SITA RAVAN SAMVADAM

SITA RAVAN SAMVADAM


India can have the pride of calling itself the oldest civilization of this world in more than many regards. It’s very recently that I found another ground. So far we have seen journalism as a western gift to its less developed eastern counterparts. They were more liberal than us to allow secular and truth speaking journalism. But a recent recording that I found while rambling through the old archives of my great grandfather’s library has changed this perception, at least for me. People used to say that he had some magic devices. But they also blamed him for selling his soul to the evil forces. I was least concerned with all these. In fact I had lost my last wife’s letters (we are very recently divorced) and suspected that my new wife could have dumped them with those cockroach-infected scraps. My ex wife wrote in Hindi, my granda wrote in Sanskrit and my new wife writes in English. She does not know devnagri script and therefore for her all devnagri is the same alien scrap. It was during this search operation that I found this audio recording. It was labeled as SECRET. I was really curious to know this secret. I thought it to be my granda’s secret confessions of his extra marital relations or some steaming love scene. I had to buy a new audio system that could play that antique recording. Honestly it cost me a fortune to get that cassette played. It began with a typical Bollywood declaration and I got turned off. But the coming line was just like some sting operation and I became all attentive. I thought to make as many copies as possible because that audio could have been played only once. I took a pen and copy to jot it down. It began:











All the characters, locations and whatever the rest are fictional and have no conscious relation with any dead or living or imagined. Any such relation, even if imagined, will be foolish on the part of the person who notices it. Thank you.


A SUVALMIKI CREATION

SITA RAVAN SAMVADAM

(Ashok vatika. All the romantic flowers are there but not as important to be privileged over this divine dialogue between Sita and Ravan. A woman sitting under a tree and a hunk sort of man is talking to her. Many other women are standing beside him. I am just coming there. Not every journalist gets this opportunity to record a history in its making. I know it will sell for millions. And if some godly parties wish, even for more. I am here and now it goes.)

Ravan : this self torture is not getting you anything. My dear Sitey, why don’t you understand? I cannot bear this sight. The ivory carved body of yours is gradually melting down in hands of this rasviheen kal. Don’t be so ruthless with yourself. See this tamed lover is dying to hear just a single word from you. Just a single word of love. And you are so callous as not to grant even that.

Sita : and it is a single word Ravan , is not it? I can see what you wish me to speak. You want to hear “priyatam” and later it should be “swami”. I hope I have not misunderstood you. Any way, you are just the old type and a new face. I got you through your type.
And then I will have to lie where you wish me to. You will undress me and explore the contours with a victor’s gait. Hurrying along some lines and pausing at some points. Sometimes when you have got others beside me, I may be supposed to perform your hands on my body by myself and give your gazing eyes just another type of pleasure and satisfaction.
Ravan : sitey…
Sita : let me finish now. You wanted a word na. I am not dumb Ravan. I just did not feel like answering your fooling around. You want me to accept this heaven which lies at your feet. and look at your shoes which have led your to several such conquests. You got me by…
Ravan ( in a proud tone): it was not trickery in the way you term it. I defeated your husband in a contest of planning and you are my prize. I …
Sita (in a disdainful tone): I have got nothing to do with your planning contest or whatever. Subterfuge as wisdom in practice. You will love to have this sort of terming. Isn’t it? But what have I to accept or to refute? Practically nothing. I rule in a virtual world which , in fact, makes me to compromise in this real practical world. I am promised the future of a goddess or something equally divine. And I should be happy and content with that. A bow was broken and I was conquered. Curious I was for that magic stick but a painful encounter shook my faith. Bettering of the things was held as a promise and I retained myself at the seventh height. God knows what those promises could have been but a single episode changed the entire course. My father- in -law kept his manly vow and my husband was exiled. My step saas did whatever was within her capacity to secure the throne for her own son. And my husband took another vow. He will maintain brahmacharya during the exile. That night my maid cum friend had taught me
“Secret art of how to love longer;
Where to rush and where to linger.”
( Sita was pretty lost in her thought and time recollection and it became a sort of internal monologue with the only exception that it was aloud. Ravan too looked sympathetic and came closer. His eyes were lingering on her cleavage as it was exposed by the wind that carried away her aanchal. Sita was too lost to notice all this as she was rambling through her devastated memory lane, collecting bits and pieces and trying to form a narrative as she had got some spare time.)
I followed him through forests and rivers. I worshipped him like my lord as I was taught since my childhood days. A calm of wisdom on his face and his eyes made me to bow in reverence. Laxman was just a blessing. He got us all the delicacies that the forest offered. How delicious fruits and honey. Spreding over my lips and my tongue and my heart and my soul and … oh how I looked towards him! Like an eternally thirsty traveler looks at a distant pond. And he was busy in his prayers. Mirage, jus mirage. I cursed my already cursed life and felt the honey drying over my lips and making it slightly sticky and I tried to rub it away. I bled and my lips got even redder. But he never even kissed me. It was a manly vow and I was paying for it. I felt like being an alien to my body as it felt no sensation when I touched it. My own delicate fingers felt like a trespasser whenever I tried to explore my own bodily treasure. I was always sure that it was with me but how that it did not belong to me. I lingered where to linger and I lingered even where it was not needed. but for no good. I felt my sensation, my consciousness, my everything alienated from my own body. What was happening with me? Its true forests are infected by all sorts of black magic. But was it any different when in the palace? I don’t think so. He had moved his hands over my body and I felt a strange current passing all through. I did not know but he told that it was the sensation love brings. And I fell in love with him. yes he owned all the sensations of my body as he had named them. It was never different. Forest was an innocent victim of my anguished heart but I know it knew my heart. It remained the same friendly. Laxman brought honey and fruits and flowers. Yes, nothing was changing.
Ravan ( almost taking her in his arms): and I changed it.
(sita looks too shocked to react in anyway.) and I freed you from that prison of unchanging. Sitey I love you. See my arms are open to clasp you and fill your every pore with the nectar of love. I am a wreched beggar, begging in your court of love. Just open your treasure of love for a moment and my soul will be satisfied for the eternity. I am all saturated with an unyielding desire for your love and nothing less than your heart can be the remedy for me as I am tormented by the every moment of separation. Its not wise to starve your soul in this manner. Ram did not deserve you. And what that human weakling is when compared with me. Sita it is providene that wants you to be my beloved. All my queens will be your maids. I promise I will make you feel like a goddess.
Sita (stepping back and resuming the air of disdain) : sure Ravan. But I also know what goddesses mean. I have been a goddess before. And I was always taught how to fortify this goddess ness. How many years with the almost same lesson!And I took pride in my impenetrable purity. You were also present there. Do you remember? You must be. Your wounded pride when you failed to lift that barricade around my body. Surely it was just a barricade. Whoever manages to cross it. Barricade around a fort which I believed to be owning but in fact I never did. And Ram performed the feat. He lifted that rotten bow and tried to connect its ends with that bowstring. And it broke down. He failed to connect and he broke it. I had some apprehension since that time and finally it came true. And my fort stood on such a weak soil that he holed through it without any extraordinary effort. How foolish I was in erecting all those high walls around when the ground itself was so weak. But Ram again failed to connect. Some times it is bow and some times it is string. He could never connect with me. I knew the secret methods of connecting but his manly pride in his manly wisdom…oh. And then I was a conquered a fortress. I had no right to suggest something. And the day my maid taught me how to manage under such adversely configured circumstances this unseen and unsuspected thing happened. My father in law was a man of words, his son was ideal and obedient and me…what about me? I also followed him in a distant hope of connecting with him someday. They praised my decision as the duty of a good wife. Follow your husband in under any circumstances. only if they could have peeped inside my heart and tried to understand what I wanted. Not even my mothers in law had this mind. They were women. Oh! Why should I forget that my step saas had done all this for her son? Really, women never understand women. And men always misunderstand because it benefits them. But I will understand everyone because I have no secret designs. Its why I understand everyone now. ( suddenly turning to Ravan who has been walking behind her as she was walking around that ashoka tree while reflecting upon her past life.) I also understand what you mean by this goddess. (She looks towards all the women) all these women has been a goddess for you some time or other. Your warm breathings on their soft skins might have been the prayer of a devotee and your kisses like the offering of heads. And when you found her ready to welcome you, you entered. Wasn’t there always a conqueror’s smile when you heard
a shriek? You knew the goddess was penetrated to subjugation and you were the triumphant god. Say If I am wrong. I can see even now those past proud moments returning into your mind as your eyes are reflecting them. Why are acting so sincere to disguise your lechery? It shows Ravan. I am an already subjugated goddess you know. You cannot hide the things from me. And then what’s the use? I know what my welcome means for you. I can see my body acquiring a new meaning. Configuration is still the same. It is a site of conquest. Even now. But things are a bit changed. I am In a condition to negate this role. War and conquest are inevitable. In fact I want it more than anything else. But it will be like a transferred epithet. Fighting to conquer a body in a battleground. How do you feel now Ravan? You still love me? Want to offer any more prayers? I refuse to be your goddess and you fail to conquer me. I rejoice in this. One who could not connect with me and one whom I did not permit to connect. And both will fight. See what a penetrated goddess can do. I know am lost. But I had already lost and that too was long ago. Now I will revel in my lost territory. I will revel in my lost sensation. I will reve…
Ravan: it is horrible. I cannot believe my eyes. But it’s true. It’s horrible. ( he almost runs away from the place, still shouting) IT IS HORRIBLE…IT IS HORRIBLE.
(Sita is laughing with a maniac’s jest.) You will fight over a lost territory and shed your blood. Once it was my predicament and now it is yours. Neither can escape that. Ha…HA…HA…HA…HA… see the universe will still keep moving …moving in a circle. Don’t you feel that? See it is also moving beneath my legs. And also beneath you. Ha …ha…haa…war is coming…war over a lost territory. And you can not escape that.
(Ravan is running away. his palms are tight upon his ears. )
Sita is sitting with a dark woman. That woman is caressing her arm and she is playing with her hair. A loud ding is heard.)
That woman: this sound is horrible. I can feel something ominous. I …
(Sita puts her palm upon her lips and silences her.) let us just savour these calm and soothing moments. those dings happened long ago. Only the voice is coming now. Come closer a bit. Lets see some fun. She lies in her arms, it grows dark, and nothing could be seen. Only love was spread in the air like some never felt before aroma and I could not record that.)

I KNOW you must be feeling cheated of your quality time. It had nothing that dramatic what one finds in sting operation. In fact I too fell the same. And now I have got to explain to my wife how and why I spent that money. It was from her salary that I took this money to buy the audio player. Any way I am not worried. After all she is my wife. And just imagine if this becomes tomorrow’s BREAKING NEWS. Who knows. She will be kissing my hand and certainly whatever else I want her to. Let us see.

FALL

FALL


Meditating upon the further possible ways of taking his character to a height of sublimity which has been a hall mark of our age long tradition of saints and sages, Pundit Ganpat Shastri climbed a few moves higher on the tree and leaned with the support of a branch to break a datoon(an indigenous thing for cleaning teeth). His downwards turned eyes fell upon her cleavage as that girl was sweeping dead leaves and an intoxicating charm, her sensuous youth vaporized by the heat of his gaze, overpowered him. “How unfortunate that such a great man got this ill fate", said a man as Pundit Shashtri's wife was turning into white clothes and others were weeping and thumping their chests.

SHIVLINGAM

“I was going to paikhana, you know, when I saw it. First, I thought it to some trick by some one. I left my lota there, In the field, and came near it.”
Suddenly another of the enthusiastic crowd there broke into and hijacked the narrative. “he was trying to move the stone. I was just in the middle of my business when I saw him bent upon something and trying to pull something out. I thought it was some hidden gold pitcher( he flashed his teeth for some time with a coughing laughter and all responded to this sense of humor with a bored curiosity). I just threw the water in hurry and ran, wrapping my dhoti on the way.” “Hey did you wash your hole, did not you?” a laughter put some embarrassment on his face but soon he back in his spirit. “I saw him fighting with a stone and I realized. It was god and that fool was trying to move him.” “But I think he did not know that it was god”, someone interrupted. “See! Dear bro it’s a matter of common sense. Where did this stone suddenly come from? And you can see that it is not just put there. It is still half buried. It means, quite clearly, that god has appeared by breaking the earth.” A voice, slightly louder than the one who was holding the center of talk, suddenly captured all the ears. “I knew this beforehand. Last week, on the same day, god came in my dream. He was talking about the evils spreading in this world. Haven’t you heard about kalki avatar? It is that time. Anyone who knows…”
“Oh! Baba knows everything, doesn’t he? Last week Lakhia’s cow was missing. He came to baba. Baba asked him to offer hundred rupees to god. When Lakhia was returning after making the offering karia told him that his cow was at Hareshwar babu’s dyodhi. Poor lakhia went there running. His cow was tied and some one was milking her. His cow was caught grazing in Hari babu’s field. Bags full of abuses and five hundred rupees fine got him his cow back.. next morning lakhia milked his cow and found Baba waiting at his hut’s door. Half of the milk came to Baba’s lota.” Those three boys were telling the story in turns without changing the narration. And while one was busy in story telling the rest busied themselves in laughing. “All vampanthi(leftists would be an incomplete translation). Look at their faces. Sons of kaliyug. Sick with brain fever and say they are modern. Why don’t ask your father when he comes to temple. Why…” Baba kept shouting and yelling and even abusing and they kept laughing . “All left and modern and dark age and whatelse heretics”. Baba was still shouting . And his dream was suspended in air which was trapped inside his belly and suddenly it refused to be held back. A big roar made its way into the public notice and two sense organs perceived it simultaneously. They closed their nose and started laughing but remained civil enough to stand there, listening Baba with great care. But this strangely self articulated revelation reminded baba that his lota was still filled with water and the task of morning ritual was not accomplished. He waved everyone away, took his lota and ran towards the nrearest orchard which could hide him from the increasing number of eyes without losing the sight of that place. “ fools! Cant come after some time. Don’t care about ….aaaaah. Baba felt relieved after discharging some nightlong waste with some sound effect. Crowd was increasing . Baba was getting impatient with this nature-call that was keeping him away from that place. And dream was also not fully told to the public present there. He felt irritated with his larger and smaller and any other intestine. he was having constipation. Really a bad thing. New oils in market have no purity left. Once he used to eat kilos of rice and all sorts of vegetables and fried stuffs and was hungry again by the time his hand was dried enough to receive the gifts from his client. But those were happy days when dharma ruled the world. Now everyone is kaliyuga’s son. How heretic that Raghu babu’s son was speaking. They spend a few years in colleges and cities and think that they know everything. Value nobody else. I must talk to his father. Yesterday I saw that idiot walking with a chamar’s son. Really, kaliyuga is showing its colour. Religion is getting corrupted. No body cares a bit about his caste. Suppose we were fools. Baba turned the lota on his butt and moved his left hand’s fingers quickly to ensure that he was properly washed. He rushed to the spot, wrapping his dhoti around his waist, where things had changed like anything.
Vermilion mark was put on the stone god, a woman was plastering the ground with cow dung, and some women were ready with flowers. Yashoda babu was standing there, instructing some young men to cut some bamboos and make a barrier around that place. Domu, who had taken that piece of land on batai, was standing there with oxen, waiting for them to go away so that he could till the land. His four years old son was holding the ropes when he went to see what the case was. “stay away!” a young man stopped him when he neared a bamboo line. It was a holy place now and Domu was an untouchable. Domu looked at Yashoda babu who was also standing there. He was quite busy, instructing everyone for this or that. He called Domu, when he was turning away, to stop. Domu sent his son back with oxen and stayed there to put some soil at the root of bamboos, which were put there to guard the stone god from dogs and animals and… untouchables. People had started pouring there with all sorts of offering and further bamboos were needed to arrange the crowed properly. Baba had come after making himself pure in the nearby pond. He did not go even go back to his home for breakfast. It was an urgent duty and he could not fail here. The bamboo border had an entry point which had a barrier as well. It was lifted, officially, by a young man to let Baba in. and then it lifted permanently for all the visitors. It would be more proper to call them devotees. Domu was making some more bamboo poles and bamboo walls and bamboo sticks(to control the crowd when it tried to break the queue and also to keep the dogs and unwanted and impure humans away) while his body was sweating like a fountain. It was a June morning and the sun was climbing up in the sky. Four or five separate pieces of red cloth were put there on which devotees put the tokens of their faith. As god is all loving and all encompassing, all sorts of gifts were accepted.some gifts made Baba’s eyes shine brighter but, then, scriptures say that different gifts please god in different degrees. But, anyway, all things are welcome if you have devotion. Baba was quite absorbed in putting the stamp of divine blessing on every forehead. If Just the random glances directed towards the offerings are excluded.
A totally confused face was running around the whole scene, trying to find something. He also had a donkey with him. the human wall surrounding the tree looked impenetrable for his struggling eyes. He tried hard. He could go approach any nearer with his ass. He requested Domu to hold the rope for some moment. An irritated face was a disappointing one for that donkey man. But he pleaded with tone of a needy. An explanation was demanded and Donkeyman got even more confused. Answer was must but how to put. Finally he answered it with another query “what is going on here?” Domu gave a wearied smile “ another god has come. They say he will relieve the world from all worries. Worries…” Domu held the rope while his eyes were fixed on some unknown point in the space.
He was struggling to make his way through that wall. Suddenly someone pulled him back and put in a queue. “Don’t you see all are coming in line. From where these donkeys pouring in! difficult to manage. Its getting upon my …” Donkeyman had moved forward and the voice gradually faded in his ears. Barrier was in front of him. a lady had entered inside and was rubbing her head before that stone. Donkeyman was trying to confirm if it was his. it was round like his. but he could not understand the mystery. What was special with his stone? He moved to lift the barrier. but he could not. “ give your offering …give it…where are you rushing to….” Several voices came to dumb him for sometime and he was fixed like a stone. One guy was holding the barrier bamboo, thre or four were surrounding him and all the eyes were staring at him. he looked scared for a moment. His hand was empty. Nothing to offer. “what is he doing there then?” many were standing, waiting for the divine grace that was to come with the moment of Darshan. Is he stone? Why does not he move? Has he given his offering? Has he…? Has he?
Donkeyman found the bamboos not comforting anyway when he was pushed by some divinely inspired devotee who had got a bag full of some thing and something. He tried to steady himself. A relieved look spread on… others faces. No nonsense. Beggars haunting gods place. Standing like stone when everyone is in hurry. “ pray god to get a good job for my son.” The man lowered his head from its extraordinary height before the god and baba gave him some sacred ash to rub some to send for his son.. and he requested Baba to this special request from god. Brahmins are better heard by god. And Baba was special even among the Brahmins. He was Baba. Donkeyman had probably hit his head against some bamboo. It was bleeding. All ears turned in shock. All eyes turned with wonder. All minds rushed in disbelief. What is this?
“this is my stone. My donkey dropped it here and ran away. ..” Donkeyman was shouting breathlessly. Surely he is out of mind now! Is he mad! “ I bought it for twenty rupees from…” he was carried on four shoulders. A good Ariel ride. Domu was surprised by this sudden shouting. He moved his head. Rope was still in his hand. Probably he felt pity for the poor chap. “ you are fooling …” suddenly his voice vanished. It left no trail. Wonderfully clean. People were again put into order and devotees were back on the track. Domu still held the rope, looking at the body on four shoulders.

“Yes, I also saw it”
“He was with one more person”.

“God punished him.”
“Really. But how dared he!”
“did not you see. We had to carry him away even yesterday noon.”
“I think he was mad. Claiming the god to be his stone. Twenty rupees stone.”


A new cloth was put there as much more devotees of that newly discovered god were expected. News had already traveled a lot. And, then, god is everywhere. Attempted theft made the god even more valuable. Some said he was of parasmani stone. Domu was taking his donkey for a market trip. Compensation for the lost batai. His son was also with him.it was a fresh pile of soil. Domu stood there for a moment. Put a plant on it. “what is this babu?” “ we can not touch nor are allowed tulsi therefore I have put this plant. He died and god knows … stone…” his mumbling became incomprehensible and his son became alarmed. Donkey was going in another direction. Domu got his sense. He knows donkeyman had also lost his donkey for once. But he won’t. He repeated it twice to himself. A faint sound of conch came and his son looked in that direction.” “Babu! How much sweets were there!” Domu silenced him, “those for god”. He knew he was lying.

“I am only doing my dharma. God wished it. He came to my house. That is my reward. What else should one wish?” Yashoda babu was sitting with many of his well wishers which was the whole village now and even some from the neighbouring. “it’s your greatness yahoda babu that you are so humble. Who is ignorant of your spiritual life. Never went to your fields even when you could have been a big farmer. So much land. But give them up gradually. And all for god. We know its no wonder that god has come to your folds.” “what’s use! Never saw the comforts of life. No house which can be called by that name. young daughters, to be married, but nothing for dowry.” His wife poured tea into their cups and all were suddenly silent. No answer. She left…without waiting for any answer. “ I am planning to make a temple there. We will need to collect donations. I think people will help.” all mouths opened to assure him. who can refuse to donate for such a noble cause. Yashoda babu had a receipt book. Already waiting.

“that baba is so greedy. Was demanding almost quarter of the total.” Yashoda babu was smiling. He was thinking. She gave him a bowl of kheer. His whole bulk was comfortably lying on that well arranged bed. He was moving his right hand in the hairy growth on his chest. She was standing with a glass of water. Saw the whole bowl passing through his throat and vanishing. His convex belly reflected no change. A thoughtful satisfaction was on his face. “ you unnerved them. I was also shocked for a moment.” Yashoda babu was caressing her and she was counting to him the things they got that day. He was busy, trying to give her a son. He slipped to side and she turned towards him. “ I proposed to make a temple there. Donations will start coming in a few days. You wont have to worry this much. Coming shivratri I will arrange a grand pooja and fair. It will be regular. I have talked. We will have enough money in a week or so to renovate this house…” his voice was drowning gradually. She arranged her saari to cover herself and slept. She had to wake up early. She saw a dream. The grinding stone at her kitchen changed into god and it was frightening. He was badly hurt and bleeding. She had hurt Him. he said that she nailed him and stoned him. he was bleeding and it was terrible. She wanted his forgiveness. And he granted with smile. It was even more terrifying. His mouth looked like a dark cavern. No shining teeth left. He moved his hand to bless her. She shrieked in terror. He woke up and found her sweating. it was nothing. Both slept again.

Domu brought back good money from the market. His son was very happy. He was given a new shirt pant. His wife loved him more than ever. But he could not lie above her. Something was growing inside him. something stone. He can not have her on the top. Stone was already too heavy. she became afraid. checked and his tool was hard like a stone. But it was cold. Strange.

It was a Bunyan tree. Unbelievable growth. Within one year it was double of Domu. Domu watered him every morning and talked and wept. Children never went near that tree. They said it was haunted. And Domu was possessed. Domu took his donkey and he was cursed. His son played with him. his wife still missed the warmth every night. She stopped checking it. Domu was often seen at the top of that tree in the evening. After finishing his work he went there to rest. He worked as a labourer and was a hard worker. All his masters accepted this. He sat on the top branch. In a distance, temple was growing slowly. A twice in a week haat commenced there. Annual mela. Domu told him everything and they laughed together. People say Domu can ride tree. But he knows he can not tell the truth. They feel sad for a moment and start laughing again. Children see donkeyman at night. Temple is siddha and people come to win their impossible wishes. Yashoda babu tries every night on his wife. Some say she has got a stone in her uterus and no son can grow there. Girls …well they can adjust. Baba knows how to capture a spirit. People often come to him. usually its donkeyman or the god thief. And Baba knows how to control him. offerings are coming but Baba has no material interest. It is for god’s maintenance. A flag dances with the wind, singing the glory of god. People say that this flag is divine and dances even when there is no wind. Gods can do anything. No doubt. That Bunyan is dancing without wind and Domu is convulsing in laughter. He is cursed. Baba tells that he is damned and children avoid him. he carries his son on his shoulder. His wife is worried. Yashoda babu has brought another wife. First wife spends her time mostly in the temple. Yashoda babu keeps trying for a son. Baba has prayed for him and he is hopeful.
A marbel stone is donated by some devotee. His sone got a job. Someone donated a gold ring as he won a case. A stone, black stone, is put at door of the temple. " EPITOME OF SPIRITUALISM, BLESSED BY GOD, MOST DIVINE SON AMONG ALL THE DIVINE SONS, SRI YASHODA BABU'S ..."

DOMU reads this to donkeymanbunyantree and both laugh together.

PART 2

PART 2


And Venus rising from the sea!
And Venus for sure…or…or…
Ain’t it David? The celebrated naked!

Wretched red-light and the honking sea,
Desperate connoisseurs poking eyes out…
And its David, celebrating naked;
David as my common human sense says,
Venus unclad if, is without ‘if’ screwed down.

And approved by my culture, it is David then;
Standing between these ‘to and fro’,
Signaling the sweating civilization to wait;
To wait…to wait and to watch…
Something that was a compulsory choice.

And one among this multitude…
And the vast multitude within that one-
Abhorrence…
Disgust….
Anger…
Shame…
Pity…
Indifference…
And this and that and else.

And at least one admiration.

Still humming the songs of high renaissance,
Enchanted still by newly unraveled ITALY,
And in awe of Vinci and Angelo,
I admired this modern symmetry-
A microcosm opens to macrocosm,
Telling the telling of time untold-
This is David in bone, in flesh.

A well –made skeleton, fit engined,
Packed within its size-cut skin;
Crowned and garlanded with whitening shrubs,
It is the celebration of modern art.
Its hanging …dropping…shrinking vitality,
Vanishing into its pouched potency-
Restoring mankind’s lost innocence.

What a brave new world!
And how little ambitious!
No single Angelo to claim this David?
No art monger to proclaim this art?
No creator wishes acknowledgement?

That’s the beauty of our time;
Or, say the beauty of ‘no time’.

Kudos to us for failing dead Angelo,
In making of this David, part two,
From his 3-D to our modern 4-D.

Fortunate I to witness this modern creation,
And David now signals us to motion,
And bids us for our floral destination.

I am back again to the unraveling of time.
This time I wish it another way.
Preparing for the next surprise exhibition-
A laughing Buddha…
A silent Mahavira…
…or a stripped Draupadi…


SEQUEL 2 IN LIVE MODERN ART GALEERY.
GOOD LUCK! THE BEST IS YET TO COME.



NOTES- one day i saw a person,must be some beggar, whose both legs were rotten and worms were creeping out. it pitiable, it was disgusting, it was revolting.a police man asked some rikshaw puller to carry him awy, to somewhere else. it was nere new delhi railway station.
one evening, when coming back from university, i saw a mad person standing at a redlight, waving his hand like a traffic police. he had no clothes on. different passengers reacted in different ways. i felt some sympahy. i dont know how true it was or is.

"MEN IN RAGS"

Men in rags

One of the best track in the Hollywood sci-fi movies is that of aliens. men in black can not exist without them. you fight against them and they sustain you. it's not a unique irony. one needs to struggle against the threatening periphery in order to retain it's central position. Once occupying the central position, which is sometimes a political accident and sometimes political circumstances, leads to a planned maintenance of the periphery. this often comes to a carnivorous desire where centre sustains upon the deprived development of the rest. Creating an economically, culturally or academically alien populace is a planned move towards the centre hegemony. Imperial structure is replicating itself within the state system and we are supposed to ignore it on the name of nationalism and patriotism. Centre periphery relation is not a linear binary, which could be drawn in clear terms. Even a periphery has its own center and periphery order. From the capital of the country to a local village Panchayat, it is the same story. Every time it has a similarly patterned story of exploitation and a forceful denial of this truth as an ungrateful blame put by some misguided peripheral person. ‘Periphery’ does not come in their vocabulary as it exposes the binary, in terms of power and prosperity sharing relation, which may hurt the sentiments of those who are there with a hopeful patience since the time they got the first promise- the promise of freedom and happiness.
It was probably a Raj Kapoor film, as far I remember, which had this beautifully sung and picturized song :
Rahne ko ghar nahi,
Sone ko bistar nahi,
Apna khuda hai rakhwala,
Usi ne to hai hame pala.
(no home to live,
No bed to sleep,
God is our caretaker,
He has brought us up.) (It is an inadequate translation, by me.)

In the same song, at some point they say, “The whole world is ours”. But it was and it can be in such films only. And it was the time when the socialist ideals of the government were thwarted by a corrupt bureaucracy and wolfish capitalists nexus. Political involvement can not be placed beyond doubt. So many films were manufactured which often ended with a blank and beautiful hope for the starving but responsible citizens. It need not be said that these films were a luxury, meant and made for the new emerging, both in terms of monetary and politically, middle class and the liberal upper class which was constituted of big land lords and old industrialist families. Often these films were nothing more than a eulogy for their self-righteous ego. And even these hopes and promises never moved beyond the silver screen and a big blank occupied the hearts of millions of marginalized and dispossessed. For them India post-1947 was not much different from the earlier regime under which they felt themselves subjugated and oppressed and thought that their resources were plundered by the firangI government. When the euphoria of azadi faded away, they heard the sound of glory, prosperity, and an ages long slogan which could be encapsulated as “ liberty, equality and fraternity.” Assam, Arunachal, Kashmir, Manipur, Mizoram and many such, all stood in admiration of that place which was sending off such delightful words. Some of their own people were already there. Now some more had a desire to go and see that place which was DELHI. They ran, they walked, they swam and, never tired, they came that place which they knew by its words only. They started from one corner and ended at the other. They repeated it vice versa. And many times more. They knew no face nor did anyone recognize their faces. They fell exhausted when a hand came, lifted them and put in a soft bed. They felt it difficult to breathe as the bed was stinking but it was not too bad as very soon all of them fell asleep. In the morning when they woke up, a vast wasteland shocked their sight. Standing on a far spreading garbage heap, they rubbed their eyes repeatedly. It was always the same. They believed that it could not be Delhi. They scolded themselves for such a shameful mistake and started their search for Delhi again. A poet put his imagination on hold for sometime and wrote these lines:
Yadyapi desh swatantra ho gaya, ham kisan mazdoor,
Dilli me hi pooch rahe hain dilli kitni door.
(Though county has got freedom, we tillers and labourers,
In Delhi itself, are asking Delhi is how far.)

Not so funny. But still they make a good show. Now they know and believe that they were in Delhi even then when they believed themselves to be somewhere else and are even now in Delhi. Many more have come to join them. Many of them have died. They know about others who went to other Delhis and got something similar. Nothing has changed. Still they don’t recognize any face, nor are their faces noticed by anyone. They are still waiting to come out of this “they”. Sometimes they deface a wall by writing their names. But it makes no big difference. Just another categorization comes- those who deface the walls and those who don’t. still “they”.

Harmless, harmful all these categorizations worked for sometime but it was improved later as even the apparently harmless had some harmful effects. It was decided on different bases. Morally, economically, in terms of law and order, culturally any many more categories were put and a big list was put. A face or a name may be put in different categories but always identified as some “they”. Treatment also varied from group to group. How near you can go, how distant you should remain, how friendly you can be or how friendly you should be. They were just never told these things. Did they know? They maintain various sorts of grouping, avoid certain places, go to some particular places only, and no more try to be seen or remembered. And now they are blamed for being unseen
And , therefore, treated as non entities which may be harmful at some point of time. Remember, they are always recognized but never acknowledged as such. They are termed outsiders. Outsider of a country, in the country. The age old purpose is gone. It is replaced by other purposes, dreams, and designs. And the frustrations and failures have also changed. One thing is still the same and all know it. Center always keeps and maintains a periphery. An officially unacknowledged but approved or planned policy has continuously worked to ensure that this relation is never broken. Long live these policies and long live our country. All stand clapping, even the different “theys”.

These “men in rags”, in either clothes or morality or culture, are hit political and social tracks. Play any variation, put any figure, it is bound to click. “Men in khadi” and “men in khaki” play the lead roles, only they speak the dialogues and hear as well. “Men in rags” are the peripheral aliens who, sometimes, become or start looking ungrateful or unfaithful or something even more sinister. And the formula works as fine as any “men in black” does in Hollywood or abroad. Box office is still held in the same condition.

LAUGHTER IS DANGEROUS FOR YOUR HEALTH

• A girl hits a boy and cries: how strong like, like some stone. It hurt my hand itself.
• Boy gave an indulgent smile and advised her not to break her hand.
• Girl turned her face. She was also smiling.
. BOY caressed his cheek and made a face.

• Boy: why is it said that women have no brain?
• Girl: because they fool themselves with men.
. boy : and why do they fool themselves with men?
. girl: because they love fooling men.

• One friend: it’s fine now dear. Now do not weep like a woman.
• Another friend: but how? I don’t know how to weep like a man.

beauty and beast

Beauty and Beast
She failed the god that held the world,
Who divided it together
Without letting it fall apart,
And an omniscient fell again
As no word proved enough for her.

It was a commanding beauty,
Standing without a need to stoop,
And a whole world rushing,
Into her gyre of charm;
Even if unwilling.

Crumbled down something,
So far the nature,
As domination and manipulation,
From some long earlier texts,
Striding through ages,
As given to the sexes
The moment they got sexed,
Gendered into plain looking acts,
Something that at a point of time,
Was merely an act of survival.
And she needed it not.

Stood there he who had lost,
What his nature gifted as they say,
Lamenting for not having
Something that he believed was his,
Cursing the age that broke the spell,
That too without his knowing.

A hopeless fall
On the knees,
Bleeding black
But no one sees.

Admiration but not for him;
It came with the wagging tail.
Children clap how happy you see,
Watching the beasts in a jail.

It was dark age,
Things upside down,
as she stood there,
Laughing in her cage.

One cried hopelessly,
One enjoyed this freedom,
Caged she was too,
But she preferred this freedom.

The circus owner ordered,
“keep the lights on”,
And all kept the eyes covered,
Some laughing, some grumbled.

The light was blinding,
But no one saw.
The glass room cabin,
Jerking with laughter
Was hanging above them,
Playing with the keys.

THE NEW LORD WAS LAUGHING.
THE NEW LORD IS LAUGHING.
THE NEW LORD…


Let the clock move.
Let the time change.

suicide

SUICIDE

“Nation is in danger.”
And I sacrificed.
Nation needed my life.

“Humanity is in danger.”
And I sacrificed.
Humanity needed my life.

“God is in danger.”
And I sacrificed.
God needed my life.

I was in danger,
And I wanted to sacrifice.
I needed to end my life
And end the pains of my life.
My starved soul died,
My starving body cries,
A Darkness confounds my vision,
And walls stop my sight.



“He tried to commit suicide.”
A voice whispered to another.
I laughed in my prison cell.
“He has gone mad.”
Another added.

Strange!

is it?

silence.

meri awaaz suno( LISTEN US)

BEING A NORTH EASTERN


The aloof attitude of the other Indians.but it depends on the situation.
Generally northeastern find it difficult to intermingle with the other people. Cultural and religious difference may be a reason. The outlook of life is different. Not saying that we are westernized but may be we try to ape the west. Therefore, there comes the gap.
Race and religion are important issues.
It may a fault of the north eastern that they can not be immediately in harmony with others and are very conscious of discrimination, which they take to heart. Again, in a way, everyone is like that.
Any discrimination that they face are taken as a discrimination of their race. India is such a diverse country, with different races. However, even after a co existence for so many centuries, there is no harmony. “Harmony in diversity” is one such thing that I can never see India achieve. No race has any respect for the other and is selfishly perusing their personal betterment.
There is a feeling that the rest of India does not consider the north east as one of them. They are treated differently. This attitude is something that does not make the northeastern feel a part of this country.
There seems to be a barrier between the northeastern and the others. They are not able to understand each other and are not even interested. Each considers itself different from the others. The northeastern do not trust the other Indians.
There should be more interaction. All Indians show tolerant attitude towards other races, communities, religions etc.
However, whatever it is, it depends on your personality- how you project your self to others. Nevertheless, the general attitude of others is that they treat the northeastern as different. They look down upon them and make them feel inferior. This is something to fight against to prove ourselves to them.
Northeastern feel a kind of cultural shock when they come to other Indian states.
People here are not aware of the northeast. Many people do not even know where Nagaland, Mizoram, Manipur are. They think that it is outside India.
At least things are much better than they were earlier. May be it is because of the influx of the northeastern students in the cities and all parts of India.
.Northeastern have their own groups and unions. They organize events and celebrate their cultural festivals. This is how we come together and this helps other Indians to know more our culture.
Eve teasing is a major problem
Eve teasing- become indifferent to it. just ignore it. It is useless to fight back with people who do not want to understand. In addition, it is general. It happens with all women from whatever race or religion. However, in the case of northeastern girls; they are taken for granted. Moreover, are thought to be easy targets because of their openness.
We have a different dressing sense. Our traditional outfits are different. Different language. Hindi is not a common language in most of the northeastern states. We face a major language problem when we come here.
There is economic backwardness in this region. The common person feels that the politics in the northeast is very corrupt as in other parts of India. Politics is now all about money and has no ideology. No one is thinking of his state. Most of the politicians are corrupt. Very few idealists are there. This may be a reason why this region has not progressed. The government seems to be all talks and no action. Politicians are only looking for money and power. Northeast is still behind in development.
Dissatisfied with the Indian government and the NSCN. The peace talks are not bringing any solution.
Many people do look down on the northeastern for reasons unknown to us. May be they feel that we are an inferior race. Even the region is still not developed.
Political problem is not allowing the region to progress. The ULFA, the NSCN claim to be for the benefit of the region. But nothing seems like this. A nation with freedom of speech but that cannot be practiced.
Racism is something that can never be stopped. Every race looking down on the other. Each region of India looking down on the other. The Asian countries looking down in India- a country of poverty and sickness and filth. The west looking down on the Asians. Everyone projects his race to be superior race. There is no end to it.
Northeastern are discriminated in other regions. People from other regions are discriminated in the northeastern states. It is useless to talk about this thing. A cycle never ends. In the end, it is just about how you project yourself to others. It is not going to end the problem but you can hope that maybe some people will look at you beyond your race, caste, and religion. May be it is the time that we look at a person for what he really is.
India is actually a divided country- caste, race, religion,. To be united we should forget our differences. It not only the north eastern that are discriminated. No one is spared.

THERE IS REPETITION IN THE VIEWS BUT BEING REPETATIVE IS ALSO A WAY OF PUTTING EMPHASIS.

CASTRATION

CASTRATION

On a Saturday his friends decided to go and see the nearest shopping mall. Actually during the last four Sundays they took him for Delhi Darshan. They had many photographs clicked and he pretty excited about everything. Last Sunday he pointed towards some western tourists at Rajghat and shouted in disbelief-“ Angrez! Angrez!” it startled all the visitors there. His friends felt embarrassed with this boorish behaviour of their friend who had recently come from the village. They immediately silenced him and almost dragged towards Shantiban, an adjoining park sort of space. On the way, he was fed with all civilizing instructions- how people in Delhi don’t behave. He listened them with changing facial expressions, which were mostly those of guilty confession. He noticed a couple, they looked unmarried, behind a bush and looked towards his friends with questioning eyes. They made it easy for him to understand the thing with a light smile and many other bushes. They made some crude remarks and he also participated in their way which was not very unlike him now except in language. He understood the difference between Rajghat and Shantiban; Gandhi’s Samadhi and ‘behind the bushes’. He understood how his friends were acting ‘civilized’. He marveled on this art. He also understood how metro makes one. But , in spite of all these understanding, one thing he could not understand was how to feel about all these things.

He was quite excited about this mall visit. No confusion was in his mind but the different images that could be a mall. His friends described everything with smallest details. Fully AC, self-running stairs and much more. They also told him how cameras watched over all the places. And they never missed to remind him how to behave or how to move or how to look at the things. Finally, in the evening, they were in front of the mall. He followed his friends while entering the mall. Everything was awful there. He saw how his friends balanced on the escalators. He saw the way his friends liked the things and then disliked them and then bought nothing. He was just following them. He saw other people buying the same things. Were they fools? He had no idea but may be. He kept following his friends. They moved from one store to another. Every time they came out they talked about the prices of the things, how much they would costing another market and how fool the others were. “Really they are”. He thought.
After going through different stores, finally, they came to a video parlour. They saw many CDs like music, film, porn etc. first time he felt his he felt his right hand in his pocket. A steaming scene on the cover of a porn CD cassette drove his fantasy to another level. He pressed his hardened dick against his thigh. He moved away from his friends, from the stall, away from all the eyes and the only place that proved to his wish was the parking lot. In the semi-darkened space, he thought of easing his fantasy. He remembered his several adventures in his village. Sometimes in an orchard, sometimes in any cornfield, once in the back of the village school when it was dark. He eased himself against the back of a car and started moving his hand. His eyes were closed and he could hear the moaning, the cry and his triumphant movement. He felt a body moving under his pressure. He could not fix the head. Intensity of desire had outdone the choice or preference. He just felt two round breasts, the opened thighs, and his erect penis, which was complimented as big by that headless body. He thrust harder and harder and heard her yelling in pain, saying that his was just too big. He imagined her bleeding and further lubricating the passage, which was his conquered zone. He smiled when his imagination made her to beg to be a bit slower or to stop. But he kept on and her protesting voice was stifled under his chest. She held the crops or grass roots or whatever that was within her reach and uprooted it when the pain was too intense. He moved even faster. Sometimes he got slightly slow or almost stopped but renewed the same with the same vigour. “This is how a real mard does it” he mused.
But this was not his village and nor were his fields. It was an alien city with which he had still to align himself and learn to identify himself. He felt his imagination carrying him to the seventh height of pleasure as his hand was still at work. Suddenly he was surprised by them. A boy and a girl, standing hand in hand. He had felt some jerk and it was when the doors opened on the both sides of the car. Pleasure was just too absorbing to notice anything. He continued. He had heard the girl whispering something in the boy’s ear but damn them. He became faster. He was just coming to the point where it climax. But did he get it? He could have. His body was jerking with the rhythm of his hand when a voice, mixed of a male and a female, paused the world around him including himself. His eyes met theirs. He felt like hiding somewhere. the same hand smothered the same penis inside his pant in a hurried effort to minimize his shame. Al the bodily sensations were lost for a moment and a mixed expression of embarrassment, anger, guilt, and surrender appeared on his face when he found those two faces still looking at him with a cynical smile and some mocking encouragements. He felt time moving thousands times slower than a snail and wished only if those two faces would walk away and leave him alone. But how?
His head was bent down. A big confusion of sound was invading his ears from different angles. He did not know what those sounds were and from whom. Nor did he try to know. He was just trying to cover himself in silence with a shamefaced passivity, very unlike a tortoise in its shell. Was he really ashamed? A simple “yes” would be a simple lie. He was too much confused, confused with too many emotion, confused with too many thoughts. Angry with himself and also with the rest. He just wanted to close his eyes, lie down, and forget about everything as if nothing had happened. Traitor mind! He was still restless. He could see those two figures going away. “were not both of them fucking each other?” he thought. He felt angry. And probably envious. It was not for being an embarrassing discovery. The slowly moving hips of that girl were provocative. Strange imagination. Did not he remember what happened few moments before? He did. He was just trying to get over those moments. Always the best way to get over your present miseries is to fantasize about your future. He could have crushed her into pieces and make her feel and respect his masculinity. He put his right hand back into his pant. This time it was not for a wood picking or grass-cutting girl in his village. It was an amazing face in skirt and top. He could not imagine his field or the orchard beside the pond. But why not to imagine some unseen hotel room. Some of his friends talked about them. A HOTEL ROOM. Paid by? Even in his imagination, the question was there. “can not she pay!” he had heard about such things. All was an open-eyed dream. He grabbed his package to make a masculine gift to her passive beauty. A poor limp fool in his hand. Where was gone the erection? Could not his super masculine erection come from those village fields to that metro hotel? He tried to awake it. A poor lost thing. The lord of phallus was castrated.

A DIRTY FACE

A DARTY FACE


We are “Mother’s pride”. These are from “Kid Zee”.
Those small smart kids looked, really, cute and eyes catching.
“What is this dirty dark face dong here?” no one had noticed it before. Management director’s question surprised everyone. All the teachers were looking into those pictures again. That dirty face popped through the variously arranged kids just like a beautiful curtain with a hole allows the ugliness, filth or sickness inside a house with no other cover.
“We did not notice him at all. India gate is a big place and so many beggars around.” This not so strong excuse of that teacher just added to the director’s irritation.
“You should have taken better care.”
“Sorry sir. Next time we will take better care.” That teacher came with a prompt apology.
“And burn these pictures. We cannot add them to our school album. Arrange any other trip and get some pictures that we can put for our advertisement.” This precise instruction came with a coldness that was enough to put the teachers on their toes.
“Oh I don’t know how that bastard got into all the photographs”. A teacher murmured as he was given the charge for arranging everything.
“Better we arrange this time in some amusement park. No such nonsense is there.” One teacher suggested. All the heads nodded in approval.

BASTARDS

BASTARDS




“What place you are from?”
“Delhi.”
“No; I mean what place you are originally from?”
“Bihar.”
“All of you?”
“Mostly. Some are from Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh and Bengal.”
It was a group of five persons. They were doing some research work on the slum dwellers. Particulars were required and they were collecting it. They did not go for the data given in other researches in this field. First hand has its value. They clicked photographs and took names of the persons they interviewed. A curious lot was looking at them in complete awe.
“What is the most common occupation of you people?”
“Usually it is rickshaw. Selling water, tea… you can see many of us on the footpaths with something selling. Too many to tell you. Look, this Ramu sells Kachouri and Chhole and earns good. at least hundred rupees after paying the police men, local don, grocery man and his own expenses.”
“It’s really very good.” They showed a smile in appreciation of whatever that person was saying. One was impatient to ask the next question in the list but he got no chance. He had to wait and he had to listen. Enthusiasm was compelling.
“Usually it is said that some people living in the slums indulge in petty crimes like pocket picking, theft, snatching, etc. slums are a good place for ganza, charas etc. what do you say?”
Dasrath was thinking as one of them clicked him. He looked a bit confused. Expressions came as if he wanted to say many things but something was stopping him. Finally, he began slowly. “Yes some people are in such sort of activities but we do not do anything like that.”
“You got no place at your native places and here you it is given. Is not it ungrateful whatever you do to this place?”
He was silent again. Same things happening again. Somebody was asking another somebody that what was the matter and who were those people. The reply was that they were some sahibs. They had come in a car, which was standing at the end of the slum. They were asking people about their original place and something about their work etc.
The person looked as if he remembered something. The next moment he was off.
“Slums are seen as a big security problem. Municipality says that it is difficult to keep such places clean. Police says that patrolling in such places is impossible and criminals enjoy this thing.”
The expressions on Dasrath’s face were fixed. A humbling smile that accepted all the blames and begged to be forgiven or rather tolerated.
“Do you send your children to schools?”
“We want but can not.”
“Reason?”
“Can not afford a private school and government schools don’t take them.”
“You are not true. In fact you are lying. We just coming from another slum and there some children were going to schools. It is another case that they are not good in studies or manners but at least they are going to schools. Schools take them.”
Something was brimming over. Dasrath stood from his bed. “what did you say? I am lying.” His tone alarmed them. The joined palms and humble voice were gone. They tried to correct his memory by saying that they did not mean that. They simply meant that it was not possible. No stop for him.
“yes we got no place at our native place. It is true today. But it was not always the same. My father never talked of Delhi. Whatever sustained us, we survived. Moreover, people are still living there and surviving. I came here to have something more than mere survival. And look what your Delhi has given us. Living in this river belly, we dream a future. Sometimes it is a flood wiping out our huts and sometimes it is some big temple and sometimes some game. Dreams brought terror and we stopped dreaming. I always remind my children this thing. Some people have raised their families on the footpaths. Some have lost. I do not blame you but you can not blame us either. And what was the other thing…yes cleanliness and law and order. Look I understand them. We are not living here free of cost. We pay the police; and we pay the municipality; and we pay the local don. See what more gratefulness you expect from us.” Suddenly Dasrath moved and took something. “ look, this is the water you drink. Twelve or fifteen, you pay for oe bottle of one liter. we can not drink this nor we are considered human enough to be given water by your so kind government. See what we drink.” Dasrath took a glass of water lying there. “ I know you pretended to drink this but you did not. But we do.” He gulped down that glass and gave the glass to a child standing there. “ we have to because we have no other option. We also want to drink good water and have good food. No, I am not blaming anyone. And, why to? I left my village with a hope. Here that got lost somewhere. A nomadic life never gave any chance of searching it again. We must be grateful to your Delhi for making us so happy.” Suddenly a voice interrupted and everyone became silent. The scholars turned in surprise as that cursing voice was directed towards them. A person was standing on his wooden crutches. Face unshaved from god knows when. “what are these? Came with another notice to vacate this place? Hey, have we become so respected that you came with a notice? Hey, somebody see where is the bulldozer?” Dasrath moved quickly and tried to silent him. it was a quite a scene but he managed it. He told him something in a low tone and he became silent. He went out, murmuring something. “This is Dukhiya. He lost his legs while working for a building contractor. They gave the hospital charges and sent him with a promise of giving him compensation . that compensation is yet to come. He has got a spot near this red-light for begging. He and his wife, both sit there and, the same, after paying the police and the mafia, get enough to keep their ends together. He had to beg for this location and had to pay extra amount. Hope you would not mind his behaviour. You know how shameful it is to be a beggar.” Suddenly he stopped for a moment. “Oh sorry. Forgive me. How could you know how it feels to be a beggar! In fact, I am telling this because I remember how bitterly he wept when he returned after his first day.” Suddenly something overpowered him and his voice almost drowned into something too inside. He was scarcely audible. “ in a way, all of us are beggars. We beg for space, we beg for pity, we beg for every moment we are allowed to stay here; we beg for a minimal human treatment which is never for us, we beg for everything that your government boasts of giving us but we never get; we beg for survival. And we know how humiliating it is. Have you ever faced any such things?”
This was Dasrath’s first question. He looked towards them. They were silent. “ oh, I don’t need any answer for this. I know that you don’t.”
One of them looked in watch and then the faces of his remaining colleagues. “ I think we should leave now. It’s the time.”
“Thanks a lot Mr. Dasrath for your valuable time. We will talk to you later. We will have to leave as its getting late. We had brought something for these children. Can you distribute it among them.” Suddenly a boy snatched the packet from his hand and ran outside. Others ran after him, using all filthy words to stop him. They looked in disgust. Dasrath was looking at those running children and said, “See how they learn to survive. In my village, in childhood days, we used to share even a single mango with all the siblings. But now they are in Delhi and know its ways.”
They thanked him again and left. As most of the people were out to work, they could not have much data collected. And then this wastage. “We could not have stopped him. it could have hurt their self respect and we have to collect some more data from here.” They had come to there car. “Look what these bastards have done.”
These were the hearts drawn as learnt from the popular Bollywood movies and someone had written, “I love you” with something black.

“These bastards scratched my new car.” The girl was fuming.
“You heard that old rascal’s language. Disgusting. And how filthy he looked.”
“I wish just when this sucking part is over.”
“We will have to come here again in one or two days.”
“Can’t we do with this much only? I have clicked many other faces and we can write some names and then it is not difficult to fill the further details.” The car had crossed the bumpy road and it was on the smooth road.
“Stop the car near some restaurant.” One of them opened his bag, took out a bottle and sprayed on everyone. “Oh thanks a lot yaar. We really needed this. So many stinking bodies. It was really too much. I didn’t know this.”
“But still guys, that rascal was speaking good. I wonder.”

ARCHIES QUOTE

"I was sitting on the shore of him when the ocean was boasting of his size and depth and seriousness. I just opened my heart and showed my love for you. He spoke nothing else." I spoke these lines to her while her smiling eyes were inspiring the most sacred love in my heart, which is closest to worship.

"Hey, what about sending these lines to Archies? People will love bying such a passionate quote." Her smile was broader now. But something was changed.

I also smiled. I started laughing....laughing in disgust. I heard many things breaking around.

BIG BROTHER

BIG BROTHER


“BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.”
I wonder how these words affect you at the first encounter. Honestly speaking, for me, it meant something divine, combined with the beauty of nature. Now I know how ironical it would appear to them who have read George Orwell’s 1984. but the time when I came across Big Brother for the first time, I was not acquainted with such things. Nor I was so much accustomed to an aloof or objective thinking about the darker side of life.
Actually I was just out of Orwell’s “Animal Farm” when it happened. I was sitting in a P.C.O. when a three rupee photo encountered my eyes. Four white horses standing in a lush green field, looking at something and a black line reading- BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU. All the phones were busy and I was sitting ideal. Thinking something. Probably something that I wanted to do. When this happened, I am not so sure. My rational mind was grappling with the question of big brother. “what this big brother can mean?” horses don’t have big brother. They are animals and not intelligent or wise enough to maintain such relations. Second, all four can not have the same big brother. Third, the parents and children relation also ends among them after a long separation.. my applied wisdom gave me a quick and appealing solution-GOD. now it was – BIG BRITHER(GOD) IS WTCHING YOU. I felt satisfied. I took a phone set and dialed to my father. “all the lines to this route are busy. Please try after some time.” a sweet, computerized female sound failed all my attempts. I found the booth operator a bit irritated. I thought it better to try after some time. I was feeling a bit irritated, as I had not talked to my father for a long time. I was again looking at those horses. A felt a crack appearing in my divine and beautiful solution. God has a father’s image. Then how he could be a brother! It locked a plausible question.
Man is instinctively curious and restless(second quality is comparatively less universal and neither is really universal). Probably, restless because he is curious. It was this curiosity that put the enormous weight of this sky on the shoulders of Atlas or the Hood of some snake or something else. And, later on, disburdened them in a course of many centuries when Einstein was able to hold everything on his single theory. I went back to the photo again. The watching “BIG BROTHER” was nowhere in it. Did the person adding this line know this thing? A “may be” could have solved my problem. But I knew it was not such. I had to go on with my reasoning to find that big brother.
I have a great faith in the dynamic nature of this world. From our Upanishad age to the modern times, it is stated and echoed everywhere. Don’t you remember Nehru’s ideal society that keeps changing and improving with the course of time? I know that many of us are thinking about Gandhi’s Ram Rajya, the final culmination of an ideal state. But I believe that we can improve upon that. That was the best or ideal for that time. But in the changed and rapidly changing scenario the ideal must be rethought and redrawn.
How “BIG BROTHER” fits in this dynamic course. Let me attempt. First there was an imaginary sketch of the big brother. They had some very different language and therefore their BIG BROTHER was also different. They feasted, they reveled, they enjoyed around him. Humankind’s first consciousness might have come with its self-conscious differentiation from the animals. Therefore, it had an innate tendency of developing itself different from the animals. A laboured move towards the cultivation of sophistication. BIG BROTHER could not be left behind. Sketching was quite simple and everyone was capable of doing this. Second, from distance all the sketches looked alike- having similar features. In a more sophisticated world some proposed the idea of painting big brother. A nicely drawn image. Painted with charming colours and all the bodily features portrayed with precise accuracy. Not everyone was capable of doing this. A selected few took the charge. But this change was not so smooth or simple. The idea of sketching was still alive and some people often resorted to that. It caused some conflict and some quite new phenomena. One of them was the popularity competition. Person whose BIG BROTHER was liked the most was given the sole charge or authority of sketching or painting. Usually one from the sophisticated painters rose to this position. Time was moving and some of the painters were trying hard to bring some innovation. A two-dimensional portrayal was not giving enough space for showing their art. Further they wanted to adorn BIG BROTHER with all the possible positive attributes. While the expertise for this artisanship was limited to very few, it required much bigger amount of labour. The painters without this expertise were opposing the very idea of statue making. The experts found a solution. the other painters were given the office of selecting and hiring labourers for the statue making. They built bigger and bigger statues. One was so big that people almost fell down when trying to see its face while standing at its feet. one day some fingers in its feet were missing. The fear of sketch lovers returned. Very next day a large number of people was hired to protect the statues. Painters in the office were also getting a big portion of total work. Now, the cost involved in all these could not be ignored for a long time. It was found difficult to pay for all these without getting some new resources. Painters painted some cheaper “BIG BROTHER” – bringing honour to everyone, caring and loving everyone, sustaining everyone. Even the starving beggars felt thrilled. And they found what they wanted-“ human resource”. But this was not that enough. BIG BROTHER needed to do something more. And suddenly his statues started disappearing. statue makers said that ‘big brother’ had become invisible and now he was everywhere, every time. He was in the books, he was in the labs. From theatre to bedroom, big brother was everywhere. Some drunk people blabbered that they didn’t believed in big brother. Next day alcohol disappeared from the market and the drunkards also started believing in big brother. Alcohol. Returned gradually but always with a symbol of BIG BROTHER.
Now , in all this about BIG BROTHER I totally forgot about a quality what I said to be innate in the mankind- a self conscious cultivation of sophistication. While BIG BOSS was going through all the transformations, this innate quality also faced a big change. By the time painting gained upper hand, it was extracted from the individual consciousness and placed at some secret , official space. This was to save it from any corruption. Whenever any new sophistication developed, some painter copied it and displayed in the public. This display came be centered around the center. It had a limited viewership and, hence, limited imitation. Those working in the fields or mines had no time to see these, nor any money to afford. Rich and poor were there and sophistication remained with its rightful clients.
BIG BROTHER had come everywhere. Some people challenged his authenticity and authority. They said that all this was a big drama, played by the selected few. Mental asylums and hospitals took care of them. Mentally retarded, those people, understood the power of BIG BROTHER with every shock.
Freed from the three dimensional existence, BIG BROTHER achieved an even higher existence. He moved into a four dimensional existence- sort of time space. Everything else was inside him and he was inside every thing. Only thing differentiating from god was tat he was not other- worldly. His blessings came in the form of good governance, security against all the threats from within or outside, promise for a better life if the present was not so good, consolation that the bad was not really so bad and much better than the worst. Persecution, exclusion and marginalization, elimination- these were the results of big brother’s wrath.
“Every person should know the law of his land.”
Everyone knew “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.”
I was quite satisfied with my theoretical odyssey when something struck me. Animals did not have the same journey of consciousness. I had left them with nature- still naked and still in contact. And it was the solution. Those horses were watched by nature while they were watching and enjoying its beauty and graces. I felt jealous. I watched a romantic-comedy film with my girl friend, ate in a restaurant, and went to disco. I did everything possible to fill a vacuum growing inside me.
I was understanding BIG BROTHER now.

HY INDIA

HEY INDIA

Hi India!
Hope you are having a relaxed time after some troubled days. I can understand this. Even though terrorism is not new to you, you look shocked when it appears before you. Same is the case when it is some financial crisis. Take it easy. I have something pleasant for you. Many praises. At a time when everyone is out to criticize the things inside you or around you, I hope it will give you a great relief. I am giving you the same copy’s copy that she gave me. Even though it was more than one year ago, good things are always welcome. Especially when good things are slipping faster than sands in one’s hand.

As a foreign student, I have not seen much of India. Still I am trying my best to put together the things that I know about India. India is a democratic country with a massive population. Due to this(population) planning for country’s development is always a big challenge. Government is doing good effort in this direction.
India has a rich culture. It has its own way of living, thinking and doing. Its traditional ideas and values are very different from the western countries. Indians’ lifestyle always reflects their identity. It is apparent in their ways of dressing, way of speaking etc. Indians may live in foreign countries but they keep their own way of living. They have great nationalist feelings. They love their country.
I have found that Indian people, especially the educated youth, are trying very hard to improve their country. Moreover, they are progressing in several fields like information technology, education, medical science, military prowess etc. I have read in a newspaper that a doctor operated one person’s kidney and liver during the same operation. I feel that
Indians have good intelligence.
India has lots of natural resources and it has a huge force of skilled and unskilled workers. Technical development is quite phenomenal. It has the latest weapons and now it wields nuclear power as well. India is moving fast and fast.
Indian tradition of classical plays/dramas has some similarities with that of the other Southeast Asian nations. Rama legends are a quite a strong bound with among them. It is one of the most civilized countries of the world.
No country in the world can be out and out good. Similarly, India also has some demerits or drawbacks. Class division is a major one. It would not be a problem if everyone accepts this. But the continuous class conflicts pose a serious problem. Economic disparity needs to be addressed in a positive way. Another problem is the working culture of India. I must be more precise to talk about the working culture in the government offices. It is sometimes pathetically slow and irritatingly irresponsible. Lack of co- operation is often a problem. As a foreign student, I have faced this aspect of India with some unpleasant surprise. If Indian people can change this habit, they can fight against all the odds and emerge as the best country in the world.

As I am little informed about India and the related issues, my article can look silly sometimes. However, it is not so much about the facts as it is about my feelings. Hope my readers will understand this.


I know that ignorance can produce or help to produce the most beautiful feelings, thoughts or things. Your admirer is blessed with this disadvantage. And now look the beauty of her words. From an informed vantage point most of her ideas may sound ironical. I have seen you crying often –“brain drainage, brain drainage”. When farmers were committing suicide in Orrisa and Madhya Pradesh, you had several sleepless nights. Always worried about how to cover the things or how to escape the questions. Do you remember the day which is still mourned as “Bhopal Gas Tragedy”? only some days ago some physically handicapped people, still existing victims of that tragedy, were protesting in delhi for some compensation or something else and how much labour you had to put in acting “Deaf”. How difficult it was to give five thousand crore rupees to those worthless farmers who had lost all their crops when it could have been better used for the country’s industrialization by funding the industrial families. I know things are not so easy. I appreciate your tact. Purchasing arms from the U.S.A. or Russia is not only adding to your power but also wins you good friends. People keep crying for education, health care, financial security etc. I see how difficult it is to be patient with them. So much outcry on the issue of economic disparity when your rational wisdom knows that lions and ants both can exist in the same world without ever complaining. However, I often see behind your strong and determined exterior a guilty and apprehensive self, which has lost control over itself and knows not what is right to do.
Hope you will enjoy the time reading this page. Nothing is better than an admirer who knows you the best. Nevertheless, even one knowing little about you must be welcome when you know that it is difficult to admire you after knowing everything about you. Have a nice time.

Yours ……………………….

BEAUTY BLAST

BEAUTY BLAST

“Life is beautiful. If you do not feel it such you are a cynic. It can be made even more beautiful. If you do not think it possible, you are a pessimist. Life is all that you can imagine. If you do not know this, your imagination is dead. However, do not be worried anymore. Even if you are not fit, your senses not capable of enjoying all these beauties of human life, or your heart not vast enough to hold all the pleasures, angels are out with your solutions. Be happy wherever you are and say “Cheers”.”
Have you ever seen fire spreading in a forest? Just for example. These words speeded faster than any fire. Believe me; the world changed the next day. Moreover, it kept changing. Every day a few words were changed and it looked afresh. Next day the world was slightly changed. Some people had some problems with these changes. Some complained of its speed. Some had problems with its direction. Some said that it was benefiting the wrong people. Different from all these, some said that it was bringing no benefit at all. “What nonsense! Are they nuts? God help them.”

Problem of speed was addressed with another adjustment in the words. It said that speed is not something to be apprehensive about. Speed took us to the moon. Direction was also not wrong. It just needed to be seen from another vantage point. “Every individual needs to see it from a different point and it’s sure to look equally fascinating.” And for those questioning the very idea of profit; those were hopeless and it was spread that they were fanatics. Humanist fanatics. They were the enemies of life’s beauty. They presented such depressing images of human life that the beautiful image of the world was under threat. And beauty must be preserved. Words were spread that these dissenters were the agents of devil and wanted to destroy God’s colourful world by creating a single coloured world. “It is a monotonous world in the place of God’s world of different musical orders and harmonies. It is a monotonous world and the polyphonic sound of God’s world is obviously much better than that”. Words had to travel much much faster now. Those who had problems with its speed suddenly became great fond of it. It was the basic quality of survival and they realized it. Only they also started practicing how to run fast. Worry about direction was already gone. To silent them was impossible as they were indomitable fools. One option, an excellent and beautiful idea, was their. To make them unheard. A big ding of music and a great celebration of colour was enough to capture the ear and sight of majority . those who were not within the range only those who were either not running with their beautiful world or were incapable of running at all or were discarded as runners after their energy was exhausted.

Despite of all the pre cautions one mistake happened. Whether the ding of music or the celebration, neither was forever. It was to end as any exhaustible thing is bond to be. Whenever that spell of music or light ended a strange melody overwhelmed the world. It had an elegiac tone, which stirred the souls, and suddenly everything green started turning grey and black. Divinely decorated multiplexes, malls, and houses were replaced by the images of innumerable homeless people in the different parts of the world. Soothingly harmonious music was replaced by the distant but familiar sounds; children crying for milk, mothers dying from starvation, fathers committing suicide. Bullets and tanks, aided by missiles and fighter planes, routing millions of human lives, roared into every ear. Everything became still. A dangerous moment for the beautiful world. Multiple musical tracks were prepared everyday and people were also suggested to sing as loud as they can. Special glasses were manufactured and distributed which helped people to see only what they wished to see. And they wished to see only what they were asked by the people with the voice and the sight.
Once a totally new thing happened. News was that uniforms were also made of different clothes. And one cloth valued more another cloth. It was really hot. Everyone bought it. Voice and sight, both had a new way of fighting with the threats. They took all cares of removing the appealing exterior of them and putting a most vicious appearance their. People yoked together without any consideration of height or width and given the same fodder without any respect for the individual tastes. A gross violation of human rights. Denial of free choice. People in the opposite group were told to be thankful. They were given the most precious human right. Complete freedom. Even if they were starving, it was with a free choice. Every day voice and sight (official, to give it a perfect status) came with a new version of “either” and “or”.
New music were added, new voices were added, new sights were added. But still breaks were there. Every track ends somewhere. But the new voices that entered in between, quite interestingly, were also well patterned in a similar order. No more wailings of the tormented humanity. A newly designed harmony to oppose and challang the more popular and old harmony. Only the God was changed. It sang that
Rest of the world was enjoying a better time as they knew the perfect meaning of humanity and human existence.
As speed was increasing, no length of track proved long enough. Creeping in between was too often. But speed had shortened its popping up duration as well. Those who had learned to sing loudly were able to avoid all this confusion. Glasses were helping many to avoid the sudden glimpses of those differently patterned, and promising to be more satisfying and humane, world. But some were who had neither of these. This confusion of voices was proving too much for their nerves. Surrounded with zealously added images and sounds, they felt a strong desire for the freshness of the outside world. No matter if that world was filthy appearing, stinking or oppressive. They wanted to feel the vitality of their consciousness once more. No doors, no windows. They found themselves chained with pillars, helpless and frustrated. Music still ringing in the air. Sounds and images encroaching their senses. One banged his head against the pillar. Blood flowed out. Something real happened in his mind after a long time. Pain made him feel that it was still alive. Drowsiness was overpowering his mind. He heard a faint cry from some great distance. He saw an innocent baby turning into a horrible skeleton. He saw a pure beauty rotting. He saw a stoutly moving body perishing into pieces. He saw….He fainted. Tears rolled down through his blood covered face. Several heads banged. Blood and tears flowed together but with different reasons. Every time it was a “beauty blast”. Voices are out to censor such acts. Super heroes out to preserve the beauties. With headphones and glasses. Blue and red angels(there has been too much of black and white and it is stereotyped as well) are at your door. Receive either of them and have a musical and harmonious life. Free of all worries and confusion. Amen. Amen. Amen.

FIRED

FIRED

“How dare you? Who asked you to do that?” His jaws were tight, lips shut and curve stretched, and orbit white teeth were crushing, inside, the unmanageable anger. It opened again. “You mind only your own business. Do only what is asked. Only the way it is asked to. Company has enough experts to look after such decisions.”
“It will do good sir. It was our family tra…”
He put the water bottle in an action and began- “then go to your family trade. Why this headache for us?” he was muttering in anger. “You and your family trade… oh dammit.”
He was standing, shaking in front of him on the opposite side of the table. Fixed .he had come here after selling his only ancestral property, an old handloom. His family was in his village. A wife and three children. Two daughters. Wife was pregnant and could not go out to work. Otherwise, she also earned some money as a part time domestic help. He was the sole earner. He had to bear his lodging expenditure and the family needs, both.
“Have you no idea what your assness has done. our sales. So many complaints. Even salesmen can not explain what colour that is.” He was almost yelling, sweating on his forehead and shaking upon his feet. He was threatening him “fired”.
He was quite. Completely silent and still. Standing at the receiving end. Head bowed and gazing feet. His palms, earlier in attention now came to rest upon his knees. his waist lost its straightness and slowly he sank down. Slowly….slowly….slowly….down and flat. He was lying on the ground. Still silent. Probably A.C. comforted him to sleep after long , hot, duty and over duty. Or the scolding ashamed him. or it was the anticipated “fired”. Who knows?
He looked at him with some concern. For some moments. Pulse was moving. He called for his peon and asked him to bring the body back into consciousness. “shirker! Scoundrel! Bloody misfit! Look how fine he feigns. But this can’t save you. After all I have also some responsibilities.”
The peon was sprinkling water on his face. Cabin door closed with a bang. He was still sprinkling water, waiting for the opened eyes.

OPIUM

Opium

An opium-eater! Was he really? It was hard to believe. But the doctor was sure. Quite high sounding; as for his selection of words. And they had no point contradicting him. “Diagnosis shows no part of his body unaffected. Lungs, heart, kidneys and what else; all damaged” one doctor said. Evidences were enough to make them believe. A completely mysterious world of letters and images must have been the truth they were telling. Mind was also there. But it was not a point. It had nothing to do with his death. And, anyway, mind had no role in his life. Probably they believed so.

He was the first child to move out from his family. Responsibility of the eldest. To imagine a big city was itself something big for him. The end of all miseries. Childhood was there in his face. But the promises it bore made him to outgrow it. He promised to send money regularly and end all her worries. Even though she wept, she couldn’t think stopping him. After a good for nothing husband he was her only hope. He left with a person who owned a shop in Delhi. A tea stall in a busy market place.

Every time Raju carried the cups of tea he muttered something. He didn’t know Hindi. And he didn’t know Delhi’s Hindi. And he had to learn it. Clothes had done bit of the job. Red and yellow shirts made a worth doing servant. ‘Raju’ sounded good. He began a new job in new clothes with a new name. Obviously the place was also new. He was excited.

“No amount of work is more than money. And he is merely a loss to the business. He is lazy. He is not a grateful servant. And now he wants more money. Every time some new need at his home.” But they never sent him back. Were his employers so generous or he was worth that? He had seen the money that business brought. He knew the labour he put- carrying tea to the surrounding factories and shops, washing pots and cups, and cooking food for all. He stayed with his employers. The shop was run by two brothers. He thought it was worth more. He missed his home. He missed his family. He missed his mother. He felt sick. He didn’t work there anymore. He thought his patience over. He was out in a big city to make his life. Only problem that he was hungry and had nothing to buy food. He felt miserable. And he felt angry. Angry?
He was walking along the pavements. He saw many like himself. In age. Some were collecting something important from the garbage bin. One got something, another snatched it … and there was a fight. Flow of mother and sister related adjectives. He felt low. They were like him. And he despised them. He hated them. He saw some others. Begging around a red light. Poking their dirty faces into the closed car windows. He almost laughed when he saw a little girl clung to the feet of a girl who was with a guy. The girl was screaming and the guy was trying to hoot that little girl away. Getting free they almost ran away. And then he realized that it was a prank. All those dirty faces and half-naked bodies were laughing on that successful prank. May be that little girl really wanted something from them. But she was also laughing now. He also smiled. But couldn’t laugh. He was hungry and he had nothing to eat. He felt pain in both his stomach and his heart. He had nothing to eat and no money to buy his food.

He knew how to make tea. He knew how to carry tea and how to talk. He had some, very little in fact, experience as a farm labourer. He used to accompany his mother during the harvest season. But all these skills were of no use as there was neither a tea stall nor any farm for him. “I’ll earn lots of money. I can work and also know the things.” The hope or the dream, whatever it was, was giving way to heaviness of mind and eyes. Hunger dulled him to feel sleepy. He could not see or feel his shattered dreams.

He found himself surrounded by many half naked bodies and blank eyes when he woke up. It was somewhere in the night and they were standing to know who he was and from where. He felt some hostility in their eyes. He pretended to be asleep. Stream of abusive words and some less harmful kicks gave him enough to forget his hunger. Hunger made him to forget his hopes or dreams and now fear relieved his hunger. But once they were gone everything was back to torment him. Shattered hopes or dreams, hunger, fear, and a sense of being insulted. His poor birth, his failed words, his helpless situation, and now the most recent treatment received from those children like himself; he felt insulted by everything. Yes, he had a sense of self- respect. Hunger, growing darkness and cold, and this added burden. He felt something moving near his waist. Some hand, trying to figure out something. It was darker now. He felt his paint pulled down. Warmth entered his body through his naked butt. Something heavy was moving behind him. He felt hurt. He felt afraid. He tried to ignore that. Tried to think about something else. He tried to think about the morning when he would have some work to do, some good money to buy some food and to manage some place to live and sleep, and the beginning of a new and good life. The man behind and inside him was moving so rapid and hard, heaving so loud and smelling so bad that he could not think or feel anything else. It was painful.
With a fresh noise around, he opened his eyes in the morning. It was a night of bad dreams. His worn face said how bad it was. He saw people looking at him with shock and then moving away as if from something stinking or contaminating. Only those naked, half-naked, bodies again standing around him. They were giggling, and pointing to him and one part of his body in particular. Suddenly he became conscious of his body. A swarm of flies was around him. With a particular interest in the part down his waist. Suddenly he felt the whole world vanishing. Rather he wished it. To be invisible to all those knowing and mocking eyes. It was no bad dream. His paint was still down and some strange stains on his paint and his butt and when some mocking finger pointed he felt those stains on his face as well. He pulled up his paint frantically, cursing all those, those like him and unlike him, around and started running. A few quick steps, and one against a brick lying on the footpath, a sudden darkness, and he felt himself floating in air. He fainted.
Apart from the fast moving traffic, carrying a whole world from one place to another, there was no other sound. He felt cool breezes, a memory of his left behind village and his mother caressing his head. He recognized the faces. Those like him. One was fanning him, another was caressing his head and another was holding a cold drink bottle filled with water. His eyes were moist. They gave him something to eat. He was one of them. A strange way of becoming. But this is how people think destiny is made. He had no mind to think about such things. Things had changed. Drastically or disastrously. No matter how.

It was a new beginning for him. Life had started for him but in a new way. And he had realized that. Something was burning down his throat. Then, first time smoking is often so. He had puffed only once from that Bidi. Rest was puffed by his new friends. The called him a child but promised to teach him how to grow up. Yes; teach him how to grow up in that world. That afternoon he begged with them around a red light. Smoked again. Got some money in his pocket. At night a big bearded man came to them. Everyone put a certain part of his/her earning in his box. A boy whispered something into his ears. He also took out his money, counted them, and put some money into his box. He didn’t like it. He sang that night while smoking, after eating some left over food bought from a dhaba.

Everyday was getting the same way. Beginning from the beginning. Every morning he woke up with a sore consciousness and troubled mind. An expecting face of his mother made him feel guilty. Whenever he pulled down his paint to defecate in open, he felt some distant eye watching him. When he washed his ass after completing that everyday routine, he felt somebody else’s touch there. That night was still haunting him. And all this continued until came another night to end this. They managed it. He had to part with some money. Later they told him. That girl was from the same jhuggi. She used to go for some money, or some good food, or sometimes when forcibly grabbed at some isolated place at a dark night. Anyway, that night he was feeling different. In the morning when he pulled down his paint, his hanging tool reminded him something and he started smiling. He felt its increasing hardness. Washing his ass in hurry he pulled up his paint. Too hurried to feel anything else. Now he paid almost every night even if not for the same girl. He had found many of her type. Sometimes it was cold drink, sometimes it was chocolate or biscuit or chips. Once he gave one a beautiful frock. He had some special feelings for her. She didn’t come the next day. Two days later he saw her with a goodly dressed and purse keeping boy. He didn’t like him. He put his hand in his pocket. It had a hole. He felt cheated. He was angry. The man who used to collect money from them, scolded him, abused him, thrashed him. His eyes were dry. Anger had evaporated the tears. That night he stabbed him. Change is the nature of life, people say. His mind was too stuffed to think any such philosophy. He was arrested.
He was put on trial in a juvenile court. Charge of murder: he accepted. A premeditated murder: he remained silent. Involvement in petty crimes like theft, snatching etc: he accepted. Some occupational rivalry with the dead: he was silent. Nobody exactly knew from where he came: he accepted. From where he had exactly come: he was silent. Tears rolled down from his eyes. He cried for punishment. He knew that hanging is the punishment for death. He cried for it. He was denied that. Court showed some leniency and awarded him imprisonment for ten years. He was very young and it was his first big crime. Court took it to be an act in rage. It was the end of his sixteenth year. He was taken to the jail. That night he remembered his mother again. Something was broken inside but he was helpless. It was a process and now it was his life. He wished that part of his existence to be dead or eliminated rather than being broken.
Jail life began with a whole day of labour. Messaging the huge bodies of those prison house monsters exhausted him. A whole day without any word. Good way of correcting the convicts. He got food but no appetite for eating them. Their filthy talk was suffocating something inside him which had remained preserved so far. That night his paint was pulled down again. But this time he was not sleeping but awake. He was afraid, yet he resisted. A slight pinch on his butt and things began changing. The whole world was swinging and gradually blurring. He knew somebody’s penetrating his back while his hand was holding somebody else’s. But he felt nothing. Nothing further. No fear, no anger, no shame, no disgust, nothing else. Just something was dying inside him. Defecating in the morning was a big torture. He wept blood that morning, both from the top and the bottom. His head was still heavy. But he had to do his work. He messaged them whole day in different ways. He was just waiting for his time. And it was to come.

Repentance is the end your sins. I have heard it so many times. Some men, known to be learned in scriptures, have said that the Demon King Ravana went to heaven as he confessed his folly and repented at the end. Confession in Christianity also seems to be of the similar effect. Many Bollywood movies have a reconciliatory end in this way only. But there only heroes or their kins could have such facilities. True villains must die. However, we feel sorry when a villain goes through a moral transformation at his dying moments. How do we feel when see a hero dying due to some villain’s villainy and the villains also dying as the result of the same cause? You may feel very sorry again. For me, I feel nothing. I have seen too many of it and, unlike many, I never forget them.

He was lying in his hospital bed, looking at the banana given in his breakfast. He wanted something else. An uneasiness of his nerves was compounding his bodily pains. Really, his mind was troubling him. he often dreamt his mother welcoming him in her arms. His dreams or hopes often flashed before his closed eyes and their failure pained him. Tears often rolled from his eyes. One of his fellow prisoners, two beds next to him in the same hospital ward, died one evening. They blamed a mysterious sickness caused by drugs. Faces were worried whenever they entered the ward. He was given better attention now. Faces had masks and hands had gloves. Earlier also it was the same but now he got better food than before. He felt quite amused some times. One night he heard a nurse cursing the head nurse for putting her duty in that death infected ward of HIV patients. She also cursed the wretched evil mongers. Next morning he gave them his address and wished to see his mother. He wished them not to say his mother anything about his jail sentence, his evil ridden life, or his mysterious sickness. Truly, he was still innocent if not pure.

His story must stop here if not end.