Karan Thapar spoke. The conversation broke. And Narendra Modi went up in smoke. It was a Houdini act. The leftist folks joked about how Thapar had tingled Modi's chords. And the right wing scoffed at Thapar's puppy dog "please don't screw my interview" expression. I belong to the junta on the left. I am not for marveling present development and forgetting past crimes. And I am not for promoting one sect that is a minority just to boast about our secularism. Lives were lost. Lives that belonged to both Musalman and Hindu faiths. Statistically many more Muslims were killed. But can one look at loss of life statistically? Ask the relatives and friends of those who died (both Hindu and Muslim) does it matter if 1000 or 50 were butchered or burnt? For them that one dead body made all the difference.
It is sad that in times of man made and natural calamity we look towards statistics. Thing is, not everything is cricket. Not everything is entertainment on the television set. And surely not everything is forgettable and material for the census books.
I am not sure what it takes to live with blood on your hands. Shakespeareans would quote Macbeth here, but I'll disagree. Macbeth was weak. Modi and his band are not. Even if they regret they do not show it. Hopefully they will truly feel sorry someday for all the lives that were lost. And hopefully someday we will understand that it does not matter if 50 or 1000 died, but that even one person was killed in the name of God.
Throwing in a bit of sentimentality...What would Bapu, the father of our nation, have to say? Would he too shrug, and scratch his bald head as we do?
Friday, October 26, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The Alley
Of cigarette packet silver rangta foils
And many sugar coated sandesh spoils
This is a tale of our very own Manik’s alley
Flat but picturesque as the terrorized valley
We begin with the stop where buses stop
A temple where mothers pray and hop
And move towards the roadside food stalls
Where fried black oil flows like Niagara falls
Dhrubo has been selling his brick and bracs
Cursing the day he emigrated with two sacks
His smuggled goggles reflect the cinema shop
That pays Rs. 5 homage per seat to many a flop
Dulled eyes look towards the psyche asylum
From the press that presses Daily Bengali Ghum
Which has fueled the innumerable paper boat
Sailing open drains which make mosquitoes gloat
Right outside the display Benares Mithai Bhandar
A quintessential shop for a thriving Bangla sansar
Who build their dreams from their second floor
Which holds five houses all with a green door
But before we move into their detailed specific
Lets walk down to the bazaar quite prolific
There’s wear and tear on all kinds of sale
Fish of all kinds but the humongous whale
The chicken seller is busy with his feathers
Tying bird legs to keep them in tight tethers
Potato and onions heaped on top of mounds
Of course there’s a whole frequency of sounds
The sky above is cloaked with colored sheets
Beneath which one sees million and one feats
This market has one peculiarity to offer
It has shops tailored for the prince to pauper
Above the market are the matchbox homes
On whose porches the women sit with their combs
Children both naked and not conjure adventures like Sinbad
Their devilish shrieks could even turn Lucifer mad
Armed with a plethora of grandmother’s tales and whim
The grandfathers take their progeny on a wild spin
Fathers cozy cocooned in their unperturbed shell
Puff as they dream of where mystic fairies dwell
The older children from class eight and onward
Scheme get rich technique to take them forward
So untamed and peculiar is this world they live
One couldn’t separate chaff no matter how fine the sieve
These eccentricities are essential for Maniktalla
For without them there wouldn’t be a mohulla
Wait! There’s much to be wrote and read
This not being the end of what’s been said
Tales of lives lived within stuffy brick quarters
And individuality of Bengali women for starters
All that is left for us to later diligently extract
Turning common knowledge into poetic fact
Hear ye hear ye I’ve one final thing to say
Hope you all enjoyed this nostalgic word play
And many sugar coated sandesh spoils
This is a tale of our very own Manik’s alley
Flat but picturesque as the terrorized valley
We begin with the stop where buses stop
A temple where mothers pray and hop
And move towards the roadside food stalls
Where fried black oil flows like Niagara falls
Dhrubo has been selling his brick and bracs
Cursing the day he emigrated with two sacks
His smuggled goggles reflect the cinema shop
That pays Rs. 5 homage per seat to many a flop
Dulled eyes look towards the psyche asylum
From the press that presses Daily Bengali Ghum
Which has fueled the innumerable paper boat
Sailing open drains which make mosquitoes gloat
Right outside the display Benares Mithai Bhandar
A quintessential shop for a thriving Bangla sansar
Who build their dreams from their second floor
Which holds five houses all with a green door
But before we move into their detailed specific
Lets walk down to the bazaar quite prolific
There’s wear and tear on all kinds of sale
Fish of all kinds but the humongous whale
The chicken seller is busy with his feathers
Tying bird legs to keep them in tight tethers
Potato and onions heaped on top of mounds
Of course there’s a whole frequency of sounds
The sky above is cloaked with colored sheets
Beneath which one sees million and one feats
This market has one peculiarity to offer
It has shops tailored for the prince to pauper
Above the market are the matchbox homes
On whose porches the women sit with their combs
Children both naked and not conjure adventures like Sinbad
Their devilish shrieks could even turn Lucifer mad
Armed with a plethora of grandmother’s tales and whim
The grandfathers take their progeny on a wild spin
Fathers cozy cocooned in their unperturbed shell
Puff as they dream of where mystic fairies dwell
The older children from class eight and onward
Scheme get rich technique to take them forward
So untamed and peculiar is this world they live
One couldn’t separate chaff no matter how fine the sieve
These eccentricities are essential for Maniktalla
For without them there wouldn’t be a mohulla
Wait! There’s much to be wrote and read
This not being the end of what’s been said
Tales of lives lived within stuffy brick quarters
And individuality of Bengali women for starters
All that is left for us to later diligently extract
Turning common knowledge into poetic fact
Hear ye hear ye I’ve one final thing to say
Hope you all enjoyed this nostalgic word play
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Red and Blue
The Indo- US nuclear deal ought to be spelt with a "k", nuklear. And "US" should be typed up as "Yoo Es". Both these changes combined make it sound more rustic as well as Communist. Here's the deal, naming is important. See if US wasn't named a "red and blue" nation our Yechuris and Karats probably wouldn't have any beef with them. Remove the blue and leave the red, then I am sure our brothers at CPI(M) wouldn't have raked up this issue. But here's another deal. The reds aren't playing too fair. The reds are crawling up our necks. The reds don't mind helping the shooting of monks. Incidentally the monks too were clothed in red- haha...dressed to kill (their claim?).
Some say color should be overlooked. I am not talking about skin color. That's a whole different issue. But the color red. Intriguingly we have shades of both these red and blue spectrum on our national flag. So we are caught smack in the middle. What does India do? As the Priminister said, and paraphrasing him, India is not a one track nation, although at times it gives such an impression. Maybe we will move onto better things from here on. Only thing is...if the reds still keep poking at India and keep threatening to strangle any progress they should be given the blues.
Clearly I am a supporter of the nuclear deal. And clearly I harbor little love for the present Reds. Why, you ask? In all their years of "rule" in West Bengal they really didn't get too far. The Bengali junta might throw tomatoes at me but that will surely not make me incline towards their redness.
Just a thought: English needs to be revised...it paints Red in the wrong light often. OK...call it yellow.
Some say color should be overlooked. I am not talking about skin color. That's a whole different issue. But the color red. Intriguingly we have shades of both these red and blue spectrum on our national flag. So we are caught smack in the middle. What does India do? As the Priminister said, and paraphrasing him, India is not a one track nation, although at times it gives such an impression. Maybe we will move onto better things from here on. Only thing is...if the reds still keep poking at India and keep threatening to strangle any progress they should be given the blues.
Clearly I am a supporter of the nuclear deal. And clearly I harbor little love for the present Reds. Why, you ask? In all their years of "rule" in West Bengal they really didn't get too far. The Bengali junta might throw tomatoes at me but that will surely not make me incline towards their redness.
Just a thought: English needs to be revised...it paints Red in the wrong light often. OK...call it yellow.
Monday, October 08, 2007
3P's
We’ve heard of three rivers, threesomes, triangles…but what about three P’s? What is this 3P that is sweeping our nation from corner to corner like the bucket full water that cleans every aangan in many Indian homes? 1 P is the smallest denomination of the Indian currency system that can be held on one’s palm and be seen. 2 P is an act most people engage in throughout the day. 3 P? Bolo bolo kuch to bolo.
“Hare Ram Hare Krishna” (a topic worth a blogpost separately specially after Akshay Kumar’s cheeky smile for the music video kickoff)…Ley bol diya.
Politics
Lord Macaulay, now deceased unlike the immortal Ashwatthama, also liked challenges and probably sparked off today’s political fashion in India. Macaulay stated, “I do not think we would ever conquer this country, unless we break the very backbone this nation, which is her spiritual and cultural heritage.” It took two centuries for the British to realize their fallacy in assuming that any foreigner can truly rule another people- but the adoption of certain values did bring in much humanism in our culture that had been spread thin like butter over bread and left to the exploiters to exploit. Thank you Macaulay Sahib…shukriya indeed. For a non participant, Desi politics seems to be based on the constant tussle between forces that wish to force policies of “humanism” and the traditionalists. Since I am not too keen on the rat race that is today’s politics I won’t drool on this subject. Although I would like mention my curiosity- What is the difference between a politician and a statesman and why aren’t today’s political leaders “statesmen”?
Publicity
Post all our Chak De’s…T20, Asian Cup, Nehru Cup…the only one that still gets swarmed by tabloid makkhis (flies) is the first. Without our tele, press, radio, internet, cricket would be yet another improvised form of gulli-danda. So lesson to be learnt is simple: Want fame, fortune, frolic? Get the second P covered first.
PaRhai
Being a child of a Humanities family and a student in pursuit of science I often meet persons who often think aloud, “Arey tu wrong field mein hain. Tujhe to…” Sorry to disappoint, I am definitely not in the wrong field. The divide between Humanities and Science in the Indian education system can be stretched to be compared to the Hindu- Muslim communal divide (a reality that we shall overcome?). Our education system is very strong in most aspects of parting knowledge and ploughing old information for new information, but lacks in imparting the cross cultural bridge between the Humanities and the Sciences. Maybe someday we’ll teach our children the art and science of science and art respectively. Why do I say this? If anybody studies any elegant derivation of physical law with the usage of mathematics, it’s parallel to any beautiful painting or music. And good music of course has acoustics built into it.
Ooops...almost forgot the other set, "Punya, Paap and Paschyataap."
“Hare Ram Hare Krishna” (a topic worth a blogpost separately specially after Akshay Kumar’s cheeky smile for the music video kickoff)…Ley bol diya.
Politics
Lord Macaulay, now deceased unlike the immortal Ashwatthama, also liked challenges and probably sparked off today’s political fashion in India. Macaulay stated, “I do not think we would ever conquer this country, unless we break the very backbone this nation, which is her spiritual and cultural heritage.” It took two centuries for the British to realize their fallacy in assuming that any foreigner can truly rule another people- but the adoption of certain values did bring in much humanism in our culture that had been spread thin like butter over bread and left to the exploiters to exploit. Thank you Macaulay Sahib…shukriya indeed. For a non participant, Desi politics seems to be based on the constant tussle between forces that wish to force policies of “humanism” and the traditionalists. Since I am not too keen on the rat race that is today’s politics I won’t drool on this subject. Although I would like mention my curiosity- What is the difference between a politician and a statesman and why aren’t today’s political leaders “statesmen”?
Publicity
Post all our Chak De’s…T20, Asian Cup, Nehru Cup…the only one that still gets swarmed by tabloid makkhis (flies) is the first. Without our tele, press, radio, internet, cricket would be yet another improvised form of gulli-danda. So lesson to be learnt is simple: Want fame, fortune, frolic? Get the second P covered first.
PaRhai
Being a child of a Humanities family and a student in pursuit of science I often meet persons who often think aloud, “Arey tu wrong field mein hain. Tujhe to…” Sorry to disappoint, I am definitely not in the wrong field. The divide between Humanities and Science in the Indian education system can be stretched to be compared to the Hindu- Muslim communal divide (a reality that we shall overcome?). Our education system is very strong in most aspects of parting knowledge and ploughing old information for new information, but lacks in imparting the cross cultural bridge between the Humanities and the Sciences. Maybe someday we’ll teach our children the art and science of science and art respectively. Why do I say this? If anybody studies any elegant derivation of physical law with the usage of mathematics, it’s parallel to any beautiful painting or music. And good music of course has acoustics built into it.
Ooops...almost forgot the other set, "Punya, Paap and Paschyataap."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
