Thursday, January 31, 2008
uhhh...work but no work!
this week has been the most liberal week at the office....all the work is going slow than usual, and on top of that, the boss is not thre, so there is a lot of fun at the workplace.suddenly there is a work recession in the office, and everything seems to be lost.it seems pointless to come to the office and draft a section or two in the entire day.cant even concentrate on academics...we made maggi in the office today...and did some time pass...otherwise, no eventful days....waiting for some...
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Over
“Over”
That was the only thing my father could say on the phone. His throat was choked. I understood, that my uncle was no more.
We waited till the next morning to cremate the body, for his son (on his way back from America to India) to see him for the last time.
We reached the crematorium at about 7 in the morning. The wood was damp, because of the dew in the morning. The service men were preparing for the cremation. The body was finally kept on the pyre. All clothes were removed, and the dead body was applied a lot of ghee. The body was covered with the same logs of wood.
On the other side, someone prepared a torch. It was finally lit. About 100 people there, all sad. Some friends, some well wishers and some relatives. A burst of weep for the last time. The body was put on fire. Within two hours, the body vanished.
It did not need any architecture for the crematorium to be one. Everyone existed in their own mental space. No enclosure, no protection, but only occupied by a sense of loss. Something disappeared right in front of our eyes, which was there till a few hours back. It was neither held by the walls, nor the roof. No material thing, no observable beauty, but the non existential fire, which made up a screen for the thoughts, the memories.
A body we tried to save and we burnt it ourselves.
It was indeed over.
That was the only thing my father could say on the phone. His throat was choked. I understood, that my uncle was no more.
We waited till the next morning to cremate the body, for his son (on his way back from America to India) to see him for the last time.
We reached the crematorium at about 7 in the morning. The wood was damp, because of the dew in the morning. The service men were preparing for the cremation. The body was finally kept on the pyre. All clothes were removed, and the dead body was applied a lot of ghee. The body was covered with the same logs of wood.
On the other side, someone prepared a torch. It was finally lit. About 100 people there, all sad. Some friends, some well wishers and some relatives. A burst of weep for the last time. The body was put on fire. Within two hours, the body vanished.
It did not need any architecture for the crematorium to be one. Everyone existed in their own mental space. No enclosure, no protection, but only occupied by a sense of loss. Something disappeared right in front of our eyes, which was there till a few hours back. It was neither held by the walls, nor the roof. No material thing, no observable beauty, but the non existential fire, which made up a screen for the thoughts, the memories.
A body we tried to save and we burnt it ourselves.
It was indeed over.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
The Sunday Reads
After a long time, read 3 very interesting articles in various news papers today…one was a memoir and other two talking about various issues – theoretically and at the factually.
The first one was on the news readers on Doordarshan long time ago, about their lives and how they themselves had a fan following, power, and conviviality. The most interesting part of the article is the picture of the news readers, which made me do “aaaaahhhh I remember!” in my mind, and made me remember those days, when there was no cable connection at home and my father would return back right on time for the news…
The other two were more serious. The first one talked about how, radical capitalist reforms are brought about in a treacherously planned manner after some natural/man made disaster. We generally never tend to think how stealthily, the government shifts the land under our own legs…this article was just a brief explaining the work of Canadian journalist, Naomi Klein…who studies the connection between the disaster and the reform.
The last article, on the farmers who wrote a suicide letter to the president of India made my blood boil out of fury. The three farmers in a small village of Maharashtra are completely broke and left with no other option to put an end to their life. The article can be appreciated in many ways. Firstly, it is a very well written piece, exposing the right things at the right time while reading, and also maintaining the urgency of the issue, still said in the form of a simple story. At the same time it exposes a number of issues our villages are dealing with, silently – the ill-connectivity, the simple lifestyle, the uneducated ness (through the misconception of what a cheque is), etc. it definitely paints a picture of the village in mind. Secondly, it brings up the inefficiency of our ministers and the lack of administration. The false promises, spending time at wrong places, laid back attitude…Thirdly, it discusses the personal issues of the farmers – their living conditions, social issues and their exploitation. Lastly, the article brings out the reach of media. If media is used rightfully to bring about important issues like this one instead of where Yuvraj Singh is spending his time/shah rukh’s hairstyle, I think it will make a better change.
After many Sundays, felt like sitting and reading the newspaper at length.
The articles mentioned above were:
The Doordarshan Divas, The Times of India, January 6, 2008, Page 17
Everybody loves a good Tsunami, The Times of India, January 6, 2008, Page 18
Death Wish, Mumbai Mirror, January 6, 2008, Page 6
The first one was on the news readers on Doordarshan long time ago, about their lives and how they themselves had a fan following, power, and conviviality. The most interesting part of the article is the picture of the news readers, which made me do “aaaaahhhh I remember!” in my mind, and made me remember those days, when there was no cable connection at home and my father would return back right on time for the news…
The other two were more serious. The first one talked about how, radical capitalist reforms are brought about in a treacherously planned manner after some natural/man made disaster. We generally never tend to think how stealthily, the government shifts the land under our own legs…this article was just a brief explaining the work of Canadian journalist, Naomi Klein…who studies the connection between the disaster and the reform.
The last article, on the farmers who wrote a suicide letter to the president of India made my blood boil out of fury. The three farmers in a small village of Maharashtra are completely broke and left with no other option to put an end to their life. The article can be appreciated in many ways. Firstly, it is a very well written piece, exposing the right things at the right time while reading, and also maintaining the urgency of the issue, still said in the form of a simple story. At the same time it exposes a number of issues our villages are dealing with, silently – the ill-connectivity, the simple lifestyle, the uneducated ness (through the misconception of what a cheque is), etc. it definitely paints a picture of the village in mind. Secondly, it brings up the inefficiency of our ministers and the lack of administration. The false promises, spending time at wrong places, laid back attitude…Thirdly, it discusses the personal issues of the farmers – their living conditions, social issues and their exploitation. Lastly, the article brings out the reach of media. If media is used rightfully to bring about important issues like this one instead of where Yuvraj Singh is spending his time/shah rukh’s hairstyle, I think it will make a better change.
After many Sundays, felt like sitting and reading the newspaper at length.
The articles mentioned above were:
The Doordarshan Divas, The Times of India, January 6, 2008, Page 17
Everybody loves a good Tsunami, The Times of India, January 6, 2008, Page 18
Death Wish, Mumbai Mirror, January 6, 2008, Page 6
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
angrezi gyaan bhandaar
Only a few new words I learnt during the making of my dissertation. This is how I understand them. For further explanation, please refer wikipedia.
Etymology: study of origin of a word
Semantics: development of the meaning of a word contextually over time
Kitsch: a cheap reproduction of the original
Epistemology: study of development of language
Hermeneutics: study of development of a theory and interpretation and understanding of texts.
Gestalt: a theory which does not depend on orthodox rationalism or empiricism for its explanation
Etymology: study of origin of a word
Semantics: development of the meaning of a word contextually over time
Kitsch: a cheap reproduction of the original
Epistemology: study of development of language
Hermeneutics: study of development of a theory and interpretation and understanding of texts.
Gestalt: a theory which does not depend on orthodox rationalism or empiricism for its explanation
Monday, December 31, 2007
Lage Raho Munna Bhai
The other day we went to see the much awaited Lage raho Munna Bhai….
I had heard far too much about the film….everyone said that it was better than the previous one, giving Gandhi’s message of peace and also that it had gone for the Oscar nomination! Well, so the film was finally tax free and we did not miss such an opportunity!
Now a days these multiplexes are no bigger than exaggerated living rooms…well that was the first impression when I occupied the seat in the theatre! But soon, the film started and the hall was blacked out removing any idea of the volume of space from my brain!
And there it was…the message of Gandhi… “If someone slaps you on your right cheek, give the left one too!” the person sitting behind me perhaps, failed to get the message. He was a constant irritation to me! His legs were just not quiet, constantly fiddling with my seat, kicking, beating…and what not! So here I was, deciding whether to be or not, a victim of Gandhigiri…
I gave him a sharp look once, twice….no avail…
I thought this was the best time to put Gandhigiri to test. I stayed quiet! Soon, it was intermission, when I tried to look what the person looked like! But he was too fast to get up and run out for his snacks….
When the film restarted, he was back, back with alcohol…spoiling the entire room of fresh air! I felt like laughing! Laughing on Gandhi and his Gandhigiri and then the film lost any significance for me… what could I have told him? What would Gandhi have done? Gave him another glass of alcohol?
Well the mood was already disturbed, and his constant kicking did not stop! Poor man….I pitied him…and Gandhi…and Vinod Chopra….
Will this country change? People might think another Gandhi is inevitable today, but how much do they care even after realizing this fact? So we can make 10 more films giving out messages of peace, truth and all that, but the world has changed….perhaps, it need a ‘refined’ Gandhi, I don’t think, the older one will help!
I had heard far too much about the film….everyone said that it was better than the previous one, giving Gandhi’s message of peace and also that it had gone for the Oscar nomination! Well, so the film was finally tax free and we did not miss such an opportunity!
Now a days these multiplexes are no bigger than exaggerated living rooms…well that was the first impression when I occupied the seat in the theatre! But soon, the film started and the hall was blacked out removing any idea of the volume of space from my brain!
And there it was…the message of Gandhi… “If someone slaps you on your right cheek, give the left one too!” the person sitting behind me perhaps, failed to get the message. He was a constant irritation to me! His legs were just not quiet, constantly fiddling with my seat, kicking, beating…and what not! So here I was, deciding whether to be or not, a victim of Gandhigiri…
I gave him a sharp look once, twice….no avail…
I thought this was the best time to put Gandhigiri to test. I stayed quiet! Soon, it was intermission, when I tried to look what the person looked like! But he was too fast to get up and run out for his snacks….
When the film restarted, he was back, back with alcohol…spoiling the entire room of fresh air! I felt like laughing! Laughing on Gandhi and his Gandhigiri and then the film lost any significance for me… what could I have told him? What would Gandhi have done? Gave him another glass of alcohol?
Well the mood was already disturbed, and his constant kicking did not stop! Poor man….I pitied him…and Gandhi…and Vinod Chopra….
Will this country change? People might think another Gandhi is inevitable today, but how much do they care even after realizing this fact? So we can make 10 more films giving out messages of peace, truth and all that, but the world has changed….perhaps, it need a ‘refined’ Gandhi, I don’t think, the older one will help!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Ticketless Travelling
Like most of the days, I was late again….
Last evening I had noticed that my train pass had just expired. Weary evening did not encourage me to stand in the long queue for the issue of a new one. I postponed the task to the next morning…and there I was, late again…
Forget the pass, I did not even care to take a ticket. Overlooking the booking office, I quickly ran up the flight of steps of the over bridge. Just as I reached the landing to take some deep breath, the message on the board flashed before my eyes – “FOR BONAFIDE USERS ONLY”, which meanwhile, increased my already fast-beating heart-beat. My legs slivered a little, but I moved on…with a hope to board the immediate train on the platform towards Churchgate.
Seeing the train approach the platform, I ran, in order to catch this one. Till I reached the platform, the train had geared off. I missed it. I stood in danger zone. I had no ticket. I was not a ‘bonafide traveller’. I looked out if there was any ticket checker to catch hold of me…and soon a person in a black blazer approaches me. I turn my eyes. But he looks at me, and follows the linear path. I am scared. I turn my whole body in the opposite direction. The man comes and pats my shoulder. I turn…
“Will this train halt at Andheri?” he asks pointing at the indicator.
“Yes,” I answer heaving a sigh of relief.
Quitting the platform drama, I quickly board the train arrived. And I am careful to look out for an undercover T.C. To my relief, there is a seat vacant. I quickly grab it before any one else. I take a look behind, in the gangway. I am safe.
The train moves and I suddenly see a person putting his hand in his pocket. He takes out his pen, and his diary. I mistake it for the fine receipt. No he is just another traveler! I put my hand on my chest only to suppress my thumping heart beat. It is pumping fast, I discover. I place my thumb on the other hand; move the wrist watch, to check my pulse. Suddenly, someone shows me the hand towards the seat. I look up. His eyes are wide open, demanding, compelling, and complaining. My face, on the other hand, bewildered, perplexed! But the man asks me only to get aside, for a fourth seat! Before I moved, I took my handkerchief out of my pocket. I moved and then wiped of the tiny droplets of sweat trickling from my temples…
Soon the next station arrived. What if the T.C. entered in? If he catches me, what will I do? Do I have an old ticket, so that I can fool him or something? Or will he overlook me? I closed my eyes, pretending that I am asleep. But my thoughts ran… how much will he fine me? Do I have that much? Even if I have, am I ready to pay that much? I should have brought a ticket, I felt at that moment (but where was the time for that!). What a shameful position it will be in front of everyone, if I am caught! I opened my eyes. The alighting crowd in the train at the arrival of the next station comforted my situation to some extent. “T.C.s don’t board in crowded compartments,” I thought. I constantly prayed. “God, this is the last time I am traveling without a ticket, please save me…I assure you, next time, I will surely buy a ticket…”
I get up from my seat with a pounding heart to get down at my station which is just two stops apart. At the next station, a person in a blue shirt boards the train. He is a middle aged man, somewhere in his forties. I doubt him to be the ticket checker. I move towards the gate of the train in the opposite direction. I look across from the window in the partition at his activities as he moves in the compartment. He shakes a person who is asleep on his seat. The person gets aside, and gives him place for a fourth seat. On the other side, my station arrives.
Looking the time in my watch, I learn there is no second to waste. I run, when suddenly, a person catches hold of me…
“Where are you going?” asks the voice…
I raise my head, my eyelids not dropping down….the face seems familiar… I gulp down the saliva in my mouth…
“You scared me…lets run, it’s late…,” I tell my friend…
Last evening I had noticed that my train pass had just expired. Weary evening did not encourage me to stand in the long queue for the issue of a new one. I postponed the task to the next morning…and there I was, late again…
Forget the pass, I did not even care to take a ticket. Overlooking the booking office, I quickly ran up the flight of steps of the over bridge. Just as I reached the landing to take some deep breath, the message on the board flashed before my eyes – “FOR BONAFIDE USERS ONLY”, which meanwhile, increased my already fast-beating heart-beat. My legs slivered a little, but I moved on…with a hope to board the immediate train on the platform towards Churchgate.
Seeing the train approach the platform, I ran, in order to catch this one. Till I reached the platform, the train had geared off. I missed it. I stood in danger zone. I had no ticket. I was not a ‘bonafide traveller’. I looked out if there was any ticket checker to catch hold of me…and soon a person in a black blazer approaches me. I turn my eyes. But he looks at me, and follows the linear path. I am scared. I turn my whole body in the opposite direction. The man comes and pats my shoulder. I turn…
“Will this train halt at Andheri?” he asks pointing at the indicator.
“Yes,” I answer heaving a sigh of relief.
Quitting the platform drama, I quickly board the train arrived. And I am careful to look out for an undercover T.C. To my relief, there is a seat vacant. I quickly grab it before any one else. I take a look behind, in the gangway. I am safe.
The train moves and I suddenly see a person putting his hand in his pocket. He takes out his pen, and his diary. I mistake it for the fine receipt. No he is just another traveler! I put my hand on my chest only to suppress my thumping heart beat. It is pumping fast, I discover. I place my thumb on the other hand; move the wrist watch, to check my pulse. Suddenly, someone shows me the hand towards the seat. I look up. His eyes are wide open, demanding, compelling, and complaining. My face, on the other hand, bewildered, perplexed! But the man asks me only to get aside, for a fourth seat! Before I moved, I took my handkerchief out of my pocket. I moved and then wiped of the tiny droplets of sweat trickling from my temples…
Soon the next station arrived. What if the T.C. entered in? If he catches me, what will I do? Do I have an old ticket, so that I can fool him or something? Or will he overlook me? I closed my eyes, pretending that I am asleep. But my thoughts ran… how much will he fine me? Do I have that much? Even if I have, am I ready to pay that much? I should have brought a ticket, I felt at that moment (but where was the time for that!). What a shameful position it will be in front of everyone, if I am caught! I opened my eyes. The alighting crowd in the train at the arrival of the next station comforted my situation to some extent. “T.C.s don’t board in crowded compartments,” I thought. I constantly prayed. “God, this is the last time I am traveling without a ticket, please save me…I assure you, next time, I will surely buy a ticket…”
I get up from my seat with a pounding heart to get down at my station which is just two stops apart. At the next station, a person in a blue shirt boards the train. He is a middle aged man, somewhere in his forties. I doubt him to be the ticket checker. I move towards the gate of the train in the opposite direction. I look across from the window in the partition at his activities as he moves in the compartment. He shakes a person who is asleep on his seat. The person gets aside, and gives him place for a fourth seat. On the other side, my station arrives.
Looking the time in my watch, I learn there is no second to waste. I run, when suddenly, a person catches hold of me…
“Where are you going?” asks the voice…
I raise my head, my eyelids not dropping down….the face seems familiar… I gulp down the saliva in my mouth…
“You scared me…lets run, it’s late…,” I tell my friend…
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Poetry
Reminisces
I still remember…
Taking a waste piece of paper,
And quickly rolling it into a pipe!
Then filling a mug with water
And preparing a soapy solution
Agitating it to get foam of froth.
Then going out to the barsâti -
Overlooking the world against the parapet
Carefully,
Keeping the froth-filled soapy mug on the wall,
And dipping the paper pipe into it,
I would blow out bubbles of soap in space.
Some would rise up – the air taking them even higher,
Others would descend down due to gravity.
Both would eventually burst.
But not dampened by the spirit;
Putting the pipe again in the suds,
I
Would blow out more globes of glass -
Till the water emptied
And the paper dissolved…
I still remember…
Taking a waste piece of paper,
And quickly rolling it into a pipe!
Then filling a mug with water
And preparing a soapy solution
Agitating it to get foam of froth.
Then going out to the barsâti -
Overlooking the world against the parapet
Carefully,
Keeping the froth-filled soapy mug on the wall,
And dipping the paper pipe into it,
I would blow out bubbles of soap in space.
Some would rise up – the air taking them even higher,
Others would descend down due to gravity.
Both would eventually burst.
But not dampened by the spirit;
Putting the pipe again in the suds,
I
Would blow out more globes of glass -
Till the water emptied
And the paper dissolved…
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