Sunday, May 13, 2007

Paper cuts Letters Love

Paper cut pain licks
Do paper cuts bleed?
Letters’ fading memory
Crimson stain borders
Do paper hearts ache?
Where edges blurred
In blue felt ink remain
Unanswered by love
Is silence love’s tongue?
Words now like bone
Dust into fading sand
Paper cut pain licks
Do paper cuts bleed?
Crimson stain borders
Filling empty white
Do paper hearts ache?
Where edges blurred
In blue felt ink remain
Unanswered by love
Is silence love’s tongue?
Tears become text




Friday, May 11, 2007

Teaching History

Many newspaper websites were flooded with pictures of persons taking part in the commemoration of 1857's mutiny. Yes, those men and women who braved death sparked the first fires of our independence. We ought to be proud of their bravery, but does that mean we consider everybody and everything that "our side" did during that period "saintly"? Do we now, this day, have the courage to accept that killing women and children in British safe- houses was not very honorable?

I am not one to say that all that the East India company did was correct. Often their acts were heinous. But should we, as so called children of the Mahatma, neglect one of his greatest teachings...the teaching being, having the boldness to understand one's own flaws first before pointing out the flaws in others. History can be like an euphoric drug...indulge in it, and one forgets the truths lying deep within. Let us not partake in such dishonesty. Let us not say that all that our forefathers did was right. Let us not scribble every act of murder into our historic records as heroism.


If all this reads too negative, let me pose you a question, "How do you think the British should teach the history of the British Raj in Britain?" Should they teach history as we do? Should they transcribe every historic crime into sweet cream?

Sunday, May 06, 2007

Migration

Most Indians from India come to this foreign land with a conviction that they will return home. Their conviction fails... they end up staying in a "foreign land". Every summer, or winter, when it get's too chilly in say New York or Chicago, we pack up our bags, suitcases with dollar tags, hop onto planes and fly home. Birds do that, so do fish, and many other beings. Like them we return, as our ticket is always round trip. (Probably the only one way ticket was bought, the first time we came here with a dream of returning with....please do fill in here). The difference between the birds-fish-etc and us is that we still call this land, "foreign".

Why is it foreign?

Heck, what is foreign?

As a curiosity, the Indian National Students (INS) has termed all Indians from India, "Desis". We call each other Desis. We eat Desi food. We watch Desi movies. We wear Desi clothes on special occassions- Desi stuff is fun. Our attitude begs the question, "What is Desi?"

Growing up on Hollywood pop, and Springsteen/Beatles/Adams/Collins/Doors/etc I had come to believe that my "foreign" land was truly a backyard of them Hollywood studios. Everybody was either a Willis or a Stone. How wrong...how wrong...yet the attitude, "this is a foreign land" did not subside.

Is this a foreign land because I choose not to let it become my home despite having an aalishaan bungalow on it (I don't have one, most others do)? Why do we become so damn desperate before boarding that plane back to Bombay, Calcutta, Bangalore or Delhi?

In the true Desi spirit I would answer the above by quoting soem obscure lyric from some equally obscure song, "Des ki mitti ke jaise koi mitti nahin...uski mehek...uski ..." Stepping away from our Desi overdrive, I ask ourselves, "How many of us have tried to find the khushboo in America." We still think it is about research, economics, business, opportunities... everything barring the simple happiness of living. Say, like flying a kite in the outdoors with friends and family, or blending cricket and baseball into one game? How many of us call a gathering with friends from American and Non American origin? We might invite John Doe and his wife for dinner, but do not do so when Champaklal Desi and his Misses are around. Weird eh?

So what is foreign?

Probably foreign is what we make of it. Until I learn to understand this soil... and it is rubbish to cite the ancientness of India... for America has an equally lengthy history... it had people, and persons, who until this day speak in Native American tongues so old.

As a conclusion, I tell myself, let's learn the art of migration from the birds and the bees.