The past few years have been a learning curve. We are all so occupied by our problems in life that we forget to look at the bigger picture. There were times when I was so depressed that I have contemplated ending it all. When I heard anything which started with "You are not the only one with problems...." I used to get wild. That hasnt changed today. Somehow the fact that others suffer problems worse than us doesnt make us feel better. Atleast it doesnt make me feel better. It is a bit perverse actually... to feel better just because there are people who suffer more.....
But today I read something and I just cant concentrate on work.... It also happens that we are born free, without restrictions that we never really question what our life could have been. I for one never considered it. A month back one of my Swedish work clients complimented me - "You are a great person and thats really something cause you are a woman". Of course this was done under the excess influence of alcohol :) but then I did a mock indignated look for that because hey how can you be angry with a drunk :)... but another person who heard this asked me "Did you take that as an insult or a compliment?" Although I said immediately that I did take it as an insult I did ask him (since he was obviously not drunk!), "What did you mean? How can I take that as a compliment?". And he said "Consider women in a few places like the Middle East or Africa". And then it dawned on me what hew as trying to ask about India.
I had a wonderful childhood and the best parents I can hope for. I have been given the precious gift of freedom of thought and action. Considering that I m 30 and still unmarried is enough to raise a few eyebrows here. Although they do worry, my parents have never forced any decision on me. Not even religion. I forget what my life could have been. Some people call it destiny but I would call it 'luck'. I am lucky.
I read about women part of a particular tribe called 'Kanjar' who live in Pakistan. I dont know what led me to this particular article but the way the women are treated disturbed me a great deal and triggered me to write this article. Suffice to say, I never usually think about all this but it does bring to mind that the freedom I have is precious and I m grateful for it. So thanks to that universal decision maker (whoever he is)! :)
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Funeral Blues
I love this poem by W H Auden. Its called Funeral Blues and as the name suggests, it's a sad poem but its really good. Subtle, not being too emotional but yet driving the point home.....
I first heard the poem in the movie - Four Weddings & a Funeral. Yeah, was a great Hugh Grant fan :)..anyway, i ended up looking for the lyrics on the net and found that its an actual poem by a poet who's not so widely known...have been wanting to share this with some one, anyone...but none of my friends are poem-centric :)...if there is such a word....so please...read it and enjoy it...
------------------------------------
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbled on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my south, my east and west,
My working week and my sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantly the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
I first heard the poem in the movie - Four Weddings & a Funeral. Yeah, was a great Hugh Grant fan :)..anyway, i ended up looking for the lyrics on the net and found that its an actual poem by a poet who's not so widely known...have been wanting to share this with some one, anyone...but none of my friends are poem-centric :)...if there is such a word....so please...read it and enjoy it...
------------------------------------
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbled on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my south, my east and west,
My working week and my sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantly the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Sensation or news?
A vast majority of us browse through the morning news every morning. Just like everyone else, I too have developed this habit especially now since work is sparse and browsing through the happenings around the world seems more inviting than staring listlessly at the monitor. The first news I noticed is "80 men rape two women in Mumbai". Disgusted more with the 80 men who did it or with the gleeful report of the website – I don't know? I tried another website and no prizes for anybody who guesses the headlines once more. The first few minutes were a war within me. One half arguing that it is in fact the job of the media to report what happens – Black & White. The other half protested vehemently that freedom of the press does not extend to freedom of blatantly posting snaps of gruesome incidents which shouldn't have happened in the first place.
Finally giving in to the fact that news is news, I tried to read through the article. It was a mistake. Should have listened to my other half. It was difficult not to notice the reporter's barely concealed glee as he reported the crime with giving specifics of how it happened and which garment of clothing came off first to initiate the heinous act. The other website was nothing better with fingers pointing to the ruling government who had just released their crime report the previous day stating that crime was under control in the city. What about the two women who not only had to be subjected to all this cruelty but also have to relive it every time they read these tabloids.
It's happening everywhere now. Today journalism has developed into something unrecognizable. Come on, what else did you expect? Every other field is being corrupted, so why leave out journalism? Even a natural calamity is not spared. The ghastly pictures of people suffering make headlines. Sensational tabloids have always been popular. Isn't there a small gossip loving creature in every one of us?
A few months ago I was looking for a specific incident which had happened. The specifics of a judgment of a popular Bollywood actor covered the first half of the page, the second half dedicated to the happenings of a millionaire's daughter's wedding ceremony. After searching for quiet sometime, I came across the story I was looking for. In the second half of the second page, with few line dedicated to it – the outline of how a regiment had overpowered the members of a militant gang; the chief of the regiment had lost his life in the process. This didn't even deserve a mention.
I'm sure if we were to ask the so called journalists of today they would quickly defend that they write what the public reads. Is that so? So is the fault within us?
To divert a little, the same could be said about our movies. I remember reading a popular Bollywood actor's statement "Cinema is for entertainment, messages are for post boxes". Nice to hear, but a recent movie on dyslexic children which is steadily rising in popularity has proved the actor wrong.
Couldn't this be the same with all forms of media? One could argue that a journalist's job is to report as-is. But isn't a little bit of subtlety (for want of a better word), asked for here? What about priorities? What is more important? Sensation or news? Mind you, the website or newspapers mentioned above were not of any cheap tabloid but those which are reputed. I'm not even starting on the news channels which I'm sure would extend this article to a dozen pages!
But what we need to consider is: are "we", the public, at fault? Or is it that we are never given a second chance?
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
A thousand splendid sons
Khalid Housseini, zindabad which literally translates to Long Live Khalid Housseini!!!!
When I first saw the book, I was aprehensive. Ok, so the first book was excellent, beyond words. But what if he's a one book author? I did buy the book ultimately, after reading the gist of what its about on it's back cover. Sounded interesting....
The first few pages were good but it was almost as if I was waiting for a blunder or a bummer by him.....but no I was disappointed. Or lets say it was a win-win situation.
Right now? Its just been two days since I read it, I'm bowled over....still in the euphoria of the book - A thousand splendid suns
It's as if I can still see Mariam in her kolba waiting for Jalil, hearing her mother's taunts. Listening to her whinings everyday about how bad men are for taking advantage of women and how equally worse women are for tolerating this treatment....I heard Nana (Mariam's mother) call her a harami and felt her bewilderment....An illegitimate, unwanted child....a burden for her mother....But what was Mariam's fault? What did she do except live? A few hours of pleasure perhaps for Jalil and her mother.....and so Mariam....nothing for her...even Nana could nostalgically remember those moments when she thought that Jalil was hers...she had good times to remember - if you could call a few hours of romping in the sheets that.....but what about Mariam? what did she have except nana's ranting day in and day out? Of course she had Jalil....his weekly visits....when he would spend time only with her....when he would bring her trinkets to cherish, swing her in his arms till she tires.....the one moment when Mariam did not have to remember that she was not living in his huge bungalow with his other ten children....the one moment when she would forget that she was not invited into that house but had to stay with her mother in a lowly hut away from prying eyes….she would not remember how Jalil did not agree to take her to his cinema to watch cartoons..........he was her only contact to the outside world....
But Nana she never allowed her to forget how weak Jalil actually was.....how she - Nana, had to stay in a hut but not with his three other wives.......
The day Mariam turned fifteen, the glass house inside which she had placed Jalil, broke. He denied her. He abandoned her outside his bungalow, refused to recognize her as his daughter and let her spend the night on the streets….She returned back to find her Nana hanging from a noose tied to the tree near their kolba….she never forgot and she never forgave……
Jalil turned out to be a weakling as Nana had predicted. After her mother’s death, Mariam was married off to a cobbler in Kabul – Rasheed…..her was almost thirty years older than her….but so what…she’s a woman…she has to endure……Mariam left for Kabul…and stated to Jalil…never to contact her…ever
Rasheed at first seemed to be an understanding person to the reader……but I guess good or bad things come later……to call Rasheed a human being itself is an insult to the definition of a civilized being…then what is he….an animal……I don’t want to offend animals……I did try to pity Rasheed……his first wife was dead…and so was his only son……so he was wounded……isolated…..BUT……no I couldn’t……
I don’t have words to express my dislike and distaste of such a heinous being……not just for how he treated Mariam but also for his future actions to come……I don’t detest Rasheed just for his physical abuse to Mariam…not even the sexual harassment he made her go through……but for the mental torture……for making her believe that she was actually unworthy to be born……a burden to everyone she met……
Laila……technically she was a neighbor to Mariam……but she was a stranger to her just as I would be one to her……a loving and understanding father in Baba……a mother – Fariba, who had time only to lament for her sons who were at war against the Russians & no time for her daughter who starved for her affection……a friend…no more than a friend……a soul mate perhaps……in the form of Tariq……her world was set……she had a doting dad and she was in love with her best friend……what worse could happen? It could……Kabul was at war……her parents destroyed in the massacre……Tariq gone indefinitely to Peshawar and she was left alone with the mark of her love for Tariq in her womb……
Laila was saved……by Rasheed and Mariam……the reader would first think that it was her good luck……but no……she’s just fifteen but she has to face that since she is with child she has to marry Rasheed…a guy who’s almost sixty now……I tried warning Laila about Rasheed’s scheme of thwarting any hope in her that Tariq will return by sending a harbinger in the form of Abdul that he witnessed Tariq’s death…..
Faced with the inevitable……she resigns her fate to Rasheed……bears him two children – Aziza and Zalmai……one born out of love of two and the other born out of lust of one……
Both Mariam & Laila become soul sisters……united against one evil…Rasheed…they bore marks of physical and mental abuse from him……when finally Mariam ends it all……to say she murdered Rasheed brutally would be as if to say she committed a sin……I would rather glorify it to be a good deed which saved everyone a lot of anguish and pain……even when the Talib judge who sentenced death to Mariam says that it’s because her deed scares him that she is capable of doing something so violent, I screamed in protest……she who couldn’t hurt an ant can only be pushed to such extremes by someone as atrocious as Rasheed……
Laila atleast sees light at the end of the tunnel……she joins her Tariq with her children and they live first in Peshawar and then return to Kabul when times are better with the Taliban driven away from Afghanistan……she returns not just to serve her country with her education……not just to return to her childhood spots……but to witness free Kabul……so that Mariam, Baba and Fariba and her brothers can witness it through her eyes……
If The Kite Runner is about how children suffered in Kabul, A thousand splendid sons is how women suffered……women endure………
Taliban not only destroyed Kabul but also destroyed the spirit of women……and when they did this, they should have seen their defeat clearly……since what is there if the womb which brought you to this world does not have the will to continue?
When I first saw the book, I was aprehensive. Ok, so the first book was excellent, beyond words. But what if he's a one book author? I did buy the book ultimately, after reading the gist of what its about on it's back cover. Sounded interesting....
The first few pages were good but it was almost as if I was waiting for a blunder or a bummer by him.....but no I was disappointed. Or lets say it was a win-win situation.
Right now? Its just been two days since I read it, I'm bowled over....still in the euphoria of the book - A thousand splendid suns
It's as if I can still see Mariam in her kolba waiting for Jalil, hearing her mother's taunts. Listening to her whinings everyday about how bad men are for taking advantage of women and how equally worse women are for tolerating this treatment....I heard Nana (Mariam's mother) call her a harami and felt her bewilderment....An illegitimate, unwanted child....a burden for her mother....But what was Mariam's fault? What did she do except live? A few hours of pleasure perhaps for Jalil and her mother.....and so Mariam....nothing for her...even Nana could nostalgically remember those moments when she thought that Jalil was hers...she had good times to remember - if you could call a few hours of romping in the sheets that.....but what about Mariam? what did she have except nana's ranting day in and day out? Of course she had Jalil....his weekly visits....when he would spend time only with her....when he would bring her trinkets to cherish, swing her in his arms till she tires.....the one moment when Mariam did not have to remember that she was not living in his huge bungalow with his other ten children....the one moment when she would forget that she was not invited into that house but had to stay with her mother in a lowly hut away from prying eyes….she would not remember how Jalil did not agree to take her to his cinema to watch cartoons..........he was her only contact to the outside world....
But Nana she never allowed her to forget how weak Jalil actually was.....how she - Nana, had to stay in a hut but not with his three other wives.......
The day Mariam turned fifteen, the glass house inside which she had placed Jalil, broke. He denied her. He abandoned her outside his bungalow, refused to recognize her as his daughter and let her spend the night on the streets….She returned back to find her Nana hanging from a noose tied to the tree near their kolba….she never forgot and she never forgave……
Jalil turned out to be a weakling as Nana had predicted. After her mother’s death, Mariam was married off to a cobbler in Kabul – Rasheed…..her was almost thirty years older than her….but so what…she’s a woman…she has to endure……Mariam left for Kabul…and stated to Jalil…never to contact her…ever
Rasheed at first seemed to be an understanding person to the reader……but I guess good or bad things come later……to call Rasheed a human being itself is an insult to the definition of a civilized being…then what is he….an animal……I don’t want to offend animals……I did try to pity Rasheed……his first wife was dead…and so was his only son……so he was wounded……isolated…..BUT……no I couldn’t……
I don’t have words to express my dislike and distaste of such a heinous being……not just for how he treated Mariam but also for his future actions to come……I don’t detest Rasheed just for his physical abuse to Mariam…not even the sexual harassment he made her go through……but for the mental torture……for making her believe that she was actually unworthy to be born……a burden to everyone she met……
Laila……technically she was a neighbor to Mariam……but she was a stranger to her just as I would be one to her……a loving and understanding father in Baba……a mother – Fariba, who had time only to lament for her sons who were at war against the Russians & no time for her daughter who starved for her affection……a friend…no more than a friend……a soul mate perhaps……in the form of Tariq……her world was set……she had a doting dad and she was in love with her best friend……what worse could happen? It could……Kabul was at war……her parents destroyed in the massacre……Tariq gone indefinitely to Peshawar and she was left alone with the mark of her love for Tariq in her womb……
Laila was saved……by Rasheed and Mariam……the reader would first think that it was her good luck……but no……she’s just fifteen but she has to face that since she is with child she has to marry Rasheed…a guy who’s almost sixty now……I tried warning Laila about Rasheed’s scheme of thwarting any hope in her that Tariq will return by sending a harbinger in the form of Abdul that he witnessed Tariq’s death…..
Faced with the inevitable……she resigns her fate to Rasheed……bears him two children – Aziza and Zalmai……one born out of love of two and the other born out of lust of one……
Both Mariam & Laila become soul sisters……united against one evil…Rasheed…they bore marks of physical and mental abuse from him……when finally Mariam ends it all……to say she murdered Rasheed brutally would be as if to say she committed a sin……I would rather glorify it to be a good deed which saved everyone a lot of anguish and pain……even when the Talib judge who sentenced death to Mariam says that it’s because her deed scares him that she is capable of doing something so violent, I screamed in protest……she who couldn’t hurt an ant can only be pushed to such extremes by someone as atrocious as Rasheed……
Laila atleast sees light at the end of the tunnel……she joins her Tariq with her children and they live first in Peshawar and then return to Kabul when times are better with the Taliban driven away from Afghanistan……she returns not just to serve her country with her education……not just to return to her childhood spots……but to witness free Kabul……so that Mariam, Baba and Fariba and her brothers can witness it through her eyes……
If The Kite Runner is about how children suffered in Kabul, A thousand splendid sons is how women suffered……women endure………
Taliban not only destroyed Kabul but also destroyed the spirit of women……and when they did this, they should have seen their defeat clearly……since what is there if the womb which brought you to this world does not have the will to continue?
Monday, April 02, 2007
On Gandhi
Last week I read an article on Gandhi. Our “great Mahatma”. About his illicit doings apart from what we know about him. Don’t get me wrong. I m not the average sarcastic Indian who sits here in the 21st century judging what could have been done almost a century ago. In fact, I detest this certain type of person. Why? Coz they actually have the audacity to say “What could have been better?” I mean, is this a software project or even a cricket match that was lost? Hold on. Is it so that, we will know what not to do when we fight for our freedom again? I hope not!
And they say “Ummm Gandhi was good in what he did BUT he could have done it better. I’m sure if he was not there we could have got our freedom 50 years earlier”. And then what? I do feel like saying “Excuse me sir, but did you wanna be trampled by the English? Did you actually?”
In fact, I would say, its good we were ruled by the British and its good that we got the independence the way we did. Whatever the pimple-faced patriotic Indian says, I don’t think we were ready at all to be independent anytime earlier. But like my friend says, “This is my opinion and you need not agree with it ”
And they say “Ummm Gandhi was good in what he did BUT he could have done it better. I’m sure if he was not there we could have got our freedom 50 years earlier”. And then what? I do feel like saying “Excuse me sir, but did you wanna be trampled by the English? Did you actually?”
In fact, I would say, its good we were ruled by the British and its good that we got the independence the way we did. Whatever the pimple-faced patriotic Indian says, I don’t think we were ready at all to be independent anytime earlier. But like my friend says, “This is my opinion and you need not agree with it ”
Saturday, September 02, 2006
My Country
What is it with my country? Or is it just me? Maybe I have become too much of a critic in my own country J. Happy is a person who finds faults in himself instead of others…but I cant stop myself. I read somewhere recently that the Indian cabinet has made a rule to have female judges to look over rape cases of women. The explanation given is that a male would not understand the emotional stress and battle that the vistim goes through! What kind of an apartheid is this now. Do you mean to say now the “Dalits” will now have a separate “Dalit” judge? The muslims will have a separate Islamic fakir or mullah to look over it? Or better still child custody cases should be judged by kid-judges (whatever that means!) so that they can better understand the “emotional” battle that the children go through. To go before a crowd and accept that she has been molested and ripped off her privacy is a big step. Does the fact that another female will question her make her feel any better? If that has to happen, then the judgement should be likewise and not that you decide whether you need a female lawyer or judge.
The next big doubt would be that this is Indian culture and is not to be “besmirched” as it is done in the west. J Christ, what culture are they talking about? If it is what our ancestors had and had tried to pass over to us, all that is gone. All that remains now is a shadow of that culture, remains of a past heritage and now it is an exhibit. An exhibit that makes India “different”.
I m not denying all that. I love my country and it pains me to see the things that go on everyday. My friends tell me, it happens everywhere. So what? I mean, should it make me feel better that since it happens everywhere it is ok if it happens here? Every time I read some great nationalist leader’s autobiography or anything that happened, I wonder what happened to the India they dreamt of? It’s good they are no more.
It’s not the country that worries me. I love it, with all it’s crowds, and it’s traffic jams and it’s pollution and it’s poverty. It’s the people who worry me. Even now I can overhear people how Gandhi or Nehru were wrong and stupid. I feel like sniggering at them. I feel like asking them “What do you know?”. I m not siding Gandhiji. I would never do that. Coz I don’t know what happened. All I know is a documented set of texts which claim how he got us freedom. All said and done we are free today. Is it not enough to thank our stars that we are free and get on with our lives? How many countries today are still slaves of another nation? We could be in that state.
But still we’ll have everyone cribbing about how wrong the leaders were………..
The next big doubt would be that this is Indian culture and is not to be “besmirched” as it is done in the west. J Christ, what culture are they talking about? If it is what our ancestors had and had tried to pass over to us, all that is gone. All that remains now is a shadow of that culture, remains of a past heritage and now it is an exhibit. An exhibit that makes India “different”.
I m not denying all that. I love my country and it pains me to see the things that go on everyday. My friends tell me, it happens everywhere. So what? I mean, should it make me feel better that since it happens everywhere it is ok if it happens here? Every time I read some great nationalist leader’s autobiography or anything that happened, I wonder what happened to the India they dreamt of? It’s good they are no more.
It’s not the country that worries me. I love it, with all it’s crowds, and it’s traffic jams and it’s pollution and it’s poverty. It’s the people who worry me. Even now I can overhear people how Gandhi or Nehru were wrong and stupid. I feel like sniggering at them. I feel like asking them “What do you know?”. I m not siding Gandhiji. I would never do that. Coz I don’t know what happened. All I know is a documented set of texts which claim how he got us freedom. All said and done we are free today. Is it not enough to thank our stars that we are free and get on with our lives? How many countries today are still slaves of another nation? We could be in that state.
But still we’ll have everyone cribbing about how wrong the leaders were………..
Saturday, August 12, 2006
The kite runner
The Kite Runner
It’s a wonderful book. A friend of mine gave it to me. I wasn’t looking for a book. I was bored and a long weekend awaited me. None of my friends were around and so I thought “wish there was a book”. All I did was ask around. I have always noticed. You read a book only when it is time for you to. It just waits for you to find it, biding it’s time. It maybe right in front of your face but you would not have noticed it. Because it’s not yet time for you to read it.
I didn’t expect much from the book. The author – Khalid Housseini. His name sounded familiar. But that’s where the recognition ended. When I get a book, my fingers itch to turn the pages J. Strange isn’t it? It was also the case here. Usually I decided whether to read a book or not by the first few pages. I started reading the first page and soon I had read 10. When I glanced at my wrist watch and saw how the time flew, I knew that I was hooked. Big time. With reluctance I marked the page and closed it. It was Friday and I was waiting to go home and complete the book. Friday night and with a book! As soon as I was home, I started reading. And as usual I couldn’t keep the book down. Soon I was into the book. I became one of characters, perhaps a casual by stander on the streets of Kabul. I watched Amir play with Hassan. I saw that it was always Hassan who stood up for Amir and never the other way around. I saw Amir’s jealousy when his Baba praised Hassan. After all, Hassan was just a Hazara’s son. A servant’s son. I saw Kabul in the 1970’s when peace prevailed. But there were always undercurrents running. Like a river biding it’s time to flood the town on it’s banks. I saw how Amir stood helpless when the street bullies raped his best friend. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t say a word to anyone. Why? Was it just because he was guilty that he couldn’t stand up to Hassan? Or did it mean more than that? It was the day Amir had won the competition in flying kites and finally made his Baba proud. His baba finally recognized Amir as his son. Was this the reason Amir didn’t tell anyone about Hassan? A childish jealousy perhaps that the attention would once again be stolen by Hassan. I wonder. I almost screamed out to Amir not to hide his money under Hassan’s mattress. Not to lie to his Baba that Hassan had stolen it. I cried harder when Hassan didn’t say a word when he was questioned just so that Amir would get what he wanted. Hassan left with his father. Nothing was the same anymore. The river had finally flooded the town. Kabul was taken over by the Russians. Amir and his Baba fled to Peshawar and then to New York.
The best part was when Amir returned to bring Hassan’s son back. The special bond formed by the little boy and his father’s friend. I learnt what it means to make promises to a child. You either keep it or don’t bother making it. I would read this book a thousand times over and not get fed up of it….hats off to the author…..
“………for you, a thousand times over!”
- The Kite Runner, Khalid Housseini
Often I wonder, is human life more important than what religion I belong to? I hope that this is not a story that happened. But I know all the atrocities that were done to Hassan's son and even to Hassan himself is not something new. This is just a book. We read it, think about it for a day, a week, a month at the most. But then what after that? Even as I write this I know somewhere a child's innocence is being destroyed. Isnt there anything we can do?
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