Deliberation.........

During my adolescent days in Kolkata I used to be quite a dreamer. I dreamt of being somebody people would respect and recognize, somebody who would be an embodiment of all the values and cultural ethos the city and my family had stood up for. More than anything those dreams were about doing things for people around me; for standing up for those who could not by themselves; for touching lives. I wanted to be in a profession where I could touch lives, deliver smiles and be true. Real life however had different plans. I learnt through experience that the roller coaster called life is indeed the greatest leveler. It puts you in the situations where you realize that for all the talks of touching lives; you are but an ordinary, selfish, weak person whose primary objective would always be betterment of self and not others. Where I stand today is a two way path again.
The ruthless competition did the better of me and I came out a moderate success. I have a good job, a happy and supportive partner and a family to look up to. In short I have a little more than what is needed for a decent lifestyle in urban India. I am also in a position to plan the rest of the journey. Whether I would keep abreast with the competition, move from a comfortable to a lavish lifestyle in years to come, go for personal properties and accomplishments, or re-ignite the nearly dead passion of thinking out of the box and go for a social business or NGO and make a sincere effort of realizing my dream of touching lives! The choice is not easy, like any life decision. On one side lies the allure of a so called perfect life - of branded apparel and Saturday spa trips, air-conditioned sedans and a plush condo! Of children going to the best schools and myself cracking million dollar deals and growing business. The other side lies vast darkness, of a lifestyle that might not even be middle class, of a husband who might get tired and frustrated, of debts and red tape, and above all a scare of ending up with a very much possible shattered dream that could not consistently touch a lot many lives.
Blaming life and the society and lack of support and understanding might be able to justify my not taking the leap , but will it be ever able to erase the conviction I would develop about not being able to stand up for what I believed and wanted. I know there are a lot much stronger out there who have taken the leap, who have not cared about the allures and failures and yet stuck to their choices. Am I one of them, or do I just fancy to be? They say charity begins at home. The fact is that with that in a life spent with that belief, charity always starts and ends at home itself. The task of a care giver is never easy – being a good wife, a mother, a daughter, a daughter in law, a manager and a host gives you a kick. It takes away a good amount of energy and develops a dependency and feel good factor which is hard to let go. You feel that the moment you step in an arena of greater purpose that you are neglecting the homegrown responsibilities and that kills you. Society and stereotypical impressions about what and how women of your kind should be and behave does not help either. The role playing gets so much at you that the fear of being a bad wife or mother, does not allow you to think beyond. We are after all a silent servant of obliging to impressions! Time will tell the path I chose. In fact at this point this is the lamest and safest excuse that I could give myself to quieten the chatter within. I will probably start with a bit of each and try to balance out and then let situations take a call. Besides when we do anything which is to impact the greater community, even a motley bunch of people , there should remain no space for backing out or giving up. There is way too much at stake!
I started writing this incoherent piece thinking that it will help we weigh out options and settle for a distinct plan. The purpose has not been met. In fact I am more confused and frustrated now and I was before I started. However the will to fit this into a body of a write up forced me to think about a solution and that I have. Now I have figured out the most escapist route to take ; of leaving everything up to time, and let time take it’s call. I am not leaving my nest anytime soon , but will do some trips here and there just so that I stay connected with my dream. My business acumen taught one thing for sure . It taught me to create win-win situations. And ahoy! Here I just created one ……One where I get my condo and dream stays alive too!

A journey to the place called Inspiration

Who deserves being an inspiration? A book, a verse, a man you know, or one you read about or an idea that changed a thousand lives? I think the roots of inspiration lies in everyday observations, in the basic emotions of love, compassion and the humanity that lives within us. It is the urge to reach out, to love and help those in need. Inspiration in its true sense lies in the call to rise above oneself and shoot out for the far away goal. True inspiration does not constitute of personal ambition and gratification alone. However, sadly enough, that is what we have made out of it.
Inspirations mostly are confined to either a celebrity, living or dead or a family member who lived a life of righteousness/ideals/values and helped us stand tall the way we do today through his or her contributions. And why is that so? I guess the answer lies in the ego boost we get out of associating a train of thought similarity with a big name or raising a familiar figure on an altar. Especially in the world and the times that we belong to surely the group of “ those who Inspire” could be a bit larger. What do you think of the farmer who fights sun, rain and oppression, middlemen and landlords and eats lesser of his produce, just so that we could pick up those fat bags of grain and cereal, bunches of leafy greens and fresh produce to adorn our dinner tables every night and may be even throw away some unconsumed. Well, some would say, that is what he is supposed to do. For sure he is, but consider this: he does something that contributes to one of the most basic and essential of human needs – food. Should he not be paid and treated better than one of us? One of us who designs advertisements, or manage stocks or help the rich grow richer by diversifying their investments and are considered successful? Now think of coal miners and oil rig laborers and the base category soldiers – they give us our light, our gas, they protect our borders and yet live a life of toil while others enjoy 152 channels on the slimmest of the TV screens.
A lot of people I know would quote laws that govern economy or establish the sad but true facts about disproportionate division of wealth and then all those discussions over coffee and wine would ultimately culminate in another night of peaceful sleep. Sometimes I wonder, are we getting numb by the ages? How do we eat and sleep and throw thousands out for a weekend party, when the people who provide are dying out there of floods and famines? They are getting killed and killing themselves, there are women getting raped and children being trafficked, there is no food and no houses and no medicine for millions dying. And yet they are resilient, and yet they keep doing their job, and yet they do not stop tilling the fields or sweating it out in the cramped factories! Could there be a better example of passion at work or integrity than in the millions that toil? A business leader creates wealth, an actor weaves magic through his emotions but somewhere we must realize that all of this somewhere affect only our intellectual portion or maybe our lifestyle too but for sure not our life. Well again, not in terms of “Get a life dude” kind of life, but just the life where we can feel the world around because we breathe and eat and can cover ourselves.
Find this depressing? Even I do as I write it. But let us face the facts. Human history has always been a tale of humanity and greed that went hand in hand. There were people who rose to the occasion and did their bit in propagating in either and earned an altar for themselves. I think somewhere after all these years of history the time is on us to put the common man up to the altar. Not the lover who died, not the man who created a castle from the dust, neither the soul who took millions of lepers in her arm, let’s get together and give a chance to elevate not just financially and socially but also image wise - the “Common Man”. I would like to believe that his time has come! Lets stand up together and draw inspiration from within – internally and around. Let there be a niche deserved for art and literature and all that which is avant grade. Let also build a niche for something that has been far too common, far too mediocre, and far too plain to be given an elevated significance. The toil of the common man has to break the shackles of text book quotations and literary sympathy to be crowned as the attitude that helped us come so far. I am not a socialist, neither a social worker, I am not the down trodden , neither am I just a raped/oppressed/killed entity. I am what I am – the common man. I have seen struggle, and felt hunger, I have seen people die and cry and today I yearn to be the “one who inspires” . I don’t want money, nor do I live with a hope of a world free of troubles, toil and oppression. I know the rain will lash and the sun will scorch me as I till the land or dig the road but all I ask for is the respect that I have been denied. I claim my chair in the seat of those who inspire. I deny being a figure in the book of statistics, I deny to subject of a sad short story that wins an award, I deny to be the character the stars play to earn more fans and accolades. I am what I am and will always be. The one true fore bearer of the most strong of human feelings- the will to exist. My time has come – bring me my altar!

Where does it all end?

I have been busy and lazy off late. Reasons for not updating the blog to own self ranged from bummed with work to pathetic lack of creative juices flowing and some more. Life has been a full circle, after years of struggle to just survive and earn a meal has slowly made a place for a doting man , a cozy home and now a sunny car to boot. However the internal music of " I want more" ceases to stop playing!
Sometimes I feel strange at the personal lack of control. When I earned a little less than what I pay my house-help today and not more than 4 years ago, I was still a happy girl. Had a group of friends, a dirty but warm PG room to share with them, the occasional date and the joy within for my new found independence. Today materialistically I own a lot more, in fact marriage has even put me into a safety net of sort where suddenly doing things close to the heart for a living seems a possibility again. At home there are more crockery, at work there is more power , at the party there is more options that can be afforded , but the craving still goes on........
Money and Power are addictive I knew, but I always thought that I had a well read rational mind to take the logical stand and not be affected by the callings of high lifestyle! The partner is a grounded man ; earns more , spends less and yet lives the life of a simple soul with minimum needs and above all is a happy man. He has ambitions for sure , but the way he presents them are like a logical step by step laid out Business plan and not something intrinsically affecting his internal peace and happiness. Probably of all things I am proud of , marrying the dude would take the cherry , and for reasons I just stated.
As I sit in my balcony and the Bangalore breeze sends a sweet chill down the spine why do I immediately start looking forward to how the breeze would feel from a condo on the 25th Floor of a penthouse. and then dream of having one for myself someday. The logical mind says, the breeze might be a little stronger, because of the altitude and that's about it. However, the mind would not stop. Dreaming can still be discounted, what can not is the ego getting more fragile by the day..........and that is so not nice. The mind knows that Kolkata remains a city I would love the most all my life, why then; does a stupid facebook Quiz force an answer which says that I would love to spend my life in Paris? Is it trying to force into an image of someone I am not? Or someone I want to be like?
Sometimes the most difficult reassurance seems telling yourself that you are happy! and believing in the statement from the center of the heart. With the New year approaching that IS just what I want to do. I am happy, I am at a state where I can probably in my own way get few more people to smile . and that in our world makes me a very lucky human being. Let me stop to smell the grasses, to feed the dog down the street, to hug the man I love and laugh till tears roll down at a mindless joke. Let me breathe before I climb the next stretch , and this time let the journey hold more joy than the destination. Let 10 hours at work be 10 hours of doing things I love and not working towards a promotion where I think I will be able to do things I love. Let the house be as warm as it is now, not for a gadget but for the love that went into doing it up as a newly married couple! Let friends still rule the weekends, let the parents never get old and the man stop at this age and state of mind forever. Let there be satisfaction and peace , and the strength of mind to realize the true worth of life and happiness, now and always!

Of Beds...........and smells............

Of Beds…………………and smells!

When I was a kid and went to a morning school I used to be a stubborn thing. My dad had a tough time to wake me up and I used to keep burying my nose deep into the pillow trying to sniff and smell when he kept asking me to leave the bed………………..I hunted for my granny’s smell. From a very young age I slept with her, and my childhood nights were spent, hugging her tight and listening to her stories. It was she who initiated me to the wonderful world of literature. She taught me Mahabharata and told me of the Treasure Island, I met Robinson Crusoe and cried for black beauty all in the warmth of her deep voice and reassuring hug.

And then as it happens with every adolescent, I grew irritable and unkind and rude and selfish as I grew up and left the cozy comfort of her bedside to demand for a separate bed. Now that I had started reading the books seemed to keep better company…………Alas ! I had forgotten that it was her words that made me pick up the first book that I had ever read and it was her genes that made me a book worm in the first place. Youth in all its fancy can be quite selfish you know, and I was surely not an exception. The smell had faded…………..

Then came high school and the bed ……..now turned into a hiding spot for the cordless phone ;for those unending nonsensical conversations with the high school sweetheart when everybody slept . It had by then become the bed of lies. The bed you denied to leave early because you stated that you kept awake all night studying but all you actually did was blow up your dad’s phone bills! And then came the day when the truth unfolded and you converted the bed into a pool of tears! You cried at your parents’ disciplinary locking of the phone and wished so hard that you lived a teenage in Kansas and not Kolkata……….The smell faded further…………..

And then the bed travelled miles away to a different city. It was college time and I was a grown up hostelite. The bed of gossip, the bed of bitching, the bed of all night long gal parties and the bed of sharing secrets. It was an exciting phase and a phase of bed piled with clothes in sizes that would make mom shriek with shock! The bed by then had stopped smelling at all, it was aseptic in a way, not unpleasant but not warm either.

Jobs were in place. A new bed was bought with own money and proudly shown off. It was big and shining and soft and tidy, but hardly left a mark. It was a bed of dead sleep after a long work day or a longer party night! It was a bed where I snored for the first time and a bed where I never dreamt. Life was getting complicated and so was I, dream was a thing of the past, it was a phase of rising high, competing, struggling, winning and failing, but never giving up and realizing with every passing day that the red riding hood inside was dying a slow death and making way for the Cosmopolitan chick who read Coelho and talked about the “Beats” and was no longer scared of the big bad wolf! On that bed innocence died forever!

And now the bed has doubled. It fits another adult, I call my husband who hugs me tighter than my granny and even tells me stories at times. It’s a bed where we have started dreaming again. It is a bed which has started smelling again!! A smell that makes you linger on and laze, a smell of familiarity , a smell of being there , a smell of sharing and a smell of being happy about it, sharing that is………..

However on those lonely nights when he is away for work or some other chore and I look at the fluffy pillow lying aside; I don’t know why , but I dig my nose deep and want to smell of my Granny’s bed. In the bouts of stress induced stupor I keep searching and sniffing to find the cozy, warm smell of that first bed where stories were born and dreams were made. Not that I don’t miss him or his smell but I miss the other even more because somewhere deep inside I know that even if I try the childhood smell is not coming back. Even during the Kolkata trips when I still share the bed with my granny we do talk and chit chat, but then we sleep off. She would not tell another story because she thinks I have grown out of it and I would not ask for another one because at her age I do not want to stress her. But somewhere we both know how much the stories would have actually helped. It might actually help me smell THE SMELL again, The smell of love , and warmth , of unadulterated care and innocence. A smell of days gone by that were the BEST, a smell that will always remain the dearest to me till my last breath…………

You..............

You Love,
You hate,
You Inspire and you kill...............

You eat like a dog
And you sleep like a log
And you still burp after every meal............

You Inspire
You correct
And you blow me away everytime..............

You irritate.......
You Nag
And you shut me up with a dime.............

You make me strong
You make me weak
You hold the secret to my mood...........

You dirty my kitchen
You break my china
And you grease my linen with your food

You complete me
You fill me
You help me be me all the way..............

You disgust me
You annoy me
You make me cry all through the day.....................

I love you
I want to kill you
I want you to stay with me forever
Though I know we will both end up finished!!

Of job changes and more

I changed jobs. It feels a bit of everything!!Job chnages are like extra marital affairs.You know they are bad...........but something pulls you to better assets;)
I have a team to care of , and the young chaps are naughty but pretty interesting!!Hoping some nice times.
After the Mumbai seige, I have become very numb!!Dont even feel like saying anything.Who is listening anyways?Where is the world going?The country came to a literal standstill with teh TV in view for a motley group of young lads to loved their guns better than their books!! They killed people for reasons they best know, and we looked at the TV, called friends and relatives back in munbai and heaved a sigh of relief when we heard they are safe.Next day, we all went to work, smiled , shared joked and blamed the politicians. Thats it!!Our duties are over.
Three celebrated officers were lost.My neighbour with a huge grin " I am happy that I did not let my son join the army" she said.Yes , friends, we have displayed a champion's performance in selfishness this time around.Applauds!!
Peopel criticised and said " the policemen and politicians in this country are soooooo incompetent" over hot cups of chai and may be few round pegs and then slept in the safe comforts of their blankets , happy with the thougt that is time around it was not Bangalore or lucknow.But people died.they were killed. Innocent Indians, tax payers, family men, young professionals and even tourists.
I am angry. Cant write. I am sad ,emotions for the common man like dont enhance expression, they numb it.I am numb. Will somebody show me the light,please??

My Religion, My country and my being a part of none

What defines an individual? Is it the family, the profession, the religion, the status, the class, sexual orientation……….. or is it something that transcends above all the above and categorizes individuals purely on the basis of their being good , bad, kind, jealous,
Tolerant, intelligent and other human qualities. I do not know but what I do is that the second is indeed a difficult choice, in spite of being the clear favorite. Is it that we are born to classify people, match them to characters and put them in boxes labeled , blue, green or yellow………..or is it that the grouping makes life easy….
Why I chose to right today about something so vague is probably the reaction to what I am been hearing too much lately. All over the blog world people are writing about their religious and idealistic preferences. They justify why they are right and the other factions are wrong. They write to justify and counter arguments about their own faith system and ideals. On the whole the country and the world react to all the genocide, and the terrorism, and the crimes and the perversions by doing everything in the book but owning it. In my country Muslims and Christians blame the Hindus for dishing out unfair treatment, Hindus go on a rage and burn churches and kill people in order to prove their prowess. The glitterati covers their face out of shame at such violent behaviors, and the educated class voices out opinions at the rate of a super fast mail, during evening soirées and office lunches. You might ask, where I stand? I stand in the middle of all this and fail to link a single person to the truth. Not that I am a socialist or have a degree in public psychology. But I am a voter, and a tax payer, an Indian and a Hindu, and my voice is numbed forever because I support none. I am not a minority and do not understand their pangs, to my understanding I have known them as friends and neighbors and family throughout my life and so when they speak of differential treatment or stress on being as much Indian as any of the Hindus I feel that they are just stating the obvious. I do have nothing to do with the one who burns the churches and rapes a nun, and still deny feeling guilty about my religion, because of some sick group which does such abominable things.
I don’t feel that they represent the religion that I believe in but still in papers and in the voter card I am grouped along with them. I bow to my idols and fix a peg using the same two hands. I kiss my partner and eat the Prasad with the same mouth without any washing in between, and don’t feel any less Hindu.
Similarly I love all the so called meaningless cinema my country commercially produces with the same passion as I dig Felini or Polanski; love the mindless item nos no less than the ghazal, dadra or thumri.I love crying when Tulsi leaves home with the same intensity as when Aurelius dies in the “Gladiator”. My love for paanipuri equals my love for Au Gratin and I would love to see the North East as much as I would enjoy the Euro – Rail. I feel my being an Indian does not restrict me one bit to love or appreciate anything else in the world.

But I am still cornered. I am the bad, passive, spineless Hindu who has sold her soul to the west and my non-conformism is equal to blasphemy (in a lighter sense off course). I am also not much of an Indian too as I have not stuck to the culture of my nation and let my mindscape be invaded with flavors from around the world which I could not resist. Neither am I the revolutionary, because I can not sell this middle path I have been consorting because of the lack of contact, influence and money. So where does that leave me. It leaves me with one religion, the religion called tolerance which I practice with great dedication in everything I do. I tolerate my religion being maligned everyday and yet do not go and pick up a gun and kill a few. I tolerate hate and despise of the minorities and yet do not pick up a jhanda and give it back to them. I also tolerate being called a licker of the West by my own countrymen for my appreciation of various cultures and art forms around the world and for all you know tomorrow I would be sure to be called a “Niger” or a “Black Man” in some by lane of the so called west.

This was not meant to be a crib, it was meant to be a journey into self definition and a good one at it. I being no one and nobody I atleast enjoy one huge advantage. I don’t need to bend to any kind of conformism and live and life of constant justification in order to remain a part of a group. Till then, I am happy with my Hindutva which has given me a heart to love, a soul to bear pain and a head to think and act. I am as much an Indian with my capacity to deal with love and appreciate multitude, my love for food and movie star and the shiver down my spine every time I see the fluttering tricolor. Let their be peace with the rest that I missed.