sunday morning feeling

Most of my other (very few) blogs have been about realizations or venting or learnings. But this one is just purely to state that I am at this moment completely and utterly happy.

Its early sunday morning and I am in Dehradun sitting in Shruti's apartment with a hot cup of tea with creamer (creamer always makes tea so much more fun) with kishore kumar and lata mangeshkar crooning tum aa gaye ho noor aa gaya hai lightly on the laptop.

travel, music, good food and friends snorning away in the next room... does one need much mmore? :)

recently someone mentioned that being able to appericate the beauty of early mornings is a gift... one that you carry with you for the rest of your life. I would tweek that philosopy a little bit and say the ability to appreicate these moments - any moment - morning noon or night - is the bigger picture. "The smaller things in life" is an overused statement, one that has almost lost all real meaning. but its true... those who say it and, more importantly, mean it know what they are talking about.

so juat stopping for a moment and etching out on to this virtual space of confessions and ramblings that this moment (as delhites would say lightly) "sahi hai"

disclaimer: they are not actually snoring... just a figure of speech

reading woes

standing in front of shri kalyanji temple in Diggi (a few hours away from Jaipur) I realized I am indeed illiterate. Carved into the stone wall of the temple was the history of the temple. The person who accompanied me to the place waved his hand affectionately towards the writing and said "everything you want to know about the temple is written here".

I stare blankly at the wall... pretending to read what looked like gibberish to me.

This experience of not being able to read is not new to me. In fact, I've spent the majority of my life in a country where I couldn't read the local language. But I had never felt that to be a handicap. Or more so, a fact about me that I was embarrassed to admit to someone else.

Later we sat at restaurant and a menu in Hindi was placed in front of me. My colleagues insisted that I decide what we'll have for lunch. Once again i started at the menu. Thankfully, my numerous visits to restaurants like these had given me a good idea of the kind of names that should appear on a menu.

"anything is fine" I squeaked out sheepishly. What must have seemed like shyness or some sort of politeness was actually just inability to read the menu. I was surprised at my own hesitation to just tell them things as they are... after all its not just a big deal. right?

Later on, i realized it was not so much admitting that I do not read Hindi rather than the assumption that I do read it that made it so difficult speak up. One might say, and i do so believe often enough, that i have enough excuse for not reading Hindi. At least I read my own mother tongue. Yes, I smatter through it... but at least...

Perhaps thats where nationhood comes in. Not knowing Thai never bothered me but I can't seem to hold the same perspective towards Hindi. It's all the more ironic considering the nature of my work and many inferences during all these trips to education and literacy.

Of course the space between realization and action still remains. Two books lie dustily on some shelf somewhere around the house. Both promise to make me proficient in Hindi.

The change has been that in the past few days I've remembered that those books exist and have in some way been convinced that its time i put them into use. Maybe thats the blessing Kalyanji's bestowed on me: a flicker of who I should be, now that I am here.

The Human Face

I just came back from the Tri-continental Film Festival. “Human Rights in Frames” is what it is all about. Of the two days out of the four during which I managed to catch a few films, I was left with this deep sense of disgust. The films, naturally, captured gross human rights violations all around the world in a sincere effort to tell the stories of some very brave people. Most of these people are tired of being depicted as victims and just want their voices heard and want the world to realize that only collective efforts can bring about some kind of change. Many of the films that I watched just left me shuddering within – how can people be so inexplicably cruel? These stories stretched from India to Tibet to South Africa to Burma to America. At some level you like to believe that people turn cruel under strange circumstances – desperation, provocation, poverty… something. But these stories left me completely baffled – what one earth could the problem be? What can possibly make an individual so coldhearted that he/she inflicts such imaginable pain on others? Worse still, is this ‘tradition’ of cruelty being passed on from one generation to another?

The last film I watched today was one by Hana Makhmalbaf titled “Buddha Collapsed Out of Shame”. It is the heart wrenching story of a girl trying to find her way to school and all the obstacles that stand in her way. The brilliance of Iranian films, I feel at many times, is the way they use the simplest of situations and characters to tell the most amazing human stories. This one, like many other Iranian films I’ve loved, uses children to convey some very grim facts of our world. As a bunch of boys surround her on her way to school and start “playing war”, you can’t help wondering how in the first place these boys thought of a game like this. They ask her to raise her hands and stand within a designated circle as they dig a grave for her and prepare to stone her to death. The most chilling thing is that you never find out throughout the film if they really mean to stone her to death or if it’s just a game of pretentions.

As the end credits roll, I couldn’t help wondering if this is a bleak prediction of where our world is headed. Yes there are a lot of efforts around the world to change the way people think about each other but there are still children being born into hatred and unthinkable horrors. And the sad thing is, can you expect a child who has been born into unfair treatment to grow up and treat others differently?

What I realize is that there is such a huge task in front of us to be as human as possible. I know I am miles away from these horrific stories but I also see behavior around me that is disappointing enough; acts of disregard, selfishness, humiliation and prejudices that really make me wonder if we are headed in the right direction.
I know you cannot blame humankind for atrocities that are happening in certain parts of the world but then the fact that these things are happening and there are powerful people who are not doing anything about it leaves a sour taste in the mouth. So what needs to be done before governments and other agencies really stand up and say “we won’t let this happen”? I know at individual levels we can do our own best with whatever it is that we can do, but what else? How do we change fanatical minds that have no regard for human life?

I guess films like these is one starting point. Awareness of what is happening is so essential. At least it makes one feel that when the time comes one will stand up and fight against cruelty.

At least I pray I will.

Crab apples, Cornflakes and Questions of Homesickness

My mother picked crab apples
off the Glasgow apple tree
and pounded them with chillies
to change
her homesickness
into green chutney.

This poem by Imtiaz Dharker and Ashima (in The Namesake by Jumpa Lehari) adding chillies to cornflakes to have something that tastes like home are perhaps the two most touching moments of homesickness that I have come across.

It would be too simplistic to say that homesickness is about geographical boundaries. Having grown up almost entirely in a country that is not ‘mine’, I know that it is possible to transform ‘home’ and its subsets of culture, traditions, languages, emotions, values etc into cassette tapes, satellite television, cans, flight tickets, celebrations, concerts and tea parties. Believe it or not, I grew up playing gulli cricket in a country that has no idea that a game like this exists.
So let’s shed away this concept of countries and nationality when we speak of homesickness. But then what’does it really mean? I agree that the physical area that you are most comfortable in is a huge portion that makes up home. But I am pretty sure that this space can be moved around, perhaps not in entirety, but more or less. (Am not sure, I’d have to wait and watch if that statement really means anything)
Part of me wonders if homesickness is a human tendency to live in the “grass is greener on the other side” syndrome. I know many people who crave for a place they have left behind but I am sure when they do return they might not be as happy as they expect to be. (Again, let’s wait and watch)

Another thing I feel about homesickness (and this might be more of an individual case) is the element of guilt that comes along with admitting that you find another space more comfortable that the one you are in right now. But what I remind myself of is that (and this is a reason, not a justification) it takes time to get used to a place. And the concept of ‘home’ is not built overnight.

There has been a lot of discussions (mainstream media, academicians, individuals) about diasporas and their feeling of (un)belonging. Would it be too arrogant to say that those who have not experienced homelessness cannot understand the extent of this emotion? And again, if it was as simple as geographical boundaries, then it becomes as simple (though time consuming and expensive) as visas, permanent residencies and citizenships.

I worry if this is just a block in our heads. If we were more open about things, people and changes around us, would we feel ourselves to be less out of place? (I don’t know why I find myself speaking for ‘the collective’; I presume people other than me also feel this way). But another reality that stares blankly into my face is that acceptance of this new place is one thing but others acceptance of you is quite another. The unfortunate fact is that all of us, to some extent or another, have set parameters of how others should be and when an outsider comes in and doesn’t fit into that (I don’t want to say mould) notion, it is difficult to be non-judgmental about that.

So the idea of homesickness comes also from the fact that ‘home’ is a place where you were accepted for how you are, for the most part. Of maybe our definition of home is the place where we feel that we can be ourselves without sticking out like a sour thumb or without having to make to make efforts that are not natural.

Ah… this thought goes on. There is no end. And sometimes I feel all this really doesn’t mean anything at all. And sometimes I feel it’s the most essential thing. For now, I feel there is nowhere else to go with this though right now.

Good night.

love in the time of romance

On our way back from watching “Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi”, we had a conversation about how believable the surinder/raj angle is. Those who have watched the film know that its got nothing to do with multiple personality or any other explanation, surinder simply decides to become raj to impress his wife.Convincing? Maybe… maybe not.

So the argument was: how can someone as shy and meek as surinder, transform overnight into boisterous raj? Does that mean surinder is only pretending to be this meek person? Though the do-ability of something like that (in real life) is questionable, isn’t it true that most romantic films come to us packaged in a set of “un-doable in real life”? Be it jai in “jaane tu ya jaane na” running into the airport or stealing a bike to impress the girl next door in ‘oye lucky, lucky oye’. Even going back to aditya chopra’s own film, “dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge” where raj impresses simran’s whole family and by the climax convinces everyone about their love.

If its love that makes our world go round then it’s definitely these ‘un-do-ables’ that make us love our romantic films.And i think the only reason most of us tend to continue watching love stories on celluloid, even though we know exactly how it is going to end, is to see these unthinkables and impossibilities. to, perhaps, see these things that "can't" really happen to us.


but rab ne takes its anticipatory bail very cheekily. First through its title and then with the constant motif of the the golden temple and 'rab' overlooking everything these characters are doing . both, surinder and bobby constantly saying that everything that's happening is god's doing won't let you forget that you have to believe anything and everything thats coming next.


All of us might want surinder to get the girl without resorting to raj's gimmickry or like to believe that that is even possible. (and that may be, too). but that won't be a romantic story anymore. that would just be love. and of course one is more fun to watch than another.


vraiment?

this is what i think

(richa… this is for you. Yes, there is the option of picking up the phone and “debating” this with you but I also want more posts on my blog :p)

"When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end."

Yes, that is really beautiful (and so poignant, more so because this moment is this moment).

As you point out, the problem is with the word “reasonable”. Because we (us collectively and you and i individually) know that ‘reasonable’ and ‘human’ don’t go together.

But then that becomes more about what is “reasonable”.... that is a whole other post

I agree with what you are saying but I think the difference between “human” and “reasonable” is the difference between ‘moment’ and ‘time’’. So in the moment it is human to cry and let your heart break over what is lost a million times over. But over time, when these moments are strung together, in that “time”, do you grieve or at least smile about the fact that it happened?

I know that’s a cliché but I think it’s totally true.

And then this thought strikes me...

Perhaps what is reasonable is to cry over it. When we choose to smile about it, that’s what makes us human... and totally unreasonable?

So the quote makes sense all over again.

I should read this book! :)

Lady

I am disgusted at this country today.

Sitting with a few friends, discussing “the state of the men in this place” I was once again reminded of “my place”. A place I have not only not chosen but have also refused to acknowledge. But I realize that over here, before anything else, I am a girl.

I hate to sound like a pseudo-feminist movie but the fact of the matter is that when a situation like this comes up, my thought is “So what if I am a girl?”Again, the hollow monologues from various Hindi movies come to me.

But the difference here is that my side of the story is not a question. It’s a statement. I am a girl and am not guilty about it.

But unfortunately that is not enough. Because everyone else disagrees. So here I am bogged down by the weight of the dignity of my nation that men all around me want to gnaw to bits the first chance they get. These are the men strutting tall talking about developing India where everything around us is booming.

The fact of the matter is that everyday, with everything you do, you are made to feel like an inferior.

Because you are not worth it.

As a jeans-wearing, English speaking girl, every often I have been made to feel like trash. But my enlightenment came when I realized that even salwar kameez’s and sari’s don’t make a difference.

“You are a girl.. are a girl.. are a girl… and I am going to rip you apart”

So right now I am trying desperately to figure out what all this culture we all talk about is.

I can already hear those many concerned men saying “we want you safe that is why we want you tucked away at home”

Of course, it is always easier to rub against a woman in a bus when you wife is not watching.

I also realize that the statement/question (the one about being a girl) is hollow within itself because there is no answer or counter-argument.

Sitting in a café sipping cold coffee and munching on crinkle cut fries turns into a teary mess. Because none of us have answers. And that leaves me frustrated like nothing else does.

Tomorrow all of us would step outside and it would be the same thing. The whistles. The hoots. The lewd comments. The shady songs. The satisfied smiles….

Is the only option to get off the bus and catch an auto? That is a way out of the situation for the moment. But is that the only solution that we are going to be stuck with forever?

And the thought that bothers me over and over again is that, even though women have accepted this as part of everyday life, this is Not life. At the moment when I have to walk into a railway station or have to catch a bus my patriotism crumbles. I hate this country. I want to go back to a place where civilized people dwell and you don’t have to scold yourself for wearing a t-shirt instead of a kurta. Or for forgetting that you should have protected yourself with a bag or something else.

The irony of all this of course is the many comments that one hears about “girls abroad”. Girls abroad, for all their “looseness” are not gnawed in public while the whole country watches.

Perhaps it is because I have something to compare with (and thank God for that) that I know not all men are desperate sex-maniacs.

But I wish, on a day like today, that I had another side of the story to make me feel better.