Tuesday, August 30, 2011

My pink umbrella

good bye my pink umbrella

hope you are fine wherever you are

like many things in my life
i left you behind
my careless self

then i just moved on
like i always do
to other, important things

missing you
only when it rains
and sometime too sunny
i just wish you're taken good care of

i sometimes blame myself
when i think of you
of not remembering you
to have left you behind
why did i not heed my fears
that i would lose you one day
of not seeing you till the end
of not being with you
when you grew old with me
of not given you the care
that you deserved
at the time of need

i cared for you cosmetically
not because of you
but because of myself
you enhanced me
by being with me
and so i preened
in your beauty

now that you're gone
i sometimes miss you
good bye my umbrella

hope your finder is not an ogre
hope you live long
hope you grow old
as dignified as you're now

hope your new keeper
loves you
more than i did
i say keeper
because you cannot be owned
you're free, you're your own
you help, without asking
you give, without taking

good bye my pink umbrella
fare you well

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Baggage

What i carried to office this morning

the smell of tea brewing
and that of desi ghee paranthas


a little bit of sleep in my lazy eyes
sound of the flush in the toilet
cooks haggling their prices in the lift

the smile of the old watchman
the tinkle of change in the rickshawallah's purse

cramp on my legs as i ran up the station stairs with those high heels
recognition in the eyes of my regular co-passengers
the dry dust of the station
the wetness of rain
the feel of the creek water and mangroves of my face
the stench  of rotting garbage
the clean bright green leaves washed by rains

the sight of  shitting bums
the smells of early morning ablutions


the push and shove at kurla station
the announcement of a train delayed
the wait at the platform
the scrutiny by the uncles and lads
the smell of shampoo on the wet hair
of the girl standing in front of me
the silhouette of a solitary bird perched on the electric lines
hide and seek of a centipede on the railway tracks

the tugging of the arm of a kid
by an angry mom rushing him to school
the smells of bajra and atta being turned to rotis
rising above the slums in matunga

the wave of a colleague
the hope of rains
humming of a pakistani song
the dream of anna in my eyes..

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Aarakshan

The states where the movie has been banned are missing something  which they will never know.

Prakash Jha already is up there making some hard hitting movies, dealing with issues which were mainly considered "art/ parallel" cinema and this time he gets just a notch higher for the guts to attempt a movie on reservation which will touch a lot of raw nerves . Yes, he does add masala to get it to mainstream, but does he do it with the master's panache.

The powerful performances of each of the actors  and the superb screenplay and dialogue can only be seen to be understood. A guy sitting beside me kept on hitting himself really hard, because he just couldn't stop himself. But go watch it. Recommendation from me, 4.5 stars.3.5 for the movie and 1 point for just attempting to make a movie on the subject.I don't give it a full 5 because the fairy tale ending is too Raju Hirani and not expected from Mr Jha and the script getting confused towards the end shifting focus from reservation to commercialisation of education and parallel private coaching system.

Mandal Commission gave its report on OBC reservation the year i was born in 1980. I can safely say that was also my first exposure to public outcry and violence as i started growing up. I was in Class IV when i saw jeeps being burnt, roads blocked, our classrooms closed because there was an angry mob passing by our school. I understood nothing except that those two words stuck. Mandal Commission.  I also remember talking about reservation at a District level debate when i was a class older which i won, putting across my views against the motion. That is,  against reservation. Coming from an upper class ,upper caste family, what else could be expected from me.

My father was my debate partner and opponent  during my growing up years and we had various people coming in to our house who had diverse view points and healthy and sometimes unhealthy discussions  were the norm and somehow my father always treated me as an adult and i remember asking all the awkward questions and holding my own. During that time, i did not really have an opinion but was cultivating one by copying thoughts, words and mannerisms. Yes, i hated reservation when i was growing up. But thanks to the airforce background, i could never become a casteist.In fact i wasn't exposed to caste differences or even the existence of the classes till my father took voluntary retirement and we were back at our native place. But did it hit me with a force. We lived in the "Bramhin sasan" and their were clear demarcation of areas for all castes and roles defined. We couldn't play with certain children, couldn't touch a few, and if we did we were made to have a bath at whatever time of the day and sprinkled with Ganga jal. Too early in my life i realised the dichotomy and the rebel that i was, broke all rules even though it meant taking multiple baths .

Like lots of other times in my life when i have been forced into questioning my beliefs and breaking them,  reservation too had its time. Incidentally, of all sectors to work, i chose the development sector and all my beliefs against reservation came crashing down one by one.Not in one day. Gradually.

I met people with disregard for people from lower castes. I could rephrase it as disrespect. They would hold them in  much disdain and would always put themselves on a higher pedestal of being all knowing and greater species. No fault of theirs' i guess.The nazist behaviour of the upper caste  Indians has been well documented and still goes on .It's a part of our culture and conditioning.I met people who hated people who were not their own. I went to places where people had different plates and times to eat, sit and talk. In the meanwhile i also saw the love and affection of people on the other side of the divide line. I also felt their repressed anger, their fear, their insecurity. Their trust had been broken so many times that they felt betrayed but still gave their unconditional love.

As i started understanding the history, beyond the history books and concepts, seeing discrimination first hand, understanding the background and future of the people and perceptions, so also began the journey of feeling embarrassed about my own caste and class.  I felt so ashamed when people, much older to me would treat me like god and touch my feet. I questioned if a person from my own caste would do it. The answer is "NO". No, they did not touch my feet out of respect for me, but because they had been taught to treat us like that. The "mai baap" , the demi-gods. I feel like a perpetrator of violence and injustice because it is us, the upper caste, who has since time before history's memories have taken advantage of the the underprivileged, because it was who owned and created privileges.I don't share my caste at any forum anymore, unless it is filling up of some form.

In more than two thousand years, nothing actually has changed. Look at the Forest Rights Act. The owners of the land, the Tribes and the Traditional Forest Dwellers, have had to pay a fine to access their own land, their mother forest since the then British Government demarcated Forests as Government Property. Sadly, British left the country but we are still following those 100 year old laws of the land. The owners of the forest, who have lived in those jungles have been branded as intruders. Funny, isn't it. Just look at the geological maps and statistics in history and track the exploitation of the jungle resources. The tribes have been saviours and the entire exploitation by them in History doesn't even match up to the exploitation of those resources being done by the government and Mining companies in one day. But. we still give out our jungles and the people who live there on a platter to those same violators, again and again.

Look at women in our country. Women fight deep rooted beliefs, which even the liberated men are reluctant to accept that they carry those belief systems in them. In Indian parliament women represent roughly 11 percent and majority comes from the elite class.Is it about merit?Are the women so merit-less that they can't  get elected?  Think about it. Women have never been considered equal partners in development and they are now weaned out methodically as science progresses. Ever questioned why the number of female foeticides is highest and sex ratio lowest in the states of india where education and per capita income are highest in our country? Think about it. Stereotyping and bias has nothing to do with education and class.

ST, SCs and OBCs have been traditionally exploited and kept away from the mainstream. Look at the statistics of these people in any sector, their representation, their ownership of resources and you will know. Also, the absolute numbers will give you an idea about the sheer magnitude and scale of this problem.  The supreme court in 2008 upheld the legislation providing 27% quota for other backward castes (OBCs) in centrally funded educational institutions, including IITs and IIMs.The economically well off, also known as the “creamy layer” from amongst the OBCs, however, will remain out of the quota’s ambit. A review of the quota’s continuation would have to be done every five years. Yes, some of them do belong to the creamy layer and certain debates and issues will still need to be addressed. Yes, there are merituous students from economically marginalised sectors but from the upper castes who still get left behind because of reservation system that does not bring them into its fold.

Yes, we will need to review our reservation system and policy and fight against it and never ever have a reservation. But not today. Because the upper castes, the men, the owners of resources with Government stamp and valid papers, the people with access to services of health, education and livelihood have won the race even before it began, while the marginalised, the underprivileged, the women, the tribes and castes on the schedules are waiting at the starting line, some still reaching there, with their legs tied, body parts amputed and voices muted.

Yes there are exceptions when men and women have excelled, but not because of anyone but despite anyone, as they were stronger, faster and much more deserving than anyone else. If they had had the same starting line, they would have broken all world records. I have met some exceptional men and women who are what they are just because of their strength, grit and perseverance. I also agree, not all upper caste people and with access to resources are exploiters. But in the end, these both categories are exception. Too less, too far in between.

Some years down the line, i hope to see everyone with the same strength and power standing at the starting line , waiting for the gun to go off. And then, we shall see.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Chaos

Random. Tension. Problem. Shortage. Running. Scampering. Agony. Pain. But still looking for balance. Hoping. Dying of hope. Still hoping. Craving for a day of solace. Not finding. Of wanting a holiday. Of never having the time. Of hoping against hope to get some stability. But every day is a chaos. Wake up. Run. Run . Run. Walk. Run. Work. Run. Plastic Smile. False laughter. Empty words. Broken Promises. Run . Run. Run.

The why. The who. The when. Why me? Why you? Why them? Why not me? Why not them? Understanding. Holding the thought and letting go. Trying to hold on again. But then everything flowing by.Giving strength. Feeling pain. Broken trust. Fairy tales lost. Again another dream. Dream. Dream. Dream.

What ? look behind. Someone there. Someone lost.But keep walking. Still looking behind.  Slam on to the wall. Oh. Look forward. What? Fog. No, it's misty eyes. No, a blank wall. Bang again. Turn. Run. Turn . Run. Back again. Circle. Pattern. Lost. No found. Lost. Lost . Lost.

Chaos. Chaos. Craziness. Of living like the dead. So many directions. Directionless. Of so many words. Of seeking silence. Seeking peace. Movement. Tiring movement. Sloth in movement. The journey stopped. No progress. No growth. Change. Change. Change.

Curve. Delving Down. Learning at zero. Worker. Non- worker. Bitching men. Manly women. Painful politics. tempers on short fuse. Egos in bull fights. Bull. Same old story. Painfully long. Stop. stop. stop.

Chaos.

Theory.