Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Happy Birthday Mom

I am very tired and exhausted. I want to return back home and celebrate the sixtieth birthday cake. Shall I come back home, please.

I want to come back. I am choking, starving, living fake life, and lonely always. Would you think I am fail if I don’t have career like my friends or cousins? Would you love me less if I earn a meager sum and can’t afford to have another heavy pay packet like now? Would you mind if I stay all day long to you and have no busy schedule to follow?

Momma! I want to be back to you…Trust me…the heart is cold. Foods are bland. I sleep with loneliness. I need to be loved by you. I want to touch you. I want to count the number of grey streaks you added on your sixtieth birthday. I want to be with you today, always.

It's a Dog Life and I pay the Rent

My neighbor has a ‘dog’. Okay! With all due respect, she’s *a bitch*. (Grr…) Nah! Not the matron but the pet. It’s a bitch! It’s a bitch. (Grr…rr…)

Stop It, Bitch! You don’t pay rent? Know, how pain it’s to the A** when the first week of the next month is the next week. Bills start dropping like bird’s poo. You’ve it all across yourself. And for some weird reasons (dunno) the delivery man hand it to the lousy matron, next door.

I’ve bills for everything and all bills come to her, first. She delivers them to me with usual tingling knock. Ting-tong! Ting-tong! Ting-tong! F*** Man! I’ve bills to pay for the electricity, it don’t come for free. (One more time, she press the switch I’m goin screw her brain out.) Open the door and there she standing as a teapot with her two pooches looking at me and one sniffing the other. Like a spilling teapot at my door, “there she’s…” narrating a brief act like a fairy tale and waving the piece of paper over my nose, repeatedly. I serve as the doorpost pretend to listen and occasionally respond in mono-syllable or an incomplete sentence.

“Bill…”! Yea…I know, it’s always the bills. Bitch!

My mom faints if I don’t call and when I do she complain. So, my service provider charges me for having talked to mom and sent me a bill. Didn’t they have heart? I live a plush floor with two rooms and designer mattresses that need some lightning. Wonder…why doth the Dark Ages come to an end? I’ve a maid who makes me food… (Okay, she sit over the rack with a long rubber shaft fixed into her tight hole) and gets cold if the cylinder dry-out. For some humane reason, I buy her a lover every month and go frigid myself. I learn a secret from her, “Never go twosome”.

What? You think I exaggerate.

There are few more, the gateman who wear a rifle that fire only when filled with gun powder (Gee…!). He’s also too fragile and barely walks. He sits, dozes, and charges me for security. What…Security? The Flintstonian, a runaway pugilist from the Battle of 1857 or maybe Plassey need security for himself. [Ain’t I serving him bills to bore me day in-and-out?] Oh…! There’s a lift or to be politically correct, we’re having a ‘lift’. Philosophically, if you’ve something needn’t meant you’re entitled to use it. So, we’re having a lift that nobody could use because it remains halted or in a broken state. But, we have a liftman (how’z dat?) and we don’t use Him too. Still, you need to pay his bill because he wears a blue tunic (that has never been washed since the Dark Ages) and inform you to take the stairs as the “life is again broke down, today”.


“Next month, I will be broke and you take to roads, Is that okay?”

My insurer sends me bills to pay the premiums for my life needs insurance. I’ve a suggestion! Lemma, rest in my grave happily than paying for insurance! Yea…I also own a car and there’s yearly billing for that too. Gawd! First, I made payments to buy one and then my sister conquered and drive away. I still pay the premiums to keep her driving on road safely while the haggles with auto-drivers. Last month, she banged the car and bills are served me to again.

Ranting… (Ah!) My poor balance account refills on month only to empty by the first weekend. Ting-tong! Now, the bill comes not in paper but in a figurine. My handsome landlord standing at the door with pearly tooth-set; the pooches sneak from their doorstep and one bark mockingly. Bitches! He’s the bill himself! Six thousand grand, two cups tea, and rounds of shoot questions to field…I am on rent.

It’s dog life but dogs don’t pay rent. Why should I? I clean the floor, mop the windows, flush the toilet after use, throw dust in the bin…dogs don’t do any one them. And in describing a picture of the two dogs in my neighbor (man’s best friend), slacked on the rent; they eat Oakley goggles, chew the comfortable pair of designer high heels, bark at anyone. Last time, I catch one of them pee at the lift and the ever-free liftman cleaning the place. Why don’t they pay rent?

I wish, the first week of the next month to arrive few days early I won’t be paying the monthly rent. My entire life is in rent. I rented love, happiness, accommodation, services, living itself and served with bill any day.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Party @8

It’s been a month and more, when I live in web-forum with groupies of similar *choices* [read allegory]. Protocols don’t make me bore to death now; nights aren’t lonesome. Back home, dinner time pre-poned to switch on the fluorescent LED to catch Party @8pm.

Venue: Forum Lounge (somewhere over the web area)
Dress Code: Clothing optional. Wear your *wits* and *heart* only!
Attraction: Wild nights, Gets perky as the moon slide to the Western horizon.
Theme: The Bong Connection
Time: 8:00 p.m. onwards

A lonely heart set the table and there are *We*! The blues, the dreamer, the blissful delight, a wandering jewel geared to “blow-out”. Night long repartees, cups of breweries refilled, and cigarette stubs quashed on to the muddy cemetery with their posterior edged. A bond (not Mr. 007) soaked to our Bong bloodline brings us together, we’re similar specimen. (Ahem!)

Before I get to the floor, lemme’ introduce you to the party-hopper. ‘The Blues’ always dream, the Dreamer is Blissful, ‘The Blissful Delight’ is an amorous jewel, the Jewel find means to Blow-out. Then, you reach to me…I am blown-out. To get some more butts to the jive ‘the plump Rony’, ‘somebody too cute’, ‘the occasional Moderator’ and extras practicing rigmarole. Non-performers stopped by, ogle, drop-a-post while regulars sliding down airy love buzz and gettin’ frisker!

The clock strikes 11’. You’re served freshly baked note (err) message and like swarm of bees hooked to honeycomb *we* pounced. Hold on! There’s rule to the game…

Rule One: Pull your best stings brewed with scathing repartee and be snarky @best. With patrons start jibing, a newbie is allowed to perch to the gallery ranks calling out cue till all are dumb stricken. (LoL) We’re never dumbfounded.
Rule Two: The Queens and King’s squabble over [the] *Blissful Ace* who’s always act as the pawn. (Poor boy!) A stack of commoner can jester lewdly, winks at anyone excluding the *Ace* otherwise get themselves booted in their Niagara. The game overtly follows directive “Pick any of the cards from the stack” but can’t stamp on *Ace*. A Queen of Heart tagged him…so watch your game!
Rule Three: Let’s rock it! Put your throttle to chock-a-full, exchange winks, send love bytes unashamed. A group of bizarre celebrates qui a des goûts spéciaux and the ‘wandering jewel’ glacises your itch. The cactus loves hot, dry air. She’s the Dame.
Rule Four: When you like play it low, share couplets or trauma from the pages of personal Self. We don’t play sugar daddies but Agony Aunts, to each of us—we’re somewhere bonded.

Nights fly…! The cyber sensation turns to mute cacophony. Snarky remarks had half the room on the floor laughing and the other half ready to walk out. Overflowing heart melts to delightful ‘muchki hansi’; fingers dodge over the edgy type pad like fluttering pairs of winglets, naughtiness seeped into us down the bones and we’ll now getting’ fingees.

Night crawled till it’s the wee morning hour. Switch off the lights and there are lonely bodies throbbing with loneliness. A bunch of hoodlum cybies belonging to similar specimens crave for company and ‘love’ (does the word sound crude to you; it’s meant lot of each one of us). We’re loners and every night we gifted each one few joyous moments and then make adjustment to our personal lives worthily.


So what…? If we’re just photographs we found new meaning to ‘be friend’.

Statutory Note: Due to certain reasons, the names of the popular participants are allegorized. I would be happy to simplify them but…I won’t. The reason of not doing so…you don’t bother to know them but they’re NICE and they’re NOW a part of me. Thank you ALL.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Ek Nazm...

ख्वाब-नगर है आँखें खोलें देख रहा हू
उसको अपनी जानिब आते देख रहा हूँ
मंज़र मंज़र वीरानी ने जाल ताने हैं
गुलशन गुलशन बिखरे पत्ते देख रहा हूँ
किस की आहट कार्य कार्य फैल रही है
दीवारों के रंग बदलते देख रहा हूँ
दरवाज़े पर तेज़ हवाओं का पहरा है
घर के अन्दर चुप के साए देख रहा हूँ

Friday, August 24, 2007

Thinking Seriously

With the recent downturn for proverbial political issues to trigger Indian electorate; political parties now take refuge to communalism that has earlier spearheaded victories to many. India is now on the edge of a major socio-political crisis with controversial CD believed to be circulated by one of the nationalist party containing inflammatory campaign materials (in one of the election bound state) opened the Pandora box on whether India is a ‘victim to Hindu fundamentalist’s bullets’. Succumbing to ailing leadership, corrupt party members and hardliners, the saffron brigade of Indian parliament or resort back to its much acclaimed ‘communal color’ that voted it to power in 1999.

In a near contemporary order, the country with its diverse religions and ethnicities has experienced with fundamentalism yet bloody and traumatic followed with assassination of some of its prominent leaders such as, M. K. Gandhi, Indira Gandhi and Rajiv Gandhi as some of the stark reminders. From a perspective of non-fundamentalist, the ideology is often criticized and claimed to be scandalous resulting to factionalism, violent ethnic conflicts, civil wars and political degradation. But, it would be wide of the mark to claim Hindu fundamentalism in India as a progeny of post-colonial or independence era. Way back in 1666, the tribal king ‘Shivaji’ venerated in Maharashtra as the father of ‘Hindu nation’ lead his forces to fight against the then Mughal emperor Aurangzeb. A large numbers of historians from previous generations who have written on Shivaji and his consequent battles with Mughal ruler cannot undermine the strong prevalence of an unrelenting hatred towards Muslim and his desire to become the first and great Hindu monarch. (Ironically, Shivaji served as the unofficial mascot to the saffron brigade of Indian Parliament and its outfits)

Yet, a clear relationship between fundamentalisms in India was established for the first time in 1947-48•the year of India’s independence when Muslim League (a polito-religious order founded by Mawlana Mawdudi) eventually separated itself from the bigger cause and constitute a separate and distinct nation resulting ‘Partition’. Many were deported, mowed and transported from their land amidst mass violence resulting to greater hatred and reason for newly fangled Hindu fundamental ideology. Similar strife’s were witnessed between 1960 and 1980 but the year 1990 brings forth the shifts that have occurred in the nature of communal riots in India to a more prominent form.

Critics or Congress eulogists often considered the fall of Congress (I) and accession of BJP as the strong political force insinuating the communal patters in the nation, largely for politicization of Mandir-Masjid issue and subsequent demolition of Babri Masjid • an abandoned mosque situated on the precincts of what claimed to be the birthplace of Hindu god, Rama. The mobilization campaign for Kar sevaks to construct the proposed Ram Janmabhoomi Temple at Ayodhya on 30th October 1990 aggravated the communal atmosphere in the country. Communal riots occurred in the wake of L. K. Advani’s Rath Yatra wherever it went.. These riots were led by RSS-BJP men to consolidate the ‘Hindu’ vote bank. They were widespread over almost all the states from Assam to West Bengal, Bihar, Orissa, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan, Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, Gujarat, Maharashtra and Delhi. Eruptions of communal violence are prevalent since then and Ram (the Hindu God) is long-ly established as the tool to instigate violence, bloodshed and hatred in communally sensitive areas. Indeed, BJP-RSS combo was largely benefited from the game plan. Their effort to brand Muslim community as the source of terrorism and anti-national activities abetted the efforts of the Hindu communalists.

Think otherwise, if BJP as a party is popularizing and supportive to Hindu fundamentalism other political parties too not faraway. They are happy to use communal divisions to try to garner political support, and to foster “minority appeasement” despite of the fact that the basic architecture of Indian constitution remains secular. In his recent political speech, Rahul Gandhi • the unofficial crown prince of Congress (I) and grandson of India’s only women prime minister Indira Gandhi pull the strings of Ayodha and Babri Masjid as a means to appease electorate. (Well, they say never bury the hatchet in politics) Not to forget, Congress were the prime force for anti-Sikh riots that broke out in Delhi and parts of North India after the assassination of the then prime Minister Mrs. Indira Gandhi by her Sikh bodyguards. The pattern of these riots showed that they were organized and planned against a particular community and the many senior Congress leaders were alleged to have participated in the anti-Sikh riots. The main accused in these riots were H. K. L. Bhagat, Sajjan Kumar and Jagdish Tytler. All these senior Congress leaders were exonerated till the CBI on July 11, 2003 filed an appeal against a lower court which acquitted Sajjan Kumar.

Signs of similar turbulence and catastrophes are likely to revisit and haunt India in recent years. What I believe the nation and the Parliamentary forces needs to combat the communalism in India is to use development assistance programs that work toward long-term prevention of communal violence by establishing educational exchange programs among communities and other countries that have dealt with communal violence.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Inside the Glassed Cubicle

Inside the glassed cubicle I slumped on the leather chair, relaxing, as the blaring recorder SPEAKS. It has been S—P—E—A—K—I—N--G and not *speaking* for the past 30-minutes. Coffee cups refilled twice, pencils sharpened and nicely placed over the ruled pages which have few scribbled lines. The immobile cerulean Windows sit over the glass top silently with occasional pull of mouse from a sucker. It baited and looked at us again, listlessly.

Good god! I need a break… I'm bored as hell!

Monkeying around with the tablet notebook I started ruffling the lead over the blank page trying to etch-out a figure and keep myself awake (although I don't really know what I'm doing...a lot of boredom sipped-in). The noise-proof glass cubicle is silent and cooled with lot of conditioned air pumped into it. It smells of ‘tofu’ and cheese (kindaa) tasteless.

Ten more minutes passed the recorder still S—P—E—A---K—S. The pencil sit over the ruled page with few more added ‘short’ messages scribbled over. The computer dozed off sometimes back, for a minute, with floating marquee preaching motivational rules in corporatedom. OK! OK—I’m trying to be motivated. Gosh! I’m broke; I can’t be motivated with the moron going ON oozing so deliriously as if he’s having a blowjob! Hey! That’s a nice idea to get the butt of motivation.

I raised myself from slumber and looked at the page. Cleavage! (Gee…!) I look around and sighed. My eyes are fixated to the low neckline of one of the roomy (didn’t I say I am *GAY*, well in the closet. Shhhh!) The other one nibbling her fingernail (why, don’t she try donning the toenail also), the third one nodding to every single syllable that the recorder *S—P—E—A--Ks*. “Are you with Moses?—Heaven!”

You always have the flake who shows up unprepared, the weirdo who has to bring an entire four-course breakfast buffet with them, the idiot who got lost on the way to the meeting, the jackass who halts the meeting for other sidebar meetings on the phone or in the hallway, the rebel who won't follow any protocol whatsoever, and the Nazi who tries to keep everyone in line. Inside the glass cubicle we have *All* and into limbo.

“To summarize…” Whoa! Am I hearing noises or is the hour of the day! I sifted through the pages with a straightened spine and exchange glances with others. Vibrant faces, gleaming eyes and stiff corners of lips dropped archly; ecstatic and relieved after having ‘cummed…with a BIG MOAN”. Seven more minutes passed…

The summarization still continues… (heaven)!

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Small Confession

It has been a long time since my last...I did a confession last nite.

Donkeys don't have layers. We wear our fear right there on our sleeves. But, now I feel guilty. I must be fool to make an open confession. Technically, I'm having bad thoughts, really bad thoughts later. I'm weak on my knees since then...admittance wreak pride, gets you roomy to f*** the guts off.

Well, it ain't change the world but doesn't make you feel great or relieved. Yet, there are more of *such* confessions awaited. So, I try a few more courage...(Gee!)

Stop pretending moron!
Break off from the hysterical fit as if you did whisper a big secret in your ear.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Prologue

Can you imagine the excitement of breathing the greenery, smoking mist, hung to a rock, and battling against wilderness? How about becoming a vagabond?

This indomitable urge for pain and pleasure led me to roads (err!) to the ‘hilly terrains of Sahaydri’). Reading about treks feels like stuffing you to the armchair and smell the hot coffee brewing. Imagine…the joy of a trekker when he walked through the velvety carpet of green pasture, crawl upright to flat-bed rock with running trails of waterfalls, and moss on his sole.

My *folks* who felt my settlement to Pune is the end to the search for a social life and sweet bagel come to realization (with much awe) that it’s a ‘New Beginning’ to my own self.

Up to the Hills Again…

Come weekend and its time to unwind old maps, polish my trekking boots, brush through the pages of history; I’m amongst the wilderness. The recent trek to Torna (aka prachandgadh) on August 15th is one of the most memorable of journeys I survived till date. Set in a perfect picturesque ensemble of velvet greenery, smoky mountains, passing clouds and a hill-top fort that inaccessible. Destination set to ‘Tower above the hills again!)

Infamous for its huge built, stretchable green plateau, and dodgy steps glinted with running falls filled with acid soil. A surreal emptiness capture as you moves higher to conquer 4200ft high hilltop, a signature that established Marathadom to the Indian history. Nestled in the rugged Sahaydri ranges with galloping waterfalls, acres of soft-green paddy fields the brown soil wriggles up. Ah! The fort…the fort veiled in thick passing clouds unlocked herself to pump the adrenaline rush…determination solidified. The trail wriggles and gets narrower as the composition changed from rich red granule to oily rock substances. You trek.

Importance of the fort, apart of its rugged cliff head, is to its historic importance as the tribal king from the Sahaydri ‘Shivaji’ having captured it at an young age of 16; thus establishing the Maratha power in Mughal India. Significance of the fort also added with Aurangzeb—the then Mughal Emperor having battled with Maratha ‘lion’ to gain his share of consolidation. Historical events mesmerizes not only in its eventual percept but when a loose trekker scaled the way after 400-odd years wondering ‘how did they manage’.

Defeating random drizzle and losing foothold after it skunk deep-down the heart of red soil; we crawled, gripped, lift, push, slipped yet march through the wild ravines full of thorny bushes, pile of squib, giant cascading ferns and twisted vines. Went up the hill…you look back to appreciate the beauty unscathed and lying prostrated. Sky changing the hues that airbrushes to the picture galore as we march, till we realize we’re lost.

Did I say lost? Oh…yea! Aren’t ‘he’—Shivaji—an expert to guerilla warfare. Torna is the perfect example to prove so. Well, many a thing happen unreasonable that add experience, add pizzazz… (gawd!) I am lost in wilderness yet undefeatable from the goal to ‘Tower the hill again and today’). In fact, to make simple things go difficult you need to be Godson to the Angels of Providence. Stranded at the end of valley and no way to move ahead but to be home like a ‘loser’; inspiration drawn from Shivaji and not to shake hand but defend Destiny. Time to invent and make own route…we head-on.

I really wonder what crept onto us but the desire to find a shortcut by climbing the mountain upright was not a sign of sanity. Desire and determination transformed us to powerful spirited calibers that deign to dig a hole in the heart of the rock to make a ways. Roughening the rough terrain, we took the stream lane with marks of landslide as we glide, hold, stretch, pull, push, slip, and meet the deadlock that inclined horizontally kissing the Earth. Huge surface of glistening rock stand before us with no crevices. At an approximate height of 3500ft, we’re stranded and lost.

Nature is merciless but has its own rules to follow so step on the soft patches, hold the branches, foot angled at 45 degree we finally decided to scale down the way and trace another. Many a times, it was either ‘us’ or the ‘death’ but the battle continued as we make through the hill, down only to be bewildered that a new set of experiences awaiting us soon. I blame inadequate information feed to the Internet by earlier trekkers that conveys no update on the rock patches at the last foothold of the fort before entering bini dwaar—the stone walled arched gate to Qila.

The fort is finally overpowered. I’m at the top of the world yet have no power. After a hectic scale, lost-n-found myself in the wilderness, dodging the deadly crevices, and being under the constant rain for more than 3-hours I was shivering like the leaf by O’ Henry on a wintry spell. But, crawling down was the toughest of journey. We crossed rocks, turned around them, crawled, sat on the rocks, jumped; affection for life was so strong that feet managed to find route and rocks didn’t slipped away.

Torna is a mesmerizing rugged hilltop in a landlocked to other fortresses, a great venue for trekkers unless you’re a lily-livered chicken.

Epilogue

The story about trek never come to an end unless you’ve known the smell of mud, sprained your back and left with haunted imageries. The weekend trek to Torna has all elements to take through roller-coaster of emotions yet, ended in a disaster. Well…I don’t blame the ‘king’ for that. The trek was outstanding and a memory that I would have restored to myself for the lifetime.

But, the journey to and fro… (ugh!)

Give me any other day minus the Puneite and local transport. Having traveled across the country with good, bad, and moderate transportation facilities but none matched to Poona—the city of Peshwas. In fact, the time still hasn’t changed and is periodically slow. First, it’s inconvenient to communicate with a ONE who speak a regional language and if the other one ‘stutter’. Buses don’t ply on the route as scheduled but often delayed.

Journey to Torna from Pune takes approximately 3½ hours as you sway in rickety wooden buses, tucked into jeeps like a pack of sardines, walk the directionless signs, and communicate to a local only to realize that he, in fact arguing and not intent to answer questions. To be a Puneite, I feel you need to be directionless. For simple reasons, yet unknown when asked the distance they raised a finger and say ‘5-minute’. After having walked for a mile, you realize the destination is another ‘5-minute’ far away.


So, next time you asked me about Torna lift the index finger and say to yourself ‘5-minute’ and a box of sardines would be blessed.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Independence (Part IV): Birth of a Nation

As the 60th anniversary of Indian Independence approaches, apparition of Partition haunts many. Well, the survivors might have been longly buried and the successors were brought up in their own land with no or little malice [err. Memories] India’s independence still holds an interesting study to historians.

With the changing political paradigm after WWII worldwide, Indian freedom movement faced the grappling issue of ‘two nation’ theory that eventually resulted in one of the world’s greatest tragedies‘ Partition of India’. In short, negotiations broke down between Gandhi and Jinnah on September 1944 resulting to a mutual agreement consenting Muslim League to cooperate with Congress in the formation of a provincial government and post-war the Northwest and East of India with Muslim majority would have been separated as an independent body. (C. Rajagopalachari, 1944)

It is to be noted that until 1920, Jinnah's loyalty was with the Congress party and India, the great undivided India of the time. For much of his life he chaperoned the idea of Hindu-Muslim unity; later demanded, obtained, and administered a separate Muslim homeland. Interestingly, his father Jinnabhoy Pooonja—a Gujarati from Kathiawar and a ‘convert’ was a modestly wealthy merchant of Hindu stock. Jinnah, himself was never driven to faith unlike Muhammad Iqbal. Interestingly, the rift and transformation of Jinnah’s mind was best captured in an anecdote by Diwan Chamman Lall. As Jinnah—a perfect Victorian or true British by mannerism often addressed Gandhi as ‘Mr. Gandhi’ drawing severe criticism yet not obliged. In one of those evening [when one Muhammad Ali] ridiculed him for his ‘the right way’; Jinnah boarded the train to Bombay ending his everlasting relationship to Congress. Jinnah opposed and to what other reclined, “Congress has become Gandhi’s”.

It was only in 1925, when we first encounter Jinnah upholding the causes of Muslim faith and regarded them as the ‘minority’ received strong backlashes from Congress for pressing his move for a separate Muslim electorate under Delhi Proposals of 1927. As confessed to Jamshed Nusserwanjee on his departure he said, “Jamshed, this is the parting of the ways”. Though, it is a seldom moment yet important but insignificant to laid the foundation where we could align Jinnah to Muslims also. As he commented after the failure of Round-Table Conference of 1930, “…Hindus are short-sighted and I think incorrigible. The Muslim camp is full of spineless people who will consult the Deputy Commissioner about what they should do.

Yet, it was Muslim League that nourished the feeling of its ‘quam’ with most of its leaders have been buried to grave, losing credibility with the masses, and struggling with the issue of financial crunch was an opportune moment for Jinnah to return from his self-professed exile at Hampstead. Thus, added a new leaf to the Indian political history of pre-independence phase that ultimately ended in its ‘Partition’.

In fact, the overpowering Congress would be made responsible for cementing the claim for Pakistan had it share equal power to League in 1937. But, Congressmen under its President J.L. Nehru foresee the move of League as a pro-Pakistan. It is also to be noted that Nehru and Jinnah had been never an ally to each other. The Mahatma of Indian Independence too failed in this one incident to voice for his Hindu-Muslim unity leaving League as the sore, the ‘spoilt brat’ grown up to demand for his share.

Calculative and meticulous in his decision, Jinnah chose Lucknow as the suitable venue for 1937 session and Liaqat Ali – the first Prime Minister of free Pakistan as an ally, to show his affinity to the quam and secondly, the venue to woo people belonging to faith where they’re in majority. The new Jinnah, frail and suffering yet glowing in his political stature publicly attacked Gandhi and demanded for separate nationhood to Muslims. Thus, skillfully ever then, Jinnah played his cards more aptly and aligned to Raj power indicating Muslims of India are supportive to colonial empire provided they’ve their interest awarded after the war discontinues.

The political gamut as reveled to me during my research work, the period from 1936-1947 I find more interesting in terms, [it] prepare the land, the ministers, the acts, and policies suitable for a free divided nation. Most of the notable freedom commanders – ‘the Seer’, ‘The Rose’, and ‘the fanatic’ lay aside their agendas and common enemy only to be entangled in their personal stride of ambition.

What happened to the common men? Ah! The guinea pigs. Speeches ad political commentaries are fake, concocted and do not reveal the right mindset of political authorities. They’re fashioned and modeled evocatively published or broadcasted to feed the guinea pigs. Thus, sixty–years later, when my generation looks at Independence, it’s a ‘mere holiday’ – an ‘extra day in a week to rejoice and celebrate’.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Indian Independence (Part III): Gandhi or Mahatma

On January 30 1948, NATHURAM GODSE—a Hindu fanatic fired at Gandhi, thus ending and era to Indian political struggle, pre-Independence. In a sense, this man who lived only 655 days (January 30, 1948 to November 15, 1949) never ever spoke ills about Gandhi, as the person but a hardliner critic to government policies, especially of Gandhi.

Unbelievable…Unheard of!

The ‘MAN’ (or as he’s considered ‘mahatma’) who is regarded as one of the greatest politicians of 20th century; having inspired political histories/ideologies to many others, and propagated non-violence to humankind found a critic in his own homeland. Thus, when I decide to publish a series on Indian Independence I choose Godse over Gandhi as one of my subject.

There are two reasons for doing so. First, the age and generation that I belongs ‘lived under terrorism’ and conflicting ideologies witnessing more bloodshed ever in the history of mankind, borne out of ideological battles between these men. Second and most important, Jinnah’s plea for an independent Muslim nation to uphold “Islamic sentiment and Faith…” [that] otherwise would have crumbled under Hindu dominion find rebuttal. Here’s the man and his faith [who] claimed “we killed with a motive, to serve the highest interests of our people” is a result of vindication afflicted to all Hindus when Hindus are a majority. How ironical!

So, I traced to find how majority in a country is treated as minority and do that led further to Indian politics, in its contemporary time. The debate is left open to intelligent masses and scholars while my role in writing this article is similar to that of a chronicler.

Gandhi, as we traced his political days emerged as one of the most talked-about politician since his South-African days. Not until 1920, when Gandhi joined Indian freedom struggle amidst ‘lull’ with prominent leaders like Tilak, Gokhale succumbed to death leaving a room for a new aspiring leader to emerge and guide. Gandhi fit the structure whether as [an] ideal candidate of coincidence or calculative is disputable. But indeed, he was the most undisputed one for a long time.

When I use the term ‘for a long time’ it need to be clarified that Gandhi was always never an undisputed figure in the political history or to be correct, Indian freedom struggle. Few like Bhagat Singh or Subhas Bose appeared to challenge and add a new political ideology to the freedom struggle that challenged Gandhi’s non-violence. It is sad that new crop of freedom struggle either succumbed to execution or disappeared leaving Gandhi and his [ism] to be alive. So, we can’t say Godse was completely an insane or a fanatic who criticized Gandhi’s political ideologies but a follower to few of his predecessors.

This opens a new question about what’s wrong with Gandhi’s ideologies. Aren’t they good enough to any political movement? Or has they lost their motif and failed to achieve what Indians sought for?

When I talked about this research to most of my friends, bloggers, and generation born post-independence I countered comments which are not of suitable to write and largely venomated. In fact, I find there are more Nauthram Godses’ born post-independence though a majority of them are largely opinionated and not having a proper ideological bases yet, hard to dissuade.

So…it is better to analyze Gandhi’s feat and understand what’s went wrong with this great man that beget Godse. Indeed, Gandhi’s work in South Africa upholds a highest order that a political leader could offer. Yet, it is also to be noted that Indians living in South Africa, irrespective of their castes and faithdom treated similarly by both Britons and Bocans. India is a different ball game, a different platform with different and divergent ideologies [which] forced Gandhi to develop a more subjective mentality on his appearance and offered nothing new or innovative, but crippled or ‘customized’. To understand the fragilities of [his] ideologies in Indian perspective it is worthy to take a dig at the Hindu-Muslim relationship in India. Interestingly, the relationship has always been under the scanner and tried to unity yet, never successfully achieved. Added to it, India which always been a Hindu dominion with Muslim rulers; historical events show Hindu communities as ‘guinea-pig’ on whom policies are executed, since Khijlis. Gandhi was not an exception.

Stranded between Moderates and Extremist groups, Gandhi with his non-violence stride was a more moderate and harsh critic to extremist powers. In fact, Moderates in India are largely pro-liners to Islamic faith. Well, there’s nothing wrong to be one yet, members of Muslim League since its inception were disloyal and treasonable to the Union government. They played a fiddle to British Governance as Syed Tyabji or Iqbal either been nostalgic or too concentrated to upliftment of people belonging to their faith in terms of education and social order, and has least devotion to non-violence practiced by ‘so-called political seer’. [Note: Jinnah’s wish for a separate nation is chiefly inspired from the teaching of Tyabji and Iqbal].

What about Gandhi? As Nathuram Godse claimed, “He alone was the judge of everyone and everything; he was the master brain guiding the Civil Disobedience movement; no other could know the technique of that movement. He alone knew when to begin it and when to withdraw it. The movement might succeed or fail, but that could make no difference to the Mahatma's infallibility. 'A Satyagrahi can never fail' was his formula for his own infallibility and nobody except himself knew what a Satyagrahi is.

Gandhi’s predicament was a real wish-wash and followed with guilty of blunder after blunder, failure after failure, disaster after disaster. His pro-Muslim policies though commendable in theory yet practical in achieving and hence, [they are] irrational. Also to noted, with a most severe austerity of life, ceaseless work and lofty character Gandhi to many Congressmen was too precarious, thus either they withdraw or dissolve their own independent views to a sublimated whole.

One of the few events, if we analyze, such as question of national language in India, Gandhi’s support for ‘Hindustani’ is farcical. It is quite obvious that Hindi has the most prior claim to be accepted as the premier language and has a vernacular to offer. Gandhi gave a great impetus to Hindi but as he found that the Muslims did not like it, he became a champion of what is called Hindustani. Earlier I coined it as a farce because ‘Hindustani’ is not a language but a mere dialect. It has no grammar or a vocabulary – a crossbreed of Hindi and Urdu (the language most favored in Muslim literary).

He, therefore, made Hindu-Muslim Unity as the foundation to his political ideology yet find no-acceptance among Muslim leaders. As I am working on my research paper that discuss events led to Indian Independence on the midnight stroke of August 15, 1947 – ‘Partition’ is one of the issue where the role of a feeble Gandhi and rise of Godse clan is evident. Jinnah’s claim for an independent nation supported by colonial kinsmen and on the reluctance of Nehru [the consort] brought Gandhi back to his ideologies and find him ‘dead’.

Initially though, he [Gandhi] delivered speeches against partition but wise enough to analyze that it would have little effect on Muslim League and its practitioners. He was fully aware from past experience that Jinnah was not at all perturbed or influenced by his fast and the Muslim League hardly attached any value to the inner voice of Gandhi. This I say is the dilemma of a ‘great man’ – The Father, whose sons have grown-up too big to fit his own shoe. The partition is regarded as the top ten tragedies of the world.

But what about Hindus and their guinea-pigness? Hindu dominated areas like Lahore went to Pakistan and in order to 'purify' the land many Hindus were massacred, women abducted and married off to Muslims, and other such heinous acts were committed. Similar actions against Muslims are carried out at Muslim quarters by Hindu groups. Gandhi went on a fast in order to protest the violence against Muslims. But, the fast was never been came across him to protest subjugation of Hindu communities in Pakistan (both East and West). He has purposely avoided any imposing any conditions to Pakistan on the issue or massacre during ‘Partition’. After Pakistan is separated on 14th August, 1947 the Government of Pakistan demanded that India should give it Rupees 55 crores as its share from the Government treasury. This was quite an extraordinary amount at that time yet Gandhi supported despite of Congress reluctance.

The hope of Hindu Muslim Unity was hardly entertained in history by anybody; but Gandhi continued to be resolutely optimistic and surrendered and thus, born a man with gun ‘Nathuram Godse’.

The pyres of both have been dead. All the men – Jinnah, Gandhi and Godse cremated and dead. What remains is the ever-lasting and unending prelude of difference, in terms of faith, ideologies, and guineapigness’. As I conclude this part of my research phase, I wonder what should I be rejoicing on the eve of India’s sixtieth Independence. The cause of freedom? Division of nation? End of an era and there born a fanatic? Should I celebrate Gandhi or should I moan for Godse?

Friday, August 10, 2007

Independence (Part II): Spirit of Independent

Sixty-years of self-styled independence…Ah! Too short for a nation like India to scale achievements yet Indians has redefined them. From a newbie nation somewhere in the coast of Arabian Sea to a top-claimant for superpower title and the most sought-after outsourcing partner, India, as nation has evolved itself. Yet, achievements are yet to achieve and unsung glories to be sang.

This 15th of August, when a few would be delivering speeches commemorating the birth of a nation and the tales of sacrifices ‘grand old-man’ made I wonder why the rejoicing is restricted to dead-ones only. If it was 1947 when a handful of British set to sail homewards, after having divided nations, and one Mountbatten cooling off inside the plush Rashtrapati Bhawan. Independence would have been a farce, if there’s no 1965, 71 or 1999. Yea…our predecessors might have been entangled into drafting guidelines for 1947 when streets of Bengal, Bihar, and Punjab are painted with blood, flesh, and tales of horror. But, the years 1971 and 1999 compensated for what we craved – Indians go have guts’ to fight back.

Personally, I recall the monsoon of 1999 when my friends and I waited patiently to join ‘armed forces’ and become a martyr. It was later accepted to be a military misadventure by Pakistani Army forces for having masterminded and executed an inappropriate attempt that ultimately led to humiliating defeat in the hands of Indian Army. Indians thronged to the roads amidst loud drum-beats and thumping; year-long jubilations carried out at every street corner, most painted the country – ‘SAFFRON’. Back home, my mother recalled her youth as apparition of India’s victory in 1971 visited us and neighborhood. I learnt to rejoice ‘independence’ then…and what with 15th August?

One more holiday in the week.

Indian Independence (Part I): History as I See It

The August of 1947 witnessed political turmoil in South-east Asia and as Jinnah in his inaugural speech claimed, “…beginning of a new and a noble era”. Indeed, a new beginning for both nations and [the] races which went from sour to bitter with the later time; hard for nostalgia to embalm and heal. At the stroke of midnight hour when India fulfill its tryst with destiny by marching into the history as one more independent nation; some journeyed through darkness to keep with their tryst to destiny. To be politically correct, I find Nehru’s inaugural speech on the birth of a nation is misleading as India (err! Hindustan) never made a pledge to gain independence with having it ‘divided’. Textbooks from both countries there onwards customized events to rewrote/retold ‘the tryst with freedom’ in a fashionable form where heroes belonging to particular race played a formidable role.

Births of post-independent era to both countries continued to live under the mesmerizing spell [and] feed with versions with ‘independence’ as an extra holiday in the week to rejoice and fly kites. I am sure, my Pakistani counterparts too feel the same till [we] walk to history ourselves and re-discover.

Sixty-years later when history is retold by citizens of both the nations with true sentiments having dissolved, we study why ‘we’re partitioned’ to be independent. First, the fact. Majority of nations in South-east Asia who’re once a part of colonial rule started emerging as independent nation[s] due to colonial rulers from Thames having incurred loss after WWII. Though, the war ended in 1945 registering victory for Allied armies over Hitler and his Axis power (and divided German)… [Britons] government incurred huge financial losses that impaired them to continue with another settlement – imbued with nationalist fervor, conflicting ideas, and embroiled with Gandhi menace “a seditious Middle Temple lawyer, now posing as a fakir of a type well known in the East, striding half-naked up the steps of the Vice regal palace”, as Churchill claimed.

But we’re not covering Gandhi in this cover but ‘Independence’. True, yet Gandhi is an inevitable figure to do away with for he had contributed much to the publicized series of events and debates pre-and-post Independent phases to both nations’ history (especially India) and not to forget his much controversial ‘ism’.

Back to the motif…if Britain was reluctant to continue with a settlement and focus solely to their wounds then what’s the ‘independence’ doth both the nation claim for and rejoice of? Post WWII, a new political emergency grappled the mind of nationalistic fervor. As many Indians and historian claims, a movement led by M.A. Jinnah who publicly conceded his desire for a free state peopled with similar race (err. Faith) for he surmises that, in a free country with Hindu majorities, “the development and maintenance of Islamic democracy, Islamic social justice and the equality of manhood” would have been crumbled. What we therefore envision and witnessed is “a free Muslim state” borne from Indian land and soaked in history’s largest immigration, chaos, and bloodbath.

August of 1947 thus, witnessed birth of two nations – India and Pakistan respectively, largely on the principle of faith and not of nationalist sentiments. It is to be noted that Jinnah was ruthlessly undisguised voicing his sentiment on the eve of Pakistan’s birth quoting, “A moment comes which comes but rarely in history, when we step from the old to the new, when a age ends, and when the soul of a nation long suppressed, finds utterance”. This is unlike to Nehru who was diplomat and craftily designed his inaugural speech only to walk to the Hall of Fame. So…it is the freedom of a nation (or both nations) not from colonial imperialism but freedom of […] or to be a Jinnahite in my expression ‘freedom from nothingness’.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

Yay – I’m special like my days...

Years that passed to history – eventfully and noticed – the survivors remained to tell the tale. Many of us who grew into bloggers, techno-geeks, and technolusts; acquired citizenship to virtual communities were licking our lollies in baby cot which was promptly chewed and licked till we grown-up to MAN of twenty-first century.

But, memories haunt us and we cherish the bygone days.

Cable television and sitcoms were yet to make a living with us. Ol’ granny with silver-rimmed spectacle and toothless smile rule the roost. The electrifying jukebox draw inspiration from many of the lullabies; our mothers sang, and we played with latches, door locks, or the aluminum pans. They make rumbling noise when hammered but mothers never complain of pollution. When we rode our bikes, wore no helmets; when we tumbled and the crown is broken; with a bandage we return to the game – the very *next day*. When exhausted we drank water from the hosepipe and mind’ ya it tasted the same.

We did not have Play stations or X-Boxes, no video games still we will have our own score cards and fun with plastic balls in cricket tournament. No law suits were filed against me for hitting my friend or when I got my leg broken (courtesy my dear friend). The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke a law was unheard of...they actually sided the teachers for punishing us and claimed it to be officially permitted.

Parents never chit-a-chat of how guilt conscious are they for we keep a hordes of sororal or real guidance to take care when mommies go to offices. Picnics are the treat and we shared one drink with four friends from one bottle and no-one actually died from this. We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell and were actually afraid of the owners catching us, if any.

Streets are the playfields and mothers never complain unless it’s the *company* or fluorescent street lamps dictating us to return home. We never heard of Uptown Girl or Billy Joel or Westlife - For us, there have always been only one Bollywood and one regional plays. After a long time, recently I watched a black-and-white television in my colleagues’ place (An antique curator, okay ‘a junk dealer’) I stooped low to check the label…Ahhh! ‘CROWN’

No cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or chat rooms....... how could I be surviving then? Explosion of innovation and ideas we bring to the world and consumed ourselves. Now, our children lose the innocence leaving us guilt-laden or we lost ourselves.

Often it makes me feel kindaa to run through the house with scissors and give a haircut to my sister’s favorite doll … (wink). [She turned 33 and don’t play with dolls anymore…]

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Be Anonymous…huh!

Work life continues at its own with a change of order as HR desk send a mail on Monday calling help to one of the employee diagnosed with Cancer and now broke; battling for breath (if not the last) and hours of relief. The world to which I belong with its lily-livered roosters and ladyprimers it’s a fool’s job to respond. And how do we keep our balance?

I-G-N-O-R-E

Yea…ignoring is the best way to brave it out all. The six-lettered pack is a favorite tool to blow the face off. You can call the buckshot and turn the offender to a *dead meat*. A judicious decision for which you get a corporate pat on your back and colleagues praises your *sanity* (sic)!

But, it’s difficult to ignore for I splurge more than *a thousand* as a golddigger (with a phallus). Either a casual instinct or ‘buying penance for myself’ I simple couldn’t I-G-N-O-R-E. I acted anonymous (alike many others) who open their blue cheque book and their account. I am *relieved* I acquired *happiness*.

What about the corporate world? Some sniggered, others refute and the rest call me *fool*. One poopyface compute the financial report orally estimating the donor capacity to 100-odd namby-pamby. (Companies make a waste by having spreadsheets– dey must hire him). Another shrugged off stating the responsibility lies with the company ONLY and, “if you wanna do it be anonymous, you poop show-boy’. Hell’ ya!

First, I didn’t explain or talk about my share of donation to any. Secondly, if I did then what’s to hide? Why a contribution or a help need to be from anonymous. Get a life, boy!

To me: I-G-N-O-R-E

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Ode to Friendliness

Of late I collected few acquaintances from the hordes of great unwashed rear door rangers – ‘a pan man’, ‘a crimper’, ‘a dish pig’, and ‘a pure finder’. They do their errands, smoke, giggles lewd and testiculate wildly in public places. Among them I stand like a Bengali Menace. You may sneer but I’m at ease in their companionship comparable to group of New Ageists elitist (sic).

I am into Dickens'.

Monday, August 6, 2007

A *Little Boy* cried aloud…

It was Monday like it is in 2007 when I writing my blog.

The blue sky gets clearer as the morning sun shone bright over the eastern horizon. Miles of lush paddy greenery sang for the rich annual harvest. From the small, terraced rice fields with tightly clustered homes one could see the leaves having transformed into a sea of green hues after a symphony of rainbow color. The gassho-zukuri houses stand side by side and are surrounded by rice paddies and fields. Autumn is perhaps the most beautiful time of year on Japan's mighty northern island.

The day was bright…bright as history. And, sooner did it all passed to the history. Morning Eight hours fifteen minutes passed as the city [Hiroshima] get ready to face the doom. From 2000ft (above 670 meters) a B-29 bomber fly passed leaving a 4000lb gun shell. Filled with 64-kg uranium poo [world’s first nuclear bomb] kissed the fated soul but [oh!] missed and exploded mid-air. Chroniclers later having confessed, “We saw another sun in the sky when it exploded." [Note: The official yield estimate of "Little Boy" was about 15 kilotons of TNT equivalent in explosive force, i.e. 6.3 × 1013 joules = 63 TJ (terajoules)]

An estimated 200,000 mass of flesh, bones and human bodies replaced the lush greenery. The were the citizens – one who worked in factories, the man plowing the field, women suckling the babies or animals from the herd. Wounds, mutilated bodies and nakedness walked past the dead or lay near with open expression, in silence. "Good morning, soldier."

“Good morning, Terrorism”, the world reclaimed.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

And you Think English is Easy???

Read these in the first time…

1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce.
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present , he thought it was time to present the present .
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting, I shed a tear.
19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France . Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take English for granted . But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't grocer and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. One moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.


PS. - Why doesn't "Buick" rhyme with "quick?"