Can the system be cleansed?

Inspite of working for 7 hrs on a Sunday I managed to catch a movie on TV. A movie that I've been wanting to see for a while. A movie called 'Sehar'. I don't know what it means. I'd heard that it was a good movie. I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to see Arshad Warsi in a non-comic role even if it meant that I'd have to work after the movie till late at night. I watched it. I loved it.

It wasn't an unusual movie. It wasn't a pathbreaking movie. It was a simple movie about the mafiosi, the underworld-isation of UP and organized crime spreading its tentacles into the fabric of daily life, and the commitment, zeal and fire-in-the-belly of a handful of police officers to thwart the spread of this venom. The story of modern day India. The story of many modern day nations. The story of the seedy and seamy side of life. Up close and almost personal. In cinematic idiom.

It was one story. No songs. No dances. No mush. It was real. The protagonist Ajay Kumar was real (Arshad Warsi is a very fine actor and utterly believable as a police officer). This movie was very akin to an Ajay Devgan movie called Gangajaal made by Prakash Jha set in Bihar I think.
I cried when the zealous and fearless officers were gunned down mercilessly. I was carried away into the world of Ajay Kumar and his police officer buddies and felt like I knew them.

The end thankfully was also real. The police officers become body bags but only after making sure their evil, cold blooded 'enemies' also suffer the same fate. No one except a telecommunications expert, an old relic of a man who partners the police in tracking cell phone calls (expertly played by Pankaj Kapur, yet another stalwart of Hindi cinema who has not been given his due) survives in the hunt for the 'ugly'. A man who gets disturbed at the mere sight of guns and any form of arms and ammunition. A peace loving man. A simple man. A man who partners crime busters without going anywhere near a gun. A man who empties not one but 2 hand guns of their load into the already wounded body of a killer. His hand shivers, but his mind, his eyes and his heart don't falter. He does not miss. He turns avenger. He turns angel. He turns hero. He turns protector. He turns victor. He turns killer.

Is that what crime can do to ordinary mortals? Create a heat wave of anger? Turn the meek into mighty warriors? Turn the ordinary into extraordinary? Is it right? Is it ok to hold a gun in your hand and pull the trigger and keep going at it till it is empty? In the name of justice? In the name of humanity? In the name of man? In the name of God?

I don't know. I know I could not be an Ajay Kumar, the honest, will do anything to get those bastards, modern, believable hero. But I know I could be a Tiwari, meek, happy to be trudging along the path of a very gravelly road of life (of course) and be happy to serve if sought to do so. And then? When push comes to shove? Empty those bullets, see the blood spout, pierce the heart of evil.

After all the system needs to be cleansed. And good needs to show its sign of victory.

'V'

"Heaven is...

...to make sense of your yesterdays." (from 'Five People You Meet in Heaven' by Mitch Albom).

Perhaps it is true.

My yesterdays for some time now, have become seemingly senseless. Every day seems like many other. Saturday seems like Monday and Sunday like a Wednesday. It doesn't matter. Work has become my antidote to anger, sadness, and nothingness. (How can there be nothingness when I have anger and sadness for company?) But work has also become stressful. Work has been exciting, sometimes fulfilling, very satisfying and challenging. I've learnt much in these past few weeks. My learnings? That there is only self to blame, to love, to cherish, to inspire, to challenge, to free, to aspire, to fear and to achieve. I am my own worst enemy or my best friend. I can choose who I want. I've always been my own worst enemy. I'm fast learning that it's I and I alone who can choose happiness to dwell within or shoo it out from my soul.
I'm learning to choose well. (That's a lie! As usual I'm full of contradictions. But I'm learning to accept self....:) )

My yesterday was numbing. After having toiled for almost 24 hrs non-stop, I step out in the dark of the rain and a starless sky at around 11.00 pm, after having a very moving conversation with my boss, only to find one of my fears staring me in the face, and grinning evilly at me saying, 'Yes, I came true'. My car wasn't where I parked it. Strangely I didn't panic. I didn't crumble. I didn't falter. I just called ma. I had to call someone. (Was that panic making a guest appearance?). I raced up the 3 flight of stairs to office where luckily I had my boss and colleague just about to leave and told them of the 'vanishing act'. My boss and my colleague quickly accompanied me to the nearest police station. Only to find it dank, dark and deserted. Raced over to the next cop station. Two cops, no towed car. One then gave a number of some control station which he said would provide information on towed cars. My colleague called. They said they'd get back in 10 mins. I asked the cops about making a report for theft. They directed me to the police station under whose jurisdiction the area fell under. I sighed. I was numb. My boss, my colleague and I started for yet another cop station. On the way my boss made light of the matter saying it was time for me to upgrade. And we talked of cars. And I thought of insurance and how my papers were in the car, my music CDs, my beloved music system and my beloved car. The cell phone rang. News. My car was in Queen's Road police station. Relief. Call to ma. Drop boss home. Taxi takes another 20 mins to reach home. I don't know how to react. I'm normal. No dance of joy, no tears of relief, no chewed nails, no nothing. That was yesterday. Rough day. Senseless day. Don't know why things happen the way they do.

I go this morning to collect my car. When I see it in the compound of the police station, my heart pounds, I yell to the auto driver, 'That's my car' and I go in to pay my fine - 400 green ones. I dish out a crisp Rs.500/- note and ask for the receipt. I'm told to come in the afternoon to collect the same. The officer who has the challan book is on duty (towing other vehicles). He makes a note of my car # and name on the 500 rupee note. I sigh! I shake my head at the senselessness. I drive away. I doggedly go back in the evening to collect my receipt only to be told to come back tomorrow at 10.00 am to collect it. Except for shaking my head and cursing under my breath I don't vent my spleen as I'm wont to. As I'm getting into the car, I hear a shout 'Madam'. I turn around to find the officer (is he an officer? he was in plain clothes in the morning, no badge, no cop hat) gesticulating and asking another man (sorry, this plain clothes guy too is an officer) to accompany me to the traffic cop who is the dispenser of the challan. We go. We see. We wait. I get my receipt. I make a feeble attempt at trying to ask the challan dispenser who is my man of the moment, my tormentor, why did he tow away my car when it was not parked in a 'no parking' zone. I argue a bit about the 'no parking' board. I ask how on earth is one supposed to glean about a 'towed' car and why can't the cops make an attempt to inform the owner? Well...that is about today. Which will soon become yesterday tomorrow. Will soon become senseless.

I guess I'll have to wait to meet the Maker to solve the mystery of my yesterdays. I guess I won't have to wait long. At the rate my life is going, everyday is a blur. My head bursts, my heart aches and pressure soars, my blood rushes.

I think I'll go cry. It helps to relieve the pressure, the tension and clears my eyes.

Oh by the way Irf, I think about my father too. I wonder why, where, when, if...there's too much angst. I'll let it rest here. Or my date with Heaven will be faster than I imagined.

Heaven is a place on earth. Or is it?

S C no more...

Yup!I'm tired of writing the Sunday Chronicles. You know why? Because it seems my blogs are now full of 'weekend news' and Sunday features prominently...:) (it's kinda boring eh?)

Haven't read much of the paper today - but after this am planning to read Swaminomics and of course Sudha Murthy's column and then devote myself to poring over the magazine section of what is fast becoming an addiction, 'The Hindu'.

Spent money. But on ma. Feels good to shop for loved ones. That was today.

In fact talking about shopping for loved ones reminds me, there was a time, in what seems a distant past, another planet, another world, another me, when I was earning a pittance (compared to what I do now and I know comparisons are odious and I still earn a pittance, but hey, we've moved up the economic ladder, 'see see I've a car now'), I'd just splurge on friends and surprise them with gifts. Why? Just like that. Go to an exhibition, like something that a particular friend would like, pick it up. I still like gifting. Love it in fact. But the spontaneity lies buried somewhere in the folds of age, some cynicism and distance. I will revive it. This is the age of technology and shopping for and shipping to friends despite the geographical divide is actually as simple as 1 + 1 = 4 right?..:)

In fact talking of spontaneity, I spent the afternoon and rest of the evening with an ex-colleague. Purely on a whim called her, invited myself over for lunch, went driving in the evening, and then treated them to dinner. Felt good. (That was yesterday). Maybe there's some truth in all the saints', wise ones' and revered folks' saying when they say the greatest joy is in giving. I guess they knew what they were talking about.

Bunty is likely to come down the week after next. I'm likely to go to apun ka adda during the 1st week of December, then there might be some more travel and then some. Lots of boyfriends want to plan trips with me. From apun ka gaon, apun ka Mumbai kya? Bike trips and weekend trips and longer trips. Never knew was so popular with the boys. Ha ha! I plan, I decide, I give the dates and they come along. I've been told I'm a natural born leader! Hmmm! Ha ha ha!

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers with 'Free Fallin' is really nice. I remember a night. A green Ford Ikon. Man at the helm of the four wheeler? A colleague. Wind in the hair. Many beers and rum and coke had been desptached down the thirsty gullet. Driving home. Screaming 'Free Falling'. Oooooooooh! Wheeeeeeeeeeeee! Fun!!!!!

Yup! Life is actually a Sun-day. Memories are the butterflies that emerge from the cocoon of time. And if the grey in the hair is any indication of age silently creeping up on one, then boy o boy, do I have memories?!

Cheers!

P.S. - (Another birthday round the corner... sigh! cheers?!)

2 weekends of drama!

Last Saturday it was 'Witness for the Prosecution' at Chowdiah.

This Friday (today) was 'Measure for Measure' at Ranga Shankara.

The former was slightly dreary, the acting and actors not measuring up and it was not dramatic enough.

The latter? I'm still reeling from the effects of it. What I understood I liked. I loved the play of light. I loved the exits and the entries. Very seamless, very effortless. Blended in so well with the play. I couldn't handle some enactments - seeing a woman performing fellatio or yet another baring a woman's (brassiere supported) breasts, or directing a woman's hand to the penis, or yet another of a man crapping into a bucket with his buttocks in view and his balls too, when zipping up. I'm not sure if I could handle too much of this 'live' so to say. The language being Shakespearean was a tad tedious and one had to strain to understand and hence elicit the right reaction at the right time. (I'm not a prude, but er...mmm...aaaa).

Bottomline? Acting was very very good (minus the sometimes jerky movements of some of the actors). Lighting was fantastic and the effects created with minimum props were superlative. The tears were for real. The timing almost perfect. The cast uniformly good. But... er...too dramatic pour moi. No thank you. I'll settle for 'I'm not Bajirao' or 'Gandhi vs Gandhi' anyday.

Some words that linger...........
'Who is the sinner, the temptor or the tempted?'

'For in darkness I must dwell, like the colour of my skin... my life is made of patterns that can scarcely be controlled'

For anyone interested in learning how to write songs and set them to painfully beautiful (why is pain beauteous? oh never mind!) melody, Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel should be a must-hear. Amazing songwriters. Heartrendingly beautiful music. I love them.

The pattern of this weekend and the month ahead seems to be set. I might be dwelling in tension and some satisfaction.

Let's see how goes it. Guess life is really theatre and I'm merely an extra hoping to have my 30 secs. of fame and glory.

:)

Stuck in a moment...

... and you can't get out of it.

That's the song that was singing in my head for the past week Irf. Ok... let me also tell you now that I'm pissed off. I wrote a beautiful blog. And I didn't save it. And it vanished. This is happening to me for the umpteenth time and I HATE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But I don't learn from it either.

I'm having a rough time at work. I love what I do. But I don't like man management. Just ask me to sit and conceptualise and write and I'll be the happiest. Ask me to tackle fragile 'creative' egos and I want to scurry away like a squirrel and peep out under an elm. I'm tired of warding off all the vultures waiting to peck at me like eager birds of prey (that's how I visualise them). I'm not a messiah, or Moses or Noah. The seas don't part for me, instead the tablets with the commandments seem to be getting heavier and I'm teetering and tottering and wilting under the pressure of being sought after as 'The Problem Solver'. I'm not. I'm me.

Right now however, I'm a traffic cop, a police commissioner, a town planner and a civil engineer all rolled into one. And my nerves are on edge and am so frazzled it ain't funny. All I sit and do is cry. And can I show ma my weak self? How often can I turn to friends for help? Ultimately one is alone isn't it? I want out. But then that is not a solution. I'm not a quitter, but I don't want to handle so much pressure. The sheer force per lb. of body mass is killing me. I only know my Sai is my Moses and He will (as always) show me the way.

This is my moment and I'm stuck in it. Like Bono croons,
"The water is warm till you discover how deep
I wasn’t jumping, for me it was a fall
It’s a long way down to nothing at all"

I'm hoping of course (being the eternal Hoper that I foolishly am) that eventually,
"And if our way should falter
Along the stony pass
It’s just a moment
This time will pass"

Don't get stuck in a moment Irf. Just keep walking. Yes Johnnie Walker :), keep walking. Do you have a choice?

And hey, if you're enjoying my blogs so much the least you can do mister is leave a decent comment. Don't I warn you, don't don't don't...

Yup...don't get stuck in a moment! (Unless it's an orgasmic, breathless, dreamy, unbelievably brilliant, unfathomably blissful and unexplainable, life altering moment. If yes, then pray that the moment is 'stuck' forever).

Life is full of choices ain't it? Yes or no?...:) Make yours today.

On Children's Day...

...all I could do was think of Subhan Ali, 12 year old, who works 11 hour shifs. A little boy from New Delhi who is clueless about Sania Mirza, thinks Sachin Tendulkar probably plays some sport and wants to build a home with 4 rooms back in his village for his folks.

Nehru and Gandhi might as well be aliens from another planet. Sonia Gandhi, the PM and of course brand 'Laloo' are known to this child.

A tea stall worker, here is a future Indian getting paid a princely Rs.900/- per month. Resident of the pavements earlier, has upgraded to a hovel behind the Feroz Shah Kotla.

Happiness is... meeting his parents and working in the fields with them. Listening to FM sometimes or back home (a village near Siliguri in West Bengal), playing football

What upsets him? When after 11 hours of grueling work, his employers want him to do more.

Welcome to Children's Day Subhan Ali.

Sunday and the Chronicles??

Sorry! Dear dear Sunday.

I didn't waste you did I? I had plans and I stuck by it. I spent a good amount of money enjoying you. I went shopping... :) I spent some time reading the newspaper editions that conglomerate publications dutifully put at our doorstep without fail. I thought I'd use you as a medium today to communicate to a very dear friend of mine about relationships.

But all I can do right now at 12.26 am on a Monday morning, dear long-gone Sunday is wait to hit the sack so to speak. For I have a very very very hectic week ahead of me. I need my energies to battle on and win wars.

Well, that's that for the day.

Gypsy Kings is playing on the radio. God! Latino music is so very sensual - I can feel my body moving to a rhythm of its own volition - the music always has me wanting to shed my inhibitions, perhaps be a flamenco dancer seducing her partner on the dance floor. Erotic!

Oh by the way Irf, I have had a song in my head too. I'd like to tell you about it soon.

For now, I'd like to embrace sleep as I have to embrace a new dawn. Soon.

Sigh! Miles to go and promises to keep.

A Play of Cosmo & Some Mynt

The day was well spent. Lunch with an ex-colleague and her husband, letting out steam about a dysfunctional system (the system is not dysfunctional, we have become impotent) and general chitchat about how her going away to America will affect her, the pathetic monies that her husband's company is paying him (and thinks it's a big deal) for this transition, how her childand she will cope and the usual worries that accompany one on any relocation especially to another country.

Then spent a sickening 2 hrs in traffic trying to get to a play. Witnessed 'Witness for the Prosecution' which I thought was a bit of a drag and didn't enjoy it too much. I had, of course read the play by Agatha Christie and was privy to the twist at the end, but that knowledge notwithstanding, I thought I'd enjoy the play, when in fact wanted to snore away.

Hit The Blue Bar with cousins and sipped some great 'cosmopolitan' and then a ravenous bunch migrated to the 'Mynt', a restaurant where we tucked into some much needed nourishment for the body and soul.

It's 2.15 pm and actually wanted to write about something for a dear friend in Saudi but that will have to wait for the morrow.

If you're reading this, all I want to say Irf, is, that sometimes in our ignorance we curse life and call it names and say it's cheated us. Pause. Think awhile. And cast your mind back to life. Yours. You will find that you have many a times cheated upon yourself. Life has never let us down or turned traitor. Never life.

And you are a good person. Believe that.

The Sunday Chronicles - Hiccup!

There will be no edition of The Sunday Chronicles today.

The Editor, Chief Correspondent, Copy Editor, Sub, Publisher, Distributor and Reader (all rolled in one) is mentally fatigued having worked over the weekend.
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Thoughts for the Day!


The week ahead looks hectic as usual and full of nervous apprehension.

It is lonely at the top. Sigh!

Something nice to keep me in a good mood - I cooked today after eons of absentia (or abstention) from the culinary receptacle of my abode also known as the 'kitchen') - at my aunt's home - nice to know haven't lost my touch. Lip-smacking even if I myself say so.

Back's gone for a toss. Neck, shoulder and back hurts. Need a massage.

Someone please give me Amitabh Bachchan, his son and Aamir Khan as my birthday gifts. I'd die a contented woman having attained nirvana (truth be damned).

I've decided never to go shopping with my aunt and uncle and cousin. Why? For the simple reason that I'm unreasonably impatient and they're brutally slow and cumbersome in their decision-making. (I needed to be rescued today). But I also discovered that I had the reserves to be patient (in direct contrast to my inner child gritting her teeth and saying, 'Oh for Chrissakes, hurry up'), and actually did some imaginary role-play and realized that I'd be getting there (old age silly) too someday (soon). I needed to give them some leeway.

I also realized that I'm far removed from the 26 year olds of the world. Thankfully I won't be knowing some of them no more.

Hallelujah!

Colf coffee with...

...ice cream and chocolate sauce is God’s favourite cafe drink, am dead certain. Deep bow to the man who created this concoction. Smooth, frothy, just that tinge of bitter and the delicious taste of chocolate, set in a tall glass, frosted on the outside because of the ice and the ice cream on the inside, with the chocolate cream glazing the sides of the frosted glass. It's akin to having an orgasm. Sigh!!!!

“Leadership is not about ability. It’s about responsibility”. (This I understand)
“It’s only when you lose, you understand about leadership.” (This? Er..well..)
Interesting dialogues from this science fiction (and utterly unbelievable) movie that I watched on TV today – The Core – about the earth having stopped its revolution and of course America and the great American hero going out to save the planet from a horrific yet inevitable doom in a ship that goes to the core of the earth to detonate tons of nuclear warheads to nudge the earth on its daily routine saying, 'Move it move it moooooooove itttt!' As if saying 'Moron, don't you know, life goes on, so you can't stop'. Sigh!!!

‘Life in a nutshell’ by Stephen Hawking. A hard bound, with beautiful illustrations and photography at The Corner Bookstore. Was within the skin of my teeth to purchasing it. Perceived damage to the wallet dissuaded the heart from indulgence. On the back burner for the time being. Douglas Adams and his trilogy of four sit atop the pile of books as of now. Sigh!!!

Shalu! What a woman! One of the few women among the plethora of ‘gutsy, beautiful, intelligent, fantastic’ women in my life. Wouldn’t want to name all of them here. Mom and Bunty already know they have my heart, my respect and my life if need be.
Shalu didn’t tell me anything that I didn’t know. But the sheer force with which she said what she did infused hope, courage and grit in me. It’s true ain’t it, ‘when the going gets tough, the tough get going’? Love you lady. More than you will know. And thank you for loving me despite and inspite of my inadequacies and imperfections and for not being judgmental. Thank you.

There’s such a to-do about blogging. How much, who, why, when, blogs on blogs, trends, and of course the ubiquitous analyses. We as a race are well and truly obsessed by numbers. Language is also about numbers isn’t it? A = 1, B=2 and so on? So maybe we could actually talk numbers and not talk the talk or walk the talk, but walk the numbers which we do anyways if you take into account the fact that we walk miles or kilometers. Omigodtothink that I’d call Mom not mom but 131513 or just add them up and call her 5 (14 = 1 + 4 = 5). Egads! O Little Prince! Man (and womyn, oh yes, notice the spelling, it’s being politically correct) does think that matters of consequence are all about getting them darned numbers right? O 8! Oops! I meant O God! So is life nothing but a calculated risk? Does mathematics rule our world, our life, our Universe? Ugh! To be so exact is so boring! There is beauty in symmetry surely, but the exactness takes away the unpredictability and I excitement, methinks! Imagine if you knew exactly where you were going then what would one look forward to? What about the twists and turns of life? Life would be well...so exact eh?

‘Memory’ by Andrew Loyd Weber sung by Sarah Brightman is gorgeous. Like so many of his other compositions. Would love to watch one of these musicals at Broadway or West End.

I’m going to do a theatre workshop. Exciting.

Discussions over cold coffee and ice cream with friends, or just browsing a bookstore sipping a glass of cold coffee is bliss!

Saturday wasn't wasted. Yes!!!

This bird has flown!

Are the bird droppings a symbolic gesture of saying, 'whither peace'?

When Doves Cry

There has never been a more apt title for a blog. And never have I felt the need to blog about something more than today.

Today is Diwali. Deewali. Divali. Deepawali. However you spell it or pronounce it. One of my favorite festivals. It’s the festival of lights. I feel good about this festival.

An early start to the day, new raiment acting like new skin for the old body, lots of laughter, sharing with cousins, some shopping, some gifting, listening to ma from distant Khajuraho, hajaar text messages in response to mine, lots of calls and a general feeling of the world being a delightful oyster happily making its pearl even as we take a large bite of yet another savory.

So the day progressed. And then I lit the lights. The clay lamps, diyas as we call them, soaking in oil, with a cotton wick and some of the fancy hand painted, wax filled lamps, all adorning my home. My abode came alive with lights. I love it when it’s bright, warm, inviting and seems somehow to say, ‘hey life is beginning, life is calling and life is beautiful and your oyster, come make light of it.' Yes! I do love it.

So while I was crossing swords with a playful breeze hell bent on making me work for the light to light up my life, there was a silent, frightened, observer l'affaire humanite. Askance at the noise, the fireworks and gaiety that it was mute witness to. Surely wondering if the world was being ‘blasted’, and probably a witness to D-day…:)

I almost recoiled when I first espied it. I was taken aback. By the sheer contrast that it presented. The quiet, almost serene quality in direct opposition to the mood prevailing over the starlit sky, clothed in the mist of pungent and acrid smoke, wrapped in sounds which had distinct rhythms of their own – ddddd da da da dooom! Tac tac tac tac tac tac tac! Whoooooooosh! Whoooooooooooosh! Peeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Crackkkk! Tadaaaaakkkk! DDDDDDD dummmm! I thought this was probably a 'sign'. For me, as well as for the world at large.

There it sat. Unmoving. Till I started talking in soft hushed tones. Talking as if it understood every word I spoke. I was as frightened as it was. I confessed to it. It must have wondered if I was cuckoo. Little did it realize that I was just an ordinary human. I wanted it to hop on my finger. I proffered. It refused. I then got a stick for lack of anything else, thinking it’d hop on to it and I’d bring it inside to a safer, quieter haven. But it flitted and moved. Dangerously close to the edge of the ledge. And the flames started licking its breast. I almost started howling. I hustled it. I fretted. I cursed as I saw its plume in fumes (well not quite, but almost). It moved again. I let it be. The fire hadn't consumed it and I was able to douse my own, albeit temporarily.

Dinner done, an hour or so later, I checked on it. It’s still there. I watered the plants. Then I decide to keep a small plastic container with water for it to drink. I coo and bill to it. I whisper sweet nothings. To no avail. It doesn’t budge. I finish watering the plants in the other balcony and check on it, again. It's overturned the little plastic container of water. I go fill it again and put some grains of rice and lentils in it. I coax it, urge it to have water and not be frightened. I gingerly put my hand out and start patting its tail. I talk. It cocks its head as if listening intently and trying to decipher my strange tongue. I entreat it to use my finger as a perch. But I’m not a good saleswoman and I can see that I need training in how to win friends and influence people. Dale Carnegie might have done better. I crane my head to see that its breast is singed. I cry and I beg for forgiveness. Helplessness cloaks me in its warmth and I have no clue what to do. I know she’s frightened out of her wits (I’m presuming it’s a she). I know she’s upset, disappointed, mistrustful, probably enraged, homeless and fatigued. She wants the day to come to an end. She wants us to have our celebrations, but she’s also questioning Him why does it have to be so, er… so boisterous. She’s wondering if man couldn’t have devised a saner, as beautiful and perhaps a sound-er (?) way of celebrating this festival of lights and cut out the crap.

While she ponders over questions that have turned her universe alien and dark for the day and she sheds a few silent tears, trying to fathom the answers which are not forthcoming, I let her be.

Yes! I’ve left the dove in peace.