The night I didn't want to sleep

I’m sitting by the window. Its dark outside… cold and pouring. Reminds me of a similar day, years ago… in a different place, a different window. It was a humid evening. I was on the second floor. Through the window I saw a bunch of street kids playing in the mud, dust rising around them like a tiny whirlwind… I was stuck at home, cursing myself and everything around me. I had just been through an accident and got both my legs bound in thick rolls of plaster. That’s why I was… where I was. The kids seemed as happy as happy can get, not a worry in the world. No hunger, no thirst, no work, no commitment… nothing to bind them… confine them within the walls of a room… nothing to confine the bubbling spirits within them. It steadily grew darker and I could see their shadows by the street lamp. They seemed to be playing some sort of “running and catching”. The phrase stuck to my head and strongly reminded me of the uncomfortable position my legs were in at the moment. I grew grumpy. I recognised my maid, Geetha’s daughter, Sharada among them.Sharada was a tiny (for her age… she was 8 and looked like 5), chirpy bubbly little soul, who had to drop out of school because her father spent all their money on getting drunk… and when he wasn’t getting drunk, he seemed deranged. That poor girl has borne the brunt of her father’s fury and his belt- both- many a times. Today, however, like every other day I’ve seen her, she is happy and cheerful. Such unconditional happiness with no bounds, caressed my heart and tiny invisible dwarves tugged at the corners of my lips, drawing them into a smile. It kind of ached to stretch my lips. It felt strange. When was the last time I did something like that? I don’t remember… I have been too busy being grumpy I almost forgot how to smile.In the week that followed, I had my plasters removed. I could now walk around in my flat. Life was slowly getting better. I would soon be on my legs again…Geetha came on Saturday morning, nothing unusual about that. What was unusual however was the fact that she was very quiet and forlorn. She didn’t need any prodding. She came to me by the window and said, “Baba, can I talk to you for a bit?” Without waiting for a response from me, she began, “Baba, there is nothing about my family you don’t know… My little Sharada was ill last week…” At this point I interrupted, “Is that why she wasn’t playing on the street for the last few days?” She was surprised. “Baba, I didn’t know u knew my little Sharada… yes, that’s why she hasn’t been around for the last few days. When she fell ill…” TRING TRING!! That was my cell phone. It was Priya, the girl I was supposed to pick up for a coffee. I switched off the cell on impulse. “Baba, I think you are busy. I wont take your time now…”, Geetha offered. I told her I was taking it off that Saturday and wasn’t doing anything till the afternoon. She continued with a determined look, “I took my little Sharada to the doctor in the big hospital. He said she wont survive… more than a year” the last word was barely more than a whisper.That night I visited Sharada… she lived in a little tent they call their home. Sharada couldn’t wait for me to ask her to show me her dolls. She took me to a corner and showed me a stack of neatly kept little dolls of different sizes. She burst into a giggle and listed out all her dolls in order or priority, “This is Gudiya Rani, Chinny, Meenu, Babli and Rinny”. “Baba, that’s her most prized possessions and she, mine”, her mother says. I can feel her voice cracking. I had never seen a child so full of life… Her smile was contagious. I smiled at her little brown face and it didn’t feel so cumbersome to smile after all. Geetha went to get me a glass of buttermilk. Sharada sat by my side and whispered, “Bhaiya, you know something? I’m going to meet God soon… and I’m going to ask for a wish”. I was stunned and couldn’t find speech till she continued, “I’m going to ask God to give mamma a baby son so dada will stop beating her. I know it’s because of me they fight.” I stroked her cheek and in a choked voice, said, “No no, child… what ever gave you such an idea? Your mother is so proud of you. I’d love to have a daughter like you.” Geetha got me the buttermilk. I could tell she had been crying. I asked her where her husband was. She said he had gone to his brother’s place to dig up some old fights. Sharada was looking at me intently all this while. Suddenly she asked, “Bhaiya, will you play with me and gudiya rani?” Geetha scolded her saying, “No, Sharada, you mustn’t pester Bhaiya like that. He has lots of work to do.” After a pause of 2 seconds during which Sharada’s eyes pierced mine with indescribable pleading, I could say nothing but “Ofcourse!” You should have been there with me to have seen her little brilliant eyes sparkle in joy and she pranced around like little puppy getting her dolls out of the stack. You should have simply been here to look at her mother’s joy in seeing her daughter so happy. Then was when I understood that there actually are tears of joy. Because as I touched my cheek, I was surprised to find them wet… I was sure I wasn’t feeling sad, and yet there I sat crying into the night. I forgot my office then, my house and its comfortable bed that gave me no sound sleep, Priya and other office deadlines. We played till 3 that day… That night, I felt truly free, truly happy.
Little Sharada touched my life in a way nobody had. She taught me a lesson(sans words) that night that I will carry to my grave. Life is not all about money and achievement. It's more about loving and giving... and more importantly, living the moment...

Remembering You... once again

When I look back and think of you,

I remember-
The innocence of two children sharing an ice-cream,
The cuteness of two buddies dancing in the rain,
The togetherness of two blossoming personalities,
The maturity of two grown ups sharing their sorrows.

I remember-
Watching the setting sun late one evening with you,
Seeing you cry when I was hurt,
Cycling down the lanes madly ringing the bells,
Wishing by the ‘wishing well’, that we’d never part ways.

I remember-
The train crawling into the station and halt,
All your bags packed, your house vacated,
Our hearts as heavy as your bags,
Wishing time would freeze.

I remember-
The long calls that kept me going,
The letters that kept on pouring-
Gave me a reason to smile,
A reason to survive…

I remember-
That cold winter morning…
I got a mail saying you’d died-
That was when I almost died myself!
That winter of 1998 was really bitter.

I remember-
Your daughter stayed with me for a while,
She seemed to have lost her world,
All she kept saying was ‘Mamma’… and
All I could do was give her a warm hug.

Today, as I sit by the window,
Watching the setting sun,
I miss you... like I’ve always missed you.
The best thing to do in the world is to
Simply REMEMBER YOU!

The Song of the Crown

Remember those times when you hold on to an ideal, a principle in life, and that one principle that you hold on to decides almost everything you do, say, and think? Its strange, the ways of nature. There is an ongoing war within us. And as time takes us through different experiences of life, we realise how childish we were, how unreal an image of the world we had... and new ideals take over

There is no one perspective to the world. Its as real as a dream we are forced to see. It is by being a witness to change that we become wise...

The Song of the Crown

In the warfield beheaded in three,
The third his Crown, his pride, his mind
In sea sanguine that trust conjured
The reign was done, and all swords dead.

Kin he loved, as treasure held
And land to him, mother beloved.
At evil turns Time passed him by,
Had to rise against the blood.

Then they spoke, a thousand bows
And arrows and swords they swirled
As drupes did heads kiss and bounce.
As cloth shall the Crown wear men.

Indeed, Aye, the crown shall live,
Cleansed of blood and wiser more
And just, I wish, until its new cloth shall lie,
In the warfield beheaded in three.

-Karunakaran TK

Chakde India!!

For once it was a welcome change to watch a movie sans the sickening romance, raunchy jokes, double- meaning dialogues and a “sizzling” item number. Chakde India comes as a refreshing change to many of those movie goers who always expect something different from Bollywood’s directors and invariably end up disappointed. With King Khan on screen vouching for the women of India and a bunch of clear underdogs fighting for their rights and to establish their identity, the movie truly rocks. Although programmed to have a fairy tale ending just like any other Bollywood flick and packed with its own bits of melodrama, it is a call to the people of our country in more ways than one. The most obvious being the gross neglect that any sport other than cricket has to suffer in this country. Strange to think that the colonizer’s game has become more popular in the nation rather than our own national game. It is a wake up call to the cricket crazy nation- a reminder that other sports do exist. It is also a reminder of the prejudices existing against women in our society( this is not yet another “feminist” voice speaking for the emancipation of women but an attempt to remind people of the status of women in our nation).

The film clearly portrays what Indian women can do and should do- stand up for themselves. In a country where female foeticide is practiced with impunity (the fact that this is common even among the “educated elite” is surprising), where most girls are denied education as educating the boy is considered more important, where they are even denied proper food, where they cannot marry unless they have a neat kitty (which is never enough) ready for their prospective greedy grooms, where they are denied inheritance rights, where they are still shrouded in the purdah of tradition, where malnourished women give birth to malnourished babies, where they are harassed (on the streets, in the workplace, in buses and trains, and even at home) tortured, raped and murdered and the perpetrators of these crimes walk away coolly, unscathed. All this happens in the largest democracy in the world and hardly a few voices are raised in protest. And even the few who protest are frowned upon and that too by women.

The media that have the power to influence the millions in the country portray women in even worse light. Take movies for instance. Any standard Bollywood movie has a skimpily clad heroine and an even skimpily clad item girl. Take any soap that is telecast on the myriad of channels these days. You have a typical “Bharatiya Nari” who is all suffering and a vamp who is out to get her. Why not show women who can stand up for themselves? Why not show women who fight against the injustice meted out to them? Why not show women who are true embodiments of the rich culture of our country?

We do have successful and strong women in our country- take any field for that matter. Business, politics, sports, art, journalism but the numbers are few. What we need is for women to realize their true potential and come out of the shackles of baseless customs. And we need men who can treat women as their equals rather than as inferiors or commodities. We need more parents who do not consider girl children as burdens rather as assets. We need a society that encourages women to reach greater heights.

Let’s see where the women of India will be in a few decades. As for now… Chakde India!!

A sequel to somethin serious...

After a slew of three exams in a row which came and went like a tornado, I decided to take refuge in some poetry. Luckily I had a book of poems from my graduation days. And as I was reading through a poem “Late Tutorial” by Vincent Buckley, I chanced upon a very beautiful and meaningful line.

“O man is sick and suffering from the world”- says Buckley. Although this poem was written during the 1940s the metaphor still holds good. My thoughts then went back to the victim of the Bhagalpur violence (who as predicted was now out of the newspapers). Now you must be wondering why. Well I was just thinking who was the one with the disease here- the victim or the perpetrators of the crime? Or then maybe both?

What disease could prompt people to be so cruel and heartless? Desmond Morris in his book “Human Zoo” explains how animals behave in the wild and in captivity. In the wild, they are at peace with themselves. They do not attack unless their territory is under threat. They follow the rules of the wild. But in captivity, their true nature is stifled. They lose their senses. They even kill their own kind. This is exactly what is happening to man these days. He is the only species who kills his own kind for reasons as trivial as their religion or their skin colour. Somewhere along the chain of evolution and development man lost his true self. Maybe the change is in his self or in his surroundings.

Or maybe it is about some unsatisfied desire. Think Maslow’s Need Hierarchy (I wonder why it never occurred to me before). Why would a man be prompted to steal? Obviously because of some unsatisfied desire in him. Because his life isn’t secure- his basic needs like food, shelter and clothing are not being met. And why would a policeman act in the way he did? Because he hasn’t got the recognition he desired. His self- esteem needs have not been met. He yearns to be something in the eyes of people and he jumps at the first chance he gets, irrespective of the fact that in doing so he was committing an even greater crime.

Even Freudian theories can be applied when looking for an explanation to this. Freud says that a man’s actions are reflections of his unsatisfied desires. The man who years for recognition will then act in a manner so as to gain it. A man who doesn’t have the things that he yearns for will thus act in a manner so as to satisfy his desires.

Well enough of Morris and Maslow and Freud. What I am trying to say is that, man is no longer his usual self and until and unless he realizes this fact and tries to do something about it, nothing right is going to happen in this country or the world for that matter…

To end I’d like to quote one of my favourite poets, Margaret Atwood.

“This is the place
you would rather not know about
this is the place that will inhabit you
this is the place you cannot imagine
this is the place that will finally defeat you
where the word why shrivels and empties.” This is India.