Wednesday, December 31, 2008

The Day Before Tomorrow

Celebrations galore have appeared all over the globe today to bring in the new year. Rays of hope have appeared on all horizons. Or reappeared, in most cases.

I wish everyone a fabulous year ahead.

Here's a tiny gift to usher in the new year - a short story written in a span of 3 hours in the afternoon of 31st Dec.

It's an experimental narration. Rein in the criticism with that in mind.

The Day Before Tomorrow

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

I, Whistler

I know not where I am born
In yellow leaves, or curtains worn
An eagle’s wings
In predatory flight
Or the flapping gulls
Soaring in delight

A shape I have none
Yet I get twisted and spun
Into the forgotten nooks
O’er the speeding train
Tilting caps on cops ‘n crooks
But letting their wiles remain

I gurgle the river, I whistle into the blue
I awaken the street where you grew
Windows shake and rattle
Howling Me and Yelling Them
As victims of a raging battle
The running tots, the hurrying dame

The mercury’s an easy con
But ye folks fight with brain and brawn
Polka scarves ‘n mafia coats
Flap and flutter
While woeful words and quotes
Beneath your breaths you utter

Your teeth chatter
While I play with matter
A universal clatter
All still I shatter
You curse me, you love me
I make you mad as a hatter

If by now, you’re still in doubt
Even after our feisty bout
Look closer, throw those gloves
Offer me the proverbial doves
For ‘tis me, your good ol’ friend
The wind from around the bend

Monday, December 15, 2008

Great Expectations

This morning I woke up thinking it was yesterday all over again. That feeling lasted for a minute. Deja vu spoils me slowly, especially when the morning milks boils over, recedes and then boils again. But more spoilt am I by the longings and the yearnings packing my mind like festive train passengers on a holiday eve. Here's a peek into them, with the top ten things I am looking forward to in what remains of this year:

A languorous and never-ending Saturday morning.
The scarcity of weekends recently has been a matter of great concern for me. To appease my craving for hopping around places and meeting people, I have run myself short of a perfect Saturday when nothing is planned and the only alarm clock to wake me up is the slant of noontime sunrays falling on my face through the half-open blinds. But well - I look forward to that, whenever that occurs next.

I look forward to the first proper snowfall in the city, after a 30-minute shower of tiny flakes inaugurated my experience with snow two weeks back. For reasons known and unknown, my trips have never been to snowy regions so far and thus I still remain a snowstorm-newbie.

I await the upcoming trips to California and Florida over the next two weeks, the former professional and the latter personal. One plunges me into the world of hedge fund administration (gibberish for a normal human being) knowhow which I hope to enjoy, and the other marks a pledge made with my little sisters two Decembers back to reunite outside Singapore within two years.

I await my new 3G iPhone due this week and my hands are active with a zillion itching cells raring to run amok over its crystal-black surface and prance on its touch-points. My faithful companion for two years, the Sony Walkman phone, shall be elevated to the status of a gift for someone selected through my own lottery system (probabilistically - a local friend, but historically - Mom).

I am waiting for some laywer in India to procure enough courage to fight on behalf of Kasab, the lone terrorist caught alive in the Mumbai carnage. Regardless of his dastardly crime, he deserves a lawyer who can atleast tell the court whether he should be hanged or left to suffer for the rest of his life in an Indian jail. The dumb bar associations and right-wing nationalists in India do not realise that without a defence lawyer, his prosecution cannot proceed. Ofcourse, under it lies the simple fact that with such a stance taken, they are opening a new course to the Indian judicial system - punishment without trial - which makes the Indian justice system no different than that held by the Taliban and the tribal chieftains of Pakistan. They cannot even declare him a Prisoner of War (and thus imprison him indefinitely), because there is no official war in progress. Why does self-serving sheer logic bid goodbye to educated civil servants such as lawyers? Did any doctor refuse to treat his wounds when he was captured? Or does a cook refuse to make him food everyday? I am retaining my confidence that some lawyer somewhere will struggle against his/her demons and do what the profession demands.

I await the release of Valkyrie and Ghajini, the former hopefully turning out to be a genuine seat-grabber depicting Nazi Germany, and the latter to be another memorable epic from Aamir Khan.

I am waiting for one friend to finish his MBA applications satisfactorily, another to tide over his ongoing job uncertainty without hiccups, another to dig his way out of his self-derision, one to give me my photographs and another to cook that dinner she had promised me.

I count the days to resuming the fantastic game of poker and spreading its trickery and its contortions into the sober social panorama in which I have displaced myself into, and then sitting back and enjoying it.

I look forward to this twilight zone of the year coming to a close, with the first signs of a fantastic January coming up that marks a BIG milestone for me.

But most importantly, I am waiting for the first morning now when I wake up without the attack of the deja vu, when the gates of the mind swing back from the realm of the illusionary dreamscape into the noise and proximity of the real world, without creaking back into a time-twisted arc of confusion.

And these are just tips of the iceberg of expectations that floats in my mind, the iceberg against which the colonial ship of the "Centre of Cynicism in the Cranium" has collided.

The night sky of the mind is crackling with SOS messages from the ship:
Great expectations found! Rescue needed!

Monday, December 1, 2008

Deadlock in Disturbia

(Warning - Religion has been discussed in my thoughts below. If you know me and are offended easily by religious discussions, then please ignore this post)

The sound of gunfire is a rarefied phenomenon in real life, occupying its own realm in movies and far-off hellholes like Iraq, Afghanistan and Kashmir. But it kept me glued to the TV last week, watching with cinemascopic horror the Mumbai events. A Thanksgiving holiday break became a painstaking viewing of the anarchy that spread like wildfire through the billion and more psyches that call India their motherland in some way or the other.
The hair on my hands stood up on its toes as I pictured myself locked up in one of the rooms of the Taj hotel, talking to a friend on the phone one minute and ripped apart with bullets from a steely-eyed maniac the next, and left to writhe and die with a grenade stuffed into my mouth. I even dreamed of it at night, picturing myself running down a smoke-filled corridor only to jump out of a burning window and keep falling - a fall that never ended while the clothes on my back burnt off and a thousand sneering faces looked up at me from the ground. Of much agony were some dreams, born and snuffed out in the throes of sleep, only to remain as fragmented memories the next morning.
Here we are again - watching ourselves die on the screen, abusing the politicians and cursing Pakistan in our sleep. While 183 people died live on TV, we were urging our leaders to 'take action'. The hapless leaders in Mumbai and New Delhi ran amok and pulled their political caps in all directions to make sense of the situation and to appear in control. Heads rolled and are still rolling, candles were lighted in cities across India and a collective assertion was done that Pakistan must be punished.
'India is great and we shall prevail', the martyrs who gave up their lives shall be a part of history, and the 'perpetrators shall be brought to justice'.

Hogwash.
Absolute, mind-numbing, fancy-coating, self-assuring, vanity-serving, pseudo-patriotic hogwash.

Nothing's going to change in the long run and more people will be shot and blown apart. It's a mere function of time and circumstances that we are alive unlike those poor people who perished.

It's simple. And I shall put my case forward in three points which cannot be measured in the traditional scales of 'right' and 'wrong'.

Firstly, our favourite scapegoat - "The Goverment". All fingers point immediately towards the Government, which is eternally inept for us. They let security collapse, they let intelligence go to sleep and they are unable to come up with a solution. It's always they who are to blame. That single driving thought fills our consciousness with a self-redeeming righteousness. 'Oh what can a single citizen like me do?' While we are busy pursuing our confused goals and working out the next best deal in life, the burden of governance and defence still remains on the shoulders of old men, harried bureaucrats and struggling middle-class security personnel. As long as they remain the dominant force in India, our country shall remain a third-world country. Forget the miniscule proportion like us who constitute 'Urbania' and vote for 'Progressia'. The swarming and teeming populace will face the same demons again and again. And again. And again. They shall continue to worship the Thackerays, the Modis, the Gandhis and images of themselves on shiny surfaces. While driving each other out of their cities, and mobbing each other to undignified deaths. And one day they shall die in a brilliant but insignificant flash. All this while, harbouring a volcanic hatred for Pakistan. That is the future of the country, which shall not crumble but shall never be at peace either. So it's not the Government, but us. Us, who from the cradle to the grave, rock in lethargy and are hardly awake throughout our lives to the truth that true emancipation comes from individuality and ownership. Not from road-raging, Bollywood-drooling, women-worshipping, backbiting and festive foolishness, but from a true understanding that in order to make a country wholesome, each and every individual must be educated, must be taught how to shoot firearms and must first identify himself or herself as an Indian when asked - where are you from?

Secondly, our bad old unfriendly neighbourhood masked crusaders from across the border, the very basis of whose existence is the crumbling of India - as a country and as an idea. If the ability and the motivation of Pakistan to watch the demise of India is removed, they have no fuel for keeping the collective psyche ticking. The helpless few decent men in their Government (yes I do hold the opinion that those men are well-intending though stupid) are but mere puppets in the hands of the militia which runs the country. It's nothing but a Somalia with a rich history. With the exception of the tiny fragment which thinks globally due to either having lived abroad or being amazingly insulated in their daily lives even while living amongst the hordes, that patch of land between India, Afghanistan, Iran and the Arabian Sea is a giant camp of disillusioned, fearful and often psychotic people which believes it is a nation because it owns a nuclear arsenal, has a seat at the UN and can pay its cricket team to travel abroad to bowl fast and score centuries. I do not fail to sympathise with one who is born as a Pakistani, into a life of history books preaching Indiophobia, anti-Semitism, and childish civics and legalities. If I were in their place, I would probably grow up to be what they are. For most human brains do have the logical nerve centre which makes him or her believe that he or she is right. The Pakistanis need to survive, to see another day. Their society is a bastard offspring of British political lust and the immoral recklessness of Islamic fanaticism. How do we expect them to change? Self-preservation is their right and the only means for them to try to achieve it while maintaining their identity is to continue to do what they are doing. Which is why we see today's blackmail put forth by them to move their troops from the Afghan border where they are fighting the Taliban to the Indian border, thus forcing the West to be shy of supporting Indian aggression. It's a desperate move which is frankly unsurprising. The icing on the cake is the manner in which the Pakistani media is hinting that just like the Americans engineered 9-11, the Indians have engineered 26-11 to turn the world fury onto Pakistan. The lines between truth and propaganda are icy trickles on a hot summer day.

Last but not the least, and turn away, all those who consider my atheistic side to be blasphemous - religion itself. For as long as religion rules in the minds of human beings, Islamic fanaticism shall grow, Christian conservatism shall breed in fear, Hindu self-righteousness shall cling to itself in spearheaded panic and Judaism shall keep its horns sharpened against the others. Each is a devious version of the others and none are worse. Islam has simply put the truth at the fore and is thus at the receiving end of the brickbats in today's world. No religion is free from evil for the basis of religion is fear based on fictitious supremacy of the unknown.

For these reasons, above all others - India shall continue to struggle as a so-called secular, multi-cultural, diverse idea while trying to keep terror at bay. Governments shall come, governments shall have votes of confidence and governments shall go, but the triangular deadlock of our lethargy, Pakistan and religion shall always keep us miles behind where we should be were they not around. We are not an example to the world - for every space satellite which reaches the moon, we have mobs rioting in cities, for every brave commando who dies fighting terrorists, we have an idiot who cheers for a Thackeray, for every dollar earned in revenues of the booming economy, we have a woman raped in some city or village, for every word that we write, we have a growing regret that we wish we had gone through military training and had held the gun that shot a terrorist dead.

For every scene of Disturbia that I see in the media, I hope I don't dream of it when I sleep tonight.