise, yoga, social interaction, hobbies, music. The list is endless. But activity is a therapy too. Try it sometime. Next time you are stressed or feeling as if your world has ended do something.  Watch a nice movie, go for a walk, talk to your friend, clean out your cupboard, bake a cake, plant a tree, write a diary entry. Something. Anything. In my opinion action has a lot to recommend it. A lot of our ills exist because we scoff at active people. But the old school of thought has something there. I know we can't be jumping around all the time. But it is absolutely imperative to have something to do. Otherwise we all dissolve into nothingness. We stop being alive. 

Being a busy bee has its upside too. If you are not a busy bee but a lazy one(like me) it is still good to have bouts of activity - even if it is walking in the park or reading a book. Don't you think so?  

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.