Udaan- as a work of Art

Udaan- Work of Art

A peep into its morals

कहानी ख़त्म है, या शुरुआत होने को है
सुबह नयी है, या फिर रात होने को है|

The movie starts and ends with the above lines. Rohan, the central character faces the same situation in life twice within a short period. The situation being a crossroad, a do-raaha, where one is not sure what lies ahead. The possibilities can be between two extremes. One being the end of story and the other being a new chapter in life (indicated by the words of the song). The movie begins with Rohan being suspend from boarding school after being found guilty third time of indiscipline. He has been asked to leave school and head home. On the way he wonders what lies ahead of him, if this is the end of life or if it is a start of a new chapter ( the question being all the more important since he hasn’t met his father for 8 years). The end of movie is again with the same question. Rohan after much thought and spent anger decides to leave the house of his tyrant father (and take his younger step brother along). He is sure to leave behind his past, but his future is not certain. And it can take the two extremes of either being the end, or turn of a new chapter.

The movie is a depiction of Grey characters. Except the young boy (who is not old enough to have shades of Grey), all the characters have both something to hate, and something to love about. Even the most negatively portrayed character of Bhairon Singh (Rohan’s father, played extremely well by Ronit Roy), has a certain positivity in it. Though tyrant, he still has some principles. To start with, given all the frustration and loneliness in his life, he has not given up on the responsibility of his boys. He does have a chitran of what a man should be, and tries to shape his boys accordingly (though his methods are subject of criticism through out the movie). The other aspect of Bhairon Singh’s character is that though from outside he appears all strong, firm and heartless, but the movie is able to show the emotive side of him too. The man does feel lonely, he feels and admits the need of a partner (and hence goes for a third marriage, in which he is ready to accept the responsibility of a young girl).

The shades of Grey is what makes the character realistic and believable. The audience can empathize with all the characters. The world is not black and white, but Grey. The truth of world is subjective and not objective. Or in other words, the Truth needs to be contextualized for it to be realistic, believable and even relevant.

The movie is not a happy ending (as one is often used to in Hindi cinema). In fact the movie is strong enough to generate a need of a happy ending in the audience. And that is why it has the potential to leave the audience with a feeling being incomplete or unfinished (something which is still not over). One would leave the cinema hall with a need of a sequel-Udaan II. One might even start imagining and cooking the sequel of the film. And most likely, all the imaginations of the sequel would have the family being re-united. Untill then there seems no end. Untill then one wants no end. The beauty of the movie is that one still doesn’t hate Bhairon Singh and wishes for him to reunite with Rohan and his brother.

The word Udaan signifies freedom. It is about freedom after much effort. The bird flies after weeks of practice and millions of wing flapping. The last run of Rohan, where he finally manages to out run his dad signifies this Udaan. And its probably this, which gives him the final confidence of taking the leap into the world on his own (and the confidence to be able to ‘make future’ of his younger brother). The last run, is probably the most significant part of the movie and best describes its title Udaan.

Udaan- The movie

Kahaani khatm hai, yaa shuruaat hone ko hai

Subah hai yeh, yaa raat hone ko hai

The two lines struck some chord the first time i listened to them. Standing at the door of MMTS, looking in the dark outside with cold wet breeze on the face, I listened to the song. I was happy that the mp3 player was working again. And also about the decision to download the songs before starting for Adilabad. For most of the night in the train, I was enjoying the songs with the rains. This was the first tryst with the latest movie Udaan. The songs- music and the lyrics were strong enough to move me. The above two lines, were just too good (probably they came at the right time in my life). Im now able to appreciate the lyrics and Im now not afraid of listening to new songs.

And then I saw the movie. It was incredible. It has probably broken the last of the shackles of morality which im now too tired to carry. Sometimes its important to for some time keep aside morality. I feel its the right time now. I need to keep it aside, breathe freely, regain some strength and wait for the right time. Inshaah Allah!

Morality is important for saamajikta, but at times it can hamper one's journey of learnings. Or to put it in better words, half baked notion of morality can become a hurdle. And so in the hope to understand morality better, in hope that the journey would continue, I decide to give it some rest for the time being.

Aazaadiyaan!!

Beautiful song

आखों के परदे पर, प्यारा सा था जो नज़ारा
धुँआ सा बन कर, उड़ गया अब न रहा
बैठे थे हम तो ख्वाबो की छाओं के तले,
छोड़ कर उनको जहा कहा को चले|

कहानी ख़त्म है या शुरुआत होने को है
सुबह नयी है यह या फिर रात होने को है
कहानी ख़त्म है या शुरुआत होने को है
सुबह नयी है यह या फिर रात होने को है

आने वाले वक़्त देगा पनाहे
या फिर से मिलेंगे दो राहे
खबर क्या
क्या पता

Tryst with different kinds of Beggars

One thing you see in Indian cities prominently are beggars. Ive been vitnessing them, sometimes even confronting them and sometimes even sharing the same space with them now for over 20 years. But not untill recently i was forced to change my perspective towards them and see them in altogether different way. It now looks more like a professional industry and a beggar looks like any of the other office going person in morning. Of late i've met very interesting kinds of beggars.

As a kid i was told by elders in the family, that beggars are someone who choose not to work and think they can manage a living just like that. That perception has now been broken. Im not saying that beggars are people who want to but cannot work (due to various reasons), but im saying they work. And the work being the profession of begging. Yes, im daring to call it a profession. And now that ive started looking at it as a profession i remember to have met some very interesting professional beggars.

1. Tourist Beggars: During my stay in SIDH, near Mussoorie i realized that the beggars here are seasonal beggars. They come to Mussoorie during the summer months just like the tourists. And once the tourist season is over, they return to where ever they come from. For them its not only a means to escape the heat waves of the plains but also to earn some money. They move in families.

2. The lost lady in Agra: When studying in Agra, i met this lady at the Agra bus stand. She was well dressed and looked educated. While i stood waiting for the bus to arrive, she quietly approached me. She said that she is from Mathura, and somehow lost her money. And so needs some money to buy a bus ticket I knew she was lying, somehow the innovatiness forced me to give into her story. I dont remember how much i gave, but it surely was much more than i would give it to a conventional beggar. The best part is, i bumped into the same lady again at the same place after one month. She again approached me and told the same story. This time i had to say no. I told her that i had met you at the same place a month ago. She hurriedly left the place. That day she must have learnt a lesson that she needs to constantly change places or work.

3. Another lost lady in Delhi: it was the same story this time in Delhi. This rural Haryana lady this time approached me while i was standing outside AIIMS bus stop. She showed me a medical card with something scribbled on it. She even asked me to touch her hand to see for myself that she is running high fever. I didnt do it, but i again gave into the story. This time it was the nature of script and choice of words which was very powerful (and maybe also my liking of the Haryanavi language). Back then, it was my first job. I was working in this Hindi news channel and the notion of short, crisp but powerful scripts was part of my job. I was learning on how to make a News item (usually 30 to 90 seconds long) more interesting by use of words. The script was the most powerful component of the News item. And so this lady's powerful script, her choice of words was what made me give her the money. I knew she was lying, but i wanted to actually believe that she was genuinely lost in Delhi and that my money would have helped her reach home.

4. This time a couple in Hyderabad: The idea of being lost away from home is fast catching up. This time it was a similar encounter in Hyderabad. As i walked to IIIT, i saw this couple with a small child standing besides the road. The man wore a dhoti kurta and Gandhi cap, while the woman wore a red saree. The style of tying a saree (locally called 'Kaashte ki saree') said they were a Marathi couple. The man was carrying a small baby in his arms. As i came near them, they spoke the first line of the script. I dont remember exactly what it was, but it meant “do you understand Hindi or Marathi, please”. Just one line was powerful enough to stop a stranger who knows either of the language. Short and crisp. I knew for sure that it was not a genuine case of a couple being lost in a city where they dont even know the language. But the opening line and the costume they wore was powerful enough to give me ten rupees to them. I chose not to get into a conversation with them. Somehow i knew the whole script would be very powerful. It would be powerful enough to make me give more money or make me feel horrible for not giving. And so i quietly went to the lady and pressed a ten rupee note into her rough, wrinkled palm. I didnt even dare to look into her eyes. The script, the costume and then the acting (expressions in her eyes) would have been too much. If Shahrukh Khan can read this, the couple were great actors.

5. The singer who moved people: His was the most meldious voice i have listened in my life. He was a blind man, singing an old hindi film song “Tu ek paisa dega, woh dus lakh dega”. His voice, the rythm and the way he sang it made the whole experience very moving. And it wasnt only me, other people in the train were also moved by it. And the best part is, this man knew perfectly well how talented he was. He had the confidence that he could move people's heart. And therefore he would move very slowly. He would stand at the same place for quite a long time, singing and waiting. And people would sooner or later give up their pretention and take out some coins from their pockets. By the time this man, approached my column, we all were already ready with a coin in our hands. We all loved listening to him, because when he left, we quietly smiled at each other, as if saying the same thing to each other “what a singer”. I remember, when i put the coin in his small, wrinkled palm half cover with a dirty white kurta, i pressed his palm (thankyou, dont go).

6. The one with Hindi songs in Kerala: This beggar was probably the most interesting i've come across and also the most confident. I was traveling in Kerala in Netravati express (coming from Goa, going to Thrissur). And all of a sudden i hear a beggar singing another of those old hindi songs. At first it all looked normal. The song looked familiar (used my many baggars), the voice was melodious too and there was rythm too. But then all of a sudden it struck me. It was Kerala, a Malayam speaking state, very very far from the Hindi speaking states, and this man chose to sing Hindi songs. Will people even understand the meaning of the song? Why is he not singing some Malayali song? Will that not be more effective? But all logics defied, this man was doing decent business. I dont know if people understood Hindi or not, but they were giving him money. Probably for the same reason, why i gave him. The idea and courage to sing Hindi songs for begging in Kerala.

7. The English speaking beggar: This was most recent and probably the most hilarious of the lot. A beggar, asking in English. “Dear Sir, just one rupee please” he would smile and say. He did not give the look of someone who is in desperateness, but rather someone who enjoys his work. Or rather more accurately, he had that look in his eyes enjoying to see the amazement in people's eyes. Everyone was just amazed to see an English speaking beggar. And this was not the only line he could say. He could speak other English sentences too. “looking for change in the pocket, madam” or “child give way to pass” were other sentences i heard. This was too tempting for me to resist. I had to, had to give him. We both smiled at each other as if saying, “nice work man”.” thank you”. When he left, a fellow passanger joking said “Angrez chale gaye, ise chhod gaye peeche” and we all laughed.

The two couples

It was a night of two couples and us.

Suman and I were returning from a film screening from the Goethe-Zenthrum, a German institute in Hyderabad. A documentry called “I want my father back”, had been screened there. It was on the issue of farmer suicides, focussing mainly on the Vidarbha region of Maharashtra. Govt. Estimates more than 2 lakh farmers have committed suicides in the last decade in the country. It is something which has been never witnessed in the 10000 years history of this land. Vandana shiva, in the film refused to call them suicides. She instead chose the word genocide. The film indeed was moving, specially for both of us. It again made us feel restless, feel a sense of hurry and maybe also a sense of guilt. On our way back we again (like so many times earlier), discussed what possible things we can do which would connect us directly to the land, to the ordinary people and also ensure our livelihood.

It was 9.30 while we were still in the bus. The mess would have closed by now, and so we decided to get down at Indra Nagar for dinner. We had Poori and Uttappa at the Udipi eating place there. The food was good. After that we thought of having filter coffee at this chai wala outside the shop. Two young boys served some 10 varieties of tea and coffee. People loved it. Almost everyone after dinner at Udipi stops for tea/coffee at this stall. We were among them. I ordered filter coffee, while Suman went for tea. It was there we saw our first couple. They had come there for tea like others, but they were different from all of us. And that is what caught our first attention.

The man wore a dhoti and a worn out kurta, while the woman had a green saree on her. The man must have been in her fifties, thin and tall with grey hair. The woman was half her height. She had a biggish bindi on her forehead. Around her neck hanged a mobile phone. They had come there for chai. I loved watching them. To imagine a rural, illiterate couple come out for a chai made me smile. I was just attracted to them. Quietly, hiding behind Suman's shoulder i observed them (as if watching a celebrity couple). There wasn't much talk between them. They enjoyed their tea quietly. We finished ours, paid the chai wala and left the place.

We decided to walk to IIIT, not far now. The weather was pleasant, like it is suppose to be in summers in Hyderabad. The hot day, had given way to a pleasant night. A cool breeze was playing with the trees, watched by the half glowing moon. The traffic had reduced on the road, and so the walk back was peaceful. We talked about this couple, we had left behind. We talked about the farmers again. We talked about our plans (yet again). The couple reminded us of the farmers we had seen in the film. What made them migrate to the city? What work do they do here? Where are the children? Where are the parents, the cousins, the relatives, the neighbours, the fields, the water stream or the well, the rains, the harvest, the festivals, the celerations. I guess all that had been left behind.

As we were approaching the IIIT main gate, we saw yet another couple there. A dhoti-kurta clad man, with a baby in his hand and a saree clad woman were standing outside the SBH atm. They looked marathi to me, by the way the woman had wrapped around the saree. We knew what to expect from them. We knew as we would come closer this man would ask if we know hindi or marathi (as if saying they are lost in an unknown land, struggling with unknown language). We knew if we stop to listen to him, he would start up with some sad story of his life and then ask for some money. They weren't first such couple we had encountered.

And so while we were walking towards them, we wondered what to do. We wondered how to avoid them, what to say, what not to say. To avoid the inconvinience we thoughts its best to avoid a conversation with them. And so we detoured our path. Went round them, keeping a safe distance to pretend not hearing him (as if we would have helped had we heard you) and entered the gate. But all this had made us extremely uncomfortable. We knew that it wasnt a genuine case, but only another creative method of begging. But what if it was a case of a lost family? We repeatedly told ourselves, that it was not a genuine case, but the question of “what if” would not go. And so we stopped. Suman said "lets give them 10 rupees", not to help them, but to help ourselves sleep in the night. I put my hand in the pocket, and a 10 rupee note came out. I turned back and walked towards them. Inside i thought i would go straight to the lady, hand over the note and turn back. I would not get involved in any conversation with them. Didnt want to give them a chance to start with their story (of being lost in the city), which i knew was not true. As i walked to them, i saw they had managed to stop a young man. I saw the man stop, listen and then without saying a word, walk away from them. Just as he walked away from them, i walked towards them. The lady first saw me. I walked towards her showing 10 rupees in my hand. She stretched out her hand, and i kept it on her open palm. She then closed her fist, crushing the note in her hand. All this may not have taken more than a second. It was good enough for me to capture the picture of her wrinkled hand in my mind. It is still very vivid. The hand said it all. I turned back, and walked away. Suman looked at me and i looked at him. And we walked inside the campus.

So what was the story of the couple i wondered? No, not the one they would have told us asking for help. But the real story. Who were they? Were they farmers who were forced to leave behind everything? Were they farmers who still had the courage to fight and not end their lives, who still had some hope left. What was the story of the couple we met at the chai shop?

Trip to Pingoli with Kanwarjeet

Kanwarjeet and I met in Pune last week, where we also spent 2 days with Shruti. Shruti told us then about some village near Kudal town in south Maharashtra, where somebody still makes Pata-chitra (or paitings of stories which are then sung). Kanwarjeet had also heard a similar thing long time back about a man in village Pingoli near Kudal. He thought maybe it’s the same place. And so when I met him again in Goa, we decided to visit this person in Pingoli village. Kudal is about 80km from Panjim.

We left home early at 6.30am with a cup of tea and one rusk. It was raining cats and dogs that time. We had to take a local private bus to a town Mapusa, from where we would get some inter-state government bus for Kudal. The short distance private buses in Goa are called rockets, but one cannot see a slower bus than them. Anyways we got one, which dropped us at Kudal bus station. Soon afterwards we got a Kadamba bus (Goa state transport bus) which was heading for Pune. It was pass through Kudal. These are fairly comfortable buses, with ordinary fair and just one door which is at the back. This bus had two drivers, one sleeping and the other driving the bus. One driver would drive till Kohlapur, and then the other would take over till Pune.

Bus rides in this region specially in this season is amazingly beautiful. There is so much of greenery, its almost like a highway going right through a thick forest. There is rain everywhere, lakes and ponds along roads, paddy fields full of water and palm trees, and hundreds of seasonal waterfalls falling along side the road. We crossed two rivers on way to Kudal, both almost touching the bridge from underneath. Kanwarjeet said, its highly likely we may not be able to return as the water may cross the bridge by afternoon. It was exciting for me to imagine that.

Its so much fun to travel with Kanwarjeet as he has millions of stories to share. And like me, almost all of them are his own personal experiences. And just like me he enjoys to tell these stories and even repeat them with same enthusiasm again and again. I do the same, often being pointed out by friends that I’ve already told them this story. And I would always think so what, hear it again. So when KJ would do the same, I would make sure to listen to it again with the same enthusiasm and not stop him in between.

We reached Kudal bus station at 9am. As both were hungry, we went to a small tea shop next to the station, had warm tea with vada paav, chhole bhaji and poha. Yummy and only yummy it was. Warm tea on a rainy day is even more better. Pingoli village is 4km from Kudal bus station, and so we decided to walk our way in the rain. It was so much fun to walk through puddles of water, protecting oneself from the water coming from underneath due to passing vehicles and not worrying about water falling from the sky. And walking gave us more opportunity to talk and laugh. We reached Pingoli after a 20min walk, only to be told that we have come to wrong place. We were looking for Thakar Adivasi Kalaa Aangan, which actually was on the Kudal Panjim highway and not in the village Pingoli. And so we had to go back again to Kudal and then another 2km on the highway to the Kalaa Aangan. This time we took an auto back, which was run by an old muslim uncle.

It was pouring heavily when we reached Kalaa Aangan. We had already called up shri Parshruram Gangawane about our arrival, the man we wanted to meet. He was there waiting for us. Parshruam ji is from a tribal community called Thakars, who main profession was to entertain the people. For this they had 11 different types of art forms. They would have puppet shows, shadow puppet shows made from leather, pata-chitras or paintings depicting all the scenes of Ramayana and Mahabharata, magic shows like hitting oneself with burning hunters and not being burnt, then various songs about Devi Bhawani etc. Theirs was a very well organized community which for most of the year traveled (except the 4 months of monsoon) from village to village entertaining the people. In return they would receive so much, that it would be impossible for them to carry all that. And so they would either exchange the access with currency coins (copper coins with hole in them) or just dump the access in the village and move on. The whole calculations actually showed me that they lived with a sense of prosperity. It again questions our conditioning where we would believe a nomadic life is basically a symbol of depriviation. The Thakars wore minimal clothes. The men wrapped around a cloth like a langote, while the women in addition to this wrapped another cloth on top to cover the breasts. The minimal clothes on body was not a sign of deprivation but of the climate in this region. It being a hot and humid all round year, people here traditionally wear just enough to cover the essential body parts.

Interestingly, as we talked more with Parshruram ji, we realized Thakars were not mere entertainers, but played a more significant role in the lives of villagers. He called him the ‘Prabodhakas’ or people who give Prabodhan. Thakars gave lessons on values, on a sense of right and wrong, on morals, on way of living, on life to the villagers. If one understands this correctly, one realizes it’s a community which is highly respected and revered by other communities (and not outcastes or untouchables). The village Panchayat when unable to resolve a dispute, would take assistance of Thakars to help resolve.

The Thakars also served as spies for the king. Since they traveled extensively, they had a general sense of pulse of the people, boiling issues and even conspiracies. So the whole community in a way was like a huge, vastly spread system of spies for the king. Imagine a spy who also gives lessons on values and morals, and also entertain people by telling stories of Ramayana and Mahabharata, helps resolve unsolvable disputes, and also carries herbs and shrubs as cure for many ailments. Such a community is ought to be valued in a society and cannot be treated as out caste or second level.

All this raised a fundamental question in my head. When I travel and talk to people like Parshruram ji, I get a different picture of the society (a rich, dynamic, healthy society). While when others travel and interact with the same people, they get a completely different picture (of exploitation, rape, untouchability, starvation etc). How is this possible? Do we talk to different people? Or do we talk about different times? Or do we ask different questions? Ravindra Sharma once warned me. He said if you ask them what are your problems, they will tell you about your problems. If you ask them what are your strengths, your knowledge systems etc then they will tell you about that. And so it actually depends on what questions we ask people, and the way we present ourselves to them. I think it’s important for me to go to them as no expert, as no problem solver, as not the one with solution, but go to them as a student and just live with them and observe. Im sure there will be so much for me to learn. Im here not discounting the efforts of all those people who have gone to the field with an intention to help. I in fact have great admiration for them and their courage. But im only trying to make a point that im seeing a completely different image of India than what ive read in books or have been told. I must also say, that everytime im doing an honesty check with in just to ensure im in the student frame of mind and nothing else. Ive just started a journey, and there is so much more to come my way.

Anyways, the most interesting thing that struck me and KJ was towards the end. When we visited a small museum maintained by Parshruramji, a small board outside read ‘Entry fee Rs. 20 (Rs.50 for foreigners). Photography allowed with special permission on payment of Rs. 50’. Parshruramji had maintained a small museum of various art forms of his community, which many people came to visit. He told us, that earlier the artists got so much that it was a problem to carry all that. Later post independence artists were being treated as beggars. And so now to survive he has put this fee in front of this museum. This was very interesting for KJ and me. The height prosperity was when they got without asking. Then the depreciated phase was when they had to ask people and therefore were treated as beggars. And now the even more depreciated phase is when they have put a price tag on themselves and their arts. I believe this state is worse than begging.

I remember this time during Pune visit, when I stayed over at chi’s place with Charzal and Appu also being present, Chi felt that she doesn’t know the art of selling herself when going for a job interview. In normal terms to sell oneself is actually a symbol of extreme depreciated state of living, but in today’s times it has become an ‘art’ to sell oneself at the best possible prices in job interviews. Appu tried to tell Chi that now she need not sell herself, where as Charzal was giving her tips on how best to sell herself when facing an interview.

I always thought Charzal was one fearless guy I had never seen before. He came all the way from Manipur to study Engg in Agra, not knowing the language, having no contacts at all. Yet he took no time to settle down there, make plenty of contacts, adjust to the new environment and finally pass out with an Engg degree in IT. He then struggled in Pune for 2 years to get a job, when everyone else of his batch got into one. Yet I never saw him worried or scared. He always lived like a free man with a confidence to survive no matter what happens. But this time when I met him, for the first time I saw him scared. Like everyone he was scared of being layed off due to recession, or not get an increment etc. This was shocking for me. His job, his salary, his performance in the company, the money he was now earning, his lifestyle, all that had actually made him weak from inside. I understand for urban grown people like us to feel scared of being layed off, but when people like Charzal or even Amit Tomar start feeling scared it really worries me. They are people who are well grounded, who have the skills other than push buttons on keyboard.

Anyways, our meeting with Pashruramji concluded by 1pm. We came out to the highway and decided to stop the bus there itself instead of going all the way back to Kudal bus stand. It was pouring. A Maharashtra state bus came, stopped, but it was so fully we could not get onto it. The bus went. More rain. More wind. KJ and I were talking about the state of community and the wrong vision of government since independence. And in between there were so many stories to share. Just then, don’t know what happened a truck passed by and I waved to it. It stopped. I ran towards it. KJ said are you sure. Yes of course, I’ve traveled for 5 years in truck in college. “Bhau Sawantwadi”? “Ho”. And we climbed onto it, keeping one foot on the foot stand and other onto to the cleaners coach. It was familiar for me to sit in there. Reminded me of time in Agra. We reached Sawantwadi bus stand in 30 min, which was 14km from Kudal. We were hungry, and so again looked for a smallish tea stall. Had pooris bhaji and hot tea. At the Sawantwadi bus stand KJ met an old friend Neelu who stays in Sawantwadi. She was typical Marathi lady coming from somewhere. And then came our bus to Panaji. It was a Maharashtra state bus coming from Dasgaon, going to Panaji. We got the last seat right in the end. As we traveled back, we noticed this time the water had almost over taken the bridge. It was scary at the first sight. Another 30 min and we reached home. It was 4pm till then. Yashodara was worried that Anant still hadn’t return from school. KJ said not to worry as he must be playing in some puddle of water. And he was right. The little fellow loves to jump in puddles and get drenched in the rain.

Later in the night during dinner, we told Yasho about our experience. She would connect to her own previous interactions with tribals in Kashalay, a place near Karjat near Mumbai. KJ and Yasho had lived for 5 years in Kashalay with the tribals. At that time they did not understood many of their things. But now, both Yasho and KJ were able to relate to many of those things. We all were very excited, and the dinner went on and on never to be finished. Anant was excited too seeing us excited. A happy family, and I was happy to be part of it for whatever little time.

Dilemmas and Failures

The last few months (almost an year) has been full of failures and dilemmas for me. I came up with fantastic theories about life, about living and yet when it came to me, i failed to live up to them. I failed in my own theories. And that hit me the hardest. To fail is always painful, but its alright to fail in a concept which was given by someone else. But to fail in one's own concept is like falling in one's own eyes. and it is tough, very tough.

I was (and still am) happy about the concepts I came up with. They were my own concepts. They may not necessarily have been new, but the fact that I discovered them on my own made me proud of myself. It was like stumbling onto some aspect of reality on my own. It was like for once not quoting anyone, but oneself. And the more I thought of those concepts, the more foolproof I found them. I actually thought that they work beautifully well in life. And then came a time, when I myself quit on these very concepts. I for once closed my eyes to the reality I myself had discovered. Like for example I had this concept of 'Not walking out' in a relationship, no matter what happens. I called it the 'Bottom line'. I saw this bottom line in many Indian families, including mine. I saw this man full of anger and helplessness beating his wife on a railway platform. And with each blow he gave to his wife, his anger would increase. He was angry at himself for venting out like this on his wife. And then he stopped, and decided to walk away. He decided to leave his wife and a little kid, and just walk away to a new life, to a new beginning. I saw him walk to the end of the platform and then stop. He stopped. He could not walk away. He stopped, turned back and came back to his wife, who sat there watching him leave. He came back to her, sat next to her and started crying. The wife also joined him, and they both wept quietly. They made their own little corner in the middle of the platform, in middle of people walking, trains coming and they cried. They shared there sadness together. For me that was love and only love. Thank god I m not a feminist (and belong to any other ism), otherwise I could so easily have missed that love and interpreted the whole thing as a form of domestic violence. I only saw love in the whole episode. And my theory of 'Not walking out' in a relation got grounded then.
I saw a very ordinary man, who is probably struggling to even arrange for daily meal, did not walk out. I still believe the promise we give to each other, that no matter what we shall not walk out, is the foundation of any relation. But when it came to my relation, I chose to walk out. I kept telling myself, look you can't walk out, yet I did. It was like killing one's own theory, like proving oneself wrong. It hit me hard, very hard.
I now and sit back and think about what happened. And the only reason Im able to give to myself is that its a matter of gap between 'vichaar' and 'vyavhaar'. We first think, and then we try to bring it into our lives in the form of behavior and work. But there is a journey which needs to be traveled from Vichaar in mind to Vyavhaar in actions and then finally to work in life. And during this journey we learn a lot about the theory, we stumble upon those fine, little points of reality which we had missed. I tell this to myself and feel better about me. I feel its still a journey for me where lot remains to be learnt. And so I tell myself, it's ok to make mistakes. But then am I justifying my mistakes? I keep swinging between these two points, and hence the mood swings.

I thought a million times before putting it on a blog. I will do it today. And no editing this time.

Some left over traces of what we were

In the middle of the hills lies Timbuktu collective. Timbuktu, originally is a place in Africa which was considered to be far off from 'civilization'. I guess thats why Bablu and Mary decided to name their organization Timbuktu. They probably wanted to to be far away from the modern civilized world. Timbuktu is 7km from Chennekothapalli, the nearest village. It's in Anantpur district in southern Andhra, known for its scanty rainfall. Due to less rain, the villages are located at quite a distance from each other. The nearest metro is Banglore city, about 160km from Chennekothapalli.

It was lunch time, everyone sat together in the Pakriti Badi (nature school), one of the many schools run by Timbuktu collective. Eating with hands somehow made the food even more tasty. As I ate, I watched Subbureddy, serve sambar. He must have been 7 years old. His one arm did not have a wrist, but he was as efficient as others. The other kids too, took him to be just like everyone else. No one thought that he has some body part missing. And so there was no special treatment given to him in their behavior. This gave me a sense of reassurance. I always felt, we lot of times over do our care specially for those whom we feel have been hard hit by nature or society. I feel its a delicate balance one must maintain between taking care and not over caring. And so I called subbureddy. He served me sambar. Then I requested him to give me some water also. He put his bucket down, took the glass from my hand and went to the earthen pot. He kept the glass on floor, then lifted the lid off the pot, put it against his chest and held it using the other hand (the lid placed in between the little chest and the deformed hand). He then lifted the glass and put it inside the pot to fill it with water. And then again kept the glass on the floor. Then he put the lid back on the pot, took the glass and gave it to me. All this was one smooth action. It didnt require any thought from him. It seemed to be hardwired. I thanked him, and kept watching him while he continued serving sambar.

Kalyani took us to a village called Hariamcheruvu, some 7km from Chennekothapalli. We wanted to meet some weavers there. I saw a handloom for the first time in life, and a weaver weaving. It was an amazingly patient and humble job. The weaver would make the saree thread by thread. He would put one thread, then change the whole settings, then place another thread and then change the settings again. They say its a job of a mind which is calm and peaceful. It seemed so true to me seeing the weaver weave. And to have a mind in peace given all the economic hardships they are facing is simply amazing. I can't think of any other word than courage. And I think this courage comes from an underlying faith that things will be good. The faith in future, the faith in nature (or god). I believe its the same faith which Gandhi thought was India's strength.

We also met a shephard in Hariamcheruvu. A shephard is someone who makes threads from wool of sheep. He was 96 years old. He had quit working about 2 years back. He proudly told us that he can still walk, and read (and of course speak). Only recently he started having trouble with his hearing, but if one would speak coming near to him, he would understand. Kalyani asked him, if he still had some hand made thread left with him. He sure did. He started emptying his bag (made of old cloth). He slowly emptied it completely. Right at the bottom was a bundle of thread, he had made it himself from sheep wool. In every marriage this man is required to tie this thread around wrists of the newly wed.

Indian marriages (and even other festivals) are such that it calls for participation from every caste in the village. Caste is actually a poor word to describe the hindi word 'Jaati', which refers to profession. It is said, that 39 'Jaatis' or professions make a village. It means that on average each village would have 39 different kinds of professions in it (some may have more and some less). And so marriage is one such occasion, where each profession would contribute. The contribution of this man was the thread he makes from sheep wool. When he decided to quit working, he made sure he keeps stock of the thread with him. He keeps a list of people in the village who are of marriageable age. He is living for them to get married so that he can perform his duty.

The concept of giving, giving till the last breath is still strong in Indian society. To me it looks like one of the fundamental concept on which a society can be founded. This man was living to give. If someone tells him not to worry about his duty and just relax, Im sure he would die the next day.

Then something happened. I dont know what it was, but this man gave us a small portion of that thread. The thread was the most valuable thing he possessed. He gave a part of it to us. To me it is the most cherished gift I had ever received. I didnt know what to say. There were a few drops that made my eyes wet. We then moved on.

Next we visited a potter family in another village called Polepalli. The old potter was now ill, and so he stopped making pots. So his wife, borrowed some money and bought about 50-100 pots from near by village and stocked them. The reason was same. Just like the shephard, even a potter has a responsibility to perform in marriages (and other festivals). The lady potter wanted to make sure that her husband's retirement does not effect this responsibility adversely. She had borrowed money to make sure the family is able to contribute.

In one of my conversations with Kanwarjit, he had mentioned that its one of the most fundamental needs of humans to share. It's the need to share beyond our family which completes us. And I think this completeness is both as an individual and also as a society. But what we were seeing here was more than sharing. Or shall I say different form of sharing. The usual meaning of sharing is, that one first fulfills ones needs, and then share with others whatever is extra. But here it was different. It came from the concept of first sharing and then consuming whatever is left. This seems to be the foundation of Jajmani, whose trace we were seeing there.

Navjyotiji defines the word Rakshas as, “someone who worries about swayam ki raksha” ( a deamon is the one who is worried about one's welfare). Traditionally the concept has been to leave one's welfare into the hands of others, while accepting the responsibility of a part of others' welfare. The concept has been to give the best product of one's work to others, while keeping the left over for one's consumption. This has also been one of the very few critique of Gandhi I have come across. Gandhi insisted that one must first produce for oneself and then share the rest, while the weavers were of the view that if they take this approach, their profession would die. The profession would die if one starts keeping the best produce for oneself.

I feel there is still so much for me learn (and also un-learn). The prospect of more traveling, or meeting more people excites me more than ever.

The need for a private space

Private space! What does it mean? Why do we need it so much in today's time? Was its need the same even in previous generations? I do not know.

Me and many people i know of my generation feel a need to that space, which is just reserved for oneself. That one little space, that one little moment where one is just with oneself, where one can fully live an emotion or a thought. A space where not even we ask ourselves why are we thinking a thought or why are we feeling an emotion. It's a space where one faces oneself in the mirror truely. That is probably what this private space gives one.

So where do i get this space? I buy my own house away from my parents, to enjoy this space. Or i have my own room in the family house, which gives me this space. If not even a room, i at least have a few private moments in bathroom, which are just for me exclusively. Every one in my house finds whatever little private space available. I guess everyone needs it as badly as i do.

But there is one person in the house who doesn't have this space. She is Pooja, who has come from Bihar state to help us out in our work. She has traveled almost a thousand miles to wash our plates, to clean our floor, to wash our clothes, to make our beds every morning. And she is learning to do all that slowly. She is learning how i like my food being served, how i like to see my room. She is learning the way i like the sheet tucked in the bed, how i like to see the pillow placed on the bed. She is trying to learn the reason behind why eat different rice, while for her its different. She is trying to learn the meaning of what i mean by the word 'hygiene'. She is learning all that with full details and specifications.

And in between all this learning and making mistakes, she misses her family back in Bihar. She misses the open fields in her village. The idea of concrete walls all around is completely new to her. And so while she misses all that, she might also feel the need of that much valued private space. In my house, she finds that space either in one corner of the kitchen, or in the small balcony in my house or on the stairs in the building in afternoon when no one uses them. These are the places where she sits unnoticed, quietly trying to live the emotions and thoughts which she controls all day.

Dasvidaniya-what does it mean?

Dasvidaniya! Dasvidaniya. Wondered what it meant. Someone told me its a russian word. I heard this when the movie of this name released. In the film the character while going away from a friend waves and says Dasvidaniya. So i thought means saying bye. The word Alvida came to mind. Then when the movie ends, it says 'Dasvidaniya-The best goodbye ever!'

The best goodbye ever. The best goodbye ever.

I wonder what does the word ever signify here? Will there be no better goodbyes now? or will there be no goodbyes now? Is this goodbye the last goodbye, never to meet again? I still don't know.

Did I scare you?

It was a winter afternoon in Delhi. The winter sun is really pleasant in Delhi. Most people prefer sitting out in the sun on off days. We were all gathering in our Pitampura house. This is where my grandparents (nana-nani) lived. It was some family occasion, and we were all reaching there from where ever we had been. I was coming from Agra, where my college was.

Just as I entered the building, with my bag on the shoulders I felt as if the elevator had opened and someone just got in. I ran towards it, and just as the door could close, I stuck my arm inside. The door opened again. There was a school girl inside. I walked in.

I kept my bag down, and pressed number 5 for the fifth floor. Since I was coming straight from hostel, I did not get the opportunity to shave for the function. It had been more than a month since I shaved last. And so I had a good healthy beard on me (some people I know, might object to the word healthy here).

I started feeling that my look was making this girl a little uncomfortable. It seemed for her, the elevator was shrinking in size, and she wished for more space. It was also taking its sweet time to climb up to fifth floor. And it seemed unlikely anyone else would join us in it, as we climb up. I looked at this girl (being careful to not stare at her, just look). She seemed to be coming directly from her school, as she still had the uniform on and a little bag on her shoulders. She definetly seemed uncomfortable with me in the elevator. And was probably cursing the elevator for moving too slow. The distance between us would be not have been more than a feet, with only my bag lying in between us.

For some reason I kept looking at her. And she was looking everywhere but me. She looked at the door, then looked up the electronic display to see which floor we had reached. It was still the second floor. Then she looked at her wrist watch. It was a small cute wrist watch, much like those which girls wear. And then again she looked at the electronic display. Maybe she thought of getting down on the next floor itself, and then walk up the stairs. She wanted to take a decision, but she could not. It was one of those moments, where one senses trouble but isn't sure if it is actually trouble. Waiting for the trouble seems suicidal, while the fear of embarrassing oneself when there is actually nothing to fear of is also there. My friend tells me, how often girls face this dilemma in their lives. This girl seemed to be in a similar situation.

I realized me and my beard were making her uncomfortable. And the fact that I was looking right at her were making things worse. But I was still looking at her. To me, it seemed I know her. It seemed that I have seen this girl before, somewhere. It seemed I know this girl. But where? I just couldn't recollect. And while I was trying to recollect, I kept looking at her (which by now would have been staring at her).

"Nancy", I said loudly. She looked at me with a sense of amaze. "Nancy?" (this time it was more of a question. "Jhummu Bhaiya", she said loudly, with a sense of relief and excitement and happiness. It was a mixture of all that. She was my cousin Aditi (fondly called as Nancy in the family, as I was called Jhummu). "Kaisi hai yaar? Did I scare you?". She hugged me. We were meeting after many many years though we lived in the same city. Our mothers were sisters, and we were cousins.

Long time back, our mothers had some difference of opinion as a result we never visited each others' house. As we grew up, we started demanding seeing our cousins, meeting them, but somehow the opportunity never came. This occasion at my grandparents' house was the first such occasion in many years, where the whole family was gathering. And it so happened I met Nancy in the elevator.

The door opened, and we were on the 5th floor. The elevator which was moving too slow just a while back, seemed to have broken the sound barrier and got to the floor in a flash. As we entered the house, the whole family was there. All my uncles, aunts, elder cousins and even the younger ones. My grandparents were having a blast with so many people in there. In all, I think we were 4 generations in that house that day.

Mumbai day II -- Visiting Giriraj, Afghan Church and Hanging Garden

Day II begins from II Grenadiers mess. I get up early and go for a walk outside. The santri at the gate salutes, saying " Ram Ram saab". Each battalion in army has its own way of wishing each other. I guess for the Grenadiers it is 'Ram Ram'. 'Ram Ram' happens to be a very common form of wishing and greeting each other in western U.P. Once as a kid while I was going to my village along with dad, I remember a muslim man sitting on the way wishing us that way " Ram Ram ji" and my father responded back by saying "Ram Ram ji". I then asked dad, as to why a mussalmaan would also wish taking Ram's name. I don't quite remember his exact answer, but that incident left a mark on me. It just showed the character of our country, our society. We intellectuals can interpret this incident in anyway we wish, but that will not change anything.

Anyways, back to Mumbai Artee had to buy something from Tanishq which was located near Churchgate. I had plans to visit Giriraj who lives near Bombay Hospital, walking distance from Churchgate. So I decided to accompany Artee and Mausiji to Tanishq. It was 10am, and the shop had just opened. As we entered it, I already started feeling out of the place. What was I doing there? As we reached the counter a lady was already sitting there attended by a sales girl. The first sentence I heard in the shop was that of this lady, complaining why the air conditioner was not working. The day had just started, it was hot at all, but this lady wanted an a/c. It simply put me off. I told mausiji that I was leaving and would meet them in afternoon. I just walked out. Walked to Marine lines and sat on the platform facing the sea. Nice breeze blew across my face, and at that time of the day not many people were there. The traffic on the road too was minimal. Sitting there and watching the sea was really good. It was one of the few moments this time when I felt the sense of belonging to the city.

It was 10.30 am by now, and I called Giriraj. We were suppose to meet at 11am. When I had called him yesterday for an appointment, I made sure to use Kanwarjit's name. That made him grant me 30 min on sunday morning. I was to reach at 11 sharp. I walked to Bombay hospital from Marine lines. On reaching the gate of his apartment building, the guard stopped me. I told where I intended to go. On carefully seeing my twice from top to bottom he said ,"Chautha mala" (fourth floor) pointing towards the lift. The word 'mala' is used in Mumbai meaning floor level. In Delhi the for commonly used word is 'manzil'.

I rang the bell at exactly 11am. Giriraj was waiting for me. And we started talking. I spent first 5 min telling about myself, my research area and how Kanwarjit told me about him. After listening to me, he asked me a direct question (not wasting much time) "How can I be of any help?". "oh no no. I dont require any help. I just thought of meeting you. I heard that you had spent some time with Dharampal ji when he was in Wardha. And I thought you would be able to give me some guidance regarding my research area." He looked a little surprised to me. I think he had assumed, I was there for some work. Being a senior IAS officer, many people must be visiting him through some reference for some work or the other. And he thought I was one such person. It took some time for him to realize that I was just visiting him 'Bas Aise Hi'. The concept that someone would visit without an agenda at all seemed so difficult to believe. In modern time, I would be called a 'vella person'.

Well soon he became pretty comfortable and we began talking. I could sense his comfort by his body language. He became a lot more informal now. Folded his legs and sat on the cot. Spread his arms. While he spoke, his hands moved more freely now. I too became a lot relaxed. I bent backwards and used the back rest of the sofa. Soon his wife came and served me Poha. Aaah, lovely. Poha and vada paav were two things I was missing desperately. Soon the 30 min were over, but we were just talking. He was talking about his experience in Yavatmal distt when he was posted there as a collector. His interactions with the farmers and artisans. His interactions with Dharampal ji. His understanding of the Indian culture, and it being a possible solution to all modern day problems. He also talked about the critique of Indian tradition, esp the dalit question. And the major challenge was to mould Indian tradition in todays times. Soon it was over an hour. I was wondering when to ask for leave. He then asked me, "how busy are you today?". "Not much I said". " Good, then lets have lunch together and continue this conversation"....

What to say, I was glad. This man too was enjoying this meeting, just like me. He then went inside and got some old photographs. Then he got a dhoti, which was hand made by some tribals living in Andhra-Orissa border. He showed me the quality of the cloth, and the work which was put in to make that dhoti. We then talked about weavers and other artisans. I told him about this book which Kanwarjit gave me recently 'Art and Swadeshi'. We then had lovely south Indian lunch. And after lunch again we talked. Our 30 min meeting lasted for 2 and half hours. It included a nice yummy poha and a lovely lunch. I was really happy to meet him, and Im sure he too was. He then directed me to the bus stand, and told me which bus to take for Colaba.

I reached back at the mess. In the evening we went to visit Mausaji. Artee also took me to Afgan church, one of the land mark in the cantt area. It was built by the British after the Afghan war. Later in the evening, Artee took me to a drive. We landed at the Hanging garden in Malabar hills. An old Gujju lady guided us to it. It seemed a nice place. A green patch in the middle of concrete jungle. People had come out in the evening for walks. All kinds of them, old couple, kids playing, old parsi women, fat men and women trying to burn body fat. So we decided to walk round the park too. It was too tempting for me, and so I took out my sandals and walked bare feet. I was also trying to see how Artee would react to it. I also wanted to encourage her to walk like that. But she didnt. Then she said, lets walk on the grass. The grass was wet, and I could feel it. It was more fun walking on grass bare feet. I then told her what Abey George told me some months back. I told her, we hardly get a chance to touch soil in our lives. Most of the time we touch concrete or plastic or rubber, but no soil. After this, she too took off her shoes and socks and walked bare feet. I don't know how she felt, but I was really happy to see her 'break free' (in my terms).

We reached back at the hospital by 8pm. Then I had dinner. And then by 9.30pm I decided to leave for Vashi. My mausaji and mausiji there were getting worried. They didnt think much of the idea of me traveling late in the night. I took a bus from R.C church for CST. And then a local train at 10.20pm for Vashi. I reached home at Vashi by 11.30pm. I was glad to see Mausiji and Mausaji. I kind of felt free also. Took off my clothes, with just my chaddi on. I was at home now, kaisi sharam.

Just aise hi.....

I wrote this letter to a friend, which came out well in the end. And so I thought to post it on the blog too.

Heylos,
Im sitting here wondering what to do. and so i decided to do what i like most, write. just aise hi.....no agenda at all.

let me tell u in detail about my mumbai trip.

day1
i got up at 4.30am. the train was standing at dadar station. it looked so much familiar to me. probably the 4th time i had taken this train to get to dadar at this time of the day. but this time, i was going further. i was to get down at cst (or vt, as most people still call it). reached cst at 5 sharp. got out of the station and asked a person which bus would go to afgan church. he showed me the bus stop from where i will get the bus. there were no buses at that time of the day, but there were taxis. shared taxis calling for navy nagar. they would take just Rs.10 to drop me at afgan church. But then i thought this is too early to go. People wud be sleeping and i wud unnecessarily wake them up. I decided to just wait at the bus stop till day break.

there was another person standing at the bus stop. just the two of us. at first the person looked a guy. short hair, dressed like men, sport shoes. But a more closer look told me she was infact a gal. I love gals who wear sport shoes, and so that brought me a smile on my face. I dont know why, but she resembled artee to me. I had not seen her for some years now. Didnt really know how she looked. and this gal was in some way resembling her. But then if she was artee, she would have recognized me for sure. or is it that I too have changed? The latest pic she saw of me was with beard. This time I had no beard. I kept thinking all this while standing there. she too just stood there at the bus stop. so what was this gal doing so early in the morning? did she come this early to avoid the crowd in local train, or does she like me enjoy the early morning? and why is she waiting at the bus stop? take a cab and go where ever she wants to. maybe she too likes to just sit and watch people come and go.

then from nowhere a little cat came. meow meow!! stood next to me and more of meow meow!! then came two sweepers, who started cleaning the pathway. and then came out the sun. it was day break. good enough time to wake people up even if they are sleeping. and then came my bus. It was route number 125. It was headed to navy nagar, and afgan church was to fall en route. the bus was was Rs.5.

I reached afgan church in less than 10 min. it was the cantonment area. I had never seen Mumbai so green. And i could smell fish. The sea must be really close, I wondered. I called up artee from there. As expected, the lazy bum was sleeping. Good i waited for an hour, I thought. She directed me to walk back on the road, and then take a left before a big tree. I saw the big tree and started walking towards it. For some reason, I saw this army guard standing and I asked him for directions to II granadiers mess. This guy was from Haryana. Just listening to our style of Hindi made me feel so happy. It has been sometime since I heard that accent. And to hear it in a completely unexpected place is so much more fun. Anyways, this chap asked me to just walk straight and not turn anywhere (unlike artee's direction, where I had to turn left). so I just walked straight. And I walked out of the cantt area. I realized, my sis was more intelligent than this chap, and I should have listened to her. So I turned back. I started walking back to that big tree I had left behind. I saw this car coming towards me, really slowly. And just as it approached me, "BEEP! BEEP!", full blast horn. "Arre maine kya kiya, main to side mein hi chal raha tha. the whole road is empty". Must be a lady on the wheel I thought. And I was right. It was Artee. she had come to pick me up. I got in the car. It had been years since we last met. Before I could start yelling on the loud horn thing, she started " I asked u to turn left from big tree....seedha kyun gaya....boom boom!! dhishum dhishum!! rat tat tat!!.....non stop machine gun fire.....ufff!! yeh ladkiya subah subah bhi kitna bol leti hai....

we got back into the mess. and there was mausi ji waiting for us. I touched her feet, and she blessed me with her best wishes. for the next few hours (and then later for next 4 days), Artee's machine gun never stopped. And my ammunition never took off. soon, along with words, she also started throwing things at me. at first the pillow, then deodrant bottles, then whatever she could her hand onto. She had changed. As a kid, she was suppose to be this quiet little gal, who wud never speak, just nod in yes or no or just give a short and quick smile. "kya pagal ho gayi hai kya yeh?", I asked mausiji.

next we went to the naval hospital where mausaji had been admitted. its called the ashvini hospital. its suppose to be one of the two major military hospital in India, the other being R&R hospital in Delhi. It was right at the sea. I have never seen such a clean sea in Mumbai. Its how a sea is suppose to be. There were ships anchored at a distance. The morning sun was beaming down on the waters. This part of the sea, lies of the eastern side of Mumbai. So the reflection of the morning sun was something most Mumbaikars dont get a chance to see. The reflection from the water was so intense, it seemed like driving in front of a high beam truck on the highway, where one doesnt see anything but light. Later I realized there was a light house in the see, which I couldn't see due to this glare.

I met mausaji and Tuhina bhabhi. Mausaji had gone really weak. Had never seen him like this before. He was on bed rest for over a month now. Tuhina bhabhi probably didnt recognize me. The only time we had met earlier was some years back in Meerut. At that time there were too many people, and she could have easily missed me there. This was in a sense our first one on one meeting.

The whole day I spent at the hospital. I was all quiet, and just observing things, people, buildings. The army, had always attracted me as a kid. I was fascinated but almost everything about the forces, their uniform, their hair cut, the way they walked, the way they talked, they stood. All those things had moved me, inspired me for many years. But not this time. It all looked so alien to me this time. It was the first strong indication I got in some years, that I have changed as a person. Something which I was passionate about, something which moved me even in dreams, seemed so ordinary this time. I just could not relate to it anymore. I was surprised to notice this in me. I kept thinking about this thing in the whole of trip.

At the end of day 1, I decided to stay back there for the night. We ordered an extra mattress from the mess and I slept there only.

Trip to Mumbai- Looking West!

I just returned back from a week long trip to Mumbai. This trip was in a sense completely different from all my previous trips to the city. Either the city had changed, or I was seeing things this time which I missed earlier. Mumbai this time looked more of Bombay. It seemed, everyone there was trying to 'look' like west, trying to 'pretend' like west, trying to 'become' like them.

The man at the ticket window didnt understand which place is CST. When I told him VT, he understood. In the whole of Cantonment region, I didnt find a vada paav seller or a tea stall. Vada paav and tea were something I found every 100 mts in the city. The street market at Colaba, for some reason named cause way. The common term for it has always been 'pattri bazaar'. It took me sometime to figure out what cause way meant. Every second person in the train seemed to be plugged into some music device.

One hoarding near Kurla station station read "learn Hi-Fi English in 30 days". I wondered what the term Hi-Fi meant. And why would this term be so attractive. Isn't learning English attractive enough. I guess not anymore. I'm not sure what exactly they meant by it, but I assume 'Hi-Fi' meant learning all the slangs and also the accent to speak with. The language to me seems to be less important than showing off through it.

I visited a senior IAS officer who lives near Churchgate. My idea was to just go and see him. He took some time to actually believe that someone had come to visit him just like that, no agenda at all. He asked me twice in what way he could help me. And I had to tell him, I was not there for any help. I just happened to be in the area, so I visited him. The good part is, that soon he became comfortable and our planned 30 min meeting went over 2 hours which included a nice lunch too. I guess he too was glad to meet someone who just dropped in "bilkul aise hi".

One morning, I walked in this Tanishq store at Churchgate with my cousin and aunt. A lady who was already there, was complaining about the air conditioner not working. It really pissed me off. Why would one need an a/c in morning. It wasn't hot at all.

So am I judging all these people? What am I complaining about? After all everyone has a right to choose the way they want to. Thats how freedom is defined. well yes ! I guess I'm only saying that this time I felt so much out of place. Mumbai always seemed great to me. I always felt at home in the crowded local. But this time I felt lost. And I guess it showed all over my face. I was more the usual quiet this time.

The part of the trip which I really enjoyed was the sea. I was visiting my uncle at the naval hospital in south Mumbai. This hospital is next to the sea. I loved the time i spent sitting in the hospital grounds, looking at the sea and the ships anchored. This part of the sea, lies of east of Mumbai. So I had the opportunity to see the sun rising from the sea. The reflection of the rays from water was so much, that one could not see the ships anchored.

On my way back, in the train there was this blind man singing and begging. His was the sweetest voice I had ever heard in my life. He was singing some old hindi film song, a sad song. And the way he sang, made it all the more sad. When he approached our column of seats, people stopped talking, and listened to him. The good thing about him was he was walking very slow. So he would spent a good amount of time at each column and then move to the next one. I somehow felt, he had faith in his ability to sing. And he did really sing well. Not only me, but others also felt compelled to give him something. It was something I had not witnessed ever in my life. Such a sweet voice and lovely singing. It seemed I was getting back into my world. My world of ordinary men, of ordinary moments of happiness, of appreciating small incidents happening in my life. I missed them so much in Mumbai this time.

What is India- part II

This is my second post on the same question, What is India? Who is an Indian? What do I mean when I say "Im proud to be an Indian"?

Today in the Gandhi course, Pranav raised this issue and we had some discussion on it. Though in the end the discussion became a bit aggressive (mainly because of me, dont know what I get aggressive), but the question is still unresolved in my mind. Who am I? What is being Indian?

Prior to 1947, everyone on this part of the world was Indian (or hindustani). Then there was a power struggle and some bad politics was placed, which resulted in modern India and modern Pakistan. Does that change the identity of the people living in it? All of a sudden people in a village became Pakistanis, while half a mile towards east, their friends and relatives continued to be Indians. And in this decision, they had no role to play. If tomorrow say India was to get divided again into India 1 and India 2, then what will I be? Will I still be an Indian? What identity will I give to my children.

This is difficult for me to imagine, but I'm sure it's a real question to the people two generations back who faced partition. This question is also relevant to those living on either side of LOC in Kashmir.

Does our identity come from the 'name' of the land we live in, we were born in, our ancestors belong to? Do we identify ourselves with the land or the 'name' of the land? Do we identify ourselves to land or the people? Am I born in the land called India or am I born in a family, in a society which consists of people. Will I still relate to India the land, if the people change (say we go to Europe and Europeans come here)?

These questions are still unanswered in my mind, and the more I think on it the more aggressive I get. I dont know why.

But if someone was to ask me how to identify Indians, or what is distinct about Indians, then the closest answer I can think of is, Indianess is a way one relates to land. In this region of the world, I feel there is a distinct way of relating to land, of the way one sees land (matr bhoomi). This definition of course does not hold true for those of us who live in cities. But I feel, one who is born in a village, who lives in a village, who does farming, for him there is a distinct relation with land. And this relation is the same in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Srilanka, Nepal, Bhutan etc. But as I said this is the closest answer I could think of, and its not fully accurate. Im still looking for a better definition of what an Indian is.

Movie wish list

Im thinking of organizing a film festival in college, and for that I have a few movies in mind. I have managed to get some, but still looking for a few more. Below is the list of movies I'm trying to get, so if anyone has them, please let me know.

Movie wish list
1. Children of Heaven - It's a persian movie. I want one with subtitles.
2. Power of community
3. The constant Gardener
4. Ek Ruka Hua Faisla - It's a hindi remake of 12 angry men
5. Prahaar

First attempt at writing a poem

I walked down the road
to realize after a while,I was alone
I had walked out of the city
when others were trying to get in

I walked out bcoz I wanted
to be in the wild
the wild wild
and not the cultured wild

The city got too sophisticated for me
there were just too many rules
too much of pretentions
and too many judgments being formed

I wanted to experience the wild
wanted to see the harmony
wanted a breath of fresh air
and so I decided to walk out

The wild is all quiet
and the wild is vast
for the first time I see no walls, no advertisements
I hear no music, no news

But now as I have walked
I find myself alone
no one came with me
I asked no one to come

This loneliness is new to me
it is something I have never experienced
Im too used to people around me
Im used to sound around me

Why am I scared of being alone?
I never thought I would
I was suppose to be strong
but I find myself weak now

I look back at the path I took
I think of going back
but I cant
I cant go back

Why cant I go back
I have developed a disliking to all that
the never ending advertisements
the need to always pretend

but there is another reason which stops me
I fear what will people say
those people whom I had ridiculed
I can't face them

I have stopped now
Im not going forward
neither am I turning back
I stand there and just look around

While I stand wondering
I miss you
I wish you were here with me
Why did you not come along?

Trip to Konkan & Kerela- Day 6

Entering Kerala-Hindi songs, meeting Kavitha ji and the best compliment i ever got!

I woke up at Mangalore station. Mangalore was to be the last station in state of Karnataka. After this Kerala would start. Thrissur was to come by 12.30pm.

The beggar in the train, was singing an old hindi song. That was totally unexpected and the only reason I could think of was that this beggar was not from Kerala, but from north. I wanted to ask them, but did not. I was conscious, of what people will think of me. I still have the feeling conscious thing left in me. Sometimes I gather courage and do things without bothering much, but sometime like here, I dont take that step.

Around 11.30 I got a call from Abey. He asked me to get down at Shoranur Jn, which was one station before Thrissur. He told me to take a bus from there for Thrissur. His home falls on the Shoranur-Thrissur road. The train had entered Shoranur city and was about to reach the station. I just had a few minutes to pack my stuff and get down.

When I got down, I remembered Kavitha ji was suppose to be here too. She had been coming from Hyderabad, get down at Shoranur and then change trains for her hometown Kannur. And if her train was running on time, she should be at Shoranur now. I called her up, and yes she was there. She told me to come to platform 2. It was so good to meet someone totally unexpectedly, in an unexpected territory. We just kept smiling and laughing again and again. I gave her a book of puzzles for her 5 year old son Anand. I had bought this book in the train.

I got the Thrissur bus, just outside the station. Language was to be a problem here. I had to explain the conductor that I need to get down at Vellapaya before Thrissur. I decided to right the key words on a chit of paper and show it to him.
I wrote: Shoranur Station---> Thrissur bus---> vellapaya

He read that and understood. He said something in Malayalam, which I had no clue of, but I understood what he meant. He was assuring me not to worry. He would let me know, when my stop comes.

This was my first bus ride in Kerala. Here they dont have glass windows. They have kind of a shutter on windows. When it rains, the shutter is pulled down, and otherwise the whole thing is open. The reason for this is, that Kerala can be very humid. Glass would be a very bad material to use to humid climate, especially when you have 50 people sitting in the bus and perspiring. You need a lot of breeze, wind.

I got down at Vellapaya, and took an auto to KILA (Kerala Institute of Local Administration). This is where Abey George works. The guard at the gate, without me saying anything asked me if I was Harsha? yes I am, I said smiling. He said something, which meant follow me. He took me straight into the mess for lunch. He told the lady there, that Im guest of Abey saar, and that Im a vegetarian. The lady served me lunch. It had rice, along with 5-6 other items. All seemed familiar except one. I asked, what that was. Fish, she said. In this part of India, Fish is considered vegetarian. When I asked for water, she served me warm water. In Kerala, they serve warm water with food. All this was new for me.

Then came Abey. I was so happy to see him. He asked me to finish the food fast and then accompany him to a meeting with the local Panchayat. In the car were Jyothi and Arunima. I had met jyothi just once earlier about 10 years back. She had come to her house, and my mom was very happy to know that Abey found his partner. My mom was always worried about him. For me Abey had always been my hero. He was a student of my mom and so would visit our house almost everyday. There he would have long discussions with my father on issues of development, modernity,culture,environment,gandhi and all that. And I would just sit with them and listen. He then one day left for Narmada Bachao Andolan. He returned after a few months, to complete his Phd. He had been my hero since then. We were meeting after 10 years now. I was meeting Arunima, their daughter for the first time. She was 3 years old, and had probably for the first time seen a guy from north.

We all went to the Panchayat office for the meeting. In Kerala, 33% of the state budget is directly distributed to the village panchayat. And so as a result, the panchayats are very strong here. Though most Panchayats either waste the money or spend on the usual things like making roads and all, but for some one who is looking to do good work, alternative work, there is scope. Abey, with this panchayat was working to revive the traditional water harvesting model. Over the years, as a result of concretization, the water table in entire Kerala has gone down. To recover that, water harvesting can prove vital. And so in this regard was this meeting.

I was also happy to know, that his son Adityan who is 6 years old, studies in the village school in Malayalam medium. Which other professor would send his child to a village school? No one does. English medium is what everyone looks for. To see Adityan, was again a sense of reassuring.

The whole evening I spent playing with Adityan and Arunima. Adityan could manage a few english words, while Arunima just talked straight to me in Malayalam. I would not understand a word she would say, but she would still continue to talk. And the only response I had was "..uhh, ha". Sometimes it would be really funny too. Arunima asked me (in Malayalam of course) if I would want to have bath in hot water or cold water? My response was the same, "....uhh, ha". she then ran to her mom in the kitchen and said what kind of answer is that. When Jyothi told me all this, we all laughed loud, with Arunima wondering what is so funny.

Abey was to leave by 11.30 train for Thiruanandpuram. He was to spend a day there and then return the day after. So I had only a couple of hours to talk to him, before he returns. Our conversation started on an unexpected note. He wasn't too happy for the fact that I was taking up Phd. He didnt think much of doing Phds and academicians and also thought that Im taking a big jump from Electronics Engg to Humanities, Indian culture and all that. We had a serious, sometimes heated discussion. In the end we had to stop it, as it was getting late, and he was to get ready. Just as our discussion ended, he said to Jyothi "you know what, he reminds me of Satya ji (my father). The way he speaks, what he speaks, the way he stands everything". I was moved, speechless. We were all quiet for a few seconds. I guess no one knew what to say. It was the best compliment I had ever received in my life. I thought of my mom.

Trip to Konkan & Kerela- Day 5

I had a train for Thrissur in the night today. The train was from Madgaon. I had planned to spend the day in Panjim, and then take a bus to Madgoan in the evening. The train was at 11.30 in the night.
In the morning, Kanwarjit's uncle and his cousin arrived. Both of them were sikhs. I thought I would ask Kanwarjit, at a suitable time, why he is not a sikh, why he cut his hair? The effects of sikh riots in '84 and then the militancy in Punjab can still be seen. I never found that right moment, where I could have asked this to Kanwarjit. I guess, our friendship still need to build more, before I could ask this.
The whole morning we sat in the kitchen and talked, while it drizzled outside. I must have told Yashoda and Kanwarjit, how happy and inspired I was to see them,their lifestyle. I just felt like telling this to them. Their's was life, I had always thought of living. They slept on the floor, ate on the floor, ate with hands, cooked for themselves, cleaned their house themselves, had no TV. Seeing them, I felt reassured. I felt, yes I wasn't dreaming something unreal. Such a life is possible, and can be lived. There are people living like this. And they are proud of themselves. I was proud of them too.
I asked Kanwarjit, how he managed his finances."Money has always been an issue", he said. But there was no remorse in his voice. It was like saying, although he his struggling for living, but he his happy that he took this life. This was a live example in front of me, where money is a problem, but its not a hindrance to their happiness, to their sense of achievement, to their commitment to nature and society. Its no big deal in the end. I always knew all that in theory, but to see it practically was reassuring.

In the afternoon I went to Panjim city. Went to the Miramar beach again and sat there. Not many people were there at that time of the day. Sometimes I was all alone. The sea was rough. At a distance there were few boys playing football. This is one of the few places in India, where cricket is not seen. I haven't seen anyone in Goa play cricket. Football yes. I found a cyber cafe near Miramar. I had to write a blog. There was so much in me, I had to write all that.

I found Artee online on gtalk. She told me, she has a friend who works in Panjim and gave me her phone number. I called Sharon, told her my name is Harsh and I got your number from Artee. We decided to meet at 3.30 at some restaurant near the boathouse. All this while she kept calling me 'Hari' or 'Harish'. I wanted to correct her, but just felt shy.

I waited outside the Mandovi restaurant, waiting for Sharon to arrive. I would at every woman passing by and wonder if that was her. I had told Sharon, that I m wearing a Khadi Kurta and blue Jeans, so that it would be easy for her to recognize me. I guess, in Panjim I was the only guy in that outfit. Not many people wear a Kurta in the cities. Well, she came and she recognized me. One just needs to look and smile, and not say anything. We then went to this one of the rare vegetarian restaurants. While I had Paav bhaji, Sharon had tea.

At 5.00 I had to reach Kala Academy, where Kanwarjit would meet me along with his son Anant. Anant takes his flute lessons there. There were a lot of children there coming for music or dance lessons. While Anant went for his classes, Kanwarjit and I sat outside talking. It had finally started raining now, the kind of rain I came looking for. Kanwarjit had brought some old puzzles and books which Anant had used. I was to take them to Thrissur for Abey's kids. The idea of passing on the toys from elders to someone young seemed so sensible to me. I always used, toys of my cousins, cricket bat, hockey stick, carrom board etc. Every child in the city need not buy a toy. But then what will happen to the market, to the shops, to the factories?? I can just smile at that....

I took a 7.00 pm shuttle to Madgaon. Roamed around the markets there and then walked to the station. In Madgaon, I saw my first slum in Goa. It was a cluster of 5 houses in between the Apollo hospital and station. The thought of whole Goa being slum free felt so good, but also seemed impossible. I was at the station at 9.30. While entering it, the guards thoroughly checked me and my stuff. They checked my ticket and asked me all sorts of questions. I felt that little sense of fear in me, although I knew I was clean. Why did they pick me out of many others? I still dont know.

My train, Netravati express came on time at 11.30. It had been a long day and I was tired. I just crashed into my birth.

Trip to Konkan & Kerela- Day 4

At Kudal

In the morning while I woke up I heard the sound of rain. Finally there was some. I have been chasing the rain, but they have been running away from me. I came to Hyderabad from Delhi in the hope that it would rain good,but it did not. Then I took on this trip in the hope of some rain, but it did not. And finally I heard it pouring in the morning. It would be my day today I thought.
When I got up, I realized there was no water. The water did not come and we were careless not to fill a bucket before going to sleep. Bloody hell. I needed to shit badly now that I was off the bed. I could have managed a bath as it was raining outside, but how to manage shitting. I was stuck. The idea of not to shit at all seemed a little too uncomfortable. I thought I could go behind the training centre in the open and use the leaves. But just then I saw an open tank lying in the open. Since it had rained all night, the tank managed to catch hold of some water. And this water would give me liberation.
The breakfast again was that of Vada Paav. Next we went to Konbac office to have a discussion with Sanjeev. As we were to leave today for Goa, we wanted to clear some doubts we had with him before leaving. At his office we saw a familiar face. We seemed familiar too. Hey its the same lady at the resort yesterday. We were so happy to see her again, totally unexpectedly. Her name was Prema, belonged to Delhi and worked with UNDP. Under that she works with many NGOs across the country. One such organization is Pradaan working with tribals of Jhanrkhand and Orissa. Prema was in Konbac to see their bamboo work and see how the tradtional knowledge of the tribals are be made accessible to the market. And so she was here to meet Sanjeev.
Prema too was headed to Goa and she had a cab with her. She offered us a lift and we gladly accepted it.
On our way we stopped at Sawantwadi at a dhaba for lunch. While Prema had a non-veg thali (fish and prawns and mutton, you name it) we had a veg malvani thali. I just tasted a piece of prawn from her thali.
Prema dropped us at Panaji, the capital of Goa. Panaji is on the banks of river Mandovi. We thought to just take a stroll along the river, as it was evening time and then leave for kanwarjit's place. We must have walked for about 40 min, when we reached the sea. It's called the Miramar beach. It is where the river meets the sea, an estuary. I was seeing this for the first time in my life. The slow and quiet meeting of fresh water into the salty water of the sea. We also realized that we had walked across the whole Panaji city.
We then came back to the main bus stand and from there took a bus to Porvorim, where Kanwarjit lives. On the way was a place called Coquirrin, named after a restaurant. Outside the restaurant is a statue of Charles Shobraj seated and handcuffed. I was told be a local that it was here that he was caught for the third time. Charles Shobraj is an infamous murderer and thug, who has number of cases against him in many countries. The India police had caught him twice before and each time he managed to flee from the jail.