thoughts from the sky

The Final Post?

2009-03-30T06:09:00.000-07:00

Hello readers,
How many ever of you there are.
Thank you for reading everything that you have but I will be blogging elsewhere from now on. A period has come to an end and a new life is about to begin. There may not be any Clouds in the next Blog. I may not even be me.
If you ever find me, I'll see you there.
If not, Goodbye.

Be Peaceful

The Wait

2009-03-07T01:48:00.000-08:00

She waited at the coffee shop. The shadows lengthened and the new March leaves caught the evening light. Music played unnecessarily loudly in the background. Mean music with no great depth. But those were the kind of people she saw around her. A thin and short young man leaned behind his girlfriend as their friends took pictures with their mobile cameras. On another table, a large man with fluffy hair idled with the whipped cream on his frappe as he talked to his companion behind the wall. The wooden chairs partially reflected the light. The red cube lights near the counter were on. The walls were lined partially with wooden panels of a grayish brown colour. Pictures of different coffee related items were on the glass walls, on flip stands on the tables and behind the counter. The floor was tiled in smooth beige squares. There were a few empty tables but the atmosphere inside was loud. The outside, despite the passing traffic on the small road seemed quieter.

She wished the shop would have newspapers, if not books to read while waiting. After her late lunch though, she was glad to wait longer for something to drink. Had she been there for too long? She thought the working staff were giving her impatient looks. She felt like she must order something soon to avoid being thrown out.

Unlike the previous time, she didn’t feel very impatient and edgy, only restless and jittery. She had had a moderately good day and was hoping to go for a concert later. But she hadn’t found anyone willing or able to come.

Maybe she should’ve brought her own book, she thought. The shadows were even longer now and the evening light was dimming. She didn’t usually like waiting but this happened so rarely, that she really didn’t mind much. None of the nearby shops had books. Next time, she would plan for a place with an adjoining book shop.

And suddenly, her wait was over.

The Last Few Days

2009-02-24T03:28:00.000-08:00

So we approach the end of our days in this college. I have mixed feelings about it. Sometimes I’m happy thinking of how there will never again be a day full of just sitting in classes or listening to people who don’t make sense to me. Other times I feel a connection I’ve made with the people I’ve got to know, and with the campus that I think I will actually miss. There are some people I just don’t want to say bye to and others who I’ve just started getting to know and it feels like there was so much more I could’ve discovered that I now won’t have time to. I’m grateful to the teachers who have kept me sane and alive through all the frustrating times and have been dedicated to their noble profession even in such a rigid system.

But I wouldn’t stay here if I had a choice. I’m quite looking forward to the future, whatever that may be.

U Tear It Up

2009-02-24T02:00:00.000-08:00

U tear it up
I pick up the pieces and reuse
U listen to cruel experiments without flinching
I feel sick and want to cry
U discuss slippers and handbags and criticise my hair
Can’t u see I don’t care?

U don’t care for culture or god
I yearn for both
U accept
I can’t understand sadism or a will to irritate or hurt

There is no romance for the philosopher
For anyone courageous, intelligent and self-aware
There is no dependence
I like my space.
I don’t stick to people
Maybe that’s why I don’t have many close friends

But there is angst of not being understood
Or perhaps it is a longing for like minds
We who love, care, feel, think, and learn

A Struggle for Balance

2009-02-10T02:27:00.000-08:00

At the brink of a new life, yet so many memories of the bygone remind me of where I come from.
People I’ve known for so long now seem more precious with the little amount of time remaining.
I write in my head because there is no time to pick up the pen. The writer in me caged and unhappy. Creativity suppressed, Intelligence shown the door yet I cling to the potentially bright aspects.
“Plan as though you’ll live forever,” they say, “live as though it were your last day”. I struggle to find a balance. I want to run to the future. Or stay in the present without doing what is expected of me. To live peacefully, reading, listening to jazz, dancing alone and going for walks. But I sit at my desk and manipulate words, memorise names for a test or fill up mundane forms.
Reminders of how young and innocent I once was lie on the floor as I enter the house.
To recognize the phobias I’ve had for so long, influencing everything I do. And feel bored that so little has changed.
Excess information clogs my brain. It is an art and a habit to make everything simple complicated and want to simplify all mental inputs that are not. Maybe it’s not important because I overfeel, overspeak, overthink.
What is important? The past? Future? Present? All of them?
It’s a struggle for balance.

Dread

2009-02-10T01:54:00.001-08:00

I looked forward
Now I can’t
This sudden Dread
Too fast, too shallow to dive
Going to crash
I had pressed the accelerator
What injuries to cause and suffer
Doom
Why am I reacting like this?
Messed up.
Fear
Of what?
What of the charmer? Scared child!
What of the powerful woman?
Cave- just a hollow
Being trapped, losing control

Epilogue

2009-01-20T09:09:00.001-08:00

Where are you?
I’m here, waiting.
Full moon waned to half

Dew, you, like stars
Independent of the sun
Shining because you
Can’t help it.

Long enough after you
Are gone
You show me you’ll
Never be gone
You don’t see the
Ropes that bind you
I do.

I will not ask for you
And you will not ask for me.
But without asking
Will we know?

The sky is blue on
This white paper
It glows. And
You think you are mere human;
Mortal and free

One day I too will have ropes
But I’ll see them.

Time should not unwind
Undoing the sacred cant be right
Flow and burn as you do
And I, as you, will too.

Cold

2009-01-20T08:56:00.000-08:00

It just so happens that in tropical countries, the concept of a heater in the house does not exist. It gets quite cold here too. I think we should acknowledge the cold and use heaters in places where we may eat and sleep after sunset.
I also think that before winter arrives, we must donate at least a few pieces of warm clothing to those who live on the streets. Imagine how much colder they would feel in the open.
Hugging will also help. :)

The Woman

2009-01-20T08:34:00.000-08:00

She is the wind you cannot capture, the fire you cannot hold,
She has the strength of the earth but she flows
She is a woman.

The radiance of the sun and the beauty
Of a tree’s silhouette

When she smiles, the world blooms
The stars sparkle brighter, and water gurgles in delight.
And when angered, deadly thunder storms are evoked

Can such a woman ever love and not destroy?
All consuming fire
Can such a woman ever cry?
Each tear, like quiet midnight drizzle

I Love Being Alive

2008-12-12T07:51:00.000-08:00

I love being alive.

I love feeling the warm sun on my hands and face
Or watching the drizzle droplets float.

I love feeling my pulse and knowing everyone else has one too.
I love looking in the mirror and knowing
That I have a physical form.

I love that I can see, hear music and even traffic,
That I can taste fruit juice and smell perfume and
Touch soft cotton.

I love that I can feel love and pain with so much intensity.
I love feeling loved.

Intellectual Property Rights

2008-12-11T09:22:00.000-08:00

What and Why?

When something is invented, be it a procedure, a technology, software or even works of art and expression like music, paintings, movies and literature, it is understood that a lot of work has gone into its creation. People work whole lifetimes on certain discoveries. Intellectual property rights are a set of laws which protect such work from easy duplication. A time frame is given within which that technology or work is exclusively the maker’s to use for commercial purposes. The reasoning being that apart from time and effort, the individual is most likely to have invested money in it heavily. Commercially speaking it is only fair that they reap what they sow.

But the term ‘intellectual property’ denotes the specific legal rights, and not the intellectual work itself.

Under this vast legal set up are subcategories of laws based on what the creation or discovery is. These also include copyrights, trademarks, patents etc.
An industrial design right protects the form of appearance, style or design of an industrial object from infringement. A trade secret is an item of non-public information concerning the commercial practices or proprietary knowledge of a business. Public disclosure of trade secrets may sometimes be illegal.

The purpose of having such rights provides commercial incentive so that they would rather share their information than keep it to themselves. It is useful thus, in sharing of knowledge. If IPR had existed during the time of the invention of the first microscopes, microbiology would’ve developed at a faster rate with Leeuwenhoek sharing his method of lens grinding. The legal protections granted by IP laws are credited with significant contributions toward economic growth.
Intellectual property rights are considered by economists to be a form of temporary monopoly enforced by the state (or enforced using the legal mechanisms for redress supported by the state).

Intellectual property rights are usually limited to non-rival goods, that is, goods which can be used or enjoyed by many people simultaneously—the use by one person does not exclude use by another. The establishment of intellectual property rights, therefore, represents a trade-off, to balance the interest of society in the creation of non-rival goods by encouraging their production, with the problems of monopoly power. Since the trade-off and the relevant benefits and costs to society will depend on many factors that may be specific to each product and society, the optimum period of time during which the temporary monopoly rights exist is unclear.

Modern usage of the term intellectual property began with the 1967 establishment of the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), but it did not enter popular usage until passage of the Bayh-Dole Act in 1980.

Problems with IPR

Some critics of intellectual property, such as those in the free culture movement, characterize it as intellectual protectionism or intellectual monopoly and argue that the public interest is harmed by protectionist legislation such as copyright extension, software patents and business method patents. Although the term is in wide use, some critics reject the term intellectual property altogether. Richard Stallman argues that it "systematically distorts and confuses these issues, and its use was and is promoted by those who gain from this confusion." He claims that the term "operates as a catch-all to lump together disparate laws [which] originated separately, evolved differently, cover different activities, have different rules, and raise different public policy issues." These critics advocate referring to copyrights, patents and trademarks in the singular and warn against abstracting disparate laws into a collective term.

Apart from this issue, IPR of biological technology used in production of various pharmaceutically and industrially important products have been controversial.
The main problem has occurred when a product such as, for example, a tablet for easing the symptoms of AIDS patients has been patented and so has been priced a lot higher than any average individual can afford on a regular basis. In this case, the patent holder would expect the government to subsidise it for its people instead of expecting that such a medicine would come any cheaper. This sounds like the best option where both the inventor and the consumer get what they want. But it is still very debatable, considering that it is a matter of life and death, whether the price must be set so high in the first place. Some people would call it the exploitation of people’s need to live.
"What is more important patent rights or patients' rights?"
-Zimbabwean Health Minister, Dr. T. Stamps
(ICASA Conference, Sept. 9, 1999)

Another issue that arises is the attempt and some successes of patenting indigenous knowledge.
Traditional health systems are based in world views or cosmologies that take into account mental, social, spiritual, physical and ecological dimensions of health and well being.
Central importance on the concept of balance - within the individual and between the individual, society and Nature. Imbalance arises with the breaking of the inter connectedness of life - and results in discomfort and disease.
Traditional health systems have organized frameworks for classifying plants, animals, landscapes and climatic conditions in relation to their effects on health and disease.
These taxonomies have much in common with one another and represent a culturally relevant empirical framework for assessing medicinal plant biodiversity. Such taxonomies may diverge significantly with Western classificatory frameworks and assumptions. This is of importance when determining prior art as it pertains to intellectual property law.
Food and medicine are of ten viewed interchangeably. Food is medicine. Diet is the basis of health.
Revitalization movements are drawing on traditional medical know ledge to develop integrated modern and traditional health care projects. These movements and other groups have drawn attention to the shrinking availability of medicinal plants to supply the burgeoning need for herbal medicines in non-Western societies and in the industrial countries. Conservation and horticulture programmes are emerging as vital components of the revitalization of local health traditions.

So it becomes obvious that since there are two very different paradigms of looking at knowledge, there will be a conflict about the legal frameworks of IPR. Indigenous people who have known protected and passed on valuable knowledge don’t think in terms of money to be gained. And if there needs must be money involved, certainly the person who knows how to write a scientific paper on this knowledge doesn’t deserve it even a fraction of a percentage as much as the community which preserved such knowledge. The company or holder of such a patent then becomes legally capable of prosecuting that community for using patented knowledge without paying for it when such a patent is allowed. Is this fair by any means? To invent a law which isn’t sensitive to the various approaches people have been having for so long? To create a blanket system under which everyone must operate similarly?

So now that we know both what IPR is, why it is created and what its main issues are, we can zero in on what is done about them, plant protection.
In the following section we’ll look at legal protection and indigenous knowledge. One must note though, that the exploitation of plants for commercial purposes is currently unsustainable. Along with over harvesting is a lot of habitat destruction which disturbs the balance of the ecosystem. But to get into the question of conservation now would be too much of a deviation.

Addressing Legal Plant and Indigenous Knowledge Protection

The Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD)
The CBD is the only major international convention that assigns ownership of
biodiversity to indigenous communities and individuals and asserts their right to
protect this knowledge.
Article 8 (j): State Parties required to “respect, preserve and maintain knowledge, innovations and practices of indigenous and local communities embodying traditional lifestyles relevant for the conservation and sustainable use of biological diversity and promote the wider application with the approval and involvement of the holders of such knowledge, innovations and practices and encourage the equitable sharing of the benefits arising from the utilisation of such knowledge, innovations and practices.”
Article 18.4: Contracting Parties should “encourage and develop models of cooperation for the development and use of technologies, including traditional & indigenous technologies."

The CBD competes for influence with the far more powerful TRIPS (Trade Related aspects of Intellectual Property Rights).
TRIPS is now the key international agreement promoting the harmonisation of national IPR regimes. Covers four types of intellectual property rights:
1. Patents
2. Geographical indications
3. Undisclosed information (trade secrets)
4. Trademarks

• TRIPS makes no reference to the protection of traditional knowledge. Does not acknowledge or distinguish between indigenous, community-based knowledge and that of industry
• TRIPS does not require adoption of UPOV standards, but rather provision "for the protection of plant varieties either by patents or by an effective sui generis system or by any combination thereof." (Art. 27(3)(b))

INDIA
• From 1994, Indian Government did not succeed in repeated attempts to revise 1970 Patent Act to come into line with TRIPS.
• Efforts to do so resulted in riots on streets. Half a million farmers demonstrating.
• Late 1999 succeeded in amending it in accord with TRIPS and removing protection for important medicines from patent control.
• Activist groups called for a deadline for coming into line with TRIPS to allow time for full debate and resolution of all of the issues involved.

TURMERIC
The Centre for Scientific and Industrial Research of India filed a re-examination request with the US Patent and Trademark Office, seeking revocation of a 1994 patent issued to the University of Mississippi.
 Patent, 5,401,504, claimed the use of turmeric for promoting wound healing.
 India argued that turmeric is a well known traditional medicine used in India, and written about by Indian researchers as early as the 1950s.
 India secured a revocation of the patent.
 India is now recording on a set of CD Roms all of the national medicinal plant knowledge. This will be distributed to patent offices world-wide to provide a data base of prior art on Indian traditional medicinal knowledge.
 India is also pursuing a comprehensive legal strategy to seek revocation on non-Indian patents on Indian life forms.

OTHER HERBAL EXAMPLES
1. Phyllanthus amarus - Ayurvedic treatment for jaundice. U.S. patent for use
with Hepatitis B.
2. Piper nigrum. Ayurvedic treatment for vitiligo ( a skin pigmentation disorder).
UK patent for application of a molecule from piper nigrup for use in treatment
of vitiligo.
3. Shaman Pharmaceuticals: AIDS diarrhea herbal drug. Contrct for benefit
sharing with source of origin of the information

Social & economic costs of changes in IP legislation

By requiring patents to be applied to pharmaceuticals, it is being argued that TRIPS will have the effect of pricing common drugs out of the reach of most people in poor countries. If herbal medicines are patented - either domestically or internationally - the medicines used as the first and last resort for healthcare by the poor will also become unaffordable. Some examples illustrate the point.
• 200 % increase in cost of medicines after the 1979 introduction of pharmaceutical product patents in Italy.
• Welfare loss to Argentina, Brazil, India, Mexico, Korea, and Taiwan) would amount to a minimum of US$3.5 billion and a maximum of US$10.8 billion.
Income gains by foreign patent owners would be between US$2.1 billion and US$14.4 billion. (World Bank)
• `National health disaster' anticipated by the Indian Drug Manufacturers' Association from implementation of TRIPs in India.
• 30% of Indian population can afford modern medicines.
• Comparisons of prices of drugs between India and countries where patent protection exists: up to 41 times costlier in countries with patent protection.
• Drug prices in Malaysia, where patent protection exists, 20% to 760% higher than in India. Profit-maximising behaviour based on `what the market can bear'.

Some IPR Models for the protection of traditional knowledge.

1. Changing IPR law: Certificates of origin. (Sociedad Peruana de Derecho
Ambiental)

Patent applications based on use of genetic resources and/or traditional knowledge should require:
(i) A sworn statement as to the genetic resources and associated knowledge, innovations and practices of indigenous peoples and local communities utilised, directly or indirectly, in the research and development of the subject matter of the IPR application;
(ii) Evidence of prior informed consent of the country of origin and/or indigenous or local community, as appropriate;
(iii) International standardisation of these conditions through an international certification system.
Countries providing resources and/or traditional knowledge to issue certificates indicating that all obligations to the country and indigenous people/local community had been fulfilled e.g. prior informed consent, equitable benefit sharing, etc. Patent applications would include these certificates. Without them, they would automatically be rejected.

2. Transforming traditional knowledge into trade secrets. (IAD-supported project,
Ecuador).

 Knowledge from communities wishing to participate in the project to be catalogued and deposited in a restricted access database. Each community will have its own file in the database.
 Checks will be made to see whether each entry is not already in the public domain and whether other communities have the same knowledge.
 To avoid the danger of a price war from competition among communities, there would be a cartel developed among those communities sharing a trade secret.
 The trade secret can then be negotiated in a Material Transfer Agreement with the benefits shared between the government and the cartel members.

3. Local innovations databases.

Society for Research and Initiatives for Sustainable Technologies and Institutions (SRISTI), India, has developed databases of traditional knowledge and innovations in close collaboration with local community members.
 Advocates a global registration system of local innovations. Individual and collective innovators would receive acknowledgement and financial rewards for commercial applications of their knowledge, innovations and practices.
 Links would be built between small investors, entrepreneurs and innovators for mutual financial benefits.
 Individuals or communities could seek IPR protection in such forms as inventors certificates and petty patents. (The intellectual property law of Kenya was amended in 1989 to provide for a petty patent for traditional medicinal knowledge.)
 All national patent offices should be able to access local innovation databases when carrying out prior art searches and examinations.

Future

1. Debate over patenting will hinge much on what constitutes prior informed consent. How to determine who represents a community, what represents full consent.
2. State vs. Community ownership of indigenous knowledge. Should states get royalties from knowledge that originates from communities within those states? Or should royalties go direct to the traditional knowledge holders?
3. Disputes over patents on herbal products - impact on local herbal use and developing country exports of herbals. (World Bank: $3 trillion herbal market (by mid 21st century)
4. More examples of the S. African AIDS drugs type - & with herbals. "Patent rights v. Patients' rights".
5. Restrictions on collaborative research (e.g. India's Biodiversity research approval committee now requires Central Govt approval for all collaborative research pertaining to indigenous knowledge)
6. Southern (Eastern? e.g. ASEAN) alliance to combat prejudicial aspects of TRIPs.

Though the problems of IPR look daunting, and solutions seem difficult, the efforts that are made in that direction are commendable. In the future, some of the above will rise in the way of those who are trying to incorporate changes into the IPR laws. The debate and controversies may never be over but so long as there is effort, there is hope for improvement and balance in these laws.

Hopeful Child

2008-11-27T05:56:00.000-08:00

The child in me is alive and expectant
What a pleasant and torturous feeling is anticipation
She told me she’d take me to a candy shop
Full of sweet and colourful things
She’d show me the gate to an unexplored land
And even hand me the key.
A new world of possibilities
A new chance to love
Anticipation. I don’t know
If this is the Miracle I’ve been dreaming of
But the child in me doesn’t stop hoping.

The Buses

2008-10-26T00:19:00.002-07:00

The Bus 1

I stand in the bus
The crowd sways behind me
My dupatta catches the flow
But oh! Now the flow chokes me.

The Bus 2

I stand in the bus.
Just behind the steps.
Two hands of different people
On either side of my neck
Grab hold of the metal bar in front
Immobility.

The Bus 3

Smelly people
With rough synthetic clothes
Rub against my skin
While reaching for support
My hand brushes past a woman’s head
And is coated with her oil.

The Bus 4

I stand near the steps
As people get in
The women hit my face as they enter
No apologies.

The Bus 5

At the back, a man,
His hand at a woman’s posterior
I glare.
He gets off at the next stop.

The Bus 6

Balancing on a bus is like
Practicing karate stances
And surfing at the same time
We become flexible, strong armed
Acrobats.

For Now

2008-10-26T00:19:00.001-07:00

This yellow evening,
Winds tell of rains to come.
A healthy, happy wind
That I haven’t felt for so long.
Dry mango leaves
Scrape along the concrete
Of my terrace.
Thunder from different directions
Kites dance in the wind
Koels chirp
A Monsoon song.

The coconut leaves ask me
‘How long have you been living in the
Future?
Wondering about where and
What you’ll be.’
A soft reprimand.

Thunder grows closer.
Winds are sweeter and stronger
The storm maybe coming
But for now,
The weather is beautiful.

Cockroaches

2008-10-26T00:15:00.000-07:00

You may not have heard this story before but I’m sure if you look hard enough inside you, it will seem familiar. I knew it before it happened but I didn’t know I did, till it did.

What was it? A T.V? A silver metal box? A magical container?
I was having a shower in the fridge and when I came out and moved the fridge back, I noticed a small crack in the ground. Curious, I lifted the marble as though it were made of paper and out came a cockroach.
Now, I don’t like cockroaches very much. And this one was fatter and larger than the normal ones I’ve seen in this reality. So I quickly dressed and went out. My neighbour was smiling at me. He had given me the box just yesterday and I had accepted it because I had no clue what it was. It was interesting.

Life is busy. I went to work and came home in the afternoon. Or maybe it had been afternoon all day. I opened the kitchen to see around thirty cockroaches in four lines with the fat leader in front. They were marching carrying the corn to under the fridge.

My roommate has an old friend who lives a couple of streets away. She is a large woman with short, thick, black hair and a dimple on her left cheek when she smiles. She keeps a beautiful garden with pots hanging from the underside of her balcony. It isn’t very big but it’s teeming with grasses, shrubs, ornamental flowering plants, ponds and rock arrangements.

When I went home after my walk, my roommate was back and told me he had seen the cockroaches too.
‘Should we use pesticides? Or would that offend them?’ he asked.
‘It might but anyway don’t use it. I don’t want tumours and genetic disabilities for my children.’
‘Fair enough. Let’s ask them to move away.’
While he squatted and talked into the hole, I went to my room and checked the box. How can I open it? What’s inside? It was glowing a phosphorescent greenish white when I picked it up. And very cold.

Outside I caught my neighbour grinning at me again. ‘I came to ask you about the box. Why did you want to give it away?’ He didn’t reply but his grin had widened. ‘The cockroaches?’ I asked. He nodded. Then with a serious face he said, ‘It brings luck, the box. And the army of cockroaches will obey you if you feed them. They will protect you from everything.’ He lowered his voice and I leaned forward to hear him. ‘But I don’t like cockroaches.’

I went in to find out how the dialogues were going. ‘They will move to whichever place has enough food. They have an underground system of movement so we don’t need transportation.’
‘I found out what they do.’ I told him.
‘Well I agree with him. I don’t want luck or protection from cockroaches. Who can we give it to?’

When evening finally came, I took the box to his friend’s house. She was curious and looked happy to have it. It was glowing yellow with warmth.

A few weeks later, when on a walk, she thanked us for the box. She had placed it on a large arrangement of rocks and stones in the middle of her garden. The creepers were starting to grow over it.

No Two Sunsets Are Ever the Same

2008-08-30T04:00:00.000-07:00

Everything passes
Good and bad,
Small and big,
Everything.

The easiest thing to do is let them pass.
Holding on is an effort.
Holding on
Drains.

Learn lessons
But prepare to relearn.
This time it may be different

No two sunsets are ever the same.

The Joke

2008-08-23T03:24:00.000-07:00

If I was constantly aware of my place in this universe- as an individual of one of the millions of species of one of the billions of planets- it would constantly strike me a little ridiculous what a big deal I make of myself.

Selfish Sorrow

2008-08-23T03:17:00.000-07:00

I don’t know if many people realise it. I did only four years ago. When I cry for someone’s death, it’s hardly ever really for the person who passed away. It’s usually for myself. I will never see him again. I will miss him. I wish I could see him smile at me just one more time.

About Life and Death

2008-08-23T03:14:00.000-07:00

We assume Immortality. Only a death of someone close to us reminds us of our Impermanence.
We make promises and think of ways to make our lives more meaningful, now that we’ve experienced this reminder. It’s sometimes referred to as the Funeral Syndrome. But Time flows on and we are too soon lulled back into the false impression of permanence and nothing in our life really changes.

Normally, I would think; I expect to live quite long- maybe till I’m eighty. I expect to fall in love, raise children, and watch them raise theirs. I expect to do great things in psychology, music, the environment. I expect to learn everything I want to. And make some changes in the educational system- perhaps start a school or teach.
I expect so much.
But for all I know, there could be an accident this evening in which I die. And I’ll be off…in non-existence, quite peaceful to let it all go.

But even though I don’t worry too much about my own death, I know that how I live matters. If I don’t live to my full; if I don’t love freely, if I don’t help those who need it, if I don’t do all that I want to, it could be too late for any of us, at any moment.
And then there will be tears and regret.

Eulogy

2008-08-18T06:32:00.000-07:00

Who was Sripadrao Uncle?

He was a Teacher.

But if this is true, then the word ‘Teacher’ must absorb infinitely

From his character, mind and actions.

‘Great’ falls too short. Not even close to enough a word to

Describe him.

In my humble words he was

A profound thinker, a good person with a

Heart so pure, untouched by negativity. Invincible.

A knowledgeable person of great intellect.

Even at great ages so energetic, optimistic, dedicated,

Wise, generous and so curious.

That was him.

In every life, there are some sparks of inspiration.

He was my first and brightest.

For everyone who knew him and those fortunate

Enough to have been taught by him

In Any way,

He was an Inspiration. A teacher.

Can any being measure to his qualities?

Maybe

If he was born again.

Remembering him with great affection and respect.

His student.

Sripi, as some of us refer to him, started teaching us Biology in our 8th. He was around 79 or so then. He would walk into class and make us excited about learning about the cell of plants. I'll never forget the analogies he made in class. My basics are good because of the drive he gave. But he was good at literature and history too. And very knowledgeable about music.

In my 11th, he had a haemorrhage. It was severe enough to force him not to teach anymore. But he would long to. I visited him at his home from then on. Once in a few months. He would see me and smile. What bright eyes even at 86 years of age! And each time, I would come home more driven to learn more. He was kind and soft spoken.

If i had just one wish now, I would like to see him smile at me Just one more time.

Poetry to me

2008-08-05T03:48:00.000-07:00

My poetry is just my means of expressing myself in a free way. I don’t believe in rhyme or structure of any kind. I also don't believe in conveying messages to my readers. But like all poetry, mine too can be interpreted in more than one way. That is the beauty of poetry. I will not venture to explain any of the contexts. If you think you know, good, if not, big deal. As one of the clouds say, once it is in the open, it is the readers to read in what way suits them.

Anger

2008-08-05T03:14:00.000-07:00

Anger.
Like a vengeful human on a leash
If you were to be freed
What damage, what destruction…
What chaos.

But making me stay is a strain
Why not just yell me out?
Break something inanimate
Or animate…

No.

Freedom of expression?

Is to hurt?
Is to break?
No.
That is savagery.

I am.

If u must express yourself
Do it in a civilised way.
Art, music, poetry, conversation,
Reason, logic…

That would make me stop existing.

Wouldn’t it.

Don’t smile so derisively.
In your wish to be rid of me
There is violence.

You.
You are the reason for
My blood pressure.

If you let me do as I want,
I wouldn’t be.
You cage me and expect me to disappear.

What else can I do?

The Paradox of Music

2008-07-31T08:51:00.000-07:00

I find it hard to believe how many people can make music. I tend to see it as too magical to belong to everyone. It’s understood that everyone sees it differently. But isn’t it too personal? It’s a paradox. Its universal and personal at the same time.

Repetition

2008-07-31T08:35:00.000-07:00

I can’t write about freedom to love and express love;
Because I’ve written about it already.
I can’t write about womanhood;
I’ve said too much about that.
I can’t write even about my doubts about my sanity;
Any reader would’ve gathered that by now.

Even original ideas I come up with have been thought of by someone who died centuries before my birth.

I find repetition quite irritating.

A Rebel Signs Off

2008-07-31T08:31:00.000-07:00

I will succumb
Just like a rebel ‘convinced’
Was I fighting on the wrong side?
Now I give into a natural flow

I believed in a non existent
An imaginary construct
How hard it is to let go of beliefs;
Ideals…

completeness.

2008-07-02T06:16:00.000-07:00

of all the people who had come to visit her, what scared her the most were his concerned eyes.
they left.
he stayed.
she closed her eyes and willed him to go.
too weak for a battle.
instead, she felt the radiation of warmth from his palms on her cheek.
contact.
all this time...just for this warmth.
this completeness.

All* Human Males are Horny Bastards

2008-06-25T05:09:00.001-07:00

It’s truer than you know. They think with their penises. They ogle at your breasts and ‘check out’ your figure. No, not just the overtly cheap guys who you encounter in the streets everyday. I would say they are just more honest about it.
Watch out. It could be anyone. Anyone with a penis. Many of your acquaintances, maybe family members in some cases and even teachers. And the old man who seems to be from a ‘good family’ and probably has grandchildren is not as pure or trustworthy as you may think. In fact the older they get, the more likely they are to put these thoughts into action. And isn’t it true that you would feel even less comfortable admitting abuse from them than someone who would be ‘command more respect’.
Sometimes, to your horror, you find that your own male friends talk like that when they are with other guys. They discuss ‘boob sizes’, ‘cleavages’, and what not. Do you even realise they can’t see past your physical form? Do we ever discuss penis sizes? For god’s sake, do we even look there?
No. Don’t be scared. Be disgusted or angry. If women were in control, I believe most men would have serious injuries to their thinking organ. Many probably would not even be able to have sex anymore. This would indeed be good for the population problem.

This patriarchal society where women have to dress according to the corruption and filth in the minds of males needs some changes. Why do, I seriously wonder, some women go to the trouble of wearing heels (bad for the back), and choking tops to get such bastards to notice them? If it’s out of pride in your own beauty, go ahead, but do question yourself about whether or not it has anything to do with males.

Have you ever noticed that most swear words are demeaning to women? It’s bitch. And son of a bitch. Why is there no male equivalent? Like, what do we call men who have the sexual morals of a ‘slut’? A woman magnet? Why is that not given the same filthy connotation as the word ‘slut’? Yes, sometimes the word dog, cur, jigilo(spelling, anyone?) are used but listen around and observe their rarity.

And though the saying goes, ‘you can’t live with them, you can’t live without them’, I think a woman is perfectly capable of living without them. But we are conditioned to believe that we can’t. If you have the education to make a living, enough friends and other family, why men? Oh that’s right. For sex. I understand. That will be their only purpose to us.
And I doubt they have a problem with being seen that way. After all they are more obsessed with it than women. If only they could be honest about that. That they are sex objects. Not us.

All these men who think of sex with every decent looking girl they see should be trapped in a prostitutes’ house till they are so sick of sex or they’re bankrupt spending on them. Though it might sound like a treat but they will not have a choice of coming out till they will never feel like looking at a woman that way again. And the sex workers can mint money and better their lives. Maybe even enroll in a college.

Let me suggest a punishment for rapists. It’s similar to the degree of violence I would sentence a tree killer with. Strip him. Pour cold water on him and whip him for a while. Ten will do. Too mild? Wait. I’m not done. Drag him through the streets, still stripped and beat the drums to draw attention to him. Show the world that he’s a criminal. A shame to society. Especially show him to the people who believed in him. Humiliation and frustration should saturate his soul. Ashamed, he should be taken to a stake. (Like witches were in the medieval times). His crime should be announced and he should be castrated. His genitals thrown in a rubbish dump full of worms. Let him watch it being consumed. And if the girl was a minor or disabled (physically or mentally), burn him alive.

Anything less than a rape can be given moderations of this. Let other men watch and fear. For, they should live in fear if they can’t respect us. But the ones pure at heart will have nothing to fear. I know some of them too. Which is why there is a * next to ‘All’ in the title. This post won’t offend anyone who has done nothing wrong. It’s a bit bold I agree. And so violent that on re-reading I too will feel disgusted. But idealism and being a softy be damned. People are best ruled by fear. Not love. No matter how hard you try.

Cloud no. 5

2008-06-14T10:24:00.000-07:00

No no! Don't taste it!
You won't be able to live without it afterwards.

And its not found in plenty.

A Moment of Insanity? / Clarity?

2008-06-05T07:11:00.001-07:00

How intensely have you questioned your sanity? Today my brain perceived differently- I saw at angles I hadn’t seen before and heard at times I couldn’t explain. I didn’t like it. The violence, the hatred, the filthy perversion suddenly struck me freshly. As was everything else. It was too sharp. I couldn’t breathe. In fresh air I moved like one dead. I was dead. All my motor functions were mechanical. I don’t remember. I tried to gain back life from leaves. But I needed a tree- to really hug a tree. People!

People are everywhere looking at me from all around. I can’t run. I can’t be alone.
I wander lost then as if they didn’t exist. I picked up my bag and left. I heard voices calling me- again and again and again. Louder and more frantic.
I ran.
I ran away.
Ran till I reached some trees.
People here too. Too many people!
Breathing not full.
Flushed, red in the cheeks, hot
Try to breathe, try hard to breathe.
No thought. No music.
Blank.
Shivering. Trembling. Hug my bag.
Not helping.
Stare. No blink at people-not people
Just moving objects that make sound.

First thought- how to go home?
To go home? Yes.
To go to Home? Yes!
Quiet forest. No people forest.
How?

I look around- road, buses, noise.
All around. All around.

Can’t!!!

Breathe in,
Out.
Deep.
Don’t cry.
I cry.
But no sad-only tears
I can’t feel.
Except alone- isolated.
Why? I can’t talk. No sound.
Only heavy breaths.

Can I get up and walk?
Try. Yes I can.
Two. My reflection takes over.
I stay scared, vulnerable,
Open to hurt inside.

Now I look around.
Except the weakness in my
Legs, I feel nothing- normal.
Perception still new but not
As harsh.

I’m home, away from
Violence and hate. Away
From perversion. Away from
People. Dirty people.

Just me, sky, terrace.
I will return, operate machine like.
Till scared me comes back ok.

Earth

2008-06-05T07:10:00.001-07:00

There is vulnerability
In the bud, and
Small new leaves.
In all young,
Newborns sprouting
Into Life.

There is freshness in
Water- life giving
Sparkling fluid;
Magical, flowing,
Crashing, spraying,
Raining,
From the clouds;
From the mountains
Into the expansive sea.

There is infinite energy
Power, radiance, in
The Sun.
It can give warmth and comfort
Or scorch and destroy.
Blind with brilliance or
Dive from beautiful hues.

Great big old
Mountains.
I needn’t kneel to feel
Humbled.
Fresh with new life
And crisp air.

Life is a miracle.
This Earth is a miracle.
Earth is home.

On a Modified Version of Democracy

2008-05-27T04:50:00.000-07:00

Those of my regular readers in Karnataka (as though I’m read worldwideJ) will know about the elections held recently.

This being my first opportunity to exercise my vote, I thought about it a great deal. My dad told me about the usual politics, the leaders and how corrupt each one is. By the end of it, I wondered whether I should vote at all- ‘all the options are so rotten anyway.’

By the next day, pamphlets started coming in about each candidate and party. All of them seemed polite, promising all sorts of things. But it’s an old joke isn’t it- ‘a politician’s promise’.

I was told that if I don’t vote, others would use my vote to add to their own favourite parties-proxy. I also heard about the option of saying I don’t like any of the candidates but here’s my vote. This was a good option. But I decided by then that I would vote. For an independent candidate.

So I voted for him. They told me I wasted my vote both on the day of the elections and the day of the results. I wonder- do they consider it similar to betting on which horse will win, or see it as an expression of what they want in the country? So my candidate didn’t win. At least I know I supported what I believed in. ‘Give a chance to someone new.’ Power corrupts but by the time it effects this candidate, someone newer will rise.

Agreed. Of all the possible ways of governance that exist today, democracy is probably the best, but it can be improved upon. Consider this:

Most of those who vote are swayed emotionally or by ‘gifts’ that appear at the time of elections. Why leave the fate of the country in such hands? Yet, it is they who will be ruled so they must be the ones deciding.

So a good way of doing it would be to not have parties. Only individuals who compete to run the country. Each person will have to have an efficient way of interacting with the people he or she represents. A transparent system of reports on what they have done and feedback form the people. Dialogue. They will be elected based on a trial period where they are judged for efficiency. Rather than misuse of power, this system will ensure competence in administration.

And with the lack of parties, people will be equal and unattached to sects of society. The recent Al Gores idea of interactive television for democracy would help this idea boost off.

(Disclaimer: I’m no political science student and this is just a rough idea. Someone who knows more should be able to flesh it out.)

Why vote for words and empty promises? Why not for actions and results at the grass root levels? Because ‘Everybody Loves a Good Drought’? I don’t. and neither do those who die in them.

Women and Kitchens

2008-05-27T04:34:00.000-07:00

Women have far more complex brains than men. After some observation I have stared to feel that the main factor in dumbing down women is the kitchen. It has been done through out history.

I don’t mean to say that one can’t get creative in the kitchen, for that is an art too, but that most women don’t see it that way. Peeling and cutting vegetables, especially onions and potatoes, cooking rice etc are activities that don't require much creativity or analysis. Once one learns the general method, it is a matter of repetition. It’s a brain killing job! That’s why many people are known to have music on or someone to talk to as they are at it. If brain cells aren’t used, they die without any hope of regeneration again!

So with generational repeated disuse, and patriarchal mental conditioning, it is a perfect way of controlling women. It takes enough time to keep the house functional that the root of thinking about other things itself is killed. How effective. Whoever thought it up must’ve been a genius. But not all credit goes to the men. Women themselves propagate it!

The sooner you trap a woman in a kitchen and bind her to the house with a baby, the more effectively she will be ‘put in her place’.

The Un-title-able

2008-05-27T04:14:00.000-07:00

For too long I have absorbed.

Here in this moonlight. I still see colour.

I breathe. I create.

There is no romantic breeze

No perfumed candles.

But I yield to your power

Gentle power.

In your trance.

So what am I to you?

Anything you can want

Shape me in your moment of creative bliss.

I can’t see the past

All I know is you.

Lines without coherence

Shapes that mean nothing

In the moonlight there’s less to see

More to feel

More that flows without looking back

In your power.

The sky has such a bright nose stud

And a mole on her leeward side.

This reality is constructed.

I constructed it.

Free flow

These shapes…

Stars are moles

Trees make pretty silhouettes

My pen reflects the moonlight.

The door ajar.

For too long I have absorbed

Can I flow?

Neck stretched to see the sky

Eyes closed I see anyway

Some mosquitoes want to

Enter immortality

My words

Freedom is to sit

Not knowing what you just wrote

And still write on;

Is to breathe without

Chains from the past

Off with the hooks attached

To my back.

I sink into a bath.

Meaningless.

Do you believe in science or

Wilder imaginations?

Self absorbed humans.

Written in the moonlight.

Now no more flow.

Is this not my medium?

Let me fly

Cancel time.

This isn’t craft.

This a form of freedom

An attempt, rather.

Inhibited.

Give me wings and let me fly

Or I’ll grow them for you

With you.

Is the night sky deep blue?

Or is it just me?

Impatience.

I look back in bright light

Beautifully vague

Vaguely beautiful.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

It is my medium.

My words, my mind

It is the truth.

I can’t fly now

But I play (Do they know?)

Incomplete, the feeling,

My neck and wrists exposed.

Relief.

2008-05-18T03:26:00.001-07:00

A Study of Communalism and Identity
-Janani Dhinakaran
06SJ2660

I
Identities Preferences and Behaviour

Where does the self come from? Identity and our definitions of our ‘self’ are a result of what we’ve been taught from the beginning of our lives.
It starts with ones name. When a baby is repeatedly called a certain name and it learns to respond, it is because it understands that it is being called, as a separate being from others. When it is shown its reflection in the mirror, which moves the same way it does, it begins to understand its body as different and separate from other things. Every concept it is taught builds the network from which other thoughts and concepts can be understood. When a child builds this network and is given opportunities to apply it for him/herself, that is the birth of an individual’s mind.
In this network, there will also be incorporated certain likes and dislikes based on upbringing and perhaps heredity. For example, many people feel immediately at home when they hear their mother tongue. Some smells that remind them of their dad’s clothes or places in their house will influence later tastes.
This tendency is even shown in how restricted a person’s sexual behaviour is; if one’s parents have never expressed their love to each other physically in one’s presence, one will grow up more inhibited towards public displays of affection and even getting physical in the first place, whereas, if ones parents were very open about it, or if they were single and in the habit of exploring different partners freely, this too will become a norm of the child when he/she grows up.
Just like an individuals habits, likes and dislikes are determined so significantly by upbringing, so is an individual’s beliefs. Religion and nationality are constructed identities due to social conditioning.

II
Separation From Origin

In many religions, one can observe the shift from worshipping forces of nature to worshipping a god who looks like a human. This shift is parallel to a community’s separation from nature. From worshipping nature, they try and become masters of it. All the traditions that would inherently protect key stone species and preserve biodiversity, turn into mere superstition and are discarded. The hunter-gatherers and tribes who were in-tune with nature become shifting agriculturalists and then settled agriculturalists. They get to know other communities and begin trade with surplus of resources and soon there is division of labour and hierarchy. Then industrialization happens where nature is not merely domesticated but exploited.
This separation from the original causes conflict of interests- a disruption of harmony.
The same type of separation can be traced in a child from the previous section- when a child uses his/her own mind, there is separation from the parents especially the mother who it was once physically part of.
The first fights between parents and children happen at the time of this separation.
Separation and classification is natural to the human mind as it helps us understand things better. The child’s mind is trained to differentiate one from another in the early years of education where small rings are sorted from big, and things of the same colours are placed together.
These two tendencies i.e. to separate from ones origin and to see differences, combined with the archaic hierarchical mindset, (not to see a difference as merely a difference but to term it better or worse compared to a norm that the majority has inherited from their predecessors) is the cause for most of the chaos in the world today.

III
Individual vs. Collective Identity

It seems as though belonging to a community is hardwired into the human brain. And from what V.S. Ramachandran says in his book ‘Phantoms in the Brain’, maybe even belief in god is, (specifically in the temporal lobes). Or maybe they are connected; maybe god is hardwired into the human brain so that groups stay together under one culture. This could be an evolutionary adaptation because it isn’t god per se that keeps wolf packs together.
But interestingly, one observes that in every pack there is an alpha and an omega. The omega is the scapegoat from any danger. It also gets to feed last and has to submit whenever demanded to, to re-emphasize the authority of the alpha. It has a hard life but it is safer for it to take this treatment than to live without the pack.
Humans are social animals. They like belonging to some or other identity, naming themselves something to feel accepted in a group. This even manifests in similar clothes, and mannerisms. And any hierarchy formed in the community, is accepted (at least initially); be it in the form of a government trying out democracy or the caste system.
People form communities and territories at every level. Why, even as an individual one has territory. But it is referred to as personal space. The space differs from culture to culture. But as groups, a family has the house as its territory; a tribe or neighbourhood (especially apartments) has a part of the forest or a gated space as its territory and nation has land within the national borders as its territory.

Though we have understood that the nation is an ‘imagined’ identity and in the case of India is far less of a cohesive unit, I make this statement about collective identity as it applies to clubs, scouts and other distinct associations as well. I would also argue that identity isn’t ‘imagined’ only at the national level, it is so at every level.

The territory and the general cultures, customs and preferences of the people of this community contribute to the sense of belonging and identity that they hold so dearly in their minds. This can be termed collective identity. And for the sake of survival, many times the collective identity is given more importance, than the variations there are within the community. In certain communities, an individual’s identity is not even respected, let alone acknowledged.

IV
Possible Causes of Violence

Violence can be traced down as symptoms of fear. Fear causes aggression (initially for survival from predators but now for survival of identity or ideology), which leads to violence. This violence is still violence whether it translates into murder or stays as an unspoken cruel thought in the mind. This fear can be caused by what is perceived as a threat to ones territory or identity.
This is evident in the contrasting reactions of the adults and the main characters’ children to the communal violence in the movie Bombay. While the adults shout out the propaganda, the children ask questions like, ‘what is Hindu? What is Muslim? What am I? If both lead to god, why do they fight?’
The children, because of their parents’ inter-religion marriage and because of their age, don’t have any distinct identity that they will fight or die to protect, whereas the adults do (or at least have been taught to believe so).

One can also observe that the violence occurs mainly in groups. An individual can be sensible with another from a different community but if the two meet in mobs of their own, they will forget all past friendship and sanity and kill instead. This is referred to as ‘mob frenzy’ and has been observed in mankind all over the world from centuries ago.
This happens because, as shown in ‘Ram ke Naam’, people seem to get into a trance with the slogans- A trance of being right and capable of anything, simply because one hears so many people saying the same thing with them. This sense of collective identity overpowers any remnant of the individual mind and leads to unpredictable and dangerous behaviour.

Violence also comes from the threat that some people feel about this collective identity (like religion in this case). People fear change in the image of their identity, which could occur by intermingling of ideas, customs and beliefs. They want it to be watertight even in a mixed population like that of today.
(Though many claim that so many wars have been fought for ideas, I think that when there is violence, reason and ideas don’t matter. People forget why it is happening. The meaning of the disagreement is lost along with any possible creativity that could’ve resulted from the sharing)
The politicians who want power use this fear to start violence. They don’t know or care about the philosophy that goes with the religion. Opposition parties especially, are always happy to have many riots that the ruling government can’t control so that during the next elections, they will be able to point out the other’s inefficiency.

And those who are frustrated with life in the city either because of the pollution or because of their poverty join the violence with identity as a mere excuse. This is clear in the unreasonable violence that occurred on Dr. Rajkumar’s death; And in the documentary, in the fact that the Hindu villagers don’t seem to join in the violence as much as the city people do. Could it be that the lack of space and greenery causes people to be more prone to violence in the city?

Violence, like sport or intense intellectual work, is a way of reinforcing the existence of the self. The mind wants to exist and to feel alive. And violence does that because for hatred to exist, there has to be at least two specific and defined parties. This definition leads to naming and reinforces the identity- a construction of the mind.

V
Comment on Babri Masjid related Violence

It is pretty obvious from the documentary that the whole thing was political. The outsiders, (those who came on the Rath), caused violence and tensions in otherwise peaceful areas. The politicians who talked so much about protecting Hinduism didn’t pray in the temple or donate any of the money that they got, to it.
Before the whole campaign about Ram Janmabhoomi and the Rath started, the people of the two religions would happily go eat in each other’s weddings (this is depicted even in the movie Bombay). ‘Now we fear each other’ says a Muslim man sadly.

How do the Hindu’s even know that there really was a temple there before the Babri Masjid? The first time it was said was by the British, perhaps to divide the otherwise peacefully coexisting religions. Well, hasn’t their clever plan worked. And the government is doing a great job of continuing the policy of divide and rule.

VI
A Matter of Caste?

It just so happens that most of the ‘lower caste’ people don’t care about the Ram Temple. They sensibly say why can’t they build it somewhere else?’ and ‘Once it exists it is wrong to destroy.’ Some even point out the stupidity of the whole issue when they talk about the far more pressing problems that the country is facing and emphasize that the obsession with one temple doesn’t serve any purpose.
But even the ‘low caste’ people in the city are there for the processions. Infact the elite don’t seem involved either. It’s only the middle strata of Hindus who seem bothered.
Also in the titles, not many ‘low caste’ or Muslim names appeared.

Conclusion
The self, and the various identities it gives itself, and its upbringing, make the mind. The birth of the mind is the end of unity and root of conflict. It feels threatened by any changes to its various images of itself and its community. This, in the scale of collective identity, in those who don’t have enough sensitivity, results in violence. And violence is exchanged in return: A never-ending cycle.
Why can’t we be like children? Why can’t we ask questions? Why can’t we think for ourselves; live our cultures for the diversity and beauty they have, but enjoy other cultures as well? In that sharing, tolerance is born. In that sharing, we stop making fools of ourselves at the cost of so many lives and to the advantage of the least spiritual people, who stand against everything any religion’s values preach.
Ideally it would be great to give up separation and identity. But neither is that easy nor is it natural. I say, learn more about each other and take the best from everything. Keep the individual’s sense, love and sensitivity for the world alive. And make your own path.

Tibet inspired

2008-05-11T00:20:00.000-07:00

Violence and aggression rise from fear and greed. What gives the Chinese the right to violate human rights? To kill and torture people? If I hadn’t visited Bylakuppe in September 2004, I would’ve never realized what was going on right next to India. There is no media coverage on the kind of torture being carried out on the Tibetans. It’s not like Iraq where we could read and condemn Bush and his soldiers for their actions.
Borders apart, we are all humans aren’t we? Then why is the world not doing anything when something like this happens? But even before that, some fundamental questions. How can one have the mind to hurt anyone or anything else? Why is ‘world peace’ a cliché? Why is the right way termed ‘idealism’ and ‘wishful thinking’? Why doesn’t anyone except maybe children ask these questions? Are we used to it? Just because its everywhere-newspapers and TV news, are we sick of hearing it? Do we briefly groan at the front page and turn to read the comics instead? Are we so selfish that we take our own freedom for granted and not care for others who don’t have it? Where does this violence come from? Isolation? Indifference? A fear of facing the truth?

In the twenty years I’ve been on earth, I discovered something. I was innocent. A long time ago, I was innocent. Now I’m guilty. There is violence in me. In trying to protect myself I have hated people, even hurt them. That’s where it starts. Don’t we all feel it sometimes? Frustration, dissatisfaction, fear, irritation, hate, insecurity, possessiveness. And don’t we all like to be praised? To bask in some neon glory? It is these natures that accumulate; join together like little droplets and become the monstrous sea of violence. Each one of us, by our fundamental natures is responsible for bloodshed because even if we don’t directly kill, we allow it to happen by inaction. We allow it in our own minds if not in deeds.
We can’t protest in absolute righteousness because we are so full of it ourselves. Do we realize that? If we can’t live without conflicts in our own minds, how will world peace become a reality?

We can’t pretend to love. We can’t expect superficial changes in policies to bring about any change to the root of filth, nor clean up the corruption in our selves. There are Hitlers, Bushes, and Hu Jintaos in all of us. When we teach them love and compassion, there can be peace.

But here’s the disclaimer. I am no one to tell you what to do. I, as filthy as I am. All I can do is humbly share what I do understand and hope to have more people be aware of this, and try to love. I have been trying. It’s not easy. But please, let’s not give up.

Confessions

2008-05-11T00:14:00.000-07:00

“I have seen you in my dreams. Smiling in enjoyment. I have felt you angry and watched you sleeping. And in real life, I feel safe and clean when I’m with you. Like I would at Home. Or in the pure Mountains. Such confessions happen only late at night.”

How?

2008-05-11T00:11:00.000-07:00

“You told me it was shit. How did you stay clean? Are you stronger? They cant tolerate people and different clothes. I can’t tolerate violence. The world is easier for them. Should I not be here?”

redefine love

2008-05-11T00:07:00.000-07:00

“I disagree that love has only one meaning. We must broaden our understanding. Because I need you to know what I mean when I say I ‘love you’. I will miss you.
Why is it that when the feeling is so different, there aren’t suitable words to express it? There is little pain in this separation. I won’t cry. Only embrace you and wish that over time, nothing really ends. Just changes and grows.”

Little Baby 10 Days Old

2008-05-11T00:03:00.000-07:00

dedicated to my niece, Shruthi

Little baby 10 days old
You squirm around in my lap
Frown and smile without reason
Pee and poo without warning

Little baby 10 days old
Your feet are soft like petals
The grandmothers and aunts
Hover around you

Little baby 10 days old
You fall asleep so easily
Your cries silenced
In your peaceful state

Little baby 10 days old
You know nothing at all
And your family
Loves you so much

god and love

2008-04-28T07:48:00.001-07:00

Words like love and god are of the most ambiguous. What do people mean when they ask ‘do you believe in god’ or ‘I love you’. So few people see subtleties in the meanings of these words. Some even equate god with religion! Religion is just a socially accepted system of belief. It usually asks one not to question. And even those that originally had a spirit of questioning have become blind faith. But if people find some kind of peace in that, that’s to be respected as well.
But to me, god has too many more layers. He’s like good poetry.

Most of the time he is a companion, a friend who I can cry to, thank and shout out. But I am an understanding friend in return. If he had to take away my friend’s parent, after shouting at him, I eventually forgive him and accept it.
I go to him for forgiveness too but most of the time he goes easy on me. It’s myself I have a problem with. I make myself do things to make up for my mistake- sometimes figuratively whip myself till I feel worthy of forgiveness.

But god isn’t just a friend. He is a big hug of warm benevolence when I need support. When I feel like it, I even pray. I don’t need a temple or a specific time. I just quieten myself and connect to him, like when an ambulance passes by.
When I walk into a friend I needed to talk to, or get a seat in the bus on the days I don’t feel too good, I thank him for it. He protects me when I have to pass any form of danger. Sometimes I think he’s designed my life in the path of enrichment. Everything happens for a reason. Coincidences hold meaning.

But god can be impersonal too. He can be in the love and respect one can feel towards every living and non-living thing that exists. He can be everything or nothing just like everything and everyone else can. The moments when one feels one with the whole world and exploding with love, that’s god, that’s love. There’s no distinction between god and the individual.

Like god, love is a wide spectrum of experiences that needs individual understanding rather than definition. At different stages of life, we feel different forms and intensities of love towards different people and things.
I love my family, school teachers, seniors, peers and juniors (more or less family), other friends, and even some of my college teachers. I love the dogs I pass on the way to college, and the trees in my neighbourhood. I love the wind and the clouds. I love music and books. I love myself.

This ambiguity is actually good. Why should love be limited? There should be a Fundamental Right to Freedom of Love and its Expressions. The world would be a sweeter place if we could hug trees without people thinking its weird; And hold a blind woman’s hand as she gets off the bus; And comfort a crying stranger; buy lunch for a street kid or a poor disabled person; And all this in a spirit of love, not pity or superiority. Love shouldn’t know any boundaries. It is not love if it does.

womanhood

2008-04-28T07:39:00.000-07:00

the following posts were withheld in the 'period of silence'

Child at heart, I am not used to telling people at parties that I don’t drink. No-one would ask me. I’m surprised when men talk to me as if I were a woman. I am surprised at what I find myself talking about- exes, condoms, not denying the body its desires. I am a woman but a child at heart. Compared to my mid teens, this seems a more drastic transition. Its been happening for quite a while. I’ve just woken up to it. The body changed maximum in the teen years but one doesn’t realize it till it enables one to feel very differently to what one has previously felt. Sexual maturity accompanies mental confusion. Mind needs time to catch up with body. Why cant we be just people instead of men and women?
My peers already know. They are consistently women. I oscillate between being a woman and a person. I am treated as if I were constantly aware that I was a woman. Why do they do it?
Or rather, why am I the exception?
If I weren’t, I would understand myself better.
Person to child, child to person, and then occasionally a woman, when I permit a man to treat me that way. Curious child in the classroom. Fun person with friends. While being eve teased, a disgusted and angry woman or an indifferent person. While pushed to flirting, a childishly shy or mischievous woman.
I start observing again-the changes- after so long. I’ve been living without understanding. But now I’ve started watching again.
I can imagine the women around me being mothers or getting married. Just dress them up and they’ll be ready. I hope I never grow up like them. I hope I never lose the child within. I don’t swear, drink, have a boyfriend to go out with, spend time in front of the mirror, swing my hips when I walk, wear much jewelry, wear heels, or wave like a girl. I must be tom boy.
Do I ever try to be a woman? Or do I try not to be?
Its easier not to be. It takes too much effort. But I’m defying my hormones? Defiant not to succumb to hormones or gendering?
Or a natural rebel?

revival

2008-04-28T07:19:00.000-07:00

i've shed my skin
purged my soul

i've created more than i imagined i could
fresh air, open spaces of nature make ppl nicer at heart...

i am now ready to rise again
this blog after so long is ready for my new writtens
i am aware that being a blog, its bound to be read by some of the great minds i've invited and certain scum but i'm beyond letting that bother my expression

new leaves have sprouted
flowers have bloomed and there are even fruits on the branches

peaceful sleep and bathing in love are cleansing
visiting home, being with family in long baths of fresh pure mountain water love...

what didnt kill me only made me stronger:)

she woke me up

2008-02-29T09:11:00.000-08:00

dont we really live in a lulled illusion?
dont i...rather...

i do.
she woke me up

a devastating blow to the castles i had built
idealism about the self must be the last to crash

at least the last so far

im not great
im not perfect at all
im as filthy as the rest of them
if not more...by pretense...by unaware-ness

i cause the hurt
i cause the violence

if regret and wishing to rewind and erase parts of the past are not good enough,
as i know they arent
i need to know what is

is it possible to be clean?
is it possible for me to be clean?

if not like a divine soul
clean like a hospital where ills are cured?

time to search the soul
time to attempt a cleansing

can i clean with dirty hands?

still i wont not try

Let the world know my Pain

2008-02-27T06:28:00.000-08:00

written on 14th Feb

Maybe you cant see it so easily…but I've been in pain since 31^st January.

There are reasons of course. Some you would understand, some you wouldn't. Would u consider not knowing yourself and what you want a source of unhappiness?

Well that's one. One of my favourite teachers retired. My email ids got hacked into. Passive distance became active rage. I've never felt that violent before. And by some misinterpretations resulting form that I lost two important friends. Both of them hate me now. To my knowledge, I've never been hated before. I still don't think I deserve it and I'm trying to shield myself form how much it hurts me.

Perhaps not as severe as this are the two other friends who turned diplomats after this incident. Fiends I can't cry to anymore.

Yes, there has been something positive about this- I've bonded more deeply with so many people. Grown closer to them because they supported me through it.

But I lost the usual high I live on…no more singing in labs, making people smile and smiling when I really felt happy. Now all my smiles are either forced or last few seconds before they disappear into a dull grimace. A wilted sunflower.

I took the appropriate and sensible measures about the incident and stepped back. I want the hate to stop though I'm still angry at times that my privacy was invaded. I thought the low would wear off slowly but yesterday, I was given a large dosage of hate. I don't understand how it's possible to hate me. I simply can't digest it.

Nothing's going my way. Except for my friends and family, the world seems to be conspiring against me. Even the bus conductor!

Tears? Lachrymal secretions! No they don't help much, though they do come once in a while. I can't cry or shout it out. I sing, but when I stop, it all comes back.

I told god last night to stop giving me a hard time. He seems to want to beat every ounce of my previously resilient optimism out of me. I don't like this world. I don't like the hate and negativity. I'm just a helpless child in this horrible world.

I can't burden people with more than what I have about my pain. It's not theirs to bear. I'm now part of this world. I've learnt to hate, I've learnt to use bad language without flinching when I'm angry. I'm hated. So true to mankind! But do you know how much this hurts?

I want to be an infant again. To be held do safely in my mother's arms. To be loved unconditionally by everyone. To cause no hurt to anyone. Pure, innocent, loved.

What's the point of living in this world? Why become filth to 'adapt'? And they say this pain is nothing. There's more to come so don't be naïve.

If this goes on, I may get suicidal. Geez! Would I have ever thought that possible before? I can't survive in this world the way I am. I need to toughen myself further. To get filthier with apathy. Absorb more filth. Till I'm like the rest of them. Zombies.

Big Deal

2007-12-31T01:09:00.001-08:00

This year, I felt no Christmas spirit. I feel nothing special about New Year. And after all that, I don't think Birthdays are big deals anymore either. Time just flows. In specific about Birthdays, I think, we all love getting older till we are 18, then we pull a face about the ones that follow. New year is just a passing into the same cycle again. But we could celebrate it in June or September! And there really isn't any Christmas spirit. It doesn't matter. I bet Jesus was born some other time and people just celebrate it in Winter to make the season pass more easily. (In European and North American countries it gets bitterly cold. Christmas serves to lighten things up).

We just make a Big Deal about things.

Dread

2007-12-26T07:03:00.000-08:00

It’s strange that 8 days before I turn 20, the same dread of growing up haunts me as it did 7 days before I turned 14. If I could, I would fight Time. But, I know this feeling will pass.

I want to know why I dread growing up. Why, despite in general, knowing and accepting life as it is, there are still moments like these before my birthday. The most obvious reason to me is probably that people now see and treat me as a woman, an adult, rather than as a child and person. They excuse me less, expect more, and totally disapprove when I don’t conform.

I’ll miss the wonder I used to cause when I said something profound (I would say these things as most children do; not because I was a genius but because I was a free child). I’ll miss being smarter than most people, now that everyone is expected to know more anyway. I’ll miss the freedom of laughing out loud without being judged negatively. When I reach the end of my fresh fruit juice, I’ll have to restrain myself from noisily sucking in the last few drops.

I look in the mirror. The innocent child is gone. I see a grown young woman. My problem is that I have a form. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t matter.

It’s not that I want my childhood back. I am prepared to face life, but I don’t want to do things that are expected of me merely because I’m of such and such an age. Men will be only friends. Learning will continue to be the main purpose and activity of my life.

Oh, so your issue is men? Well perhaps that is what started this dread because I’m not afraid of responsibility or growing ‘old and frail’. It must be what people expect me to feel. I can’t. I once thought I could but I don’t. Because it doesn’t exist. It’ is just the selfish gene which makes us that way. I wont give in.

Existence

2007-12-19T08:35:00.000-08:00

I think that wasting time is criminal. Somehow, there has to be a purpose to everything. And when there is none, I feel like I don’t deserve to exist. They are the true criminals-those who waste time. So I take a book everywhere. Or I study people around me. Why certain faces are more pleasant than others. How so many people make the same gestures for the same things and what that reflects about them. My mind has to be running, wondering and analyzing.

I need to exist. I need to do or think to exist. That is my definition of me- my brain, my body. So is that who I am? Was Rene Descartes right about the criterion for existence? The mind dies with inactivity. That way, the body, the brain and everything dies.

What doesn’t, is the true self. Or rather, what doesn’t, isn’t the self. The self is an imaginary identity just like most others (just as people now acknowledge that nationality and religion are not real) in the world. Identity itself is only a means by which you reassure your existence. You identify your body in the mirror and learn mentally that that’s you. You grow a mind that sees itself as separate form other living and non-living things. Then society teaches you to see more differences. The mind is thus tuned to look for one’s uniqueness. You divide yourself form your mother first then the whole world.

With this division comes conflict. A fight to push ones own sense of reality into another’s. So conflict is the contradiction of different people’s sense of reality.

Our fear of death also arises from this fear of losing our self-made identity. Isn’t it disturbing to consider that in reality, nothing is. Not you. Not the room around you. Not the words you are reading. Not the world outside. Not thought. Nothing.

No wonder we fight. No wonder we are threatened by boredom. We want to prove our existence.

It

2007-12-08T23:27:00.000-08:00

(written in 10th...)

It suffered times when It almost drowned

in the unruly sea, in wild tempests.

The sharp, icy jagged teeth of Cruelty

bit deeply into It.

The tearing claws of Anger slashed

powerfully at It.

It was being dragged through shrubs of

thorns that dug, stung

and scratched bitterly.

The ground was hard and cold

burnt by an evil green, raging fire.

Torture…but It held on…searching

in desperate hope for a glimpse of

Light

from the other end of what it hoped

was a tunnel, but was

a cave.

It finally extinguished

There was infinite darkness,

Loneliness,

Sorrow,

Overwhelming anguish and

Pain.

No more hope.

No more warmth.

Just an agonizing silence…

Would it be this way

Forever?

It didn’t want it so…anymore.

Who can enjoy pain?

Thinking that it is love?

It closed its eyes, believed it was

no more there, but in heaven.

On opening them, It saw a glow.

No, it was not a flame that could be

washed away.

No, It was no longer where it was before

This was not that cave but the

entrance to a garden.

Bright, full of light and beautiful

It dared to look back, felt no more pain.

This was real…the garden.

The place of truth and love,

not the cave of unending illusion.

I Hate Growing Up

2007-12-08T22:29:00.000-08:00

27/12/01

My birthday is seven days away.

I’ll be thirteen only for seven more days.

After my birthday, I’ll be fourteen years old and

Never again will I be thirteen!

Every second, every minute increases

The time of my existence on earth

It increases my age.

Every second, every minute decreases

The time left on earth

It decreases my youth.

The devil called time is taking my

Childhood away.

Somebody stop it! Please!

I don’t want to grow up!

I don’t want to be old!

I don’t want to become frail and helpless

Like a dry leaf from a broken branch!

I don’t want to be loaded with responsibilities

Any more than already is.

I hate growing up.

I want to live my life again;

Change everything that I did.

Enjoy my innocent days!

Sorry Childhood,

I didn’t realize your value till now!

The truth dawns into my realization…

I regret wanting to grow up,

Just to watch movies.

I’m sorry I was mean to you!

I wonder why birthdays are celebrated

I think they should be mourned,

Every moment should be mourned,

Every second should be mourned.

For every sunset brings you

Closer and closer to death and

Further and further from youth!

Everyday that you live

Will never come back again.

I’ll never be seven days less than fourteen again!

After tonight, there’ll be one less day

To live!

Why?? Why?? Why do we have anything like time?

Why does every thing have to live and die?

Why?

Why does time have to pass by?

Why do things have to change so fast?

Does everyone know?

Can someone do something about it?

Please?!!?

(my my i have a lot to say to myself of the past...why so pessimistic? why talk as if from 13 i go straight to 80? theres so much to learn and age is just a natural process...so is death. my own death doesn't scare me anymore. others' seems too unreal and i don't understand it. there is only a conceptual understanding which relates death to sleep and perhaps life is a dream. and if i had a choice, i wouldn't change anything in my life... i am what i am today because of it all and its been an enriching experience. i like myself the way ive turned out and i know i keep growing and learning. but i agree...wanting to watch 15 + movies was a really bad reason to want to grow up...many of my other writtens talk about my present attitude to adulthood

but im sure many ppl feel this way at least a couple of times in life...but life is best lived when one takes the framework and limitations and works best accepting the inevitable and valuing and really living every second instead of mourning it)

Damage to the Heart

2007-12-08T22:02:00.002-08:00

15/3/2

I don’t know what I’m doing

I don’t know what I’ve done.

I don’t know what is true and not,

I don’t know what is what.

There’s nothing I can do ‘cause

There’s nothing in my hands,

But there’s something wrong,

Life goes on with no-matter-what

My heart goes through it too.

It gets slashed, smashed, cracked, thrashed,

Kicked, scratched, beaten and bashed

But it doesn’t break.

Obsession and love

Attachment and affection,

The monsters and causes

Of all heart infections,

Horrible, terrible

Unimaginable!

Life is bad, life is cruel!

Life is ruthless, love is rue!

I go through it, its real to me.

It may seem trivial but

It’s as bad as can be!

Not far away as love seems to be,

The glass I’m looking through

Is playing tricks on me.

Yearning as I am for it,

Despising it now I,

Rather than to live like this

Any day I’d die. But

There’s more to live for,

That’s what people say.

What? What? What is there?

Nothing for me, no way!

It’s bad, it’s sad,

It’s driving me mad!

Rubbish, nonsensical

Loves painful and illogical.

The Path

2007-12-08T22:02:00.001-08:00

8/3/02

From where we come, we go back

But where do we go in the middle?

We follow a path,

A path that is not there.

It is then that we realize that we are lost.

Our images shattered.

Where is that path?

The one that is not there?

Where is life?

That which is not real,

What is this?

Is it all a dream?

Then where are we?

Are we there?

Where is there?

Is there a there?

What is life?

Life is a path with ups and downs

Life is a land that has no path

We choose where we go.

But where do we go at all?

To chase the end is to

Chase your shadows head.

There is no end,

Nor a beginning.

Just a path,

That is not there.

Cloud no. 4

2007-12-08T21:44:00.000-08:00

Once a piece is published, it is the readers' to interpret it how they see fit. Afterall, their interpretation is only a reflection of themselves.

Sorrows

2007-11-29T08:50:00.000-08:00

(again written in my 8th...the second i ever wrote in my life:))

Sorrows

Sorrows exist everywhere, everyday,

all over this pitiful earth.

Sorrows exist in silence

Sorrows exist in mirth

Sorrows exist in the sight of other people.

Sorrows of an un-gettable,

Sorrows of the unforgettable.

Sorrows that lie in the midst of

Every dream.

Sorrows in love,

Sorrows in war,

Sorrows in every up and down of life.

Sorrows we can’t get over,

Sorrows which don’t pass by,

Sorrows which are permanent

Sorrows which don’t die.

Sorrows lie in darkness,

Sorrows are a lack of light.

Sorrows kindled by devils,

Sorrows that leave you in a plight.

Get rid of darkness

Get rid of devils

Get rid of madness

Get rid of riddles

Think sense and wipe away those tears,

Frowns and downs are dull browns,

Life has much more to offer,

I the sea of sorrows, don’t drown.

( i sure am glad my style has evolved)

Rain

2007-11-29T08:25:00.000-08:00

Rain

(written in 5/11/01...my eight...will follow more writens that reflect what i used to write like)

Lying in the meadow full of colourful flowers,

I watch the angels flow by…

Big and small, fluffy and white, telling

the story of a child.

When suddenly, there appeared a huge black cloud

And drizzle droplets fell, lightly, gently on me.

The first rains of the year had begun,

The heat disappeared and the air smelt fresh.

Fresh with the fragrance of everything that surrounded me.

The smell of the bark of all the trees

And all the types of flowers there could be

Coincided in the moist air making it

Heavy with the heaven.

A cool breeze so tender so mild

All of the sudden it turned wild

Ferocious, yet pleasant, it rushed past my face,

Running like a cheetah in the animal race.

The drizzle droplets turned into strong

Heavy wet drops,

And each like a balloon crashed with

Sounding pops.

The joy of my heart knew no bounds,

I got up and joined the flowers

In their rain dance.

I became a part of the wind,

Running around, freely, effortlessly,

I became wild with nature,

So unconsciously.

When its dry, hot and everything

In life is down,

I close my eyes, my spirits rise,

To think of the rain which washes away frowns.

Help!

2007-11-29T08:06:00.000-08:00

(dedicated to Jazz)

Help me ! I hate this place.

I really hate it. I find no peace.

I wan to run. Far…right into

Your classes where I learnt something.

Fists clenched, frown, teeth gritted,

I didn’t ask for this. At all.

I would bang the table- shoot

some (excuses of) humans

down and

Scream!!!!

I would strangle (an excuse of) a teacher

who repeats too much and

smiles sarcastically.

Evil distorted faces growl and

Sneer at me.

Dark grey black with goosebumps

Green- gooey with radioactivity.

Help me -! Help!

Windows

2007-11-29T07:54:00.000-08:00

Windows can be seen as our outlooks to the world. There are times when one’s window shrinks to the size of a peephole, moments of fear or hatred. But in moments of illumination, the window is the highest one in a skyscraper with walls of glass, a panaromic view on life. These rare moments are when one feels big, and full of life and love. (One could say then, in these terms, enlightenment would be the state when windows and walls alike all break open and one is lifted to the clouds.)

The size sometimes changes according to one’s mood and circumstances but for most people, the general structure is consistent. And our up bringing, and perhaps genes, play important roles in determining this. What is our family like? Were we brought up in fear of certain people and things? Were we let out to play enough or trapped inside to cram up for an exam? Were we allowed to question anything and everything and speak our minds, or threatened into blind obedience? How much of TV did we watch and from what stage in life? What kind of exposure and education did we get? All determine our approach to the world.

My own window would be a large square one, framed in strong, brown wood uninterruptedly crossing into a plus to divide it into four equal quarters. It’s a pretty simple outlook, bright, open and optimistic. And it gives more focus to the outside world than its own structure. But the square does symbolize the edge of rigidity that I come with. I tend to be mentally organized and systematically analytical. I don’t compromise on certain principles and I’m pretty hard to convince when it comes to many attributes of my fundamental attitude. The wood is impeccably smooth but not varnished or treated artificially to give it ‘a finish’. I don’t like dishonesty in any form. Perhaps I am crude and unconforming to the rules of the majority.

I don’t have glass in the frame or curtains to block things out with, only the plus-frame. It’s only a delight to have such a big open window if the world one sees through it is for the most part, intriguing and wonderful. I have been quite sheltered so my window offers little defense from the illogical cruelty and insensitivity of the world. I’ve been thinking of getting some drapes to give me the option of shutting out the world but perhaps it’s safer to go with the trends these days and attach heavily tinted glass, build thick metal grills and put up occluding blinds.

Idealism Knocked Down

2007-11-29T07:41:00.000-08:00

Channel the feelings into art and in that preoccupation, the feelings are absorbed with more easily; like a flood, which suddenly found the porous route to the storm drains.

Disillusionment. Why does it hurt?

As we grow up, we are taught ideals, values and morals by which we should approach this world. But, sooner or later, approaching real adulthood, we children realize that the world doesn’t work according to these values. We are the only ones who still believe in and live by them. When we realize and choose to give up hope, we become a true adult. Who says life is pleasant? Who says adulthood is fun or anything we imagined it to be?

Each time (it takes more than once to ‘grow’) the non-logic of peoples minds translates into an action that affects us, it stings. But we are quickly lulled back into a general optimism. Why are we brought up that way? Why not simply teach us the truth from the start?

I went to a funeral today. The death was caused by lack of communication and misunderstanding, perhaps, of objectives and method/focus of working. But why play the blame game? What purpose does it serve?

The first time I entered to office, I expressed my awe, “Wow, I cant believe I’m actually in --- office!” What did I think then. And what do I know now.

Beware, all idealists and hopeful youngsters out there. There’s so much of what you believe in which is not true. I don’t ask you to lose faith and become cynics. Nor do I advocate total optimism. Just be braced with strength to face these things when they hit you.

What I felt in the office during the announcement was not only my pain but the whole groups’. It was the pain of helplessness and anger about not being understood.

But why talk when there’s nothing to discuss? Why argue when no ones listening? Why fight when there was not to be battle in the first place? Why bother…in the end?

The organization may see us as a tool that they can discard or disown, but the disbanding, in the true sense of the word, can’t be done by them. We’ll go on now without the support that we never really had.

What’s to hurt in this? The funeral was of the relationship, which wasn’t all hale and healthy anyway, and also of the idealism some of us carried about the world. I saw one of us break into tears over this death. While another commented on the freedom we now have.

That’s a perspective! Is death the end or liberation?

City Streets

2007-10-31T07:10:00.001-07:00

City Streets
(in the oct hols 2007 for journalism hw)

Vehicle fumes bathe me as I walk the city streets.
The roars of blue and white paid concentration cells, and lorries carrying rough blocks of granite vibrate my stomach. Various pitches of horns intrude my ears. The bikes and autos, unpredictable as flying insects, irritate the voluminous cars.

On the road, there is spit of different colours, cow dung, unstable slabs and sudden holes.
The flyover has plastic tents under it. Dead bodies of the trees still lie beside the widening highway. The smell of the nearby market is a strong mix of flowers, open fruits, urine and smoke of cigarettes and vehicles.

Some men with drunken red eyes sing songs as they pass young girls. A conductor and driver refill their water bottles and empty their bladders. I look away. The cobbler’s children are playing broom cricket.

Men with dark shining skin catch bricks in time with rhythmic hammering. The women ignore the incessant motorized slicing of granite as they sieve sand and cement, and carry the mixture on their heads. They seem to grow shorter by the weight.

A group of boys in faded clothes boldly share a partially used beedi and walk past the disabled artist who draws the same picture with chalk on the quiet road every few months. The vegetable vendor’s bare soles are dirty and cracked. But his eyes are bright. His voice rings out loud and spirited.

Ban the Bulb

2007-10-09T03:13:00.000-07:00

If u really want it off and switches don't work then
rip the circuit.
'Ban the Bulb'

Mirror

2007-10-09T01:07:00.000-07:00

I look for my reflection

I love my reflection.

It isn’t me but my only companion

Through life.

And sometimes it is me.

When we talk I wonder who’s speaking to who.

I cry unashamedly on to my reflection.

Because that’s the only direct truth.

Only me reflection knows me my way.

Only my reflection knows me at all inherently.

Others understand me, in their own ways

They just carry impressions, untruthful; coloured by their lives.

So I am a woman, an adult to them all

But to myself, I’m just me.

I don’t need them. But I forget it sometimes and get lonely.

All I need in my life is a mirror, my reflection

And my need to be understood by another

Is fulfilled

Or perhaps I fool myself.

Adult

2007-10-09T00:50:00.000-07:00

25/5/07

I suddenly realize I am a machine. I do the same things everyday. I’ve stopped feeling. I’ve stopped thinking.

I’m too busy with my life. I’ve grown far away from childhood. I’m passive. I’ve stopped caring…cold, inert, dead. I’m insensitive and superficial. Everything I thought I shouldn’t grow into. I’ve become that machine.

I can’t think further than logic. Logic isn’t enough. I run form introspection. I run. Rapidly run from being alone. I am afraid and now I know it.

I used to burn my blood for work, for the love and passion. Now I only burn to fool myself of love of work, for the rain, music and nature.

I am an adult. I am a machine. Monstrous. There is no love in me. I’m a danger to myself and to humanity and all of dear earth.

But now that I shine light on this state, it will vapourise.

Let us love like children

2007-10-09T00:40:00.000-07:00

In this moist breeze

That sways the branches

And trees

Let us become children

Again, my love, and play

In the rain.

Let us get soaked

Laugh and roll around

On the warm wet ground,

Let us throw handfuls of mud

And drop hail

Down each other’s clothes,

Let us tickle and giggle

And chase each other.

In innocence.

Let us love purely

And carefree

Let us love like children.

..

2007-10-09T00:26:00.000-07:00

9/4/07

Two dots

Bothers me.

Two spots on white

Could mean so much.

It could be doubt

Or fear or a response

That has no words,

He could love me

Life fire or be as

Indifferent as a stone.

He could be shocked

Speechless

Or acknowledge that he

Expected it.

He could be patient

Or be asking for mine.

He could expect me

To continue.

It wasn’t whole,

Perhaps he isn’t.

It could’ve been

?, or !,

*, or yes,

Or and?, wait, or oh!

But

A mere gap between

Two conversations.

This Pebble

2007-09-19T06:39:00.000-07:00

(24th October 2006)

This Pebble;

Pure while at heart but
a tinge of brown outside.

Smooth, but for a few cracks
through which the blankness
gives way to the crystalline insides.

Cold at first, but as it's held,
grows warm to return the warmth
its given.

So soft, yet so strong.
Searching for balance in all its rolls.

Its real; but magically intangible
And incompletely percieved.

The Silver Haired Goddess

2007-09-19T06:34:00.000-07:00

The Silver Haired Goddess

about my grandmother
19/10/06

The sun lights up her silver hair
She walks gracefully past in her fresh light sari.

She's a goddess from above.
She is her name, Saraswathi,
Wisedom in her soft wrinkles as she smiles.

She holds a book in her hand
And sits upright in the light.
Her round glasses rimmed
Her sari in flowy folds.
She is beautiful;

The Silver Haired Goddess.

Love from nature

2007-09-19T06:29:00.000-07:00

3/4/07

Lower your lashes to the Rising Sun
As he, powerful and giving
Rides into the Sky
The cool Breeze feather touches your skin
and passes the Trees' kisses on.

Thirst

2007-09-19T06:26:00.000-07:00

4/4/07

The clouds grow darker over her
The age old metaphor gains new meaning
A simple genuine basic thirst
Breaks her into pain
'Rain!' she cries to the Sky
'Don't just show me you have water!'

Faith and Toil

2007-09-19T05:25:00.000-07:00

Faith and toil.

This system gives no room to be human. There is a formal way of doing everything. Asking why doesn’t feature.

One can ask any teacher who has ever taught me. Not one would disagree that I’m an honest, sincere and exceptionally hardworking student. I come to class on time, I ask questions, do all my work and sometimes even ask for more. I want to learn. And always have.

I’m proud of the fact that I’ve been consistent about the three values that are closest to me in every aspect of life.

Honesty.

Sincerity to everything I commit to.

Acting with love no matter what.

Perhaps I got diarrhea on the day of the microbiology test so that my faith and strong hold on the first two of these values will be tested. And now I do seriously wonder why I bother when it’s so much easier to bribe a doctor to claim that I nearly died on that day so they’d let me write the retest. Is that what will let a good student get the marks he/she deserves? Then may dishonesty prevail!

So much for my ‘faith’ in my values. And as for ‘toil’…ha ha ha ha!! Sorry, I can’t help laughing. I don’t think hard work pays either. I studied for the test and for this retest. I made notes like how I would’ve in school. The love for studying that wore out only at the end of my prolonged board exams had finally returned! But why?

Its not worth it. No one expects a BSc. Student to study at all. Mediocrity is ok, lack of detailed understanding; even less than my 12^th standard, is ok. (My ‘intellectual frustration’ even caused me to tell a teacher that I couldn’t be given handwriting practice as a substitute to learning, and bunk two of his classes.)

But my point is that this world is full hypocrisy. Every system is full of it. The only thing one can still, maybe, believe in is the individual’s inherent humanness. That’s what I’m calling out to.

Hey teachers! You know me! Would I bunk a test without a valid reason? Don’t you know me even that much yet? And hey controller of examinations! Firstly why do you have such a long title! And if you don’t know me cant I be ‘innocent until proven guilty’?

Why are all of you so distrustful of sincere students? Why are you all so stuck in your ‘formal world of system’? Can’t you be human?

To hell with the marks…just be fair.

For the sake of ‘faith’ and ‘toil’.

In College missing Mountains

2007-09-09T07:33:00.000-07:00

This prison. Walls. No trees.

No where to hide

To be alone or cry.

No one to understand the lover’s yearning for the mountains

And the pain of missing my

Second home.

The touch of that book this morning,

The tone of those words,

The reassuring sense.

No one to understand

The pain,

The desperation of the caged,

To Get out and go!

Back to the beloved Mountains

With my loving family.

Or merely attend crazy

Chemistry classes.

Trapped here. Noise, too many

People. Watching. Too closely.

Cant be alone

Cant scream in frustration

Do you know how it feels

To be surrounded and filled

With Whole Free Beautiful Love?

To live in that medium-

To breathe it?

My home. The immensity of the

Mountains,

Their splendour.

It calls. I will go.

Volleyball

2007-09-09T07:26:00.000-07:00

Volleyball

Was my class’s game.

We played it all six years

In beating heat sweating,

Or in slushy mud rain

And all free hours.

His eyes near the net would

Follow mine before I set to serve

It would give me the power

To get it over.

It was friendly. When it

Mattered I didn’t play. Just

Watch or read with Aaku,

Su, Pri, Pro, Niki, Peeni, Hemal,

Amu and Jyo squealing or

Calling in the background.

Here I am, watching the dynamic

Game in college, my new class

Playing.

Flakes

2007-09-09T07:18:00.000-07:00

(27th Feb 2007)

The season changes
Clouds cover parts of
The sky. I lose peace.

Moisture in the wind
Falling leaves; dry and
Brittle. Wait for rain.

Some bright green leaves and,
some branches, leafless,
Flowers in some; pink,

Yellow, purple. Seeds
Float in transparent
Flakes,. Rocks melt, trees bend,

All that stood alone
Now clings desperately
To the universe.

Sore

2007-09-09T07:16:00.000-07:00

(Feb 2007)

Do not touch me
For I am sore
Do not speak
Your voice hurts my ears
Just be here
Go
I cant live with
Or without you.

Familiar Air

2007-09-09T06:41:00.000-07:00

(written in january 2007)

The air is familiar,
Fans on.
Summer setting in
Boards time.

Sky blue,

More clouds,
Same smell- temperature,
Humidity.

Thin layer of
Sweat.
Separation, farewell
Flowers in the Valley.

It may rain in the evenings
Wind tells me now.
I'm tuned to this part of
Earth.

I remember, as a child,
This same air
In Trichy and Mettupalayam
Heat degree varying.

City

2007-09-02T00:29:00.000-07:00

written mid december 2006

There is no wholesome plant here
There is no learning
No passion.
Being with the dead kills me.

There aren't enough trees
Not enough shade
Dry dust and plastic.

My tears are not water enough
to give life to this
Nor my anger or frustration.

The only thing thats constant
is the blue sky above. So

I wish to be a bird that finds freedom in the blocks
I wish to be the clouds again
I wish to be the trees, my friends and the ever moving breeze.

I see machines everywhere
They never walk alone
But they are.

There is no freedom or intelligence.

I need water and sunshine,
I need leaves, insects, streams, lakes,
I need Home.

Cloud no. 3

2007-09-02T00:21:00.000-07:00

For no specifiable reason I feel sure.
Something tells me the improbable is possible
And real.

I am not one who believes without proof
I am a scientist
Yet I'm sure.

When logic is questioned so strongly by intuition
What do i trust
And act on?

A passing thought...

2007-08-30T07:58:00.001-07:00

The brain stews some ingredients

When the time is right, the aroma emerges...

Thoughts are like passing clouds...

It strikes me that respect is a rare feeling amongst people.

The way men look at women...I mean both perspective and actually looking...
It has always bothered me that everyone seems to accept this.

'Thats the way it is'

Language is full of patriarchal references.

Chivalry is a polite mockery that most people neither understand nor intend.

Well, one can perhaps accept a generalisation that women aren't as muscular as men and also that they are far more organised and good at seeing things through than men be it at home, with children or in 10th grade where every year, 'girls outshine boys'. But somehow, these qualities are never taken seriously. When an intelligent woman states that she is could be more capable of ruling this world than many a silly man, she is termed a feminist and dismissed.

But i digress.

Language. I tend to read into language and the hidden connotations of some striking words...
I was examining 'chick' the other day. Firstly it sounds as if the woman is some bird brained silly object, then to my great joy i discovered that its roots were in Europe where chice or come such French word and i associated it with the Spanish chiquetta. (Forgive my spellings if they're wrong)

Both these words suggest fragility and soft innocence. Perhaps when the 'lady feels demure and shy' this would be an appropriate personal endearment.
But how is it used? 'Hey dude! Check out that chick! Is she hot or what...'
That's nice. Full of respect, isn't it.
This usage reduces a woman from an individual to her appearance.

[....................................................And one can safely say that when a girl 'checks out a guy' (as is supposed to be natural), she wouldn't so vehemently die for him on the spot! Of course it differs from girl to girl but they are definitely more likely to call the men they're in love with, unbearably attractive, not the any-many guy they see.

(As a disclaimer, not all men are open about their finding a woman attractive, but none of them will deny that their eyes roam a lot more.) ..........................................................................................................................]

Babe is another such word.

Anyone who has the guts to call me either one, wishes to burn in hell. More than being liked, I need respect. Respect me and hate me and I'll still respect you and even love you as a living thing as I do everything else. The moment I'm disrespected, the guilty becomes beneath my dignity to associate with, egoistic as that may sound.

But by respect i don't mean the 'Good morning ma'am' crap. (Thats just formality that some people are taught to expect.) I mean the dignity of being a person as a whole. One who has feelings, brains, idiosyncrasies and strength of character apart from a physical manifestation of a body.

If only i could disappear so that others would give more importance to the invisible.
Many times I wish I were a tree or a bird just to escape the looks and comments i receive. To be so far removed from anything human and male... I wonder whether anyone talks of trees and birds with the kind of derogation they attribute to women.

Perhaps, and people will say so, i take this all too seriously. Perhaps its just part of being young. But if the young don't respect each other, how on earth will grown ups? We do grow into them you know. And with age only comes more filth and corruption into the mind. Its pretty obvious that only intellectual understanding of many things sometimes occurs with time. But it remains conceptual. Habits are formed. And one finds it too difficult to change one's ways after a point.

So what can i do, since i can't disappear, nor become a tree or bird...
I had fantasies of a soft blue cotton burkha to wear in public, when i feel reduced or threatened. When it is forced on women as a culture, perhaps it reduces them, but if its a choice I make, am I reducing myself?

My mind wandered...I'll go monk! Shave off all my thick beautiful hair and really prove my point. Wear only one colour, blue (because I like it) and lead a simple life. Or move to the forest! (I would love that:)) Run away from man-kind...

Escapism or protecting myself?

Well, these thoughts I had yesterday. I wore the baggiest t-shirt my brother had, and his pants, hid my hair under a scarf and a clip and made my way to college. Apart form those who I'd shared my thoughts with, everyone else thought it was a style statement! Only those who knew, used word like…’ridiculous’, ‘weird’, and ‘crazy’. But it was directed probably more at my intentions than at my actual clothes.

One of them pointed out that this change is only going to draw more attention to me than to my character and serve no purpose ultimately. Good point. He added that if a generally expressive person, to become one with the crowd, quietens suddenly, that too would draw more attention than his/her usual behaviour.

But perhaps today was only ‘first day symptoms’. They will hopefully come around to accepting this change as normal, and stop noticing it. Then my purpose will be achieved…for then, no one will Ever refer to me, in baggy clothes as a chick or a babe! Instead, perhaps as ‘weird’ but I don’t mind being called something I perhaps already am.

But…

This move if I continue with it, contradicts what I myself keep saying; why should a woman change her ways to accommodate the faults in a man’s (Ok lets stop attacking men. Not all of them deserve this.) Society’s outlook?

Again the answer perhaps lies in the difference between the way of dressing as a rule laid down by a college and a personal choice. But am I reducing myself? Or protecting myself? Or letting ‘what others think affect me’ bother me though I usually dismiss it?

Let the questions wander and float. When the time comes the stew of thought will be ready and the aroma will rise again.

Walking Home

2007-08-19T06:37:00.000-07:00

Walking Home

(story based on a dream written in 9th std)

It was just another day and she was returning from school. After a long ride, the bus reached the last stop. Several students got off along with her. She stood alone till the empty bus turned a corner and disappeared.

She started walking slowly along the side of the main road. She remembered her brother. He had gone for a camp with his class. She wondered what he’d be doing then.

Her brother was two years younger than herself but she trusted him like her best friend. She missed him now.

She turned the corner and it occurred to her that the streets were far less busy than usual. Everything seemed to be moving rather slowly. The men and women who walked in the park, seemed to be less in number than ordinary days. The watermelon seller at the corner of the park wore a strange, forbidding look. He seemed lost as his blood-shot eyes stared into mid-space. Maybe he’s drunk, she thought.

She dismissed the slowness of the atmosphere thinking that it was her perception after a fast day at school.

As she walked along, she noticed groups of men turn to walk behind her. They were dark skinned and wore their colourful lungis up. Their clothes were shabbily worn and frayed here and there. Their skin shone with sweat and was occasionally stained with paint or mud. And the way they walked, so carelessly, as if they owned the streets made her feel out of place.

They noticed her glancing at them a bit nervously and smiled at her; their pan-stained lips parting to expose crooked, yellow teeth. Behind them there were more such worker men. They whistled and sang songs. She remembered all the stories she had heard about the street men and walked on, quickening her pace.

Just then, like an answer to her prayer, she saw a man ahead of her. His hair was neatly cut and combed. He wore an impeccable white shirt, which seemed to have been ironed, and blue jeans. In his right hand he carried a black briefcase. Although she didn’t know him, she was relieved to see a civilized looking man.

She caught up with him trying not to make it so obvious that she was afraid of the worker-men behind her. She said hello and as he turned to face her, she saw a clean-shaven face smile at her in a half questioning and half delighted way. His face was sharply cut as if chiselled out of a rock. His jet-black eyes looked amused, surprised and shrewd all at the same time. His eyebrows were pitch-black and were lifted up in angles that matched the other angles that made his face.

As they walked she engaged him in a general conversation. But he sensed that she was nervous. He noticed that she frequently turned back in a fearful way, and realized she was scared of those men. Soon, he put her at ease and she was telling him all about herself. She felt completely comfortable with him.

“Yes, I’ve heard some pretty nasty things about these street men too, but lucky me,” he paused to smile at her, “I am not a pretty little girl!”

She laughed delightedly,” Do you really think I’m pretty? Some boy in my class called me a fat pig today!”

“How cruel of him! But don’t you worry, he’s probably just got and inferiority complex himself. What’s he like?”

“He’s nice to everyone else, not to me, but that’s only because I’m new here-“

“New? Where were you before?”

“Not in this country.” She stated and quickly changed the topic as she saw that she had reached her street to turn into.

“I turn here. Thankyou for- “

“I need to go this way too. “

“Really?”

”Of course, and I would take the detour just to walk you home even if it wasn’t on my way.”

She blushed at his flattering tone and the sincerity in his dark eyes.

They turned and continued walking. She observed to her relief that the worker-men walked straight and forgot about her.

A few puppies trotted across the road in front of them. Their mother knew the girl well and didn’t growl as they walked closer to them. The girl gasped in awe as always when she saw the tiny creatures.

“Do you like puppies? I adore them so very much! They’re the cutest things on earth…” She went on talking to him now in an excited high pitched voice about how much she loved puppies and how she was thinking of getting one soon.

But suddenly she didn’t have his attention anymore. His black eyes were shelled thickly, the sharp edges of his face had turned rigid and a hard look came over his face. But she was so caught up in telling him all about her plans and her parent’s objections that she didn’t notice the change that had come over him.

He turned to her and eased his expression. But the tension didn’t leave his eyes. They soon reached her house and on the opposite side of the road, there was a small white car parked.

She stopped briefly. “Well, good bye then, and thank-” She had again vainly attempted to thank him for protecting her from those eve-teasing, indecent worker-men who weren’t even half as civilized as him. But just as she was speaking, she saw the queer way in which he was looking at the man in the driver’s seat.

He suddenly pulled up his sleeves, thrust his hand into the open window, grasped the man’s neck and with a steel hard grip, twisted his wrist. She heard a snap of the neck and stepped back horrified. Having done this, he dropped his briefcase, opened the door quickly, jerked him out violently and broke his hand bone as easily as one could break a long pencil. But he didn’t stop at this either. He broke his other hand and gave him a winding blow in the stomach. With this he calmly shoved him back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.

He straightened his back into a cool posture, pulled down his sleeves, smoothened the wrinkles on his shirt and picked up his briefcase. He then turned around to face her and she saw the smug satisfaction on his face. And in his eyes, an unnerving glint of violent, sadistic pleasure and excitement sparkled.

He had killed the man in broad daylight! And how casually! Without screams or bloodshed like the usual murderers that she had seen on television, but in such a neat and sophisticated manner. An icy chill spread into her blood and the bewilderment and shock of having seen a real life murder shook her.

What scared her most was that she had been walking with a psychotic murderer all this time! One, who didn’t even bear a trace of being afraid of being caught on his face. And worse than anything, she had trusted him to be the civilised one.

Terrified thoughts ran disorganised through her mind as she stepped fumblingly backward confused. He started to laugh crazily at her and she opened the gate to her house and ran in, in utter fright.

Neighbours and Water

2007-08-19T06:28:00.001-07:00

(written 2-3 years ago)

They say that World War III will be due to water, but some people just don’t care.

I have a neighbour next to my house, and for four years, that I’ve been here, their tank has been overflowing every time there is supply of corporation water.

It’s one of those things that really irritate me. How can one know that they’re wasting water and not do anything about it? I have told them personally, asked my parents to convey the message, and even bothered them in early hours for some days continuously, to simply fix a valve!

A valve isn’t one of those expensive, high-tech kind of instrument that needs a lot of effort, energy or money to install. It is simple and easily available. They have three men in the house, two of them are engineers (ahem!), who could’ve easily done the job in five to ten minutes. And if they didn’t want to do it themselves, they can easily afford a plumber too.

But no, it appears that they just don’t want to!

Each time I approach them, I try to be polite, (for it is not advisable to damage relationships with neighbours), and tell them to install a ball valve. Once I even gave them a speech in their language, (the best I could), about how so many people on earth don’t even have access to clean drinking water, let alone for basic hygiene, and that it was so very wrong of them to waste the same precious resource this way!

After this too, I’ve tried talking to the ‘educated members’ of their family, the head of the family, and when this too didn’t work, I merely yelled about sinners, hell and dying of thirst through the window every time I heard the water overflow.

I don’t think they care at all! (And by the way, I wonder what this says about education.)

I’ve thought of sending them a false threat from BWSSB that they will not get water any more unless they get a valve fixed. Next, I thought of complaining to BWSSB about it, but my parents thought that they would not care either. What a system! Talk about abuse of subsidies! The poor in the slums have one common tap every few blocks and irregular water supply whereas the rich have a tap in every room that can run 24/7! Isn’t the whole point of subsidies lost?

But what on earth does one do about all this? Please do tell me.

Just yesterday morning as I woke up, I heard the loud pouring patter outside. I got so livid that I would’ve gone up on the terrace and started bombing them with the most vile curses I knew till they woke up! But fortunately my Dad stopped me. That wasn’t the way. I thought later about what else I could possibly do about it.

The pen had better be mightier than the sword.

2007-08-19T05:44:00.000-07:00

MY TRIP TO THE HIMALAYAS

(written just b4 my 2nd trip )

Departure

It was the night of my brother’s 'Upanayanam' and I was to leave by the Kongu express for The Himalayas via Delhi.

My parents were so tired, that I was to go with the hostilities to the railway station. Some relatives were still in the house.

I had been scared about climbing The Himalayas for weeks now. It was no ordinary range! It was the largest in the whole world. So many people have died trying to conquer its peaks! Moreover, for me who never really played or exercised, for me who never even liked to move from one chair to another once I’m settled, for me who could not even climb a rock called Savan Durga, how would it be?

Our class had climbed the Savan Durga once in year seven and I had come second last upto halfway up and half the class stayed there, while the others ventured to the top. I had found it so hard that it did nothing to encourage me to do more climbing in the future.

This year when the class voted to go to The Himalayas, I liked the idea but did not know how I would manage it considering all my laziness. As a practise session and to get the feel of what it would be like in The Himalayas, Sharad arranged for another climb to Savan Durga (the 2nd largest monolith in Asia, which is the biggest continent).

That night we stayed over in school planning to leave at six a.m. the next day. I was terrified. I told my teacher, Krishnan Uncle, so and he asked Sharad to give me a pep talk.

“Why are you so scared?“

“Because I couldn’t do it last time.“

“When was that?“

“In 7th.“

“You are misjudging your capabilities. Take it from me, tomorrow will be easier for you than last time.“

There is no point arguing with someone who does not know my capacities well, yet one who thinks he does, I thought. It took me a long time to fall asleep that night.

The next day we were all ready by six a.m. and were standing near the bus. However, we did not leave. We were waiting for Sharad to come from the Study Centre. After all that talk of “The earlier we leave the faster we can go and avoid the mid-day heat“, he was the one who was late. When he finally came, he told us that he woke up at three a.m. thinking he was late, and then went back to sleep with the impression that two hours was a long time.

Anyway, we were on our way now. It took us around one and a half hours to get to the foot of the monolith. On the way, people in the back seats were screaming, cracking jokes, and singing Hindi songs. Hemal was extremely loud and sometimes unpleasantly so, but over all it was fun. People in the front of the bus, including the many teachers who had come along, were either sleeping or chatting quietly. Outside though, it was all quiet. The massive rocks and deserted land of shrubs that we passed became brighter and brighter as time passed. We stopped briefly for breakfast under a few big trees and then after a few more kilometres, we reached the foot of Savan Durga!

It was my shoes that I did not trust, but despite that, my footwork was great. All the teachers took pains to encourage me occasionally, which lifted my morale, and even some of the other slow students kept cheering me up.

What a climb, I thought after it was all over. It was not so hard after all. And I had actually done the whole thing this time and was very proud of that. Only thing was that I was slower than the rest of the class. Nevertheless, I had had fun.

The Qualis arrived at last and after quite an elaborate goodbye to my family, I sat in the front of the packed car with Jazz and Sharad. I was the only girl in the whole car! The boys behind me were in high spirits and were singing all sorts of songs in their own tunes and pitches. We reached the station before the girls of the hostel. Soon the whole lot was tying floor mats to their bags on the platform, and chatting away excitedly. Our class teacher, Krishnan uncle was to come with us with Vinitha aunty, Nandu, Subramanium uncle, and his sister. Those were the adults. Sharad…well, couldn’t be considered an adult, I guess. He was more like another member of our class, as he took no time in blending in with us. Soon, the train left Bangalore, and after a while, we all fell asleep.

And so it begins

The next day, I was woken by Hemal’s exclamation of how beautiful the sunrise was. I looked outside the opened windows at the sceneries flashing by. The sky was lit a spectacular hue of orange and the warm sun was just above the horizon. The flat land around us was of more or less dry vegetation with an occasional field of paddy or sunflowers. The brightness of the paddy’s green and the sunflower’s yellow was pleasant to the eye: a change from the monotonous shades of army green. Hemal was right. It was truly beautiful.

I freshened up and returned to our compartment. Amrutha was being woken up, or rather, irritated by Hemal. He was sticking a stick into her nose and tickling her face with it. She was trying vainly to shoo him away and sleep for a while longer. Aakriti and Alisha were sleeping undisturbed. D.B. (short for Dibyendu) and Choeeta were awake and gazing outside. Dharthi must have been awake and in another compartment.

In the other compartments, the others were half asleep too. Only in the teacher’s cabin, and I was surprised at first, they were up and singing!

Soon our ordered breakfast arrived and after eating, many of them played cards. It was so boring that I fell asleep again. I woke up in time for lunch at Hyderabad; pizzas and cokes from Karthik’s father as a treat for his birthday coming up.

Then we sang: Vini, Kamaan, Parth, and myself. Parth taught us a song and Vini and Kamaan sang something that they had learnt recently.

Later in the evening, just before dinner arrived, we started singing Hindi songs and some of us were so excited that we started dancing in the train. If Gopi, our previous class teacher, had seen us, he would have given us a blasting then and there on behaviour and attracting unwanted attention. But lucky for us, he was not present.

We played some more cards after dinner then fell asleep one by one. The next morning we woke up much later than the previous day. We ate, sang, played Mafia, or cards, or slept, the whole day. And in the evening, we reached the capital of India, New Delhi.

From the Nizzamuddin station, we took a local train to Old Delhi station. We had a bath in the waiting rooms. It was really refreshing.

I was scared of this new city. The place alone didn’t bother me much except for its pollution, but my father and Vini had warned our class girls of North Indian men, especially ones in groups.

After my bath, I caught up on the latest gossip of our class then went down to call my parents. I talked to both my parents and told them to say hi to my brother. I missed them but my class was like my second family so I didn’t really feel lonely.

After the call, I saw some puppies under the flight of stairs that led to the waiting rooms. They were so very small and so, so, so cute! But, we were told not to touch them because the mother may attack.

Soon I was called downstairs again to meet Veda’s aunt and uncle. They looked quite young and very friendly. I was to stay with them when we returned to Delhi on our return journey with Veda, (she had invited me because she herself didn’t know them well and wanted company.) I had met them briefly when both of us were called upstairs. It was time to get on the night train to Katgodam.

In the train, it was dark and a bit dirtier than the Kongu express but I was put with the same wonderful people as in the previous train. We would have to get up at 0445 so most of us slept early.

I woke up before we had to and watched the red sun rise from beyond the first hills we saw. We were at the toes of The Great Himalayan range. The train stopped soon and we got down to cleaner and colder air than in Delhi.

On the platform, there was a man taping some of us and suddenly I was again reminded of my father’s warning. ‘North Indian men aren’t to be trusted. They have much less exposure to education or decency. You being a young lady, must be very, very careful in the north.’ Suddenly I was quite petrified of what may happen. The few of us who had noticed the men walking towards us, carefully made our ways toward the teachers.

To our surprise, the men too, walked straight towards the teachers and greeted them warmly. When I saw that, I realised that they must be our guiding group; The Pulse Racers. We were so relieved.

They led us to a bus and tied our bags to the top. We got on and rode to Nainital. There, we had four rooms to freshen up in before we would ride on to our first camp, Song. We were advised not to take baths as, the climatic and altitudinal change would have a more unpleasant effect on us if we did. Therefore, I just brushed my hair, ate the parathas, drank cold coffee and waited for everyone else.

The bus ride after that was fascinating. The scenery was brilliant. Water gushing everywhere with rocks of different sizes, shapes, colours, and textures randomly placed in and around the river Kosi. There’d be glittering mica rocks or solid pastel coloured rocks.

The driver was very sensitive about breaking a branch on a difficult turn, but at the same time the horn he used was especially unhealthy for any environment. Both he and the conductor smiled to each other whenever I blocked my ears and made a face at the noise. At the back of the bus there was a joke and story session going on with Sharad and whoever was awake, whereas at the front, Vini, Nandu and I watched the breathtaking sceneries pass by. When the mood suited her, Vini would enlighten us with whatever she knew about the Himalayan culture and what daily life was like there. (She once lived here and so always feels at home in the mountains.)

She also commented on the effort put in by Sharad, who she knew hadn’t slept well in two to three days, in keeping the awakened students occupied and happy, so that they wouldn’t feel queasy. That was nice of him, I thought.

In the mountains

The huge forest covered hills loomed above the terraced fields and the young Kosi as far as the horizon could reach. Our ride ended abruptly at Song, and we all put on our bags and trekked three kilometres of the toughest uphill. Some of the others felt dizzy and again, nauseous and I was dreadfully breathless and pooped out. I was trying to go as fast as the rest and I couldn’t so I felt like sitting, and crying and just giving up. It was beginning to get dark when I reached Loharkhet. The first thing I did was tell everyone sitting outside the rooms that I loved them all (at which they moaned at ‘untimely’ sentimentality), then I went to a patch of grass away from the group and cried. I still don’t have a clue why. Most probably the altitude and the strain and the fear of not being able to do the rest of the trek, and the relief and happiness of having done this part successfully, all mixed up.

I changed into trekking pants and a shirt in the dark room and went to get dinner, after which we all watched the bright white moon rise from behind dark hills in the distance. It was like a big, bright white, self-luminescent pearl that lit the sky and dimmed the glory of the sparkling stars.

After it was fully risen, we were called together and given advice on mountains, trekking, safety and an outline of our basic plan of trekking.

We were to have a regular start on all days; 5 a.m. wake up, 6 a.m. breakfast and at the latest 7 a.m. leave for next stop.

We slept indoors in our sleeping bags and with the midnight orchestra of Krishnan uncle and Subramanium uncles’ snoring.

The next day was an eleven-kilometre trek to Dhakudi. All of us went at our own paces and I was again at the end but this time I knew that we had to find our own rhythm and that we would be comfortable only if we stick to it and take our time about it. I made sure I didn’t sit till lunchtime. The group which had the closest rhythm to me; Veda, Choeeta and D.B., kept stopping for rest and water. We were advised against letting our bodies cool down for then we’d have to restart and get over the static inertia all over again. I stopped only once in half an hour or so for water.

After the initial climb we came to a section that reminded me of the Misty Mountains in Lord of the Rings. The clouds were on the path and we were walking through them. The trees all around us were full of life. Epiphytes like mosses and ferns grew on the bark of the pines, oaks and other trees. Life was in every nook, corner and gap possible.

I was slightly ahead of Vini, Krishnan uncle, Veda and co., when a few metres ahead of me I heard a rumbling sound like something heavy was rushing down. Was it an avalanche? Or a boulder rolling down? Or was it actually thunder of an approaching storm? I stood frozen to the spot ready to duck, run, or dodge the source of the progressively louder sounds.

It got quite loud then suddenly there was a gust of wind that nearly threw me off balance. There was no more noise. At that moment, I saw, a metre or so in front of me, a great golden brown eagle take off from the woods and soar into the sky. Its wingspan was so large that it overwhelmed me. And the grace with which it flew past was so incredible that I was filled with a joy that I couldn’t explain. I felt so lucky to have witnessed such beauty and elegance.

I was quite proud of myself for making it to Dhakudi when I got there. Eleven kilometres at my own pace: I had quite enjoyed it. One of the Pulse racers, Mukund, had shown Choeeta and me a short cut that happened to take us longer than the path would have. But it was only because the terrain was less used there than the path.

Over all it really wasn’t as tough as I thought it would be. The last kilometre was down hill and some of us ran down it to greet the others who were there before us.

Dhakudi was an alpine meadow and the only place where we stayed in tents. Since we had reached around 3 p.m., we had plenty of time to relax and play.

That evening when the clouds cleared was the first time I ever saw the Great Himalayas. The immense snow capped, HUGE, COLOSSAL, MAGNIFICENT, MASSIVE mountains loomed in the distance. I suddenly fell silent in awe of such majesty.

I happened to be with Sharad at that time and he asked if it was my first time. When I told him that it was, he told me about his first time: he was on top of a bus and it took a turn and voila! There they were, humungous as ever. He had screamed in ecstasy then and the driver had thought something was wrong and stopped the bus for him.

As more clouds cleared, more and more of them could be seen. I was sitting on the wall watching them as an Irishman approached me, introduced himself and told me that he had gone to Pindari and stayed there for a night and was on his way back. It was terribly cold, he said. I told him how I thought they looked so big and he replied that though they seem close they’re actually incredibly far away. He was on his way back to life from heaven, I thought.

This really did feel like I had died and gone to heaven. I’d hate to go back.

In the night, after dinner, we gazed at the stars. I found Orion and Sharad showed me Scorpio. The night sky was quite clear compared to the days’. There were other constellations too but I don’t remember them now.

The next day was announced to be easier. So after a song session, we slept later than usual. The night was cold and damp in the tent. Dharti, who I shared my tent with, woke me up at 3:54 am thinking it was five and both of us were nearly ready to get started for the day when she checked her watch again and found out the real time.

We could hear the bells of the mules clanging throughout the night. It was an endless sonata, in the otherwise silent night.

We were woken up at the right time by the talk of the girls in the nearby tents. We started off at 7 p.m. on the eight kilometres to Khati. It was quite easy. More of the path was level or down hill than strenuous uphill but while doing it, the downhill seemed harder. Uphill was atleast easy on your knees!

The path was right in a forest with many beautiful waterfalls and views of Pindari from the edges and clearings. I saw a bunch of monkeys and since I was walking alone, I was a little apprehensive about walking past them. Then I told myself that they wouldn’t do anything to me so long as I don’t harm them. I walked past quietly and with friendly thoughts to send positive vibes and I got past them. Later, I saw a couple of paradise flycatchers (my brother‘s favourite birds) and many others, of which I don’t know the names.

I kept overtaking people until I was somewhere in the front just behind the fastest people.

I walked with Hemal for a while and felt very physically fit, (for he is the fastest in our class) until I found out that he had hurt his ankle and was still able to walk at a decent pace. While I was with him, we saw a spectacular view of the Pindari and the mountains around it. While we were standing there watching, Hemal suddenly broke the silence by saying, “And people say India isn’t beautiful”. I didn’t reply. Though I had given up believing in countries and patriotism for more than a year, when he said that, I felt a strange kind of love for India.

I had, by then, overtaken Kshitija and Pro, (short for Prabin) who were now trying to over take me again. I let them.

Soon we crossed a village in which many of us stopped for tea. I didn’t though, but a man started asking me questions anyway.

Generally, I say “Namaste” to the villagers we pass to give them respect and also in a way, show my gratitude to them for simply existing and living such simple lives and inspiring me in a way. So I said the same to him and he took the opportunity to start a big conversation with me. He asked me where I came from, whether I was part of a bigger group, how many teachers, where we would stay that day, why I’m walking alone and he also told me why I shouldn’t be. He even suggested that I stay for tea but I refused, growing more impatient and scared by the second. I knew that villagers wouldn’t harm me, but I wasn’t even sure he was a villager by the amount of English and the dialect of Hindi he spoke.

When I got away, I was really quite relieved.

But due to the time spent on conversing with him, I had fallen behind. So, soon Yamini and Reva (short for Revati) joined me from behind and we walked together for sometime too. We again entered the forests and took pictures of the waterfalls together. We passed the ‘2 Kms left’ board and saw a big stream in which water was flowing in a lot of volume and speed. It was scary crossing that one, not because it was dangerous but because we didn’t want to get our shoes wet.

From being in one of the last batches on the first day, I was towards the front on the second. I felt good. Infact, I was so full of energy, that I walked back a kilometre to see how my other group-mates were doing. That morning Veda had been crying because of a stomach ache and Choeeta, like me, was anaemic. They weren’t too far behind and D.B. was accompanying them.

All of us reached in good time and as usual, cheered Nandu’s arrival in the end. Himalayas, more than a physical challenge, was a test of mental endurance and strength. And all of us had plenty of it.

We put the bags in the rooms, grabbed our change of clothes and towels, and walked back to the big stream we had seen earlier for our first bath in many days. The boys went downstream and the girls upstream: so up, that no one could see even if they tried. It took a lot of courage to get into the water as just dipping my toes in, made them numb and cold. I almost decided not to take the bath after all, but I saw the others in the water and not frozen, but actually having fun! So I told myself I have to do this, and that I could. I climbed the rocks to where the girls were in their mere underclothes and said aloud,“ I am insensitive.” I went knee deep into the water and came right out. I tried again, this time, believing what I said and adding that I couldn’t feel a thing (which was true due to the numbness). When I realized this, I said aloud, “The water is warm”.

I went in all at once and shivered a bit but after a few moments, I started splashing around and having fun. After half an hour of fun and washing up, I didn’t want to get out. Neither did the others. The water actually felt warm but since it was flowing, the change of temperature had occurred in our minds.

It was a bath that beat all previous baths in terms of fun and degree of courage needed to get in.

The boys had gotten out, dressed and gone by the time the girls thought of finishing up. Only Krishnan uncle and Sharad waited for us politely with their backs to our territory. We dressed and made our way back for lunch. The food was rich in starch, as usual, and made up for all the calories we may have lost during trekking. We all had the feeling that the Pulse Racers were trying to fatten us up, and were hoping against hope, that they weren’t cannibalistic!

After lunch, there was another joke session with Sharad which went on for hours, until we were called for ‘a village walk in Khati’.

In the village we saw the life style of the people and how simple they were. They cooked with firewood and collected water from the small river we had taken a bath in. The girls were very beautiful with their combed hair slightly wind blown and sweet, innocent smiles. Their skin was very clear, which I thought must be because the air is fresh there. They wore simple but slightly faded clothes. They were quite short. And all their eyes sparkled with curiosity at the new comers: us. The houses were small and dainty and were more or less self-sufficient without the intervening of “developers” in their quiet settlement. Except that the place was floored with mule dung, it was a very sweet little settlement.

Soon night approached and we had dinner. We sang a bit and then looked for constellations. Until we slept that night, we couldn’t find Orion. After dinner we had a bonfire around which, we danced and listened to Kirti’s “Chamachamachamachama chama chameleonnnn…” which we found quite funny. Kamaan also sang us a song that he wrote. It was about America’s hypocrisy and dictatorial actions over the world. It wasn’t written emotionally, rather, in a way of mocking them. That was heaps of fun and I finally started respecting him who I had quite disliked all this while.

The next day’s trek to Dwali was said to be harder: eleven kilometres of tough terrain. So we slept relatively early. Again we passed many streams, rivulets, and waterfalls. The trees around us were lush green and the air was crisp.

I wondered, while walking, how I would talk of this experience when it was over.

Was it possible to convey these feelings in words? How would I make the listener feel as if he/she were walking through the mist and the rain? How would I make him/her feel the inscrutable joy that filled my every sense? Could I feel this way myself after it was over? Won’t I think of it just as a wonderful dream?

There were some hard and dangerous paths and bridges towards the end. For the last two kilometres, I developed a slight pain in my left ankle. I could see Dwali for more than a kilometre and fooled myself that it was close, but it took forever to get there. This day’s trek had been hard. It had required me a lot of mental and physical strength to keep moving.

In Dwali, we had coffee and relaxed. It had been tiring and the weather was making things worse by raining and restricting us to under the roof of the rooms. There were attempts to play games like Chinese whispers but nothing worked out.

The rain did stop eventually.

We were next to a landslide. It was sad to think that if it weren’t a land –slide, it would have been as beautifully green as the rest of the hills around. We slept at seven pm that day.

The next day was The Pindari Day: Twenty four kilometres to and fro.

The next morning, we were woken at 2 am, told not to brush our teeth, but to grab our torches, and just start trekking. However, when we exited the room, we saw that it was raining and that we couldn’t start yet.

At around 3 or 330, we started despite the rain, with our torches and plastic covers on our heads if our jacket hoods weren’t waterproof already. We walked on and on in the dark and in the slush and I got sick of the dark and the pain in my ankle. But inevitably, the sun rose, and we stopped in a teashop in the middle of nowhere, where I got an ankle support from Subramanium uncle. Then I started feeling better.

Vishnu, Veda, Choeeta, and D.B., who were in my group, shared the load of extra socks, torches, water, and emergency medicine in turns.

We reached Phurkia at six and had what was supposed to be breakfast. But few of us liked it. Instead, we filled our stomachs with the dry fruits and nuts we had brought along. At Phurkia, we were given the option to stay back if we weren’t feeling up to it but no one opted out.

We saw a yeti, or rather; a yeti shaped rock on top of one of the closer hills and told each other not to be scared, as it couldn’t come down by the time we well on our way to Pindari.

We crossed three hills through two bridges, under which, such massive quantities of bluish-green water were flowing at a dangerous speed. We stopped near these streams for everyone to catch up. Darbanji, our local Himalayan guide, said that otherwise, we could lose each other. The path was the most dangerous we had seen yet and there was very little downhill, as today, we would reach up to the altitude of 4000 meters above sea level.

The vegetation around us was less green and seemed to be in the beginning stages of evolution. There were many more lichens and mosses than trees. But there were small plants that had bright red strawberry like, fruits. We wondered how they would taste, and were stopped by Vini just in time and told that they were poisonous. But there were wild strawberries that she had plucked. We ate them on our stop for lunch on the third bank.

We trekked on and on into the hills and got very tired and thirsty. We saw many magnificently shaped mushrooms and ferns. Our rate was terribly slow. Twenty minutes for one kilometre. Darbanji was walking with my group as the mules passed. He asked me if I would like to ride on one. I refused vehemently thinking that if I couldn’t get on one, how would I ride it? He asked me again later. I considered it and ended up saying yes.

After all, isn’t life about different experiences?

They helped me mount and Darbanji walked the mule with me on it the whole while. I covered around one or two kilometres on the mule. Darban seemed to like the faster pace and smiled most of the way.

The mule ride wasn’t so scary after all. I had slipped and nearly fallen several times but with a few tips from Darban, I was soon a smooth and efficient rider.

We passed a landslide or two and the steep ups and downs were scary due to the turbulent bumping of the mule’s back. But I realized that I was safer on the mule than on foot because it knew exactly what it was doing and had infinitely more experience in the mountains than I.

I soon got off and walked the remaining two kilometres to the sage’s house. We were eager to go on all the way to Zero Point after a break but due to the Pulse Racers’ forecast of rain, there was some confusion.

We were there for around one or two hours. First we took photos in groups and then stood around. The clouds cleared as if by magic and we saw the glacier up close and magnified. It was a huge mass of white in irregular step-like formations. Soon even the clouds around us cleared and we could see mountains capped with snow all around us. It was really fascinating.

In some time, some of us went to Zero Point and came back whereas some others, which includes me, walked halfway and sat there staring at Pindari Glacier and its huge white mass. We were one kilometre away from snow and those of us who had never touched it before, really wanted to.

I saw how just under the glacier there were bare rocks and how as one went further and further away, lichens of different colours grew in the gaps. Darbanji told us that every year, the glacier would recede further back and life forms in the previous years, never grew this close into the glacier. Global warming, I thought. I was glad I was born before all the snow on earth melted.

When the students who had gone to Zero Point returned, we had tea and pickled parathas. Quite good.

It was now time to go back to Dwali. It was a long trek and we were litter picking on the way back. By the time we got to Phurkia, it had rained badly on our bags and many of our ankles were not functioning well.

We walked on at a faster speed but it was still depressing in the rain. I composed a ‘complaints song’:

“My ankles hurt,

My knees are gone.

I want to stop,

But I got to go on.

My jacket is soaked,

And so is my head.

This wet, slushy ground

Is not a good bed.

My socks are wet

‘Cause I fell into a stream.

It’s so quiet,

I’d love to scream.

The sky is grey,

And so is my mood,

And to my soles,

Is sticky mud, glued.

This endless trek

Is going on forever.

When will we stop?

…Never?”

Though it was no great poetry, it kept me occupied for a while. I repeated it several times in different tunes but only one stuck well, the one that sounded like I was whining and feeling philosophical at the same time. The rhythm was kept constant for that was the tempo at which I walked. The words changed every time I sang, but this is what I remember now.

So I walked on and on through the rain, fog and slush. And since my song was completed, I wanted to sing it to my friends. Maybe they would even like to sing along. I sat on a dry rock and waited for Veda and Choeeta.

They liked it. We continued singing other songs got to do with mountains like ‘The sound of music’, ‘Climb every mountain’ from the same movie, Khada Himalay which is a Hindi folk song, and others.

Then we sang ‘Kookaburra sits on the old gum tree’ for a long time, again and again. We sang it in different styles. The ordinary, then pair up and start after the other finished a line. On and on we sang, till in the middle, they stopped singing. I didn’t really bother wondering why or bother to stop or reduce my volume. I finished the second last line at the top of my voice, and then I saw the reason!!

Two incredibly good-looking guys were trekking up towards us. They looked at me and smiled. I was so embarrassed. When they passed me they said hi, and I managed to squeak one back to them. Obviously they were very amused! I caught up with the other two and asked why on earth they couldn’t tell me they were coming! They fell into girly giggles while I consoled myself that at least I was in tune and no matter how, they did noticed me didn’t they? And knew that I knew English. I found out later that they had said Namaste to the other two thinking they didn’t know English!

We had four more kilometres in which I trekked with Aakriti, Kshitija and Sharad. When we were nearly there, Sharad who had knee cramps ran ahead to get there faster and rest. I felt something collapse in me when I saw his face constricted with pain. Seeing him in pain gave me the same feeling that one would get if one saw a big elephant fall or a thick, old tree chopped. A source of strength, awe and confidence fail.

When I reached, I too was in a bad condition. All I wanted to do was drop and sleep. But then, who wouldn’t after 26 Kms, that too since 3 am? Everyone was in a sour temper, not willing to move or talk. There were some near fights due to irritation, and all the tiredness showed in everyone’s red faces. It took me no time to register the mood of my fellow trekkers. But then something happened then that even now I can’t explain:

I dropped my bag in the room and fetched some plates for whoever wasn’t eating bakodas already. I brought Vini some tea in her glass, which pleased her a lot, and since I felt so sad for Sharad, I got him some bakodas too. Hemal wanted more but I think food was limited so I gave him one of mine. And I did everyone favours till there weren’t any left.

By the time I sat at my bakodas, they were cold and most people were done and happier.

It gave me a sense of satisfaction to have seen so many smiles caused by me. Call it selfish if you like but also remember I didn’t sit or eat till no one else needed anything and I was as hungry and tired as them.

After moods lifted high enough, we walked to the nearby river. We sat there till it got darker and we walked back plucking wild strawberries on the way.

The next morning we were on normal routine again and reached Khati in good time. We passed another landslide on the way there. In the afternoon we played the push over game that Kamaan taught us I won against Vishnu. That evening, Sharad and I saw a thumb in the tree. It wasn’t a real thumb ofcourse, but the tree’s silhouette looked like a thumbs up sign. Strange how the human mind sees such shapes!

There were very strong musical vibes in the air after that so I ended up singing on and on till I slept.

The next day started with kharaj with Vini at 430 am that we had been doing on all days but the Pindari day. We had lunch at Dhakudi and proceeded straight to Loharkhet. It was a tiring 19 kms and it rained in the middle in which time we were luckily near a shelter. We were delayed badly by that stop and after that went even slower because the rocks were slippery.

Darbanji held my hand, as I was really scared of falling and so was going slower than the rest. He, being born and brought up in the mountains, maintained a great speed with only slippers. No socks, or sneakers. That was really impressive.

Soon after we reached we were all in a circle giving eachother back massages, and leg massages. Since Sharad and Siddu were the best at it, they were in demand but since all the girls preferred Sharad they went to them. His hands may get tired, and I did feel sorry about that, but that’s the price he pays for being popular with the girls. Fortunately for him I went to Siddu. There’s something repulsive about being too popular that made me ignore him the rest of the day.

That night, we had an entertainment round. Pri, and Su danced for ‘road dancer’, Kshit and Pri sang a song from Chicago, the movie. Others sang our usual songs and some contributed to the jokes.

The final morning in the mountains again started with kharaj. We trekked down the 3 Kms that we had climbed on the first day and got onto the bus. We took photos with Darbanji, thanked him for everything and told him we’ll come back next time we can.

The bus ride was really long and we stopped in a temple on the way. We reached Katgodam only in the night, boarded the train and slept till we reached old Delhi station the next morning. The Pulse Racers left us there. We took an early morning local train from there and made our way to New Delhi where rooms were being booked for us.

But I was to go to Veda’s aunts house. I said bye to the others who were planning on a movie and shopping, and rode into Delhi in the air-conditioned car. We passed Rashtrapathi Bhavan, and the Parliament House and saw the red sun rising when we passed India Gate. Delhi really impressed me with its aura of power and wide roads with few cars. But ofcourse, during the day it would be more crowded.

Veda’s uncle asked us about the trip on the way to their apartment in south Delhi, and Veda answered most of the questions.

Soon we were welcomed into a modish apartment by her aunt and her sister. I hadn’t noticed last time we had met but now it was obvious that she was pregnant.

They gave us great coffee and biscuits to go with it and I noted that my appetite had really grown. Soon we all sat down for breakfast and stuffed ourselves with pancakes and toast. Something beyond delicious after a fortnight of potatoes and rotis. Then the couple left for their jobs and so did the other aunt. We had the apartment to ourselves.

We were really lazy and so we simply sat around for a long time. Then we decided if we were going to shop, and meet the others for lunch, we better get a move on.

While I took out my clothes, and browsed through a book, Veda had a bath. She took around half an hour and came out refreshed. Then I went in and luxuriously stood under the shower and calmed my eco friendly conscience that I hadn’t used up much water for the past two weeks so this was okay.

We left a note for her aunt and uncle saying thanks and that the food was good. We did a final packing and left in the car. We drove to Dilli Haat and shopped. I bought something or other for all the members of my family in Bangalore. And for myself, I got a skirt, a set of whacky earrings, and a ring. Out of all the things I bought I especially liked the Tibetan dagger I bought for my brother, the glass Ganesha for my father, the candle stand for my mother and the green shawl I got my grandma the best.

We had lunch in Dilli haat, then drove back to our rooms thinking that the others would be there by then to do some extra shopping. We waited and waited but they didn’t come. Out of our own stupidity we had sent the car away and so were stuck there with nothing to do at all. We played word games, gossiped about anything and everything we could think of, and whiled away our time. We got a bit hungry at five-thirty and made our way to the in-built hotel for some bread and milk. We were just about finished when who should in but Kamaan and Sharad with mischievous glints in their eyes.

They joined us and boasted about how they had snuck away to watch ‘Dhoom’, when they got sick of our class. They seemed to have had a lot of fun that we too could have had had they known we were bored for four hours.

When the others came, I was really happy we had gotten bored instead of having gone shopping with them for they were all sweaty and tired from walking the streets of Delhi in the hot Delhi sun and stinky pollution.

We had gone shopping in style in an air-conditioned car!

We got onto the train after a good dinner and waited for the others who had visited friends or family in Delhi. They had had a lot of fun too. Once the train started moving, we realized the difference between this coach and the ordinary second-class coach. This was AC.

In the train ride, we felt exceptionally clean because dust wasn’t blown into our faces. There were blankets and pillows that were really comfy, and even the berths seemed thicker. Everything was cleaner around us and even the people were different. We played cards, sang songs, went through magazines and newspapers, shared our love lives with each other and on the whole, became even closer as a group.

We were about to reach Bangalore, when I realized this was the end. A long journey, with its ups and downs, was over.

In these two weeks, we had been transported, literally and figuratively, into another world, another life.

We were now going back to our daily routine. I didn’t want this to end. Almost everyone was slightly nostalgic, so most of fell silent. We got off at Bangalore city, and went to our respective homes.

But then I remembered the promise that I made to Darbanji about how I would return, next time I could. A promise I have kept, for, I am going there again in a few days. Whether or not he’ll join us there, I don’t know.

Epilogue

The trek had made me so much healthier than I was before that I started eating like a pig and I put on close to nine kgs. This time when I go there, my purpose is to lose weight.

I later heard from Veda, that her aunt had a girl child.

My company now, is a mix group of students and friends of the Valley. Sure, some of my classmates are coming, but it really won’t be the same.

……………………………………………

Cloud no. 2

2007-08-19T05:42:00.000-07:00

I don’t see the very point of talking. What is so necessary to convey that one must open one’s mouth and utter words so inaccurate that the meaning may be better understood if never verbalized?

All conversations are empty. All words are repetitious just like the ideas they convey. Nothing one can say has never been said before. Nothing one can think has never been thought of before. And these very statements prove it in irony.

Greatness comes from within. All that is to be known or imagined, all that seems new or fresh is merely a realization of what is already in every mind.

To rephrase an age-old idea, I am everything and I am nothing.

AS AN EQUALIST

2007-08-12T06:42:00.002-07:00

Before the first tests this year, there was a lecture on three consecutive days for the girl students of all three years of degree in the Multi-Purpose hall. After a brief speech from the principal, two lady science teachers with good intentions lectured us about the dress ‘sense’ (as opposed to a dress ‘code’), confused us about Joseph’s being a family yet a formal institution, and mildly harangued us about behaviour with boys. They stressed on the importance of marriage and being good homemakers! For students coming to learn science, where questioning and rational thinking are essentials, to be told by those who pursue and teach science, that the ultimate fate of a woman, educated or not, working or not, is to get married, produce babies and run the house, was discouraging to some but baffling and most outrageous to many others.

Our first question was whether the boys will get a similar lecture on at least behaviour if not ‘dress sense’. The answer came promptly that as soon as the male teachers returned from invigilation next week, they will. It’s been more than a month since and no such lecture has been given for the boys. In my humble opinion, discipline must come from within. But if forcing discipline must be done I would suggest, don’t do it just for girls, especially if the issue concerns all students.

Unfortunately, we ended up not having enough time to hear the most important question.

When eve teasing, abuse and rape does happen regardless of clothes, and just because the girl is young, is the fault really with the girl? Or is it in the man’s mind?

But since it is so much easier to just tell the girls off rather than deal with the deeper issue of dirt and corruption in the man’s mind (and many a time, woman’s mind too) or question the social conditioning about the roles of men and women in society, let’s do the former and be done with it. No voice will rise against this absence of logic, injustice, and inequality purely due to fear. Must we live in fear?? Is that what holds society together?

Well…isn’t it!

Yes I have a problem with the fact that women themselves, that too, those specialised in science where questioning is the core of its method, practice, justify and propagate (perhaps without realising it) inequality, and social rules that have no more reason or role than to suppress women from reaching their potentials.

I also have a problem with the fact that they didn’t keep their word about a similar lecture for the boys; a word they shouldn’t’ve given if they weren’t sure.

My request now would be that instead of taking it personally (as would be most likely), and punishing me by cutting marks, if not expelling me for raising my questions, we all ask why this happens, that too in a renowned Educational institution such as St. Joseph’s. Just ask, because the question is more important than its answers.

2007-08-12T06:40:00.000-07:00

The Amazon and us

“In the time it takes to sing this song,

There’ll be four acres cleared in the Amazon.

The jungle burns all through the night,

They say you can see it from the satellite.

Smoke so thick for miles around,

They had to close the airports down.

The green of the jungle turns flaming red

As another cattle ranch gets the go-ahead.

Hamburgers grow where the forests once stood,

Somehow I get the feeling that we’ve all been fooled.

…

Hamburgers grow where the forest once stood,

In another twenty years they’ll be gone

for good.”

And so goes the song by an Australian, Brun Watson. The song though, is not updated with its numbers. The rate of destruction has increased several times since the time this was written. As you read this, the forests are burning; the lungs of the earth are being destroyed.

For those who don’t know, rainforests are old-growth forests near the equator, tropical regions and some temperate regions with rainfall above 100 cm per year. They are important for the ecological integrity of earth and the balance of its climate. They cover 7% of the earth’s surface but contain 50-90% of all the species of plants and animals!

They regulate the CO2 levels of the atmosphere and therefore play a major role in countering global warming, a prominent and deadly problem occurring on earth. Infact, 25% of the green house gases being emitted come from the burning of the Amazon. Stopping this therefore, would be a very significant step in countering global warming.

As for who depends on rainforests: All the species that live there, indigenous communities, and ultimately, considering the intricate but invisible connections between everything living and non-living on earth, life on the whole planet!

The major threats facing rainforests around the world are:

Construction of roads and dams
Deforestation and unsound logging practices
Mining
Oil exploration and extraction
Land clearing for cattle ranching and farming usually of commercial crops like Soya beans.

Behind all these, there is a large market demand and money to be made.

Amazon, it is the largest rainforest in the world containing 40% of the tropical forests left on earth. Most of it is in the political boundaries of Brazil, Ecuador, Peru, and Venezuela. It contains one sixth or one fifth of all fresh water in the world, and just within Brazil, a third of all animal and plant species on earth.

We are losing tropical forests at rapid rates. 80-90% of them will be destroyed before 2020 if current rates continue. For the past decade, we have been losing just Brazilian forests at 13 000 acres a day. And now, thanks to ‘better technology’, we are losing them faster.

Loss of tropical rainforests means extinction of species globally. The natural rate of extinction was a single species in a decade. Over the past hundred years we have accelerated it to an unbelievable 27 a year!

But who is doing this to the Amazon? Massive Asian logging companies attack species like mahogany and ferule to make furniture for their own exports. The local governments are forced to accept the offers the various companies make, as their countries suffer from severe unemployment and poverty. Cattle ranchers burn the forests to make space for themselves. Their cattle graze this land ensuring that no new saplings grow so as to regenerate the area into the forest it used to be. Then these animals are slaughtered and sold to Mc Donald’s, usually in US. This is not the first environmental controversy for Mc Donald’s or US.

“There was a man called Chico Mendes,

He fought the cattle ranchers head to head,

He told the rubber tappers to stand up and fight,

To protect their forests, to protect their rights.

But the ranchers had their claims to lay,

They wouldn’t let a conservationist stand in their way,

So one night in his home, they took him unawares,

Forty bullets in the back,

For Chico Mendes.”

It’s a pity that’s what happens to people who stand for lives of plants and animals that did their malefactors no harm.

When one hears about all this, one feels like doing something about it immediately. It haunts one’s conscience that fellow human beings can be so selfish and money minded that they don’t care that their actions cause destruction to whole ecosystems as an immediate effect and the existence of life on earth eventually.

But yes, it is true. The Amazon issue is only one among the many issues that mankind will have to face in the foreseeable future. It is geographically far away and unless one has immense power and money and cares, one can’t do much about it.

Look closer home; deforestation isn’t the only step towards self-destruction we are taking right here in India.

We build big dams and cause social unrest and loss of species in that area among the many disadvantages of dams, (which would in itself require an essay).

Our markets encourage poaching of the most beautiful and unfortunately endangered species. This would naturally cause imbalances in those ecosystems and influence even abiotic factors like rainfall, soil fertility, and the various biogeochemical cycles.

We give subsidies to industries for all the raw material they need, which would only encourage rates of consumption to exceed rates of regeneration and leave us with less of it for the future.

We encourage inequal distribution of wealth by giving aid for ‘development’ in the wrong areas leading to the trickle down affect serving no good purpose what so ever; (this too requires an essay for itself.)

We build roads and flyovers to fight congestion in traffic not realising that ‘one can’t lose weight by loosening one’s belt’. The automobile boom needs to be questioned.

We waste water and electricity in all types of scales possible from a leaking tap, leaving the water flowing while brushing one’s teeth or shaving, to the absence of a valve in one’s overhead tank to mass leaks form the pipes which lead to domestic, commercial or industrial ends.

As for electricity, we carelessly leave fans and lights on in rooms that aren’t in use. We use out dated technologies like the incandescent bulb. We insist, even in Bangalore, to use air conditioners yet leave doors ajar defeating the purpose! We even leave our TVs on when we aren’t watching! Industries would have their own inefficiencies in their usage of electricity at larger scales. And instead on encouraging research in the efficiencies of our devices and methods of usage, we return to square one and build more dams.

The above list of examples of steps leading to self-destruction contains some seemingly trivial issues, but when one adds it all up and observes the trends, it exposes the unhealthy changes in lifestyle and governance over the past score years or maybe even since the industrial revolution.

Whenever we learn about more and more bad news for humans and other earthlings, we get quite irritated that despite knowing about it, we can’t do much to change anything.

But “Small is Beautiful.” And if everyone: young and old, male and female, rich and poor could wake up to reality, be aware of our actions and their consequences. be a little more sensitive and loving to others, be it humans and the rest of earth, maybe, just maybe, money won’t matter as much as lives, there wouldn’t be so much violence against each other and our own earth.

2007-08-12T06:30:00.001-07:00

At the Neem Tree

I walk to my Friends in silence,

Drop my bag and jacket on the way

Carelessly let loose my hair.

It is the moment,

As I sit,

When I’m not asleep,

Yet not thinking,

Which is silence.

I wonder if I can,

As I’ve done before,

Be my Friends again.

I hear the Peepal rustle,

The breeze touches my face

And the sky is a new blue.

Twigs fall, and leaves;

The trees are still, yet so alive.

Small movements

Butterflies and scattering leaves.

Distant sounds.

My hair blown back.

I am now

Too much an Individual to be the trees

Though I still love them.

In my memory,

They’ve been me;

My solace in pain.

The dry leaves fall in so many different ways

They are one with the wind

Yet different.

They don’t hold on to that moment

Or stray tune of the random whistle.

Can’t capture the courting yellow butterflies

Or the hovering dragonfly. Only

Feel and let pass.

Cloud no. 1

2007-08-12T04:54:00.000-07:00

just like the clouds, thoughts and people also change.