Hope - Elections 2024

The Resident Optimist (my husband, henceforth called the RO in this post) told me around a year ago, “You will see, Modi is on his way out.” The skeptic, the pessimist in me didn’t say this, but thought, “Sometimes I hate this over-optimism of yours. At times I think you are a fool for thinking like that.” But on his face I said, “How I would love it, but I doubt it.” The RO (Resident Optimist) had just smiled that day. At me. Like you all, I had seen Modi wreak havoc on democratic institutions. His megalomania was touching new heights everyday. The lowest common denominator in the civil society, in judiciary, in public protest, in media was going low and low and low and people were like, “at least the government didn’t do this…” “at least we are alive…” And I would tell my children, “this is not the India we grew up in.” India is an idea, a contradiction, but India is real – India is secular. At least it tries to be. The RO, like many other Indians, had bought into the propaganda in 2014, “India needed a strong man image, and this guy will give it to India.” That day, I had almost wanted to divorce the RO for even suggesting that. But to his face, I had said, “Sorry, I do not subscribe to that view. This guy is dangerous for India. G0dhr@ is still alive in people’s memory. You will see the long lasting effects soon.” That day, the RO had gone quiet. It took him a couple of years to agree with me. A few days ago, the night the results begun to appear, I was on my computer, working on a translation. He was on the phone, with his friend in India. Around 12 midnight, he opens the door to my study, and gestures me to come take a look at the TV. I go, and instead of the TV, I look at his eyes. They were shining! News24 was on, and INDIA was leading. “NDA” was trailing. And then it was chal-so-chal. Leading, trailing, losing, winning. I laughed and he said it will take a few hours before picture becomes clear. I came back to my desk. A few minutes later, the IPTV Box stopped relaying News24. The RO came and asked what could have gone wrong. Between the two of us, I happen to be the tech-expert. Hah! “Check the other channels, maybe the internet is down.” I said. “No, the entire Godi Media is on, something is going on,” he said, “they have stopped relaying News24 !” Alright, are they doing the last ditch effort to stifle? I went to my computer, and opened their website and turned their live telecast on. It was working. So I suggested the RO to use his computer too. And then the game began to turn. I stayed awake until 2-50 am, excited, but then went to sleep.…. I think the RO stayed awake all night – working and waiting. Next morning, before brushing my teeth, I came and found him perched on the couch. “Whats happening?” “Nothing firm yet, but Mampi ji, India has voted differently.” Sure, now I was ready to believe him. In early December 2023, once sitting in a mehfil among friends, he had claimed that India will not allow him to continue, that Modi is out in 2024. That day, I had glanced at him indulgently – like a mother whose child has showed off the newest trick. And I had secretly hoped his wish would come true. Now his wish was coming true, and the next day was a conversation around the way India had reclaimed its democracy. My daughter asked me yesterday, “Why are you listening to this irritating fellow?” Modi was speaking in the BJP headquarters. “For cheap thrills, beta, for cheap thrills,” I had simply said. I had gotten busy in the work again, and asked the RO “How was the address of Himself?” “Buss roye hi nahi wo,” he chuckled. I am, like so many of you, enjoying this moment as long as it lasts. No point of this post, just waise ee. But I so wanted to thank all those who stood against these winds of injustice, and kept us afloat. All those who faced trolling but kept on using whatever weapons they could, to keep saying what needed to be said. Some names of those we know, and many names of those we dont know but need to be acknowledged. Amandeep Sandhu Kajal Basu, Orijit Sen, Arun Joshi, Arijit Nag Ravish Kumar Saurabh Kumar Shahi The DeshBhakt-Akash Bannerjee, Dr Medusa, the.ranting.gola Rajeev Nigam, Bhagat Ram Ajit Anjum Dhruv Ratheeand so many more. The list will be edited. Remind us of those that kept you hopeful in these dark times. #IndiaElections2024

Community and people

"Years ago, anthropologist Margaret Mead was asked by a student what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture. The student expected Mead to talk about fishhooks or clay pots or grinding stones. But no. Mead said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was a femur (thighbone) that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink or hunt for food. You are meat for prowling beasts. No animal survives a broken leg long enough for the bone to heal. A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts, Mead said." Now the attribution of this story to Mead is perhaps untrue. Also, perhaps taking care of the vulnerable is not unique to humans or human civilization. However, I am sharing it with a hope that we are out of the woods where 'survival of the fittest' seems to be the rule. Even Today. pic from - Internet of course

Luckiest Girl Alive

My daughter is an insistent talker. She talks everyday with me, multiple times, about things serious, and things irreverent, and things profane. We both read (and she also has her Tik-Tok feed) and we both try to find and share vocabulary for phenomenon that have bothered me, and bothered her and share with each other. It is empowering to have this little being by your side. In this same spirit, some days ago, she told me about a girl who thought she was date-raped by a University senior she hooked up with. I know you are stuck on the ‘thought-she-was-date-raped.’ You are probably wondering – girl, either you were raped, or you were not raped. There is nothing like ‘I-thought-I-was-raped.’ But going by the details of the girl's encounter, her experience does qualify as rape. And she talked with a mutual friend of my daughter’s and hers. Once the guy she hooked up with (and thought she was raped by) came to know that she had talked with someone, it scared him so much that he started to publicly bad-mouth this mutual friend at every opportunity. How talking to a friend will help the girl, I have no idea for now, but I am glad she is not staying silent. She is trying to figure it out – she is trying to understand her role (actually lack of it) in this situation. Perhaps she will make sense of the things soon. Perhaps it will take this kid a lifetime to do that. Until she does that, she will re-live every second of that encounter every single day – in every single moment. She will not be able to cleanse it off from her skin until she sorts it. She would want to scratch it off from her person, and her mind every single day. She is the one who will be left to sort this mess which is nothing of her making, because he didn’t understand the concept of consent. Many entitled young men, older men, and husbands of all colours and hues and races have no idea there is something called consent that needs to be considered when a sexual-intercourse takes place. Rape is more prevalent than we think it is. Trauma of someone known or unknown having raped them tortures more women than we can imagine. The movie “Luckiest Girl Alive” has been doing rounds on my Netflix suggestions for a few days now. The face of Connie Britton had been staring out at me from the promos. Sorry to say but her face did not cut it for me, and I kept avoiding watching the film. Well, I must add here that these days I had been watching “Derry Girls” in a piecemeal fashion and was enjoying imitating Irish accent while speaking English (especially with my daughter- who does the accent too !). Today, ‘Derry Girls’ ended, and before the loss of a long series ending could hit me hard, I just started watching ‘Luckiest Girl Alive’ – thinking it was just a crime thriller. And as soon as Mila Kunis appeared, I knew it was quality stuff. After finishing watching it, I feel it is a must watch for everyone. I would not give any spoilers here, but the film treats the evil of date-rape and victim-shaming well. Boys-will-be-boys type teenagers who think they will go scot-free are meted out poetic justice, but the real deal is the character of Ani, the character that Kunis plays. This character is painted with so many different shades of good and not-so-good, that the viewer is always kept guessing. Her pursuit of her identity as a successful career woman, and the impediments that hold her back are not just conventionally laid out for you to watch, you are made to pay attention to understand her. Highly recommend everyone, especially all women and girls, to watch it. Edited to add: Every man must watch the film. Sit together and watch it with women of your household - if possible.

Wake Up ! Mampi

I have been away from this mad mad blog world. Reason is Yoga. Yes, I have become one of those who would sit on their aasan in that ultimate yoga pose and chant OMMMM, and laugh pointlessly when the rest of the class does that, and clap like mad when the instructor tells them to clap. Right in the middle of the clapping session do I realise that I am such a fool and that if one of my students were to be brave enough to pass by this garden while I sit in the front row clapping my brain away, he would go and report in the class and they would all end up sniggering.

Going to yoga class at 5 .15 am since October has had its own advantage. I have suddenly found that over the years I have become stiff as a log of wood. And that I cannot do the SarvangAsan anymore. That of course hurts. By god, it is actually devastating. I mean I could never do a headstand but then SarvangAsan culminating in a Halasan was the best alternative for that. Add to that the fact that I cannot twist my arms at my back and in an attempt to sit in a Gomukh aasan, I tend to sway and finally fall like a broken statue. So I have found a way out. I pretend to sit in the Gomukh aasan and support myself with my hands while all the grey haired men and women around me perfect themselves in the art of twisting their bodies wonderfully and looking at me with a what-a-lazy-bum-she-has-been-till-she-came-here look.

So, day after day, I go to the Rose Garden to learn and enjoy yoga. To be able to reach the yoga class at 5 a.m., I got to get up at 4:30 a.m. Yes it IS an UNEARTHLY hour to wake up. But I have been braving the urge to have another 10 minutes of snooze. Not only that. So conscientious have I been in waking up early that you would be amazed at me. I myself have been.

The other morning, I woke up, suddenly panicked that I was late for my yoga class. Without switching the lights on, I looked at the wall clock opposite my bed (from the lights streaming in from outside). I rushed to the washroom and quickly bushed my teeth, freshened myself up and ran back to the room. Changed from the night dress and then loked at the cellphone to see the time. And boy, it was 2.30 a.m. Wow. What a big fool ! And without switching the lights off I fell like a chopped tree on the bed-laughing hysterically and alone, hit myself on the head and got into my blanket again. Then the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. as usual and Mampi woke up pretending nothing had happened in the night.

Hota Hai, Hota Hai !

P.S. This post was written sometime in November 2008. Now that the conductor has taken some time off work, she thought of posting it.

P.P.S.- Happy New Year 2010. I would read blogs regularly and try to post regularly. No, it is not a New Year Resolution. It is just a resolution.

It Happened One Night

It was around 10 P.M. They both went to that upclass sweet shop. She saw the boy standing near a couple. She thought they were a family and that it was their child. He was dressed in clean clothes. On a second look, she could see that pile of papers tucked under his arm. She even saw him persuading them to buy one of those papers.

They went in, she bought her apple pie, had a fight with the counter guy for heating it up too much. He tasted his favorite sweet, laughed about with the counter boys if only to make up for her bad humored verbal exchange. She wanted ice cream, he said, "I will share it with you. " He should have said, “Don’t eat so many sweets. You are already fat, sweets will undo your workout.” Instead he indulged her. They came out to the car. She placed her pie, their ice cream on the car boot and started to look for the car key that he often tells her to put in her bag.

The boy came near them, they tried to ignore. He said, “Ma’am, Please buy this map from me.” “But I don't need one, Beta,” she said, but told him to show her the maps. “I will take the city map. No, the state map is better. Umm, or maybe, India map is more useful. Uhoon, Let me take this world map.” He told the little boy, “Ow just give me the city map. How much is it for?” “Sir, it is for 25 Rupees,” He began to look at the map. She saw the boy looking at the feast kept on the car bonnet. She looked at the boy, he smiled. She asked him, “Do you study?” He said, “Yes, I am in class 6th.” She thought, “Almost as old as my older one.” Then asked him “Would you like to have an ice cream?” The boy hesitated, then said, “yes”. She blinked her eyes, gave him the little bowl, he paid the boy for the map and told him to keep the change. The boy grinned and thanked her. She decided it was the most beautiful smile she had seen lately . She would never forget the grin. Once the boy went, she thought aloud, “Glad I gave the ice cream away. Saved me from sinning.” Once inside the car, she told him, “We are a crazy couple, aren’t we? !!!” He said, “Why do you think so?” She said, “Aiwen ee.” He said, “You are !! and that’s why I love you.”

India, My India

It was in those days when parents could not hide the newspapers from us. It was in those days when we had hardly any distractions. It was then that YOU decided for me what course my teenage will take. You sent letters of open threat to my house, my parents, and my friends’ parents. We grew up in times of utter anarchy. We grew up looking at our 15-16 year old classmates dying horrible deaths as ‘those boys’ running for their dear life in the open fields of Punjab. As children, we were awed by the museums featuring the pictures of ‘boys’ yet unbearded and already garlanded in ‘encounters’. You decided when my friend’s father, who shaved his beard and lived without a turban, would die. You decided how much scare could I take before my father came home. You decided that I would cover my head when I go to school, would not visit a beauty parlour and will not get my hair cut. You decided who I would meet, how I would live-because it suited your plan of action, it suited your religious fundamentalism. You decided that my parents tell me about the ways to save myself if you or your mates happened to come hold me and my home at ransom. You decided that I live with a burning tyre around my neck for the rest of my life. You decided that I grow up hating India.

But,
I won’t allow you to corrupt my child’s mind.

“Mama, Is India unsafe?” “Mama, Should we be living here?”
“Why not child?” “India is our home. India is safe. Where do we live if not here?”

You WILL not decide for my child if her country is safe for her…
You will not gloat thinking she is having nightmares after watching the bare bloody footprints and shoes scattered in civilized wilderness.
She will watch Tom and Jerry for as long as she wants.
At least till she has children of her own.

METTLE

ਰੁੱਖਾਂ ਵਿੱਚ ਹੀ ਏਨਾ ਜੇਰਾ ਹੋ ਸਕਦਾ ਏ
ਕਿ ਕੁਹਾੜੀਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਵੀ ਦਸਤੇ ਬਖ਼ਸ਼ ਦੇਣ...


Rukh'han wich hi eina jeira ho sakda ey
ke kuhaa'rhian nu wi dastey bakhsh dein...


Only trees can have the mettle
to grant helves to axe - heads...

(Read recently somewhere...)