Sunday, December 18, 2011

Mini Mouse

Mini Mouse,

You are probably in the airport now
Bidding goodbye to your life in mumbai

Just wanted to tell you
you are already being terribly missed
by a crazy woman who's crazy about you
(and also probably by a few more
and the sev puri guy)

In another world she would have hated you
The indian american india hater
but that would have been in the other world
In this world you are more indian than she is
Proper, traditional in many more ways
made her realise
you don't actually hate india
but certain "indianisms"


what she will remember is to look at india
with the objectivity that you had
because you put india at par with the world
and showed her that we couldn't
do a "chalta hai" just because.
To sit up and take notice
and take a stand
not to take everything lying down
Just because.

Crazy Mouse, the conversations will be missed
The discussions on development, poverty and strategies
will now be dead
at least for sometime.

Will also miss the crazy sanyal eyes
the girly giggles at anything and everything
the ranting sessions
who else will be the alter ego
for the daily dilemmas
no one to hug to death

What obviously will be good
is that no more cheesy pizzas
no more craving for sweets
Though "mishti doi" will be sourly missed.

But also, no more chai session,
no morning poha
no one to shared the afternoon snack craving
no evening walking back together
no promises to exercise and diet
to break them


So mouse, take care of yourself
i can already see you rolling your eyes
at the public embarrassment
But what the hell
that's something i give you
a bit of my craziness
a public hug

Take care of yourself in the new city
And keep the faith.

Also wanted to tell you
i want that frock
and i will keep your cupboard

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Kaho Kya Khayal Hai


After a long long time, i have completely fallen in love with a song.The beautiful lyrics by Swanand Kirkire,who my husband thinks is the only person who has the potential to step into Gulzaar saab's shoes,  his beautiful earthy voice, the  haunting voices of Zeb and Haaniya, and the beautiful programme called "dewarists". After being away from television, this is one programme that brings me back to the tele religiously every week.

Before i go on and on..enjoy the song..

Deeshab ke tu az mehr ba baam
Mehr babaam aamada boody aamada boody

dhadkano ki taal baaje
saanson ka ek tara

aangan mein sajaye baithein
sooraj chanda taara

chalo baant lein hum zindagi
zara aaj yun kar lein
kaho kya khayal hai

ik jahan chota sa apna
ik jahan tumhara
muskaan chahe meethi ho
ya aansoon ek khara

chalo baant lein ghum aur khushi
thodi guftagoo kar lein
kaho kya khayaal hai

aap se do baat kar lein
yaadon ko jebon mein bhar lein
aaye hain hum kuch dino ke baad

yaaron ki saubat mein aake
dheere se kuch gunguna ke
yuhin kat jaate hain din aur raat

muthi mein tum bheench lana sawan hara
ek dhanak tum bhi tod lana falak se zara
muthi muthi baant lenge kirnon ka katra
ik sikka dhoop humse lena gar kam laga
betuk hi bematlab hans le hum
kyun na is lamhe mein
haan jee lein hum

chalo baant lein hum zindagi
zara aaj yun kar lein
kaho kya khayaal hai



Sunday, September 25, 2011

Rockstar

First movie this year that i am really looking forward to.



The promos are amazingly teasing, beautiful cinematography and the music by AR Rehman is as melodious and haunting only his music can be.The music keeps growing on you so much that you realise only suddenly in between a thought and conversation that the music is playing in your mind.

"Sadda Haq" is such a powerful song, showing the angst of generation today. Love the lines..

eco friendly
nature ke rakshak
main bhi hoon nature

rewazon se..samajon se..kyun..

tu kaate mujhe, kyun baate mujhe, iss tarah..
kyun sach ka sabak sikhaye
jab sach sun bhi na paye
sach koi bole toh tu niiyam kanoon bataye

tera dar..tera pyar..teri wah..tu hi rakh
rakh, saale...

The other beautiful song, The sufiana rendition that has become tradeback of the Maestro, "Kun Faya Kun", is beautiful. It means (God said), "be, and it is".

Nadan Parindey, Tum Ho are the other two beautiful songs..Mohit Chauhan is obviously the voice of the rockstar. After my husband introduced me to him, i have gradually fallen in love with the voice through the last three years. Strangely , of all the songs that have stuck to the mind and soul during this time , most have been renditions by him.
 
All in all there are 14 beautiful compositions, and since a long long time, this is the first music album i have wanted to buy ;) Go grab a copy.


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.


Sunday, June 12, 2011

It's so funny, you don't laugh...

Seriously.

Being religiously away from news channels and newspapers, takes me time to catch up on the great (non)issues of the world.

After the comedy circus of the baba doing a drag , it's the times of india starting a campaign against raising of the legal drinking age to twenty five.The first thing you think is who's sponsored the half page advertisement and the campaign? The second thought is of the billions of mumbaikers reeling under unprecedented rains, water clogged. Mumbai with its issues of housing, roads, drainage, sanitation, lack of infrastructure, increasing cases of violence and this is what is most important to the paper with highest circulation in english in mumbai.

Also on is the debate on the dance of mrs swaraj. Read somewhere an article likening it to the tandava. Well Shiva must be doing it now having read it. The reason for the party's protest is obviously lost and least important. Not the least funny is that the party is trying so desperately to find an issue to just be visible on national imagination and national television . Not to say trying to hide from public memory the yeduryappas and modis. Even worse , the lack of a strong alternative to the current government and lack of national leaders in a country of millions that's projected to surpass china's population in another decade is not so funny anymore.

There is a spate of hunger strikes on after the "success" of anna hazare's much televised, sponsored and advertised fast. They all are funny not because of the issues they take up but because you have to use "fasting", read blackmail, to make yourself heard by the government who should be doing it anyway.

Also funny are the arguments put forward by the in-power politicos, of not bowing down and not being cowered. Aah-ha. Does that mean, we aren't getting back the black money? yellow, green, red..whatever..but didn't we know that already?

The West Indies tour promises to bring up some funnier debates about money, endorsements, priorities, patriotism. I hope they get Mr Kalmadi, live from Tihar to do it.

Ms Mamata seems to have given back the disputed 400 acre singur land but the invitation to tata has also been sent.Isn't it funny? Only wandering in the tatas did set up the plant in the 600 acre would the peripheral acres be good enough for agriculture? But that's another funny debate.

That also reminds me of a certain mr ramesh for whom i had oodles of respect before he went cuckoo..or should i say, the parrot who can talk the propaganda. In Odisha, the clean government is doing its best to clean up the entire state's resources along with its forests. 

The really adarsh scam of all time may yet be the adarsh scam, but we are waiting still for the punchline. 

Funny, very funny.

But why isn't anyone laughing?

Friday, June 10, 2011

The Barefoot Dreamer



Sometimes..just sometimes my heart screams out...we bloody humans...

Human, humane, humanity.

Oxymoron, isn't it ? I sometimes fail to understand human beings. Even the wild animals live by better rules and ethics that humans. 

Every writer has once in his life said, these are strange times. I think times were never strange. It's just the humans who became stranger and stranger, a stranger to themselves and humanity. 

When people die, you rarely cry for them but more so for yourself, thinking of the pain, of the vacuum it will leave in your life. When i heard of M F Hussain's demise, i cried. I do not yet know what i was crying for. Was it the lost hope? Was it the utter senselessness of his dying in a foreign land? Or of losing a genius who always lived by his own rules?No, i do not know.

Even in his death , he is spectacular. He proved like many great people before him, that he did not live in any boundaries, so could the borders of any country keep him tied down? Even in death he unified. It's funny how the government rises to an occasion offering to bury him in india. Dear Government, you didn't deserve him. We didn't deserve a man of his greatness. Some say, he should have stayed on here and fought his critics, about his freedom of expression. Why should he have? Why? In this country where everything runs on blackmail and black money, why should he have cared? After decades of painting india internationally, he did not need to do it . Yes, we did not deserve him.

I think of his life, his journey and his end. All i feel is awe and reverence. In his death he has taught a lesson , at least to me. In life, you live only once. Live by your own rules. Sometimes, by not caring about boundaries you can create your own horizons. In life, people will always judge. In death, the judgements don't count.

The barefoot maverick , his signature long brush in hand, painted his own skies . I am sure, he is still walking barefoot on the clouds  and painting his own skies. 

[Freedom of Speech and Expression is one of the basic and fundamental right of citizens in almost every country in the world. But this hasn't stopped the fundamentalists in those countries to flourish and wield a power over governments and its people that has forced many artists, mostly writers, to live in exile. 

Tasleema Nasreen, Orhan Pamuk, Guillermo Cabrera Infante, from Bangladesh, to Turkey, to Cuba, from Germany, to Iraq , Tibet, Mongolia, China, Russia to Nigeria, people have lived away from there beloved land. A Reporter shot on the middle of the road, a painter burnt at stake, from Galileo to Da Vinci, they all have faced this at some point of their lives. From being charged with sedition to being labeled as extremists and enemies of the state , they have chosen to live in exile. These people live a life hidden from public memory, surfacing now and then, being criticised, and then remembered in death.]

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

A song to myself...

kahin dayra bana hai,  kahin aakhri sira hai
mahi bol bol haari, koi hai jo sun raha hai
ye koi jaane na,  ke dil maane na
bikhar jaaye na

 kaisa hai junoon ,kahin mile na sukoon
dekho kahin bhi qaraar aaye na
deewana hai kaun,  yahaan begaana hai kaun
dekho zindagi bekaar jaye na

koi bheed main khada hai, koi khud main chal raha hai
mahi bol bol haari,  yahaan jo hai besila hai
yeh saaton aasman, hum inke darmiyaan
bichad jaaye na

kaisa hai junoon ,kahin mile na sukoon
dekho kahin bhi qaraar aaye na
deewana hai kaun,  yahaan begaana hai kaun
dekho zindagi bekaar jaye na

chalti chalti jaaye ik aandhi, jo aandhi bhi nahin
manzil se kalai kuch baandhi,aur baandhi bhi nahin
jahaan raaste ne joda , wahin faasley ne toda
mahi bol bol haari yahaan sab ne haath choda
yeh koi jaane na ke dil maane na
bikhar jaaye na

kaisa hai junoon ,kahin mile na sukoon
dekho kahin bhi qaraar aaye na
deewana hai kaun,  yahaan begaana hai kaun
dekho zindagi bekaar jaye na

Thursday, May 12, 2011

31

If i had to find a theme for my year gone by, i'd call it the "year of trials and tribulations" .

I can't say it was good or bad, but one thing that stands out is the fights i have had.The fights with the world, with the family, with friends and with myself.

The fights of ideology, of long drawn debates, of the rights and wrongs.

The turbulence of shifting my home ground and creating a new home and hearth. The year of living away from my parents and developing small fears that haven't let me sleep nights. Of waking up thinking about my parents , my brothers and my beautiful small sister and not knowing what to do. Of staring at blank walls and seeing my life on it running on flashback.

The checks and balances of building a new relationship. The grinding of two opposites, the friction and attraction.

The cutting of my umbilical chord with my first place of work, my people , my karmbhoomi. And the wild fern trying to find a base in the manicured lawns of mumbai. Of breaking loose from a short stint at an NGO that was exactly opposite of what i knew and believed and then trying to fit in in another place. With unlearning my lessons and relearning. With changing my perspectives and getting a new perspective. Of trying to throw it all away and finding something even in throwing away.Of finding another karmbhoomi that i feel i can make a difference in and finding people who fight with me, argue with me, and still hold me when i falter taking my baby steps.

Of losing those friends and promising never to make friends again but falling into the trap of open smiles, dimples and soul-warming hugs..Of realising, it's never too sure with people and yet never too late to start trusting.

Of  losing a first life we created, even without realising we had created. Of not knowing how to react. Of hoping and losing hope.

The year of lonely nights, of tears shed. The year of confusion. The year of love. The year laughter of a new kind. The year of realising that you can win fights and arguments but still end up losing something much more important. The year of realising that it's sometimes better to be silent. The year of understanding that you are precious but not more than a lot more things. A year of realising that my life is based on little things, the small dreams. Of realising i do not want to win arguments anymore.

The year of realising that i've lived a life of the old woman long enough. It's probably time to live again.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

i am

i am vini. and i too have a story. and how i wish i could do it as beautifully as the movie "i am".

It's one of those movies that come and go at the box office but that stay with you for a lifetime because of the way the tell the stories you already knew.

A beautiful movie by onir, suri and humsafar trust talking very simply about issues within issues in four separate stories woven into the movie.

It's also a movie where the story is told not so much with dialogues but in pictures, expressions and amazing background score. The music haunts you and you are forced to pay attention to the lyrics which now a days is a feat in itself. The song "issi baat pe" by KK is a beautiful rendition and i love the sitar strings in the song..Bangur jaisi duniya (amazingly haunting music, texture of voice and lyrics), bojhal se, saaye aankhein, the other songs in the movie also stand on their own and are worth listening on those solitary walks or the long drives.

I was amazed by the number of co-producers. I realised a lot of people have believed in the story and the people who have made it and so have made sure that this movie got made. 

It now has made it to my favourite movie list for the amazing sensitivity with which the film has been made. Without being loud and crass it deals with very contemporary and real problems. A marriage where infidelity of a partner changes the life of the other person. Where the woman is stigmatised and still has the needs of her soul and body and has to deal alone with her dreams, her pain of her trust being broken and her belief in herself.A kashmiri pandit who has so much of repressed anger. What rankles you in that story are the sounds, the pictures and the beautiful dal lake. You could actually hear the collective disbelief  when dal lake floated by in the background like a swamp, no songs of happiness, no colours of flower laden shikaras, no apple coloued cheeks and no kashmiri beauties. Just dull plain "dal". It also shook me on how we have become blind to the issues that our beautiful kashmir still faces, the lives of the people who live and who lived there, of constant pain and retribution not complete.The story of an abused child where anuraag relives his own demons and you want to reach out to the child-man suri, who is struggling with the pain of his childhood, his love for his mother and his sexuality. And the story of the homosexuals, how they were and still are seen as persons to be ridiculed and taken advantage of.

And in these are interwoven the diversity of our country with at least 6 languages spoken, not counting the language of silence: Kashmiri, Bengali, Hindi, English, Marathi and Kannadda.Interwoven is the normalcy within chaos, the emotions that are never put into words and some funny lines.

Thank you all of you who have made this movie. I wish more such films are made.