Silences

He asked a question
I promptly replied.
Was it the answer I had?
Or the one I could afford?

I told a story
The characters so real.
Was it mere fiction?
Or self-introspection?

I wrote a letter
So candid and frank.
Was it all there was?
Or also that which the heart still has?

The gaps in a conversation;
The engineered reactions;
The camouflaging fiction;
And the shrouded emotions.

Is it just bout the spoken?
Or are the silences conversing too?
Don't the unvoiced cajole for space?
Or does the spoken barricades even their trace?

What are those hushes in the stillness then?
And what of those murmurs in the quietness?
What of that clairvoyance; that intuition?
And what of those psychic, telepathic connections?

What? If not, silences.

Another Day

We had a plan to meet and chat
And I said another day.
Even when idle; I sat
I said another day.

One fine day we decided to meet
And the circumstances said another day.
We tried its true if only in our thoughts
But it was always another day.

And things went bad on your side
I couldn't make it even that day.
While death crept up and I ran along
I lost out to death that crucial day.

In soul and in spirit;
And in thoughts and in deeds;
You are remembered now
Each and every day.

Time would fly
And forget I will;
To keep remembering you each day.
But rest assured we have a rendezvous
Set by God himself and that's our day.

Reticence

The nip in the air
And the smoke filled skies
The noise and the chatter
And the lights blinking by.

The warmth of the lamp-glow
And the screams of the kids
The sweets and the smiles
And the festive spirit.

The silences in the heart
And the absence that one craves
The said and the unsaid
And the unsaid that is said.

The dos and the don't(s)
And the ifs and the whens
The should(s) and the shouldn't(s)
And that reticence within.

With a smile on my lips;
And a flutter in my gait;
I marched towards the threshold.

With a twinkle in my eyes;
And a twitch in my hands;
I stood quivering at the threshold.

With a jingle in my voice;
And a thudding in my ears;
I announced my arrival from the threshold.

With a catch in my breath;
And a shudder in my heart;
I stood transfixed at the threshold.

Threshold which I longed to cross-
Was now a ravine!
Completely at a loss, I waited.

And I waited
And I waited
Waited at the threshold...

Inner Conflict

I have a question,

Difficult it is;

Not the question itself,

But the answer it seeks.

I have a dream,

Promising it is;

Not the dream itself,

But the hope it gives.

I have a fear,

Dreadful it is;

Not the fear itself,

But the strength that it needs.

I have an understanding,

A covenant it is;

Neither with God nor any mortal,

But with my soul that seeks peace.

"Jiya"

Hardly one and a half years old, cute little baby - that's who Jia is.

How do I know her? Well, actually I don't! We just happened to meet and I guess we clicked.

Sitting with a friend on the grass across Palika Bazaar, a hundred thoughts were jostling for attention. And then I spotted Jiya, pretending to talk on the phone with that ever so sweet voice, calling out "Heloo".

In that one moment all other thoughts were simply swept away. All that the heart wanted to cherish was a smiling cuddly face, a pretty baby in a multi-coloured frock. Little bare feet trampling the grass never seemed more enthralling. It was a surreal moment as if the world stood still to watch the antics of a mere kid. And it actually did because all eyes were on the li'l one.

Jiya walked over to me, asking me to speak to whoever she was imagining talking to. The conversation was directed by her, with I merely repeating what she wanted me to say. But trust me, none of the tele-talks of my life could beat this one. She did what all other kids do, kissed; and then spat; and stuck out her tongue; and played; and kissed again. As we got up to leave she decided to trail us but of course was safely handed back to the parents.

The beauty of the moment is the kind of power that a child exudes. Love unlimited and a true representation of feelings. Jiya's joy was communicable. She brought smiles to each face with her own toothy smile. I am sure it was not just me who forgot her own troubles, tribulations and anxieties watching Jiya. And it all came naturally, effortlessly. We don't hold ourselves back from loving a kid. We simply can't. So why have we created these speed-breakers to our natural emotions? We don't need to look far, the Jiyas of the world are the answer, the inspiration to bring back the innocence in each one of us. We need not mould ourselves to the world but instead give world a chance to embrace and learn from us.

The feudal Hangover

They say we have a colonial hangover - what with Landsdowne, Dalhousie, Barlowganj, Miranda House, Kingsway Camp and all the other cling-ons of the colonial era. I say that is still recent wake up people we have a feudal hangover.

Confused?? Well, well, well, any student worth his salt should know by now. Fine let me spell it out for you - L-A-N-D-L-O-R-D. It is only fitting that with the admission season on I speak about this particular species which has been multiplying faster than even locusts, and yes you guessed it, munching away at all that we have!

Welcome the Manorial Lord as the new age Landlord. They come with their own categories and are quite diverse. The ones with an entire building or two on rent boasting of AC rooms, wireless connection with three meals a day to the humble single storage room lent out to a tenant who in the true sense resides as a paying guest. The latter in particular catches my attention.

This category has its own duties and obligations so to say. The lord and his mistress (that's what they called the wife back then) feel free to run you on small errands, their tiny-tots deem it their fundamental right to coerce you into their silly games, and you could be left without a morsel of food if the family decides to go eating out. The tenant here is as patient as a seer and I do envy her. But even the sagest of sages are allowed to lose their temper once in a while. And so with our occupant who deems it her moral, temperamental, and emotional right to spank or threaten the exasperating child. But we all know the SQ (Smartness Quotient) of the average dilli wala 21st century baccha. So be it, the poor tenant has to adopt a policy of appeasement (read an ice-cream, chocolate, or one hour of continuous bowling or maybe rolling would be more fitting) to prevent the little devil from running to the ever-so doting mommy darling with a plethora of complains. But that is for the unfortunate few who end up with families who think they have acquired a new serf of sorts for them.

Hmm..where actually is the feudal angle apart from the serf bit?? Well, there is obedience, loyalty, benevolence, compassion, and most important of all an agreement. Now this agreement can be a written or verbal one. The tenant knows it reeks of duplicity and yet all that can be done is to sign your name in ink and help the scheming overlord to evade taxes. Besides there is the additional question of security money ranging from one to three months binding the poor students in that deathly grip of monetary barnacles.

The rules as in a manor are laid by our lord. Rules of all sorts - what shall be served to which variety, when the esteemed gates of thy royal household be shut, the kinds of clothes, the social conduct in the park especially the last two lest any bad name should come to this distinguished parsonage! There is also a threat and penalty for drinking or smoking. Now the government might be going all gaga with its hair-brained policies on smoking and drinking but to no avail. Our lord wields real control, proving that the local head is superior to a distant democratically elected head. His decree is supreme especially because he has real power, the power of eviction without even returning your security.

What would be a lord be if he does not display compassion, rewards or benevolence? Those rare occasions when a tenant meets with an accident many of these lords actually take the student for treatment and of course forward the bills to the parents. The late-comers with their beseeching glances are often pardoned. The rewards come in the form of a slab of ice-cream or some other dessert on a festival. Not to forget the royal family does eat a vain sumptuous meal. The lord after all has to live up to his image and put on a display of grandeur and benefaction.

Who dare go against this new age lord? But some do wish to depart no longer swearing allegiance to his lordship. The consequence- banishment from the property, ostracization till the time you bundle up your belongings, seizure of the security money and a verbal volley of wrath.

Besides the landlords have their own personal coterie some of them acting as spies - from the dealer to the house maid(yet another feudal hangover), the cook, and all the others. But the biggest spies of all are the immediate royal family who make it their business to keep abreast of the personal life of each and every inmate( if i may use a strong term like that ).

How on earth could I forget the most important thing, but of course the taxes. No they don't charge tithes. However, at the end of the month you have a water bill, a DTH bill, a cleaning bill, an ironing bill, and the big daddy of it all - the electricity bill. Some fix even the electricity usage rate by themselves! No wonder many a humble tenants choose to languish in the heat without even a cooler in temperatures as high as 45 degrees Celsius rather than fluff up the coffers of these rogue landlords.

But before we conjure a mental image of these money suctioning new age manorial lords let us concede there are also few who are genuinely just. Well so it was in the feudal age, a fair share of decent, and not calculating-scheming lords. But rest assured the age of innocence is gone and that ever so charming breed of lords is fast dying out and at a pace that not even Usain Bolt would take up the challenge to beat it!

Want to be a lord, a new age landlord? Invest in property its the sure shot way to purgatory!!

Pupa's story: You Are History!!

Pupa's story: You Are History!!: "Each time I read any piece of non-fiction something new hits me straight in the face. And I just think to myself, 'Am I so dumb as to not no..."

You Are History!!

Each time I read any piece of non-fiction something new hits me straight in the face. And I just think to myself, "Am I so dumb as to not notice it in the first read!!" But that actually is the beauty of a non-fictional piece and I am not talking bout the plethora of lowbrow publications.

A thought is nothing in itself. It has to be seen in a context. That is how the question of identity struck me. Whose identity? Mine? Yes and No. Well of course I love myself so it is bout me but no identity is exclusive. It only puts on a charade of exclusivity when all it actually is, is a part of a collectivity.

Back in kindergarten parents goaded us to answer the same five set of questions to all relatives and friends :

1. What is your name?

2. What is your father's name?

3. What is your mother's name?

4. Where do you live?

5. What is the name of your school?

Now the last one left many a toddler confused. While some were simply clean bowled on the last one others valiantly repeated the first answer. And mind you the entire exercise was in English, the road to high glory! The colonial hangover as they say lingered on with the 'Bengali baboo' mentality making the English speaking category the new 'saheb' and 'bibis' or 'mems'. Who was the 'ghulam' then? Oh sure this category got transformed into the 'gawanr'. How often do we overhear, "I tell you, he is so gawanr na, he can't even speak in English and man have ya eva listened to his pronunciation, pucca dehati he is!" No guesses where the dehati hails from.

Just today someone was tagged in a newspaper article, "Auratein Mardon se zyada bewafa". Hail the world dear Lord, its not just a question of Venus v/s Mars, it demands a statistical analysis too! Back in school all we cared bout was to beat the guys in studies. And so it continues even now. The colourful news headings cheering the 95.7% girls who passed as compared to say a 92.8% of boys comes as a shocker. Fine, you need statistics to compile your reports based on which you say you make policies for the education of the girl child. The policies and their fate we all know but what kind of category politics is this? Is it a new age tactic to spur on the kids who already slog on for say eighteen to twenty hours a day to work harder. There are yet other news headlines screaming that so and so kid who topped did nothing except sleep for 5 hours, watch news, eat and study. Consider this, a foreign student from some Scandinavian country who had to submit a paper for evaluation at the post-graduate level was all jittery because he had never given a formal examination in his life.

At the college level, the caste identity hits you hard. SC, ST, OBC, Minority, Kashmiri Migrant or General. You either end up hating the system with so many quotas or the invariable 'creamy layer' which avails these seats or your forefathers who hung the albatross around our necks. What irks you the most is the attitude some people chuck. As in a coaching institute, " Sir, hamara toh quota hai itna padha dijiye ki pass ho jayein" (Sir, we have a quota just teach us enough to pass). Or someone else who says, " I don't believe in the quota system so i have applied in the general category." To this someone else adds, "Bhai, ek seat aur kha jayega" (Brother, you will eat up one more seat). Yet a fourth would say, " Mera toh merit pe hua hai quota se nahi (I got through merit not through quota) or in a deprecating voice, "Oo, Quota!!"

But are these my only identities - English speaking general category female student. Definitely not. There are the other add-ons - Religion, country, region, complexion, sub-caste, et al. While a Yadav girl threatens her mother that if coaxed into a marriage for the next two years she would elope with a Muslim, a Bihari is not given a paying guest accommodation on the assumption that they "capture" property with political clout. An American would not be expected to take a shower daily and a north-east student has to be into drugs! A Rajput cannot cry openly and a Parmar cannot marry a Lohia Rajput! Besides people take a look at you and decide which part of the country you come from. A Bihari can't be fair and a South Indian would speak in English with a distict south flavour!

But is that all. Whom are we kidding? What of the brand name? A school, a college, a LV bag, a picture with a celebrity, some distant cousin topped some bureaucratic services, a wedding invite to a royal-do, an uncle living abroad even if it is Bhutan, a cricketer or a politician from the same district. We all revel in finding connections, in associating ourselves with 'the people'. And then we proclaim we are individuals in our own right. Need a reality check!

Some might say why not but each one of us has his/her own mental faculty. True. But who uses it irrespective of these categories or identities or tag-ons. We are all manipulative identity transformers. The same person who parties with the who-is-who of he town by night would be the crusader against the same folks by morning, singing the song of the masses. An elsa ( LSR-ian) would vociferously debate over the ills of a caste society and eventually give in to the rigours of the same society. Not everyone would adopt the same veils, but veils each one would adopt.

Is there some thing wrong with this? Well depends on a number of factors which I would not get into. But for Heaven's sake quit calling yourself an individual with a distinct voice, conscience and blah. You are History!! It is the age of identities, it is they who win or lose. There might be a maverick in a million but the rest are nothing except superimposing identities. Dear self, high time you believed you are a mere placard being replaced now and then, in different shades and in different texts! The new age is an age of identities coupled with associations, individuality is history!! Wonder who or what ever thought that identity as a word in a singular format could ever be used?

Pupa and the mini trouble

Pupa was happy and getting on with his usual life when Mamma came visiting. And not just any visiting...she came with her new larvae, a healthy young caterpillar. Now our Pupa, the sweet Pupa that it is, was quite happy to see its new sibling. But you know how it is with parents...the last minute emergencies they have to rush to...well yes...i think you get it!

Let me put it in simple words - Pupa had to baby-sit the young one. And as Mammas always do, this specific Mamma also assured Pupa that caterpillar was just such a darling that it would just sit on its cabbage leaf and eat without a murmur till Mommy comes back. And away she flew.

Pupa was visibly nervous. Ok the pillar was cute but baby-sitting was so not his type of work. But you got to do it if you got to do it. Besides pillar looked quite tame, greedily munching on its cabbage leaf. So Pupa with nothing better to do, dozed off.

Pupa yawned and remembered the gluttony charge he had under his care. Lo Behold!!! Where was the darn crawly young-ling. Pupa shouted and screamed for the pillar but it never answered. Now Pupa as is obvious could not go looking for the thing so i was sent an SOS text.

Being the good friend that i am i did agree to help and finally found him with a locust. The latter tagged along with us. The pillar happily informing me that they had become great friends and they intend to continue to be friends.

Pupa did not know how to react. He was visibly angry, very angry. But the pillar was so young that it seemed ruthless to shout at him. So with a few curt words he got his point across over safety and responsibility. And then he saw the locust.

"What is a locust doing with you?" "And you locust, where are your Mum and Dad?"

The locust did not breathe a word but the pillar said loud, " He is lost and he is hungry and i intend to share my cabbage leaf with him and take him home with me." Now this was some declaration coming from someone so young. Pupa was aghast...a locust in a butterfly colony!! And horror of horrors Mom will know that the pillar had been away.

Now the minion pillar had the nerves to actually ask, " Are you two with your last century attitude going to give us trouble? Better not..my friend locust here can finish off a lot of your food supplies only if i tell him to." Boy!! kids can be so utterly innocent these days!! While we were pondering over what to do, Mumma zoomed in. She thanked Pupa, took the pillar and got ready to leave, not even acknowledging the locust.

The locust slipped in the shadow of a mushroom. But the young blood would not go till his friend locust was taken along. He howled and cried and tumbled and jiggled. But moms are so used to all these tantrums. So Mommy just flew away with him ranting. We exhaled a sigh of relief that the little rascal was gone. But there was something bigger to worry us - the locust.

We asked him if he knew where his family was. He did not. He was an orphan and a vagrant. Now that was some bit of information. What were we to do with it? If we did keep it with us the butterfly society might ostracize us. If we shoo it away the poor thing might just get killed or eaten or starve. But was it not natural for the weakest to die? But would we knowingly push someone to death? Would we conform to the societal norms or would be be renegades? And if we did drive it away, would we be living with the guilt? As we went on and on aloud with these musings..the locust cleared its throat to get our attention.

He said, " I am leaving. It was really sweet of pillar to have shared his cabbage with me. Give my thanks to him. "

Pupa blurted out, "but where will you go? You can stay here if u like." I nodded my head vigorously to give my approval.

But what the locust said next, stays on with me, " Thank you, but no thanks. I am better off by myself. If God wills it I shall one day be a proud grasshopper in the midst of my kind. Not everyone is a pillar who looks at a person's heart. Others think of the tags attached to a person. And actually it is funny how scared we are of the very categories we have bounded ourselves to. And i am really thankful to both of you for making the generous offer. However, what good is it living in a place where your very identity is your biggest curse. My identity makes you suspicious of me without even having spoken to me even once. I don't want to be judged through templates set by someone else. I am an individual and i wish to be that first and foremost before i am bounded up by these categorizations. Not every rose on a rose plant is identical in shape. Some are shut, some open, some half-open. We are all like them, its we who decide when to open out to the world and how much. But none can deny that the sweetest fragrance comes from the one in full bloom and that is whom the world covets."

Did i again hear patience?

Patience Pupa feels is a very patient word indeed. Imagine the guts it takes each one of us to convince ourselves to be patient!!

Pupal Take on Death

Pupa and me had a heart to heart on DEATH. Of course Osama's got us talking. Without going into the usual differences on 'was it him', 'proof kya hai', 'what role did Pak play'....let me come to the crucial question of Death.

I must say Pupa with his ample laze time does come up with some genuine thoughts. Anyway so here is the crux of a 'Pupal take on death'.

Pupa says (this reminds me of Buddha says...but strictly this is me just paraphrasing him) death haunts us from even before the conception of life. Well how many larvae turn into caterpillars? How many caterpillars turn into pupae? And how many Pupae into butterflies?

Profound but true. Death hovers round from the womb to the grave or the funeral pyre...ok lets just add...some reach the Towers of Silence too!

So should one be scared of death? Pupal take, it would be foolhardy to claim that one is not scared. All of us are. Well maybe not of death as death..but the forms it comes in or the wishes which go unfulfilled or the tasks which could not be completed.

How come some people are branded evil or saintly after death? While Mother Teresa gets a beatification, Osama gets the sea! Pupa believes God doesn't permit us to take such liberties. But when have jurisdictions not been over-reached? A Pope is going on to become a Saint. Who are we to decide who is the sinner or the saint? Even if we are in awe of someone's good earthly deeds, are we to become judges? Are we even capable of being judges? What moral, social, cultural, religious or intellectual claim do we have to make decisions about someone's deeds, life or afterlife. And even if we do...seriously it doesn't even matter.

You may condemn certain acts, you may appreciate some good deeds. But you cannot be a judge because as Pupa says a judge gotta be impartial and who can claim that for oneself! No wonder we go 'gaga' over someone one day and pelt rotten eggs on the same person the next day. Has the person changed or has our perception of him changed?

They say each one of us comes to the world with a specific purpose. So are we simply puppets in the hands of God? That reminds me of Rajesh Khanna in Anand -

"Babu Moshai, Zindagi aur maut uparwale ke haath hai jahanpanah, jise na aap badal sakte hain na mein. Hum sab toh rangmanch ki katputlian hain, jiski dor uparwale ke haath bandhi hai. Kab, Kaun, Kaise uthega, yeh koi nahi janta."

Was/Is Osama a puppet in the Almighty's hands too or did he go mutant...some chemical locha?? Dunno.

Pupa says what Osama did is between him and his God. He would be answerable to Allah even if his way to jannat or jahannum is through the sea! As for the 'discipline and punishment' of the earthly world he deserved what he did. But does the body deserve what it is getting?

Is it not sadomasochism in a new garb to show your hegemony on a lifeless body by condemning it to the SEA!! Is US playing Noah's Ark? Even Hitler got a grave!! (though an unmarked one). And our ever curious Pupa wants to know bout the justification that no country would give its land to bury Osama, well Mr. Obama did you ask these countries which you claim to be the 'sole spokesman' of?? Will the human rights folks say something or Uncle Sam with their Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo appear holier than thou to them!!

AB Senior takes centrestage - Anand mara nahi, Anand marte nahin.

Osama mara nahi, Osama marte nahin.

The soul didn't die, Soul never dies.

P.S - Violence in any form is bad, be it physical or emotional.

So that's a Pupal take on death with supplementary comments by me.

P.P.S - Did Will-Kat seal it with a "Till death do us apart" :p

Pupa's Love

Well Pupa's got a story to tell and its bout love. Love?? Umm..ya..not the lusty kind..nor the senti kind...just normal which even u and me can feel. So Pupa's got a simple take on a not so simple issue.

One day Pupa was dozing off in its cocoon thinking how pretty the world outside is. Well not that the cocoon wasn't good, it had its own perks. But somehow that cute lil butterfly with its dashing pink wings had its heart beating double the normal. Everyday the...now what's her name..ohk..lets call her Pinkie. Yes, so everyday Pinkie used to hover round Pupa's cocoon, peering inside and once she caught his eye she used to flutter her wings.

But what made his heart race like a motor engine? Well these two have a history. The usual boy meets girl. But Pupa being Pupa was a lil slow to catch up. He wanted to come out of the cocoon with his new wings and then make a proposition but of course Pinkie being a pretty thing had a lot of suitors and she wanted a commitment.

Pupa couldn't decide if it was love or not?

"YES..NO..Can't Say...Maybe..Do I have 'Phone-a-fren'?"

And finally it dawned on him...He was actually in love. He just couldn't sop crooning "Baby I am in love..love" and he was so utterly butterly in...LOVE.

But you see it was too little too late. Pinkie had grown tired of waiting besides now there was a new bloke on the scene with his shiny black flaps serenading Pupa's love interest. Poor Pupa was heart broken.

So Pupa goes into depression. "What good is life out there in the open when I don't get my Pinkie. Better I just curl up and die in this cocoon." The pain was unbearable especially when he saw the Black Flaps and Pinkie drifting together in the breeze.

But hey wait..was there just Pinkie outside..there must be others too..besides who cares for the Pinkies of the world..there is still the breeze and the flowers and the nectar to look forward to.

So after giving himself a pep talk our Pupa was calm. But love's got its own kicks and he saw the dashing duo together again and had that fresh pang of...whatyya call it..yes..jealousy! The Pupa twisted and turned but in the limited space of the cocoon how could he not see what was out there. He felt miserable.

Day in and day out Pupa saw the two together and got used to it. Finally one day it dawned on him. He was still in love with of course Pinkie. But it wasn't the same love. His love had modified. He appreciated her beauty and her manners but he had no expectations of being loved in return.

Our Pupa realized love isn't bout expecting to be loved back. Mutual love is great. But even if love is lost it is equally great as long as you know its not lost in your heart.

With a silent prayer for the couple Pupa in many many days finally had his mind at peace. The outside world held new meanings now.

P.S - this sets me thinking..our Pupa is surely reaching the threshold ;)

WHY??

I simply love the word "why" and you will see why :)

I love fielding questions and here i would just respond to the questions bout why this blog?

Q- Why lime-stone and why pupa's story?

Lime coz its my favourite colour and stone coz i could neither be a Sharon nor a flint :p

Well no, simply because it means metamorphosis into marble and into a butterfly. I am at that transitional phase of my life wherein there are no dramatic changes but the anticipation of some. Its like you are on the threshold raving to go but something's pulling you back saying, just a lil while more u aren't yet ready.

And well dats al it has to be bout the lime and the stone and the pupa.