To Kerala, On Bike

There are some pleasures in the world which are accessible only to explorers, and no one else. And that is the most charming thing about them.

This Diwali, I am going to explore Kerala. Akshaya and I will spend 5 days and 5 nights uncovering the land of gods, on bike! We will visit Munnar, Alleppey, Mahe, Kozhikode and so many place that we see on maps. But that is not what excites me the most. After a few years of wandering, I have realized that the most beautiful places are the ones who have no names. And the real travelers prefer only them. I am thrilled about those unknown, unnamed and unsold places. I am waiting to ride in forests and sleep on beaches. And I can not wait anymore!

Azadi: Theirs and Ours

Preface

This is a story of a pretty girl called Mira. She lived with her old father in a beautiful village. She had two cousins, Indra and Islam, who lived in the same village, on either side of her house. And both of them had an eye on her. Mira, however, wanted to marry Azad, a charming young man who had recently come in their village. When the cousins made their proposal, she politely declined and said that she loved someone else. This refusal infuriated both, since each wanted to have her. Both used to brag around and claim that it was he whom she loved, and quarreled with each other. She had become a question of honor for them. "How dare she like someone else?", their fists clenched.

One night, mad with passion, Islam broke into her house to abduct her. Her poor old father woke up and cried for help. Indra immediately rushed in and offered his hand, on a condition that Mira would have to marry her protector. Helpless with anxiety and terror, the old man acquiesced. And what happened that night was to haunt her for years to come.

Everyone in village had guessed that marriage will settle everything. But marriages hardly ever settle anything. Marriages that are labeled successful just serve to hide and quieten things. This marriage, however, was not even successful, and so things were not hidden or quietened. Even 10 years after that fateful night, Mira was unable to forget her old love, even if her husband found her sentiments for Azad disgraceful and ridiculous. But her fondness for him was still there, at least partly, due to her husband only who never had any feelings for her, except that of an ownership. And in order to protect this ownership, he had kept her confined in a house, which was fenced by barbed wire and guarded by armed men, who felt free to do whatever they like if she tried to run away, or in alibi of the same.

Meanwhile, Islam, seething with insult and jealousy, and aided by his brother's enemies, sneaked around and threatened to gate-crash. This gave Indra quite a presentable reason to keep his wife immured, in name of her security.

The real reason, however, was dark and sinister. With time, the distrust and enmity between the two brothers had grown so much that Indra was afraid that Islam and his goons might try to intrude upon his land and property. Mira kept him well occupied, and thereby served as a buffer between the two sides and bore the brunt of Islam's aggression. What hurt her more, though, was Indra's indifference.

Meanwhile some kind-hearted women had visited the chief of village and raised their concern for poor Mira. As soon as this was made an issue, old graves were disinterred and Islam jumped in to make the most of it - to play the legal game and try his luck again. On the other hand, for every question asked, Indra had a ready made answer - Mira was legally married to him and so she was an inseparable part of his family. Most of the folks, especially Indra's kins, found this argument beyond any doubt or debate.

The case still goes on. The shrewd chief uses this case to manipulate the brothers and to meet his own ends. Mira still lives in that house with gloom and despair. But when she sleeps, she dreams of walking freely again some day, out in open, with Azad by her side.

Freedom: Theirs and Ours

We often need some degree of impartiality to see the truth, and literature provides us that. As story readers, we are in a better position to see the human side of a situation than the characters; as in case of Mira better than her husband and her husband's kins, whose sights are blinded by passion and selfishness. The story of Mira is just a preface to this article, and just an attempt to prepare the reader to approach the presented perspective with more patience and tolerance. Ananya Vajpeyi, the writer, tries to sensitize us, the Indian readers, towards Kashmiri people and urges us to look towards their pains and their sentiments for Azadi more sympathetically, which is not easy to come by otherwise.

Though I do not subscribe to everything that has been written there, and I have strong reservations against some of the arguments, I would still admit that this article gives us a new perspective to look at the old problem. The writer unsettles our thoughts and compels us to question our long-held assumptions and beliefs. What is a nation - land or people? - or an agreement that holds a group of people, who cluster together because of some unique commonalities? Should breach of this agreement - demand to make a separate nation - be permitted? Permitted by whom? Why should someone have rights to control others' freedom? And when? There are too many questions. We'll have to think, and we have to think about our thinking. We'll have to ask ourselves - what are the principles we live by, and we have to assess whether they are consistent with contemporary social context as well as with eternal human values. We have to think to save what is human in us - for what are we left with if we lose our soul?

Sony: safety or superstition?

Last to last sunday I was clicking with my team in the outskirts of Hyderabad. Suddenly, the lens of my cybershot got stuck and refused to move. Sajjad consoled me that it would just need a regular cleaning. Anyway I was not bothered much because I had not dropped it anywhere. And the name of sony was there to assure me. I kept it in the bag and came home after some trekking.

This sunday I gave the camera (DSC-H1) to Sony Service Center. I was told that they charge 500/- just to open it. So even to get it cleaned you shell out that much money, and some more of course! Okay! 'Not too much for the assurance that sony gives you', I rationalized and accepted their terms. They were to give me an estimate on Monday morning. They didn't. Today they did - an estimate of Rs 17,000! I didn't want to hear the details. I calmly asked them not to do anything. For me, it's over. No more Sony cybershot for me.

I am not the only one who has suffered for their incompetence and apathy. Sajjad and one of our team members, Vivek, have already had bitter experiences with Sony cybershot. And the story does not end with them. Read some reviews on web and you'll realize that Sony digi-cams are certainly not upto their reputation and their customer support is downright frustrating. They are as cold as the place they come from, and they just don't care for you. You are just one of their millions of customers, a mere point on a graph! If you harden your heart to pay their servicing charges, you will have to wait for weeks till the parts are procured from Singapore. One of my friends has even fired a lawsuit against them for poor product quality (DSC-H2) and continual harassment.

Sony deserves worse for their attitude alone. Coming to their products, their quality make things further unbearable. In digi-cams, Sony is far from being best. Old boys Nikon and Canon rule unchallenged - for they are superior in quality and they are consumer friendly as well. I wish I knew all this 2 years back.

Despite that, sony dares to go monopolistic. You can use only their memory card in their digi-cams, and only their recorders in their handycams. Their tripods are costlier than most. Even their ordinary covers cost ridiculously high! They seem to tax you for the tag that they give to you, as if you are going to feel something like the count of monte cristo with that damn tag.

I didn't expect my camera to last forever. Life has taught me how fragile things are. And it has taught me that we live in a messed-up world that follows the second law of thermodynamics, and the only thing we can control is our own response to the shit happening outside. I have lost dearer things, and now the very idea of having and not having, gaining and losing seems illusary to me. But this philosophy works at a different level. I don't allow this to be lucrative for the scoundrels. In market, we must demand the value for our money. The take-away message is - think twice before paying for sony cybershot. Sony is less safe than you think.

the weight and the crumble

Pakistan crumbled again.

It seems to me that they carry some sort of burden on their shoulders when they play against India, especially in the crutial matches. The more crutial the match is, the heavier the burden becomes. With every defeat this burden gets heavier; and finally, laden with religious nonsense, it becomes unbearable. And they crumble under its weight.

- Obviously. Pakistan and India are old rivals and it is natural for them to feel stressed up in key contests.

- Rivalry has reduced with time. It is far less than it used to be. But weight has shown an opposite trend. It has only become heavier.

The way and the extent to which they mix up faith, honor and cricket is typically Pakistani and it embarasses decent people. Cricketers keeping long beards chanting strange mantras on mike look out of place and ridiculous. And statements like "insha-Allah we will not lose in the holy month of Ramadan" creates a bad taste in everyone's mouth. The idea of owning, mistressing, God is pathetic. If God exists, their God is our God too.

Before the T20 finals, parallels from 1992 were drawn by their side to take psychological edge. But as Dostoevsky rightly says, psychology is a double-edged sword and often it kills the one who holds it. And getting killed by your own sword makes the death more tragic for you and more amusing for the killer. Perhaps Pietersen can explain this in more detail.

But they would not understand, and keep piling things. On their bad days, a Tendulkar walks in and clobbers them to ignominy. On luckier occasions, they find their own way. Such is that burden that no Anwar or no Inzamam could carry, when it really mattered. Not even in 1992! The burden to do things, said in relaxed moments, makes itself heavy in the field. The burden to win and win with disdain doesn't work anymore, not even with so-called minnows. Aamir Sohail tried this with Venkatesh Prasad and we saw how he crumbled under the weight of his own hubris. The inevitable happened, again. Bitter memories have their own weight, and they lie heavily on Pakistani heads.

Misbah-ul-Haq had to score just a single off two deliveries. And the bowler was Sreesanth. What else can someone who calls himself a batsman (and indeed is!) can ask for! But suddenly he found his bat too heavy to be lifted. Pakistan escaped victory again in world cup. What followed the draw was a spectacle Pakistani fans will never like to remember but at the same time will never be able to forget. We had seen wild celebration of absurdity all around, from cheer-leaders to nonsense like bowl-out. But every travesty of modern cricket was overshadowed by the display of unbelievable incompetence on the part of Pakistani bowlers. More than the event, it was their response to that event which ridiculed the standard of the game. Harbhajan's hand-pumping after hitting the unguarded stumps was degrading enough; but their acclaimed bowlers' (man of the tournament included) failing to do that, not once or twice, and not by one or two, certainly topped the charts. And of course, not just defeated, they left dishonored out of the arena. Everything looked surrealistically stupid. But wait a minute. Was that incompetence? I don't believe that. Pakistan does have a quality attack. It was something worse. Perhaps weight.

Pakistan were not new and inexperienced in T20 like the Indians. They have been playing this form of game from long back (Read Rashid Latif's article on cricinfo) and they had all the skills to make it to the finals by beating those who were relatively new and inexperienced, except, of course, India. But in the final they had to face India and they started feeling that again. In the end, unsurprisingly, they were seen down on their knees, crumbled and defeated. They can consider themselves lucky for good reasons, and that luck helped them reaching pretty close to the cup. Sehwag was declared unfit and senior Pathan was not a fitting substitute for him. Chawla was already injured and Dhoni had hardly anything to choose from. Good omen and the meaning of having a good omen must have fanned their feiry minds. That fire was apparent in their attack and kudos to Umer Gul to wrap up the Indian middle order rather cheaply.

But the second half repeated the old story. Misbah, the poor guy, is not to be blamed. He just wanted to get rid of some weight by doing a Miyadad. Unfortunately his shot to glory backfired. In retrospect, doing something like that when you have to score 6 off comfortable 4 deliveries, without losing wicket, seems dull and insane. But this dullness and this insanity was not personally his, but was very much collective. In post-match ceremony, their skipper demonstrated the same dullness and insanity by thanking all the Muslims of the world for supporting his side.

It is high time Pakistan do some introspection. The fact is that they have lost in the holy month of Ramadan and more importantly, they have lost rather unfortunately. The only consolation for them is that they lost to a better, if not stronger, team that could hold its nerve in taut moments and could hit the stumps from 22 yards. Under an influence of stupidity, or something worse, Sohaib Malik might have thanked all the Muslims in the world for supporting his side, but he forgot that the man who sent him back to pavilion is called Irfan Pathan, who was also the man of the match. The very match that they had lost.

Mr Malik, grow up. Come out of your medieval mentality. Cricket is a game, and game is to be enjoyed and played with sports spirit. Winning and losing is important, but result comes after the game. And result is meaningless if it corrupts the very spirit of the game. Cricket has never had anything to do with religion. Stop humiliating yourself, your fans, and your religion by issuing irresponsible statements and instead play the game well. Entertain Pakistanis and entertain Indians. Don't embarass them. You have your supporters here in India as well, and all of them are not Muslims. May you get some peace of mind. Better luck next time.

कट्टरता - नरेन्द्र कोहली

"नववर्ष की बहुत बहुत बधाई।"
उन्होंने चकित हो कर मुझे देखा, "कौन सा नववर्ष? नया साल तो पहली जनवरी को आरंभ होता है।"

"वह ईसा का नववर्ष होता है।"
वे भौंचक से मेरा चेहरा देखते रह गए जैसे मैंने कोई बहुत अशिष्ट बात कह दी हो। फिर बोले, "हम लोग इतने कट्टर नहीं हैं।"

मैं मानता आया हूँ कि यदि ईमानदारी से कोई काम करना हो तो उसके नियम विधान का कट्टरता से पालन करना चाहिए। ढुलमुल रह कर संसार में कोई काम ढंग से नहीं होता। यदि हम कट्टर न हुए होते और उनके समान उदार बने रहते तो न कभी मुगलों का राज्य समाप्त होता न अंग्रेज़ों का। किंतु मैं यह भी समझ रहा था कि उन्होंने अपने विषय में कुछ नहीं कहा था, जो कुछ कहा था, वह मेरे विषय में था। शब्द कुछ भी रहे हों, कहा उन्होंने यही था कि मैं कट्टरपंथी हूँ और कहीं कोष्ठकों में यह भी ध्वनित हो रहा था कि कट्टरपंथी होना अच्छी बात नहीं है।

"ईसवी संवत को ईसा का संवत कहना क्या कट्टरता है?"
"और क्या? नववर्ष नववर्ष होता है, ईसा का क्या और किसी और का क्या?" वे पूर्णत: निश्चित, निश्चिंत और आश्वस्त थे।
"विक्रम संवत को विक्रम संवत कहना, हिजरी संवत को हिजरी संवत कहना, पारसी नौरोज़ को पारसी नौरोज़ कहना कट्टरता है?"
"वह सब हम नहीं जानते। हम तो केवल इतना जानते हैं कि यह नववर्ष है। सारी दुनिया मनाती है।"
"ठीक कह रहे हैं आप।" मैंने कहा, "शायद आपको मालूम भी नहीं होगा कि यह पंचांग केवल पंचांग नहीं है, 'ईसवी पंचांग है।"
"पंचांग क्या?" वे बोले, "वह जो पंडितों के पास होता है।"
"पंचांग हम कैलेंडर को कहते हैं।" मैंने कहा, "पंडितों के पास भी होता है और साधारण जन के पास भी होता है।"
"मैं वह सब नहीं जानता।" वे बोले।
"आपके न जानने से न तथ्य बदलते हैं न सत्य।" मैं बोला, "कबूतर आँखें बंद कर ले तो बिल्ली का अस्तित्व समाप्त नहीं हो जाता।"
"क्या बुराई है ईसा के नववर्ष में?" वे कुछ आक्रामक हो उठे।
"मैंने बुराई की बात कही ही नहीं है।" मैंने कहा, "मैंने तो इतना ही कहा है कि यह नववर्ष, ईसाइयों के पंचांग के अनुसार है।"
"पर काम तो हम इसी के अनुसार करते हैं।"
"मुगलों के राज्यकाल में हमें हिजरी संवत के अनुसार काम करना पड़ता था।" मैंने कहा, "वह हमारी मजबूरी थी।
हमने कभी उसे अपना उत्सव तो नहीं बनाया। वही बात ईसवी संवत के लिए भी सत्य है। अंग्रेज़ी साम्राज्य ने उसे हम पर थोपा। आज भी किन्हीं ग़ल़त नीतियों के अनुसार काम करने के कारण ईसा का वर्ष हमारी मजबूरी हो सकती है, हमारा उत्सव तो नहीं हो सकता। किसी की दासता, उसको बधाई देने का कारण नहीं हो सकती।"
"किसी को याद भी है, अपना देसी कैलेंडर?" वे चहक कर बोले।
"जिन्हें अपनी अस्मिता से प्रेम है, उन्हें याद है।" मैंने कहा, "सरकार से कहिए भारतीय पंचांग से वेतन देना आरंभ करे, हम सबको अपने आप भारतीय पंचांग याद आ जाएगा।"
"इस देश पर हिंदू कैलेंडर थोपना चाहते हो।" उन्होंने गर्जना की, "इस देश में मुसलमान और ईसाई भी रहते हैं।"
"मैं क्या करना चाहता हूँ उसे जाने दीजिए।" मैं बोला, "आप इस देश पर ईसाई पंचांग थोपते हुए भूल गए कि इस देश में हिंदू भी रहते हैं। ईसाई कितने प्रतिशत है इस देश में? और आपने उनका कैलेंडर सारे देश पर थोपा रखा है।

और उसपर आप न केवल यह चाहते हैं कि हम उसे उत्सव के समान मनाएँ यह भी भूल जाएँ कि हमारा अपना एक पंचांग है, जो इससे कहीं पुराना है। जो हमारी ऋतुओं, पर्व त्यौहारों तथा हमारे इतिहास से जुड़ा है।"
"वह हिंदू कैलेंडर है।" वे चिल्लाए।
"यदि संसार में आपका मान्य पंचांग, एक धर्म से जुड़ा है तो दूसरा पंचांग भी धार्मिक हो सकता है।"
मैंने कहा, "उसमें क्या बुराई है? किंतु हम जिस पंचांग की बात कर रहे हैं, वह भारतीय है। राष्ट्रीय है। आप बातों को धर्म से जोड़ते हैं, हम तो राष्ट्र की दृष्टि से सोचते हैं। ईसवीं और हिजरी संवत धार्मिक है क्योंकि वे एक धर्म- एक पंथ- के प्रणेता के जीवन पर आधारित हैं। विक्रम संवत अथवा युगब्ध का किसी पंथ अथवा पंथप्रणेता से कोई संबंध नहीं हैं। वह शुद्ध कालगणना है। इसलिए वह उस अर्थ में एकदम धार्मिक नहीं है, जिस अर्थ में आप उसे धार्मिक कह कर उसकी भर्त्सना करना चाह रहे हैं।"
"मुझे धार्मिक बातों में सांप्रदायिकता की बू आती हैं।"
"तो आपको अपने ही तर्क के आधार पर ईसवीं संवत को एकदम भूल जाना चाहिए। वह तो चलता ही एक पंथ विशेष के आधार पर है।"
"दुखी कर दिया यार तुमने।" वे बोले, "तुमसे तो बात करना ही पाप है। अब विक्रमी, ईसवीं, हिजरी और जाने कितने संवत होंगे। मैं किसको मनाऊँ?"
"इतना संभ्रम अच्छा नहीं है।" मैंने कहा, "संसार में इतने पुरुष देखकर उनमें से अपने पिता को ही न पहचान सको, तो कोई तुम्हें समझदार नहीं मानेगा।"

Freezing The Footloose

It was beginning to get on my nerves now. Helpless since I was, I was feeling badly tired. The discussion came back to the same point again.

- Why don't you try to understand? I don't want this.

- No, you do. But you don't realize that now. Now be a good boy. Take this, it will do you good.

- Look, I think I can decide what is good for me. I am not a kid.

- That's why. Don't get scared, it is not bitter. It tastes rather good.

- I know that. How many times you'll say the same thing? I know it is not bitter. It's not about that. The question is - why should I take this?

- Because everyone does so. Are they all idiots?

- I don't know about them. But I know myself. I am happy and I don't need anything.

- We know you and your needs better than you do. It was not you who asked us to vaccinate you when you were small. You needed that though. You were crying then and you are crying today too. But we know what is good for you. Now don't be difficult.

- Let me think. May be sometime later. But not now.

- You had said the same words last year too. There is a proper time for everything. Late done is not done. And who do you think will wait for you?

- I don't ask anyone to wait for me. But why can't we allow a man to decide for himself, unless he begins to harm others?

- Because this is not America. You people read few books and you think that you know life. No book will teach you experience.

- Let me earn my experience. I have only one life, let me live it.

- I, me, mine... as if nothing else matters for you. Do you have any respect left for our sentiments?

- Oh!

- Come on. Take this.

- I can't.

And so on... It is getting heavier day by day.

Wake up, Neo...

It is sad that most of us are blind, sometimes knowingly, to our literary achievements, which lends life to our cultural identity, though many of us follow, in obsequious detail, what happens on the other side of the globe. We have produced some of the best writers of the world. At the same time we are, I am beginning to believe, the worst readers anyone can find. Why? Because we don't read at all, and those few who do, choose not to read the best writers.

And why? Perhaps because they are our writers and they write in our language. And we are still to get rid of our mental blocks, so firmly placed in our collective psyche by (post-independence) colonial rule. We have simply failed to forget that 200 years long nightmare, haven't we? Even after 60 years of independence, we can not honestly claim that we are completely free from inferiority complex, thanks to the Nehruvian policies. Result - using little or no judgement, we embrace anything that has anything to do with west. And worse - in the maddening frenzy, we disregard whatever is in our house, and we end up throwing the baby with bath water.

I have had a chance to visit foreign lands, but quite surprisingly it is India, my homeland that surprises me the most. What surprises me, among other things, is our collective apathy for our own language, our own culture, and I have painfully observed that this behaviour is most acute among the Hindi speaking people. Enough of that. After 60 years, it is hightime we stopped being possessive about that humiliation and move ahead. Here we can learn from the Chinese, who believe that they have always been a great civilization, and the bygone century was just a rough patch in their otherwise glorious history. And they work hard to match their conviction.

We, on the other hand, are running away from our own shadows. And this is not only futile, but downright pathetic. The defeat was collective, and the redemption will have to be collective. But people are in great hurry and they don't have time to understand this.

The privileged ones throw coins and get their skin white-washed in their convent schools. A good number of these idiots, if they are not pathetically ignorant or indifferent, which most of them are, assume a condescending attitude towards likes of Premchand and others, and smile like corrupt politicians do when they talk about Mahatma Gandhi. The shrewd ones mummify them by wrapping them in words - as if they are approving of something, which also existed in same world, and then they rush back to their business. Oh thank you very much. With the phallic confidence they buy in those English-medium shops, they can easily afford that audacity without hurting themselves. Anyways, I don't expect anything else from this god-forsaken breed.

For others, I am writing this post. I am not here to sell nationalism here. I am writing not only because I love Hindi Literature, but also because I find it worthy of highest respect. And that's why this post deserves to be written.

Like most of us, I had little awareness of the developments in Hindi Literature. I hardly knew any other good writer except Premchand. And I had read most of his works, novels and short stories, by the time I joined IITD. The other writer I had been exposed to was Yashpal - in relation to my mother's thesis topic. Other than them, I hardly knew anyone. Had I known more, I would have read more.

In IIT, I wasted my initial semesters asking others to suggest me something good to read and they recommended me likes of Ludlum, Sheldon etc. If you don't know about them, let me tell you - they write shit. And only pigs can consume that. Why? Because it comes from west. Anyways, I had to wait, and my reading in Hindi was kept on hold till I made friends with Debu in a chat room. He suggested me Gunahon Ka Devta by Dharmveer Bharti and "Sanskriti ke char adhyay" by Ramdhari Singh 'Dinkar'. The latter is a Sahitya Akademy award winner masterpiece, and reading this was an illuminating experience for me, though I had read Nehru's "Discovery of India". If you want to see India in better perspective, do read this one. I am telling you all this because you might not be knowing someone like Debu.

In Ranchi Pustak Mela, I found "Rag Darbari" by Shrilal Shukla. I didnt know about it then, but I had huge respect for Sahitya Akademy. So I picked it up. But the book was left dumped on my shelf for years. And in autumn of 2005, when I finally started to read it, I chided myself - "why so late?" Reading this was an experience to cherish. No novel has ever tickled me like this one did. And it is not a book of jokes, but a consummate work of satire. After every fit of laughter, you feel a faint ache in your heart. By the end, the reader is left awestruck by the depth in which the author has understood the rural character of UP. And what a precision this man possesses in his expression! Without being sub-standard in quality, his language is credibly rustic, with a distinct flavor of its own. He has erected a Malgudi, with greater details, in UP - named Shivpalganj. Still, after two years when I had been there, I vividly remember Shivpalganj and its people, and the petty games they play with one another. Reading this book was somewhat like watching Sholay, in which every character breathes real air, and continues to breathe even after the movie ends. Don't miss this, and trust me you'll feel like coming to Hyderabad to thank me. Sometimes back, I saw an english translation of this book in Crossword. India surprised me again. Nowhere else in world, they translate their books in others' language. Anyways, let me assure you, the smell of Shivpalganj can not be translated.

Two months back, after I had finished Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, I picked up a couple of books, and they all bored me immensely. Why the hell Hemingway writes at all? Is he the same guy who wrote Old man and sea? Doesn't Russell try too hard to look smart? Can't he relax for a while and forget the self-imposed burden of being a philosopher? Well, the time was ripe to come back home, and I visited Sahitya Akademi website and ordered some books on Hindi Book Center. Now this is a big problem. First, we don't know what to read. And then we don't know where to get what we want. Our friends don't read them and our book shops don't keep them. But now you know something, don't you. At least this could be a good point to start.

When I have said so much, let me also mention a few books that I have read and really liked.

Anything by Premchand.
All poems by Dinkar.
All Sahitya Akademi award winners.
Gunahon Ka Devta - Dharmveer Bharti
Andhere Band Kamre - Mohan Rakesh
Pratinidhi Vyangya - Harishankar Parsai
Madhushala - Harivanshrai Bachchan
Anything by Saratchandra, and Tagore. Mrityunjaya by Shivaji Sawant.

I am yet to read Maila Aanchal by Phaneeshwar Nath 'Renu'. This book is considered to be a milestone in Hindi Literature.

I could have written this post in a better manner. But that doesn't take anything away from the matter I was writing about. The main things is - a whole new world awaits you. And you have a choice. If you listen to me, go inside.

Valley of Flowers

As I returned, an image frequently came to my mind, an image similar to that of Klaus Kinski in German classic Wrath of God, an image in which a man overcomes every challenge with authority, climbs hills and crosses streams, and with irritated disdain throws away the arrows that dared to sting his mighty body. He enters deep into woods and then even sails out of it, winning all and defying everything.

But far from the forest, away from all enemies, and out of any danger, he staggers, stumbles and falls flat on his face, dead purple with poison.
**************************************



The Grind (Govindhat to Ghangharia Trek, 14 km): - 14 is a number which doesn’t hold any particular significance for us when denominated in km. But in hills, this distance seems to be a long, long way. No wonder some trekkers have named this trek “The Grind”. However, the so-called grind is grounded by hundreds of men and women everyday, of every age, who in their ordinary slippers walk merrily past the out-of-breath trekkers, all thanks to their religious inspiration.

Though a bit tiring in start, this trek leaves you refreshed by the end. You meet people and talk to them, and then leave them behind; and see them again when you relax at one of these numerous dhabas in the way. Smiles and greetings are exchanged and the caravan moves on. You are neither lonely nor bored, and moreover, you forget every pain in the embrace of beauty. Literally walking through clouds, you slide along the curves of Alaknanda, who gurgles with ecstasy and fills up the whole sky with puffs of steam. I hopped down off the track, lied on a rock and listened to her soothing chatter with eyes closed. Ah what an experience it was!



Now we come to the valley of flowers after 4 km trek from Ghangharia. Without wasting words, let me summarize - the juice is not worth the squeeze, unless you enjoy squeezing as such. I mean that unless you are a random adventurer, or a botanist, Valley of Flowers might disappoint you. At least our experience was quite underwhelming, may be because of our high expectations with the place itself, the place that was the protagonist of our plans.



No doubt, VoF is amazing in many ways and had the weather been better, perhaps we’d have witnessed something else! But I will say only what I have seen, without getting intimidated by its fame. First, we were not able to find those thousand varieties of flowers. Secondly, the season recommended to visit the valley is the season of Monsoon, which meant intermittent drizzling and dampness all around, enough to douse every fire you want to kindle. One of our fellow trekkers, who came there exclusively for the purpose of photography, practically couldn’t take out his camera. I ventured to take out mine, only to shoot monochromatic arrays of rain-beaten flowers with heavy mist in background. When you walk back to your hotel after a 4-5 km trek, you are welcomed by dampness all over – damp bed, damp clothes, and dampened spirit! And the only way out of that damp, stinky, stuffy hell is that 14 Himalayan km long grind. You feel helplessly trapped!

The Trap: - We woke up at 3.30 in the night to catch the first bus from Rishikesh to Joshimath. The idea was to reach Joshimath in afternoon and proceed for Govindghat immediately. We reached Joshimath in afternoon but could not proceed further because the buses for Govindghat plied only in morning, when the gate was opened for vehicles. This is something hardly anyone talked about in his/her travelogue – Gates. These gates are opened for limited duration in a day and if you plan to travel in the hills of Uttaranchal, do plan your itinerary keeping this in mind. More about planning will follow later in this post.



VoF had left us damp and disappointed, so we cancelled our plan for Hemkund (a holy place for Sikhs, 6 km steep trek from Ghangharia, amid ponies and pony-craps) and instead planned to go to visit Golden Temple in Amritsar and Wagah Border. I invoked my gods, wrapped crape bandages around my creaky knees and ran down the grind, and then patted myself for doing that without getting any injury.

*********************************

The sunny weather of Badrinath dried the sticky dampness of Ghangharia off our minds and bags. Despite being a holy spot, Badrinath looked curiously clean and quiet, and breathtakingly beautiful as well! I didn't expect that soothing silence there - echoing from the high walls of snowy hills. Perhaps this was because of the 'off-season'. This is when the gods come back to their lofty abodes, after their devotees go away, having done all their noisy nonsense.

It was something as wonderful as living in "Annie's song", or "Fursat Ke Raat Din". You feel a surreal sort of timelessness there. Sitting on a chair in open sunlight, and surrounded by majestic mountains, you feel as if you have been there since a long long time. The valley enfolds you in her lap, caresses you and makes you oblivious to everything but a pleasant brightness, which is seen even if you close your eyes. Even now, after a fortnight has passed, I can see that brightness when I close my eyes. I can still feel that cold touch on my skin.

Having relaxed a while there, we stretched our limbs, rubbed our drowsy eyes and finally set off to enquire about next bus to Haridwar. But at the bus stop, which seemed to be dozing, and its people playing cards here and there, we heard the breaking news – Roads to Badrinath blocked because of heavy landslides!

I will spare you the details of our anxiety, as Akshaya and I had to catch our train and flight in Delhi. And we could do nothing but wait for the roads to get cleared. There I realized the futility of making smart plans in Uttaranchal, where landslides are as common as sunrise and sunset, and more so during Monsoon. And I couldn't resist a smile at the arrogance with which people make their itinerary, and flaunt on websites without even mentioning that their plan is only tentative, and subject to change as per situation.

Infact, everything, including your life, depends on the mood of the mighty mountains. When roads are blocked, or cracked, you can hardly budge. When they are okay, you never know when one of those millions loose rocks decides to roll down and takes you, with your car, deep in the ditch. We got to see a sample there as well - a Bolero lying in the gorge; I could almost see it go dancing down after beaten by a hard rock.

At that point of time, the only thing in our minds was - to escape from there.

The Escape (Helang to Gulabkot Trek): - We reached Joshimath by a jeep, and the driver said that we will go ahead, as far as we could. This is how locals live there, in parts. Life is hard there and man is soft to his fellows. We saw how drivers help one another by stopping the passing vehicles and spreading the news of landslides. They know that helping others is the only way to help yourself in crisis. The vehicles go as far as the road is good, and then the people cross the damaged area by foot and sit in the vehicles standing on the other side. We were ready for this idea by then. But the landslide in Helang made the road unpassable and we found ourselves stuck in the way. The only way left to us was to climb a hill to reach where we could get vehicles.

This was the high-point of our challenges. I would need a separate post to describe this journey in detail. This 'trek' was already full of adventure since we didn't know how far and how long we had to walk, and to add more spice in life I lost my way. Way ahead of the caravan and lost in my rhythm, I couldn't notice where a path stole its way down amid dense bushes. I was surprised to find myself alone but I was convinced that I was going in the right direction. But it was going like forever. I had no idea how far my destination was. And it was useless to ask others. After every 2 km I walked, anyone whom I asked would say the same, 'just 2 km more.'



Right then I realized that I would never be able to forget that moment - absolutely alone at that height, and looking at the road below, which looked like a serpent from where I stood. Thankfully wild animals didn't find me interesting enough, because at that place even a monkey was enough to kill you, or imbalance at least, which would have anyways meant the same. And that forest was full of them, and bears, and leopards as well, as they say. Though this trek couldn't tire me, I'd admit that there were moments when it scared me. There were points where I could have fallen thousands feet down, had I slipped or panicked, or even looked down.

In the way I met many gadhwali people, and they left a very good impression on my mind. They are brave, kind and chivalrous. You talk to them for 5 minutes and they invite you at their home for lunch! They save your life and then refuse to take anything in return, as a token of gratitude. They are so unlike us urban people, who have nothing else but smart arguments and phrases to offer to others.

Reaching Gulabkot at 11.50 AM, I waited for my friends till 1.40 PM, by looking at passing vehicles. I wondered how they would cross those two points. My cellphone was lying dead in my pocket. Finally, I decided to catch a bus and meet them in Haridwar, as I was not sure where they were. I waved a passing bus and lo! Akshaya was there inside. I knew that I had lost my way, but nothing else!

See the selected snaps of this trip here.

The step-children of India

The mainland India is celebrating 60 years of independence and the media is singing the success songs of democracy. Our leaders are talking about nuclear deals and our intelligentsia is pondering over bulls and bears of sensex. All this is fine. But to what extent this is true to the reality that concerns we the people? Take a map of India and see for yourself where these talks and celebrations actually make sense. Mark red where they don't. You'll get a red map with few dots scattered here and there.

The following article (with minor changes, taken from here) shows us an India most of us hardly ever knew. This India lives in a state called Manipur, located farthest east in the map. Read on.

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It is worse than J&K. "Freelance insurgent groups" ensure that even the ministers pay up extortion demands. Not only funds for development, but also those for counter-insurgency operations, go to the militant groups' coffers!

The arrest of 12 militants belonging to four rebel outfits from the official quarters of three Congress legislators and an ex-legislator in Imphal the other day made for screaming headlines in the national media. What did not is more shocking and not only symptomatic of the mess that Manipur is in, but also mainland India's apathy to the plight of the hapless people of the state.

For more than two weeks now, pharmaceutical companies have stopped supplying drugs, including critical life-saving medicines, to the state. The reason: militant groups had demanded a larger slice of the profits made by the drug companies in Manipur. Consequently, drugs are in severely short supply and relatives of many patients have been flying out of the state to procure drugs from Guwahati, Kolkata and even Delhi!

Incomprehensibly, the state government hasn't done anything beyond issuing a perfunctory appeal to the drug companies to resume supplies and holding out the flaccid promise of 'ensuring security' to them. And till just a few days ago, Manipur had been reeling under a desperate shortage of cooking gas due to a nearly three-week-long strike by drivers of trucks transporting LPG cylinders protesting the abduction of two of their colleagues by rebel groups. As a result, people had to buy LPG cylinders for as high as Rs 750 to Rs 800 a cylinder!

Find all this very appalling? The average Manipuri, whether in the Imphal valley or in the hill districts buffeting the valley, doesn't. For the simple reason that all this, and more, has become commonplace, part of normal life in the state. For the landlocked state, National Highway 39 that enters Manipur from Nagaland and winds its way through the hill districts dominated by various tribes before touching the Imphal Valley and going up through the hills again to end at the Indo-Myanmar border at Moreh is the sole lifeline.

And taking advantage of the state's dependence on NH 39, militant groups frequently block this lifeline through bandhs and 'curfews', thus crippling life in the state. It's like all roads entering mainland India being blocked and supplies of foodstuff and all commodities, including fuel, being stopped. An unimaginable scenario, and one that would have not only resulted in a huge outcry, but also invited swift and decisive action. But in this remote part of Northeast India, the lifeline remains a 'no-traffic' zone for weeks at a stretch.

Last year, various militant groups and other organisations blocked the highway for a total of 146 days to highlight demands ranging from integration of Naga-inhabited areas in Manipur with 'Nagalim' or 'Greater Nagaland to better health facilities. Since all commodities and materials required by the people of the state, save for some rice and vegetables that grows in the sprawling Imphal Valley, comes in through NH 39, the severe shortages that resulted, and the consequent suffering of the people of the state, from this highway being blocked for 40% of the year can well be imagined. But did we read or see anything in the national media about this? Compare that to how the media would have gone into a frenzy if people in any other part of the country, leave aside Delhi, been subjected to such sufferings.

But the Manipuris' sufferings don't end there.

Lack of even basic civic amenities, healthcare, education and job opportunities, interminable power cuts, scant water supply and the twin threats posed by rapacious rebel groups and the trigger-happy security forces for whom human rights hold no meaning puts the life of a resident of this state beyond the pale of description. Nowhere else in the country, not even in Jammu & Kashmir, are citizens' fears and sufferings so acute.

No one ventures out after dark when the streets are taken over by gun-toting soldiers who have the power to detain people on mere suspicion (it's a different matter than many of the detained are roughed up and maimed or, if unlucky, disappear). During a recent visit to Imphal, human rights activist Babloo Loitongbam told me: "Manipur is a classic case of functioning anarchy; a situation where the state has failed, but people have evolved ways of getting things done and maintaining whatever small semblance of normal life is possible, often with the help of non-state entities". Even getting a glass of water is a struggle, he says, adding that a feeling of dark depression and dread envelopes him whenever he returns to Imphal from the rest of the country or the world.

Yambem Laba, Director of the Manipur Dance Academy tells me that people have "got used to" the dismal conditions. "We have developed the psychology of the oppressed," Laba, the ex-chief of the Manipur Human Rights Commission, says. The oppressors are, as is normally thought, not only the security forces but, to an equal or even greater measure, the militant groups that extort money wantonly and issue diktats at will. The entities most responsible for the plight of the people of Manipur are the "freelance insurgent groups". Laba calls them 'freelance' since their only aim is to extort money and harass people, they lack any ideology or goals and exist in a permanent state of flux, shifting allegiance from one major rebel group to another.

It is a small state, but Manipur has more than 20 rebel groups, most of whom have been demanding sovereignty for the state or the small portions of it they claim to represent. Three of these groups draw inspiration from China and Mao and have, at various points in time, received assistance from that country. And most of the remaining have no ideology at all. But all extort a lot of money from government and private sector employees, traders, businessmen, contractors and politicians. It's an open secret, we are told calmly, that even the Chief Secretary and the Director General of Police have to part with a portion of their monthly income.

The 'tax' imposed by the militants ranges from five percent (of the income) for a small farmer or petty trader to 12 or even 15 percent for a senior officer or an affluent businessman. And on top of this, 15 to 20 percent of the outlay on any project, even a small road repairing work, goes into the militants' pockets. Every item that's sold in Manipur is 'taxed' by the militants.

Each group has its own area of influence and dominance carved out and is the undisputed master in that area. In nearly the whole state, barring the small pocket of Imphal town, it is the militants' writ that runs and not that of the state administration. The rebels have often triggered violent clashes among the various ethnic groups in the state, like the infamous Kuki-Naga clashes in the early 1990s that left more than 750 people dead. Fratricidal clashes and bloodshed are common.

The obvious question then is: why doesn't the state do anything to curb militancy? The answer is simple: the state can't. And more than the largely corrupt politicians in Manipur, it is New Delhi that has to bear the burden of the blame for Manipuris' untold sufferings. For decades now, the union government has been content with relying on the army and para-military forces to contain the militants. But the security forces, despite the blanket powers given to them by the much-reviled Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA), have failed miserably to carry out their mandate. Because it's a mandate that cannot be fulfilled. The reason: New Delhi, thanks to its myopic policies, is responsible for keeping militancy alive.

Let me explain this conundrum: holding the view that militancy stems from socio-economic deprivation, Delhi's glib response has been to pour in millions of Rupees into militancy-affected states like Manipur. But since no mechanism is put in place to ensure proper utilization of these funds (audits in these states are a farce), most of it is siphoned off by politicians, bureaucrats and contractors. The militants then want a share of this pie and get it by holding out threats to the vulnerable politicians, bureaucrats or contractors. This is easy money for the militants, and it emboldens them to hike their demands and start extorting from all others, including businessmen and even petty traders.

When the politicians, including ministers, pay up, there's little that the common man can do except not follow suit. Thus, a flourishing parallel economy that finances not only the militants, but also the politicians, takes shape. Since militant groups wield enormous power and use it to decide the outcome in elections, contesting candidates have no option but to seek the rebels' help in winning. The rebels help whichever candidate pays them the most. Very often, such deals are struck at the party level with one or more groups supporting one party or the other. And if that party comes to power, it's not hard to imagine what favours and concessions they extend to the group that has helped them in the electoral battle. The help is in the form of outright rigging and issuing diktats to the electorate to vote for a particular party or candidate; and the voters dare not defy the militants.

This is all an insidious game and arrangement and the security forces, as well as the state administration that anyway has already been co-opted and compromised, can do little to stop it. The union government is well aware of all this, but prefers to turn a blind eye to this vicious cycle that feeds militancy. Because it is also complicit in the game—a portion of the funds that politicians siphon out of the central grants finds its way back to the pockets of politicians in Delhi. That's the price the powers-that-be in Delhi extract for keeping quiet and allowing the loot to go on.

Also, like other militancy-affected states, Manipur, too, gets huge funds for fighting militancy. But once again, most of these funds are siphoned off by politicians, bureaucrats, police officers and even high-ups in the army and para-military forces. A substantial portion of it, quite naturally, goes to the militant groups. So here's the supreme irony of the situation: not only funds for development, but also those for counter-insurgency operations, go to the militant groups' coffers!

Is it any wonder then that the politicians, the bureaucrats, the police and security forces and the elite in Manipur don't really want militancy to end? If insurgency is curbed, not only would the flow of funds for fighting insurgency dry up, attention would also shift to proper utilization of development funds and greater transparency in the government's functioning. Why would Manipur's politicians and those who gain from the present situation want that to happen?

Now then, given this complex and hopeless situation, does the news of militants being caught from legislators' official quarters seem so shocking? It is a given that politicians have to seek support of the militants and in return for that favour, politicians have to pay large sums of money and provide other assistance like safe shelters to the rebels. No one, with perhaps just a couple of honourable exceptions, contests elections in Manipur without an understanding with the rebels. The union government knows it, but for reasons elucidated above, keeps quiet. All parties are guilty of having close ties with insurgents. And so, they can never be expected to make a way out of this impasse in Manipur.

As for the other stakeholders in Manipur, including the central security forces, it suits them fine to allow things to continue as they are in the state. Only, it is the largest group of stakeholders — the suffering masses of Manipur — who are paying a heavy price for the shenanigans and chicanery of the political-bureaucratic-security establishment in the state.

To Valley of Flowers

Dec 2006: I was reading "Snow Country" by Kawabata and was taken into the white world of star-lit heaven. Suddenly, and inexplicably, I felt embraced by the mysterious charm of hills, its rivers, its air, and above all, that strange cold magic that seeps through your skin and makes you its own. Ah, the faint memories of my previous visit to Manali came before my eyes and enchanted my heart. Finally, compelled by the desire and in a state of drunken ecstasy, I called up Akshaya, "Let's go to Manali." As it happens, he said "yes". Sanket, after his usual bridal protest, conceded too. And in the very month, we were on the hills of majestic Himalayas.

Aug 2007: "No" is an unacceptable word between two sensitive individuals, unless one of them is a lady and other out of sense! So I promptly said "yes" when Akshaya asked me to "rekindle the fire" in Valley of Flowers. Don't read between the lines, that just meant to patch up things between old friends who were not in talking terms. As it happens, within 2-3 days tickets were booked and the stage is now set for the big game - the trek to the land of thousand fairies. Wait for 10 days and then we'll get to see the snaps of the valley at avalokan. And these 10 days will be kept forever in the book of our memories, like flowers. Amen.

Not Yet

When I am lying in the grave
And many a century has rolled past,
Were mother earth to ask me,
"Have you forgotten her at last?"
"Not yet," I would reply.

- Camus

The Readers of a Wrong Language

Just a few minutes back I visited www.outlookindia.com in hope of something interesting, and I found this - the cover page of the latest issue of Outlook, of both English and Hindi editions.

Have a look at the English edition first.










Now compare that with this - the cover page of Hindi edition. I am led to believe that the news varies with language.



This is what the editor says - "We are neither arrogant nor stupid enough to assume that the concerns, preoccupations and aspirations of our Hindi readers are identical to those of our English readers. In some areas they could overlap, but Outlook Saptahik begins life on the assumption that we need to service our Hindi clientele keeping their unique perspective in view."

Let's have a careful look at the unique perspective of those who read Hindi, vis-a-vis that of those who prefer English. To what extent does this claim - difference of perspectives - hold ground? And what if this claim doesn't hold enough ground to stand steadily? In that case, how does Outlook propose to restore the dignity of people who they have offended publically by such vile insinuations? How are they, as responsible media(!), encouraging people to read in their mother tongue, and encourage their children to do the same? Finally, how would this discrimination, this choice of cover pages, based on distorted assumptions, help the purpose of promoting the language in which India interacts?

- What claim are you talking about? They didn't say anything!

No. They did. They couldn't have said this louder and clearer. Visual language pervades deeper into our consciousness and stays longer, often permanently, in our mind. We associate words with picture, right from our infancy. A picture is a concept encapsulated. That is an epistemological fact. You can not question that. It is stupid to doubt the efficacy of visual Lnguage. Only a hardened fool will offer an argument against that.

So, English -> Intellectual, Refined, and used by intelligent and refined people

& Hindi -> Everything else :D

People read magazines at home, in trains, and in places where they are read by others, including women and children. Such type of covers can only act as potent deterrent to the readers of Hindi, as they will run a risk of being seen as cheap consumers of sleaze. They will be considered inferior just because they read in a particular language, which happens to be their national language. Anything that contributes to establish this absurd equation is positively criminal, and should be treated likewise. Think about the humiliation of those poor folks who have no training in English. What have they done, as a community, to deserve the stigma - consumers of sleaze? Outlook have insulted not only a language, its history and literature, but millions of those who speak and read in that language. Also, such acts only serve to perpetuate the urban myth that little worthwhile has been documented in Hindi and other vernacular languages.

No Mr Editor, you have been not only arrogant and stupid but also a bastard offspring of your bastard father - Macaulay, to comfortably assume that the concerns, preoccupations and aspirations of the Hindi readers are NOT identical to those of the English readers. They are exactly the same since concern is not a linguistic construct. Had it been so, the concerns and aspirations of Indians would change after every 100 kms. English is not a language of elite anymore, and dear sir, Outlook is not Business Line. Wake up Mr Editor, wash your face with cold water and read the cover story of your English edition, and then see for yourself. If I were you, I'd be ashamed of myself for saying things like that. You owe serious introspection and a sincere apology to all your readers.

As for us, the people, such type of insinuations must not be condoned in the name of easy phrases like "Freedom of Expression" or "Rights of Press". Words like these make no sense in isolation, and rights should be awarded only to those who understand their responsibilities. Such type of marketing must be strongly condemned by every thinking individual, no matter what language he/she speaks.

Rage of Mars*

The sheer white madness of cumulonimbus cloud,
Charging with infernal wrath, 'nd roaring 'loud.
Quaking in terror, Terra, trampled by boots of thunder;
Ev'ry Jesus seized, lanced 'nd torn asunder.

The tides of venom soared; torrid, dark and dense,
And leapt on to deluge, fiery, out of sense.
His Steel shivers naked in frenzied rage of cold,
Jus' sight of blood soothes, else nothing'd hold.


Mars* - God of War in Roman Mythology

Ilaiyaraaja - Musical Mission

The following FRONTLINE interview, which lasted five hours and spanned two sessions, took place at his composing room at Prasad Studios and his newly constructed, aesthetically sensitive house at T.Nagar, Madras.

Some excerpts...

Frontline : Why do you avoid journalists and critics?
Ilaiyaraaja : Why should I meet journalists and critics? First if the critics assume that they know music, they can straight evaluate my music and write about it, no one is going to prevent it. If they don't know music, I have nothing to talk to them about. I am not avoiding out of any fear of controversy or anything of that sort. All these critics approach me with a hell of preconceived notions. They literally use me as a mouthpiece to voice their notions about music. Why should I give room for this?

Frontline : What is your view about music?
Ilaiyaraaja : To me, music is nothing but fraud. The moment you play all the seven notes, music is completed. Then going on repeating it - in different permutations and combinations - is nothing short of cheating. The person who successfully cheats a large audience for an extended period is called the "big" composer. Genuine music, to me, is the one which has no purpose. It should be as natural and as purposeless as the flow of the river. I have a purpose in creating my music. The purpose is business. Saint Thyagaraja sang songs to attain God. So even he had a purpose for his music. At least, he never sold his music. But take a farmer for instance. While ploughing, he spurts into a crescendo of music with no purpose. That is true music.

Frontline : Will the vidwans and musicologists agree with your view about music?
Ilaiyaraaja : Please tell me, who are the vidwans and musicologists? Saint Thyagaraaja, who spent his whole life as a wandering singer, sang his heart and soul out. The people who learn 15 krithis of that saintand practise them for their lifetime call themselves vidwans and musicologists. I have listened to all these living vidwans. There is always a tone of arrogance mightiness ringing in their voice and style of singing. I am very sure that Thyagaraja swamigal wouldn't have sung in this manner. His approach must have been the most simple, the most lucid and the most spontaneous. That is missing in the concerts. (Ilaiyaraaja sings akrithi to explain his contention). Therefore, there is no need for me to convince them.

Frontline : Then how do you define music?
Ilaiyaraaja : Music is nothing but sound. There is music in the bark of the dog. There is music in the walk of every human being. Music is not a subject to be discussed. It has to be experienced. The universe is one which has its own rhythm pattern, and it goes on in a cyclic fashion without losing its equilibrium. Similarly, sound is ultimately a solitary note. It is not ascending. It is not descending. It is not vertical. Nor is it sinusoidal. It is dynamic. Yet this dynamism defies our general perception. We human beings have lots of limitations. We are able to perceive only the sounds within the audible frequency. There are notes above and below that. We forget them. Man has fragmented this solitary note into seven notes of the octave. Listen to the howl of the dog. Doesn't it have a swara prashta? Sa Re Ga.(Ilaiyaraaja sings and shows the similarity).

Frontline : There are various systems in music - like Carnatic, Hindustani,Western, tribal and folk. And every system has its own schools. Which system do you think is the most well developed one?
Ilaiyaraaja : I do not like to make these types of value judgements. The person who assumes the role of a judge should be extremely well versed in the various systems of music which he compares. A person who compares and rates Carnatic music higher than light music should know both the systems. But people who dismiss light music here do not know both the systems. Saying Hindustani is superior is superior to Carnatic, and even in Hindustani, Drupad is superior to Thumri or Khayal, opera is superior to symphony, sounds utter nonsense. No one knows all the systems of music thoroughly and hence no one is qualified to be a judge. But every one of passes value judgements about one music or the other. Further, to me, at a different level, all these systems and schools appear imaginary.

Frontline : Your notion about music is reflected in your work. The list is endless. Do the producers and directors immediately accept your experimentations?
Ilaiyaraaja : Now I am a saleable commodity. Above that, I have a reputation on which the producers and directors have faith. My commercial viability, coupled with my reputation, gives me enough freedom to assert my right as a composer. They have confidence that if I do something, it would somehow reach the wider public. But I have the responsibility of proper films for experimentation. I cannot just throw away my labour in a gutter. So selecting producers and directors is my own prerogative.

Frontline : Are you prepared to support new directors who want to make experimental films?
Ilaiyaraaja : Definitely, yes. But before that, what is experiment? I don't understand. Most of the experiments never take people into consideration. There cannot be an experiment without people. It is indulgence. I don't subscribe to it. People who have listened to my music and studied it will notice that I have popularised the various elements of Indian and Western classical music by slightly diluting them. A rich harmony is taken to a rickshaw-puller by adding a folk element to it. 'Marimari Ninne' and 'Maha Ganapathim' are popular among the villagers not because of any vidwans. They are popular because I have used them in a proper manner. To me, experiment means taking things on a high pedestal to the masses in such a way that they will accept them. Other than this, all experiments are a process of fooling oneself and the general public.

Frontline : Who is the composer you like most?
Ilaiyaraaja : Bach. The reason is that he composed music in the formative days of Western classical music. There are three different types of counterpoint among which writing invertible counterpoints is the most difficult one. His compositions are so complete with every note falling in the right place with amazing mathematical precision. That is his greatness.

Frontline : Do you think you have the right recognition? Are you happy with your two (now three) national awards?
Ilaiyaraaja : I have not been recognised by this Government to which I pay my tax happily. The national awards don't mean much. It made no difference to me. The only recognition I have is that South Indians throughout the world listen to my music. But this doesn't help me even buy a train ticket on the emergency quota! I don't have any good quality instruments to record my music. I cannot even get the basic requirements to function as a musician. This is the recognition I get in my own country.

source: The Frontline (1989)

mirror mirror on the wall

Read this. They are all praise for some South Indian movie - "Kannathil Muthamittal". South Indian eh!

Rob Chester says, "Shame on India for not sending this movie as their official Oscar entry. I have seen this movie and it has clearly revealed to me the maturity Tamil cinema has in its screenplay and narrative which bollywood better catch up with. By the way to all we westerners, Tamil Cinema is more qualitative and very different from Bollywood which is all about good looks, glamour and promotion."

Looks, glamour and promotion! That's all isn't? Mr Rob, do you have any idea how deeply John Abraham is rooted to his middle-class background? If you don't, please shut up. You know nothing about Bollywood. Go see his girl-friend and you'll know that - how deeply he is rooted to his middle-class background. Now leave us alone. We have enough problems to deal with.

For all of us Bollywood lovers, watching Bachchan Jr. and family at Cannes was a tragi-c**** experience. We were so sorry to see the newly-wed star couple being ignored by the very people they so eagerly wanted to talk to, and pose with.

Ignored! How rude of you! When you come to us, we pose with you. But when we came to you, you ignored us! How unfair! Were you being funny? Let me tell you that it was not funny. Didn't you know how much effort and headache had gone into all that - selection of costume designers, press release etc etc. Didn't you know how excited he was - Beta B? He was playing more pranks than he ever did, so happy he was all the time. "Marriage is a sacred institution" he said to us, and the twinkle in his eyes whispered, "especially when it gives you a passport to Riviera." Oh who could have expected such an anti-climax! If only Papa B would be there! But he couldn't go as the organisers wouldn't permit Amar Uncle for some crazy reason.

But what the hell was our media doing then? Why did they leave Beta B alone in an alien land, amid hostile people? How could media allow Beta and Bahu B to be snubbed by all those inward-looking racists? Why didnt they rush and tell others how adorable a son Beta B is, who always makes shooting such a cool fun! The whole unit feel like a family, more than usual, when he is around! Especially in movies like Umraojaan and Guru. Never heard of them!! Jhoom Barabar Jhoom? No? His old classics? No! Never mind. It doesnt matter. We bollywood lovers don't care for your opinion. Why should we?

At last, after the damage was done, media approached Papa B to know his reaction. But he avoided the question with his characteristic humility and said, "I feel fortunate to work with actors like Himesh Reshamiya and Mallika Sheravat." After we pressed him to corner, he only said that he was just an ordinary farmer and what could he say about these matters.

sunrise game

Yesterday's game was fabulous. We played with another team, which was better than us in all aspects thinkable. They were seasoned players, and their superb coordination made them simply too much for us to handle. All tired and sweaty, I was filled with admiration for my rivals who were still kicking. They were all in their 40s, except for one who was of about my age. She was not exactly bending like Beckham but she managed to keep me turned-on for the whole day.

True spirit, in all its forms, is sexy!

Or was it something else? Whatever, I can't wait for the next game.

Amar, Akbar, Anthony

Amar: The idea of Development at first sprouted in his mind by the ubiquitous pictures of the developed world - the West. In movies, in news, even in books he saw those mighty skyscrapers, soaring proudly in the sky as if challenging every possible limitation. He was told, in different languages, "Look, this is how development looks like."

Amazed and awed by the magnificence of those buildings, and by the tales of prosperity, he felt in his heart the need to rise, to run, and to become like them. The march of man towards a world free of misery thrilled him. He forgot to look carefully at them who walked in the corridors of those buildings. Early in his childhood, he was exposed to the vision of a Modern India. Years passed by and he grew up into an adult, self-absorbed and confident, and those pictures of development always lingered before his eyes. He still feels that New Delhi is nothing but a poor parody of New York. He has miles to go.

Akbar: Meanwhile, the great-grandfathers gave up their old devotion for Arabic and Persian and made sure that the little ones do well in English and Mathematics. Some of them, including Akbar, were captivated by the charm of oil-lamps. He slammed the windows to keep out the winds (from West). With a pride akin to a loyal subject who gives shelter to a dethroned king, he kept on fighting for the lost cause. Hde idn't allow kids to keep dogs in house and made them watch the Mushayara channel. To others, his tenacity was futile and pitiable, like that of an animal which was being dragged to the slaughterhouse.

Anthony: Standing in front of the memorial, he sighed. They made it to last, those Portugese, he wondered. And now, all he can see is*...

*this post is incomplete.

Vote for Taj!

Yesterday I recieved a forward mail with an appeal to my patriotism - Vote for Taj!

The mail was deleted without any loss of time, but the topic stayed for some time for its irritation-value. The only thought that came to my mind was in form of a picture, a picture of a man taking his wife with him and asking every passer-by, "Isnt my wife beautiful?"

Tajmahal can stand on its own foundation, it doesn't need any support. And Beauty is not a mandate, it doesn't need unanimity. It is not a commodity that needs marketing and market survey. But my fellow Indians have embraced the culture of shopkeepers rather well. Today we see them canvassing for their motherland, tomorrow they may be seen on streets standing with their mothers, "Please taste this. My mom is one of the world's top 7 cooks."

In evening, they will go home and order pizza.

Note: I wonder if someone blunt asks them how many dishes have they really tasted before telling others that it is their mom who cooks the best. Others too love their mothers, don't they?

Artistic Freedom and all that jazz

Caligula: Do you really believe in the gods, Scipio?
Scipio: No.
Caligula: Then I fail to follow. If you don’t believe, why be so keen to scent out blasphemy?
Scipio: One may deny something without feeling called on to besmirch it, or to deprive others to the right of believing in it.

****************************

So much has happened in last few days! I can only imagine how terribly dizzy you must be feeling, dear artist. Everyone is talking about you, and your work – people you know, and people you don’t know.

Your unfortunate detention has caught the attention of the national loudspeakers. Learned men and women have strongly condemned ‘yet another attack on artistic freedom’, administered by the right wing forces ruling in Gujarat. The editorials of prestigious dailies and the discussion forums of TV channels are burning with protests against this ‘flagrant violation of the fundamental right of expression’.

About half of the space of The Hindu's 'Letters to Editor' is seen to be used by its progressive readers to voice their outrage against ‘the return of the Stake’. You’ll surely be delighted to see the awareness of our people and their zeal for modern ideas and values like "Freedom" and "Democracy".

It should be noted though, that the same liberal people hardly felt what they often feel on such occasion – outrage, when works of writers like Salman Rushdie or Tasleema Nasreen were banned in a secular nation. Secular! The same people shed copious tears when the pious 'secular' sentiments were wounded by the mischief of a Danish cartoonist, and even went to the extent of making nation-wide demonstrations against the conviction of a cold-blooded dictator, in a democratic republic! That’s our 'right-handed' left* for you with all their kitsch of modernity!

My convictions are, however, irritated by some other doubts. And I think you are the best person who can help me to find the answers to the questions that disturb my thoughts, as far as your case is concerned. I'll spare you all the rhetorics and all the etiquettes that make disagreements look more awkward than they really are, and talk straight to the point. I have made some effort to acquire an understanding of Social Contract - the framework in which the modern political ideas had been developed (by 18th century French philosophers like Rousseau and Voltaire and many others since then). At the risk of sounding pedantic, I would assert that these ideas, outside this framework, not only make little sense but also deceive and corrupt our thoughts.

Please don't panic. Let’s take a simple case - if I refuse to give up my freedom to swing my hand freely around me, regardless of the fact that it happens to slap the gentleman standing nearby, and if my two free eyes choose to gaze in a manner that offends the shame of his lady, I wonder why should they be reminded of my right of being treated with courtesy when they, in turn, like to exercise their freedom of denying me that (Didn’t I step over their right of dignity first? Was it not I who first broke the social contract between us?).

In the framework of social contract, as we know, a Right is always accompanied by a set of responsibilities; and a right is allowed to an individual only if he agrees to forfeit a part of his freedom, which might be (mis)used, to the extent of his/her capacity, to the detriment of society.

This implies that if I behave with a sense of responsibility then it becomes a duty of the civilized society to ensure me my rights. This is perhaps what they mean by social contract – mutual respect and a sense of responsibility on part of both individual as well as society.

Artistic freedom, I think, is no exception, and an artist has every right to express himself, as long as he doesn’t forsake his responsibilities. Now the next question is – What is the responsibility of an artist?

Well, I am afraid I have no idea of that. I think this is for the intellectuals to ponder upon or for you artists to feel in your heart. But I am sure that there must be some sense of responsibility on part of an artist to deserve artistic freedom. I repeat - there is hardly anything to said and proved here. Rather there is only something to be heard in your heart, when you are alone with yourself.

The letter has become more tedious than I intended. So I’ll wrap it up now. My only concern here is that any irresponsible act on the part of artists like you only helps them - the scavengers - the right and right-handed left, run their business. Both, wanna-be artists and activists of various camps get their share of limelight at the cost of people’s sentiments.

Don’t take me otherwise. I am not one of those whose faith is made and broken by others’ conviction in that; and I am not paranoid about cultural invasion either. I don't have to be. You can hardly better Kamasutra and Khajuraho that way. If you think you have to say something good, go ahead, and say it artistically. But please decide your responsibilities and bear them in mind, for freedom is nobody's birthright.

*No reference to any political party.

The Fetish of Results, Ranks and Remunerations

I wonder why I have never written anything on this topic, as it is so close to my heart. Read on, the sentiment is mine, and the words are of the principal of Doon School - Kanti Bajpai.

This is a right time to write about 'the economics of propaganda' feeding on the middle-class superstition and insecurity, which makes a fetish of education, results and so-called ranks of students (and institutes). After the maddening chaos of boards results and the marketing of minimum cut-offs, we see the magazine stalls littered with annual surveys of Top 10 institutes of India, which believe me is absolute nonsense. Read on.

Why do top results -- in boards, JEE or UPSC -- matter to us so much?

Judging by the hoopla surrounding the board examination results, Indian school education is in decline. What we are witnessing is a kind of decadence. The media is only helping construct this decadence. It has little or no understanding of education, focuses on the most sensational and trivial aspects of school life, and is fetishising learning. Unfortunately, it is not just the media. The government, the examining boards, school managements, teachers, and, yes, parents have combined to bring Indian education to this pass.

We think that Indian schools are world-class institutions in the making, that our science and mathematics are the envy of others, and that Indian students are smarter and harder working than anyone else. None of this is true. Indian schools are in a shambles; our science and mathematics teaching are appalling; and our students, while intelligent and diligent, are of the same genetic material as other human beings and, given the burden of our curriculum, are in danger of losing their creativity and energy by the time they "succeed" in school examinations.

Our annual board results, IIT results and civil service examination results are feeding the frenzy over the search for the smartest and the most likely to succeed. This year, the frenzy over who "topped" the exams, which school produced the best results, how many students got into engineering colleges or got the best SAT results (the US college entrance test which is a 10th standard exam, at best!), and who headed the IIT entrance lists has been worse than ever.

The question is: how can it possibly be interesting educationally that student X got 95.6 per cent and was at the top of an examination list when it is likely that the next person, who never features in the public adulation, got 95.5 per cent? Does anyone seriously think that there can be any difference intellectually and in terms of life chances and attainments based on these infinitesimal differences? Indeed, is there much difference between someone who scored 95 per cent and 89 per cent? Has anyone bothered to track all these "toppers"? Where do they end up on the scales of life—income, professional satisfaction, social status, personal happiness? What do they contribute to the good of society around them?

This is not to denigrate those who have topped. It is to ask what this frenzy of interest is about. It is not about education, whatever else it is about. It is a circus, without a circus master. Each of us helps make this spectacle, though some are more responsible than others. For instance, why does the CBSE, the most reported board, splash the name of the toppers around and feed media comparisons relating to this year's average as against last year's, how many passed and how many did not, and so on? Why do school principals like me and school managements tell the media who amongst our students topped the results and what our averages are? Why do school managements base their judgement of their school's success so massively on the board results? Why do parents, most of whom did not do particularly well themselves in the board examination in their own day, and who know that school examination results do not count for much in the game of life, become so drunken over the results, losing all sense of proportion?

One reason for this fetish relating to marks and averages is scarcity. In a country of scarcities, even a marginal difference, we conclude, can make an enormous difference to our children: that extra mark will mean extra consideration when colleges admit (somewhat true, at least in India) and when employers hire (largely not true).

Another reason for the fetish of results is our paranoia. We are convinced that people out there are conspiring to deny our meritorious children what they rightly deserve.What can stop them from doing so except a marksheet in front of them? After all, who can quarrel with the numbers? It is another matter that the numbers we fetishise are only one indication of the quality of a student's mind, and no one, with any sense, would go only by numbers, at least for the purpose of hiring.

Finally, we urban, "educated", middle-class Indians have made the board results into a fetish because we need a clear, simple and apparently unassailable index of success. So much in India seems second-rate and bleak (it is not, but we have persuaded ourselves that our country is a collective failure) that we must have some golden eggs. It does not matter that the eggs are in someone else's basket, that someone else's son or daughter has topped. We hunger for an affirmation that there are "successes" amongst us capable of transcending the "mediocrity" around. We are in search of supermen so that we can feel better.

A Streetcar Named Desire

Big boys play with big toys.

Happy days are not away. Tata uncle is going to present all the big boys (and big girls) his dream car, in just 100 thousand bucks! Now everyone will have his own car. Papa has his car and mamma has her car as well. Now I too am going to have my car. I will not have to wake up early in the morning to catch the bus. Oh how eagerly (more than for new Harry Potter!) I have been waiting for the day when I will break open my piggy bank and rush to the city center to buy it!

Wow! What a great fun it will be! I’ll drive, like Shahrukh (in that ad with Preity), looking all cool, burning the tires and zooming past all others on the surprised road. Yippee! I wonder how it feels like – to hold the control with soft hands and to turn the little wonder gently on corner, and to feel its tender hum with the touch of foot! Moon! Music! Oh God! It’s splendid! I will ask Neha for a drive, and we’ll go to ‘Temptations’, she and I. Hope that creepy thing - Rahul doesn’t poke his long nose, coz even he was talking about his piggy bank and his plans.

So even he will get a gift, not just I! And like he and I, everyone else! What nonsense!

But then how will I enjoy? Our town is already so crowded, and God knows how many red-lights are there, with those sneaky policemen around. And it is terrible to get stuck in one of those traffic hold-ups! I hate it - people mindlessly honking, and dust and smoke, and our sitting helplessly, sweating and waiting. TURN ON THE AC! What a terrible pain! What is car for if you are made to crawl it behind a rickshaw? It’s all useless junk, any model, any color!

I wish we were in Shahrukh’s town, where we could drive fast on broad clean roads with trees on both the sides, swaying with breeze as they show in TV. Our town is not that good for driving. Hope we shift to Shahrukh’s town some day. Last Friday mamma got so awfully hurt; some jerk had hit her car outside the parking. Now she leaves early for office so that she could reach safely and get a nice place to park her car. I guess traffic wouldn’t be that bad in the morning.

Oh no! Again I’ll have to wake up early!

Well, it’s a good idea to wake early if you could drive fast, at least drive without getting hurt. But with creeps like Rahul around, it’s foolish to suppose that they wouldn’t get this idea. And then it’ll be all the same. I’ll have to wake up even earlier.

Why doesn’t Tata uncle make some roads for us? I wonder how many roads he will have to make, and where! Perhaps it will be too hard on him. But then he should not sell his cars in our town if he, or anyone else for that matter, can not make roads here, the roads that we need to drive our cars without getting late or hurt. Why doesn't he see this? It is so plain and simple. Or may be he does!

Let me think.

I guess I don't need his gift. My bus is alright for me, with Neha sitting next to me. :)

Reliance Fresh

I have always loved Ranchi, and now I am proud of it. I feel unpardonably ecstatic that it has happened, and that it has happened there. I wish I were there! Standing with those ‘petty traders and vegetable vendors (courtesy Rediff.com)’ with an iron rod in my hands and smashing those ‘Reliance Fresh’ outlets!

I think I have a fair understanding of the significance of ‘Free Market’, perhaps better than many who, without applying their own minds, glibly invoke fashionable phrases in order to feel intelligent, and in turn, to rationalize any atrocity in name of business and GDP. Blind to the world around them, they fail to see the possibility of corruption inherent in these ideas, if accepted at face value without careful examination. But ignorance of many is not important. What is important is that those who know should not be contented so early and so easily, coz many such establishments are yet to be demolished.

Unfortunately, all of them can not be demolished by iron rods, because they are not made up of glass walls. They are ideas, or rather obfuscation of ideas, constructed of words carefully kept one over another with cold precision, and consecrated in our minds in order to achieve not only profit but also approval and applause (for having achieved profit!). And these ideas rely, for their prosperity, on the mechanism of continuous exposure to flashy neon-signs that sensitizes unknown vulnerabilities in man and then evokes the worst in all of us; they rely on all-pervading ads that whet our appetite to the limits of disgraceful gluttony. But this greed and this gluttony are ours and we have to own this.

Every word comes with an expiry date. Worn out words and phrases - clichés - not only eclipse the very thoughts they are supposed to contain, but also ridicule and trivialize its meaning, especially when used glibly in lowly context – the monk who sold his Ferrari – no correlation between words and state of mind at all! But then who will bother to climb mountains just to eats the apples?

But these stale, rotten apples gradually poison the mouth, and become instrument of deception and intimidation in the hands of the clever – the more respected a word, the more prone it is to be corrupted. And before they get tried and convicted, the priests make people commit all type of ungodly acts in His name – so to have a few (un)chosen ones, the scapegoats, sacrificed is okay for the noble purpose of growth; and often such measures of growth, in reality, stunt what is meant by growth. Now which rod can touch these words, and this ubiquitous gluttony?

Besides, the propagators and supporters of these ideas and these institutions are not only powerful, but supremely cunning as well, who very well know how to manage everything smoothly. These people are smart and trained professionals, smart enough to secure judicial protection from their ‘ridiculously tactless’ victims – those who are first rendered unemployed by capital vandalism, and then branded ‘petty’ and accused of ‘vandalism (!)’ by the corporate sponsored urban media, whose loyalty has always been towards balance sheet and stakeholders. It has done little to deserve our, the people’s trust. Truth is more than just a product laid out for sale, much more than something that provides intellectual entertainment to the unintellectuals.

Who needs Reliance Fresh in Ranchi? I never needed them. These outlets will spoil the aesthetics of the small hilly town without adding any economic value to it. It will not generate jobs but will surely leave a lot many people without jobs. In places like Ranchi, there is (or used to be) something called haat where villagers, men and women, even kids, I remember, gather in the vast field beside temple and sit under the shadow of trees, once or twice in a week, to sell their goods and grocery. Amid the clamor and noise of babu, bhaiya, sir etc there would be a cheerful atmosphere of festivity around. People not only go and buy vegetables but also haggle and talk and enjoy the whole outing. Villagers would greet their old patrons with smiles on their faces, and offer discounts and urge them to buy more. On one side there would be stalls of household items and on the other side the bright colored clothes hanging for display would attract your eyes. Children would eagerly wait for their turn to gorge on jalebis, golgappas and chaat after their parents are done with shopping. I remember myself visiting haats with my parents and our helpers. I have seen old women, who don’t know how to count, and who can’t tell between notes of Rs 10 and 100, carry on their trade simply on trust. Such simplicity and such innocent charm are unimaginable in cities. I don’t see even trace of such warmth in Pizza Huts and Crosswords, not even fake. Well, at dusk, they would roll their mat, pack the unsold grocery and leave for their homes with whatever they had earned for their toil from seeding to selling.

Now Mr Ambani decides to go and snatch a Rs 10 note from each one of them, of course not by disreputable old gun but by his honorable ‘Wharton’ enterprise. While someone loses his all, all that he can manage to get is but trifling small! And those who grow food for us have to sleep with their hunger wailing inconsolably whole night beside their beds. Perhaps I am getting sentimental, perhaps unreasonable as well, but only a blind can see something that deprives those poor farmers of their Rs 10 in positive light. And I don’t even find positive answers of many 'practical' questions that arise in my mind. Does he think he’d stay in market because he hopes to grow better fruits and vegetables? Will he make agriculture more efficient, of course, without snatching lands (even lands!) from poor farmers in name of SEZ and sacrosanct ‘growth’? Will this ‘industry’ generate jobs for people?

Actually this is a march of naked hubris and power. Mr. Ambani too, without doubt, keeps an unconcealed (and insatiable) desire for power without, it seems, having commensurate enterprise and risk-taking ability. Opening grocery outlets by Reliance is like a fake Ashwamedha Yagya by a coward king who has had the ashwa (horse) led in the direction of a desolate dessert where no potent rival could challenge him for a battle. With all the cash and confidence he possesses in the market, he could have ventured in the rough terrains of hardware products, or bio-chemicals, or even cola for that matter. That would have been a war worthy of the strength he has inherited and also of the title of ‘youth icon’ this urban media has cheerfully bestowed upon him. But the businessman contained himself in the trade of vegetables! He eyes profit no matter how many farmers starve and how many of them commit suicide. Given his character and (lack of) enterprise, the next sector for him seems to be drug trafficking and prostitution, if he is already not into it.

All of us live by the choices and decisions we make, and I have made mine – I can’t prevent them from hoarding their profits but certainly I will not allow them glory for doing that. Since when have we started respecting people for their ability to acquire, for their greed and gluttony? And I have always failed to see any value in acquisition though I admit that doing that ‘successfully’ is difficult. But an act is not worthy just for being difficult. And without any value these acts are nothing but gross and even criminal.

This country is invaded by her own sons – home-made Mehmoods whose only ambition is to loot as much as possible and take away to their Ghaznis. They don’t hold swords in their hands, and they sit in cubicles with their laptops, so that others could not recognize them. And they make us believe that what they do is what should be done thanks to Ayn Rand School of Morality. Money becomes its own justification, as it is material manifestation of virtue! Market will keep on supplying more and they will keep on looting and hoarding. And above all, they think they deserve respect for this!

Let them be powerful and strong. It is not easy to stop the juggernaut of Reliance Fresh, which is fuelled by the brazenly arrogant force of capital and monstrous greed. But we must resist and we must be man enough to say a resounding No to phallus worship in all forms! Fool devotees give birth to evil Gods. We will worship Christ because he taught us love and humility but not because he was son of some God. Each one of us must fight to his capacity, with iron rods or with pens or with both if needed.