Before I Enter The Next Decade For Good...

     I remember that the first film I saw sitting in a cinema-hall was Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.in 1998. I was four then. And I had wept when I saw Kajol leaving Shah Rukh. And then, I watched a string of obscure movies. And then came the star. Rakesh Roshan was promoting his son. Hrithik Roshan acted opposite Amisha Patel in Kaho Na Pyaar Hai. Not that I really understood the movie very well, if at all. And the last movie that I watched in a cinema-hall was Guzaarish, coincidentally Hrithik's, too.
     But to think of it, and think of what it is like today, I can break down any moment. From being an IES school's student, to shifting to another school; from being the outcast fat boy, to turning into this 'malnourished-looking' (how I hate that word) boy; from being a to-be-sciencie, to being an artie; from being a school-student, to being a college student; from being inside the closet, to coming out of it  a lot has changed, the operative word being 'lot'.
     And in some hours, some minutes and some seconds, I, along with my part of the world, will have moved to the next moment, which incidentally, will usher in, not only the next second, or minute or hour or month. It will bring along with it, the next year. The next decade. The peoples to the east of me have already entered a new page in Time. I shall, too. And so will the west, after me.
     But do all other things remain the same? Does love increase? Do we live lives afresh? Does all rancour cease at the stroke of midnight? Only Time will tell. Until then, bid the Old Man adieu. A baby is to arrive.
     And then, saying this will make the most sense:

"At the stroke of midnight hour, when the world sleeps, the world will actually awake to life and freedom. A moment comes which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, then an age ends, and when the soul of a a world of many souls, long suppressed, finds utterance. It is fitting that at this solemn moment we take the pledge of dedication to the world that we shall give birth to, and its people and to the cause of humanity."

(I have edited a portion of a historic speech. I do not wish to offend anyone, and have done whatever I have, keeping in mind what I think are the needs of today.)

Your Generation Is Mad!

     I have heard this statement around a million times for sure. My teachers, my grannies, our family-friends, other relatives  an umpteen number of them  I've heard it from them all. I have thought of my granny as a tyrant, and other people who said that as ghosts, vampires and things like those. Well, I wonder if I have rights to that kind of thoughts anymore.
     I was just casually chatting with a college-friend on Facebook. I learnt that she, like me, had joined the Facebook bandwagon only this year, after the tenth standard, when many good things like blogging begin, and many like school end. Her brother, who is just eleven (huh, eleven?! Like, seriously!?) is a part of Facebook. And a child of one of our family-friends is a member too. And he is only and only eight. And we both looked at the coming generation, and as we've seen people sighing, we sighed, "This new generation!"
     So, have I grown senile? Does it mean I am a stick-in-the-mud? No! I have every right to think that the coming generation is wrong. Well, THAT is how the world moves. You get better ideas. And the old people shun the new ones. Wow. That is how it all works. I want to be called old generation too!

Of Walls and Bridges

     Christmas is the season of carols, cakes, marzipans. It is also the time when you fill your life and others' with limitless happiness. One of my aunts is a storehouse of wonderful stories. I remember, some years ago, she told me the story of two brothers. Of some land. Of some tongue. Of some faith. Of the human race. Let's call them Ravi and Arjun here.

     Arjun and Ravi had had a bitter dispute over a plot of land their family had traditionally been using to cultivate corn and rice. Arjun wanted the land all to himself. So did Ravi. And the tragic thing was that neither would budge unless the other did, which meant that the land went to both, or to neither. So, they called in a building contractor, and asked him to build a wall in the centre of the plot, in such a way that one brother may not see what is going on in the other's farm. (Stop imagining too much. It is NOT Boman Irani's Ambuja Cement ad.)

     And the next week, the brothers were told that the construction task was done. And when they came out to see the walls that should have been, they saw bridges instead. 

     The story ends there. As much as it may sound empty or blunt or abrupt to some, it is a slice of life. For life is never complete either. Just putting a happy ending tag at the end (which is not even the end) makes life seem like an already bad cliché gone wrong. Well, I can think. So can you. The brothers could have patched up (what an emotionally vulnerable pair of siblings) or could have driven the contractor away (without pay, of course).

     

     I attended a Christmas party recently, and this is what one of the people there said to us. Christmas is about three things:

• One is, that one day, whether or not we believe in God; whether or not we adhere to a particular religion; whether or not we like people judging us, we do stand in front of God, where we are pronounced guilty of the sins we've committed, and are asked whether we admit to our faults or not. Guilty or not? does not even exist. 
• The second one, is that God then himself searches for a solution and finds one for the atonement of your sins.
• The third thing and most evident part of the story is that YOU get to make a choice to take God's options or not. 

     And I hope seriously that the brothers patched up, you know  that is how it is. That is how Christmas is. You don't burn the bad. You just make it good. Merry Christmas!

Santa Claus

I thought Santa was for real.
Well, not anymore.
The day people tell you
Santa doesn't exist,
You don't actually believe them.
I did not, either.

But now I do.
You get gifts from Santa.
As you grow,
The world gives you,
Gifts of pain.
And you thank the world.
It's been your secret Santa.
For Santa exists only in legends.
And yeah. My dreams.

What are you?

Of what colour are you?

And of what race?

What religion do you follow,

If you at all do so?

Of what tongue are you?

And belong to which caste?

And if you opine about things,

Which is your school of thought?

How much fortune

Have you to your name?

What is your status in society,

Your lineage, your fame?

What are your gotra,

Your kula?

Do you understand it when I say,

mala and tula?

Where have you come from?

And where do you want to be?

Answer only the last question of mine.

The rest should and shall

Be flushed out of my memory.

For you are what you are.

You are, what you want to be.

Sharvareesamayah

     The period between the time of dusk and night is known in Sanskrit as Sharvareesamayah or the time of twilight. I am in love with some different periods of the day. And Hindustani Classical Music has always had a mood corresponding to each praharah of the day. I love the twilight and the dawn the most. The dawn, because it brings in a new sense of hope in you, that you are not the only one who is rising, that a part of the whole world is waking up to do what it is supposed to.
     On the other hand, the twilight is a tearful farewell to the day that has been. The sun sets. And the mood of people too, usually dips. That is so, because the sun, which has been so much a part of your day  that has helped you in overcoming hurdles by injecting amounts of hope in you, is bidding adieu to your part of the world. Songs sung during this period are usually erotic in nature or sad sometimes.
     But life never comes without a surprise smiley. The twilight also brings along with it, the fact that there has to be an end, no matter what you do, who you are, what you intend to do if there were no end, or whatever. And that there will be a tomorrow to everything.

The last rays of light immerse themselves in the ocean

     The songs sung during the hours of twilight are those of wait, and longing. Very symbolic of the yearning of the living creatures, of the tired earth, for the first ray of light, for the rise of the sun's charioteer, referred to by many (and correctly), as the real arunodayah. For every spell of darkness to undo its effects, and dissolve into the whiteness that gives birth to itself.

My Mind's Transit

You'll never know

What this transit

Is to me; means to me.

The crowd 

That drives me to paranoia.

The towns I consider non-entities.

The cramped space of Thane.

The sleep after that. 

The stench of Sion

That

Wakes me up 

From my nap in the train.

The spit-stains at Kurla.

The rush at Dadar. 

The vastness of V.T.

The beggar 

Whom I see daily,

But towards whom I have 

developed apathy.

The claustrophobia through the subway.

The smoke emanating

From the yellow-and-blacks 

That cough toxins.

The nagging roadside notary lawyers.

The shade near Cama.

The pavement adjoining Cama Hospital

And

 My transit

Meets its end.

And each day, 

As much as I try

To abhor this journey

Of mine,

This period of

My mind's transit,

Becomes an irreplaceable

Part of me.

For a while,

Becomes me.

Now, That Thoughts Arrive

I spoke to you a lot.

But not what we call

Matters of the Heart.

I could tell you a lot of things.

But I never knew what to.

My fights? My crushes?

My tests? My sorrows?

My joys? My ideas? My secrets?

Now I know what to tell you. 

I'll tell all you want to know,

I'll sing all the songs you wanted to listen,

Come along when you say, "Let's go,"

But then,

as with the fact

that you aren't with us, I strive,

These futile thoughts of mine-

With pride, arrive.

The Harishes of My Life

     It is not everyday that I think of how many people with a particular name I know, and how they have helped in shaping my life's course into being what it is. Well, I strongly believe that when you are the part of someone's life, maybe even like an extra in a Bollywood movie, you change their life in some way. Like, for example, there is this person walking towards my direction on a footpath, and I am walking towards him/her. We come at a point where I have to decide whether to choose to go to his/her right or left. He/she forces me to take a decision, maybe very trivial in nature, but a decision  that is.
     I have been thinking all evening about the number of Harishes that I have met in my life, of whom I have at least one fond/ not-so-fond memory. Well, the youngest Harish I remember having been a part for a considerable period of time should be Harish Iyer/Nair/Menon/Whatever. We were classmates in our standard-V. I was a class monitor then, and would often chide him for his conduct in class. (This kinda sounds really funny.) I have no memory of his after that incident, except that I was not very friendly with him.
     Another Harish that has helped shape a part of me is my cousin Harikrishnan Iyer. Pet-names! I had this self-built communication barrier between us both and I really never knew what kind of a person he was, not before just recently when we talked to each other heart-to-heart. But today, we bond like a house on fire. I am known to be extremely objective while speaking things, and talking to myself, and considering what others speak to be rubbish. But bringing things to my mind, he did a good deal of it.

     Well, the third Harish I know is the known children-and-gay rights activist, an alumnus of St. Xavier's, my college. He has shaped my life like no one else has. Coming out of the closet was my idea. But the credit for doing it all, at least providing the initial impetus, goes to him. I met him on a road, finally, unexpectedly. But then, things happen.

      Like I like to say,

Welcome, to the world of strange things.

     I'll be possibly seeing  a number of people with the same names. Different personae. Maybe a name does not matter as long as you are what you are. But it does bring back old memories. Old thoughts you had deserted. Longings and cravings you had learnt to silence. And then, you remember it all. You look at how you look at things in the present and then you smile. And things start looking a lot better then.

The Big, Fat Indian Wedding. Needs. A. Gym. Seriously.

    Weddings are made in heaven, they say. I wonder, then, why does all the pomp have to be done on earth? For instance, “Hi, I’m Karuna from Hyderabad, and, here -Varun’s my husband. We got married in heaven.” How I wish it were all as simple as it sounds.
     As long as I am in India, I know this question will plague me each time a baraat passes by my house, or when there’s a wedding at a friend’s or a fiend’s, or worse still, when there is a wedding in the family. Why is it that marriage is not one’s choice in India? I know I am not to get answers (read: satisfactory answers) to these questions as long as I search for them. But that does not mean I shall stop asking questions. Ask, we must.
     Another issue about marriages that cheeses me off is the fact that India’s is a chauvinist society. A sexist one. So, when it comes to weddings, just because I am a boy (‘man’ feels so chauvinist-piggy), I have to carry all the luggage to the vans that transport people to the wedding hall and back. Well, just because the Indian psyche is that women or girls are not strong enough to carry weight. If a girl has the right to take rest, so does a boy. I know it all seems so lazy-boyish, but as stupid as it may sound, I am lazy.
     Why does the groom’s family never have to do anything? Why, on earth, do the wedding costs go to the bride’s family? Why do people ‘not take dowry’ in money terms but in the form of wedding costs? Why is a woman considered to be a liability? Why does arranged marriage appeal more to people? Why does the woman have to tell her in-laws what she knows (cooking, singing, whatever, whatever)? Why does the Indian eye still see inter-caste marriages as lowly? Why is it okay if a boy has been through a number of whirlwind romances, but not if it’s about a woman? And why, of marriage, in the first place, do people think of highly? Why does everybody have to get married? Why is a widower remarrying not noticed (if not accepted), but a widow remarrying frowned upon? Why are divorcees considered bugs? Why does a woman usually get blamed in a divorce-if domestic violence is not proved?
     And why do people have to ask a boy to ‘bring a good girl’ (so typically TamBrahm) to his house? Because they care? Yeah, they do, they care for others’ issues too much. We Indians suffer from the Peeping-Tom Syndrome. We cannot help interfering in others’ lives. What I shall eagerly wait for, is the day when Indians start caring-yeah, caring a damn. And also for the day when The Huge, Obese Indian Wedding succeeds in its diet plan to become less of a vulgar show-off  of wealth and power than what it is now.

Work Hard, Sleep Calmer.

     So, after having thought ill of time, the world, my college, the system, my life, the internet-addiction for so long, I am free for quite a small nap. Or a wonderful gaze out of my favourite window. Well, I have always been a person who cannot concentrate on things for more that 60 seconds at a span. And then, this happened.
     I have this EVE (Environmental Education) project to submit tomorrow and I had been wondering, how, without my two partners (who turned out to be irresponsible nut-cases) I was going to manage completing our my project-at least to the extent that the teacher believed I wasn't sleeping all 21 days. If I have to frown still, colleges belong to hell, then. And my sad soul rests in peace.
     Just watched a video on Facebook yesterday. Does God exist? Does cold exist? Does darkness exist? Does evil exist? Is God evil? Does sadness exist? Not necessarily to the other questions, but the answer to the last one is surely a no. It is just the absence of happiness. And once it returns, it's sunshine again!

May I Cry?

Little Birdie,
In your nest,
Burying my face,
May I cry?

White Moon,
Under your light,
Wiping my tears,
May I lie?

Oh World,
Against laws, of your lands and seas,
Will, to me, you tell,
When I have the power to do so,
Should I not rebel?

Of Victors And Victims

     The society is not very good a place to be in. You get judged. You get advised. You get critiqued. And what not. The society surely runs with the help of a certain number of rules, that, one could say, are necessary. But along with it, just like you say, "You'll get an apple, and I'll get one" (though apples these days don't taste that great,) people must have got to frame rules. And in the name of each one getting to frame a law, the society probably got laws which act like barriers, which, when repealed, would not lead to any anomaly in the system.
     One such law, a social law, I specify, is the one regarding marriages. If marriages are so very Made-In-Heaven, why on earth do we have divorces? (These imported products, I say!) Well, people, over the centuries and millennia in history, have taken certain things to be granted. Why, I ask, can two men or two women not marry? Pat, comes the answer-they cannot procreate. Whoa! And I thought marriage was sacred! So, could we take for granted that the sole reason why marriages take place is because you need to keep the population on the increase? No, no. That is so insulting to a serene, sacred institution like a marriage. Whatever!

     

     So, I don't know the when and how of what will induce a change in the perspective of marriage. You are whatever if you take up Arts after scoring well. You are a brainiac if you are a Sciencie. If you are rich, you must be arrogant. If you are poor, you must have no 'attitude'. Wherever it is, that this society is heading! And they define society as an institution of civilised people with a sense of right and wrong.

Feeling the Salt on Your Wound

Every time I smile, 

I see my past dug up.

My love sold.

My feelings compromised.

Every moment I think

I am happy,

Every time I hope

It will all be good,

I see the dragon of ill-fate

Eat up my hope.

Each time I look,

At the healing wound

Caused by 

The Sickle that dug up my past,

I can see people holding

In their hands,

Salt.

To rub on my wound.

To see my eyes red;

My cheeks wet.

The Sun that Changes Each Day

     I love to keep looking at how Nature changes its face every single day. I have a huge window at my house. And each day, the sun makes it a point to peep in. And all the year round, the sun looks at my house from a slightly different path, and smiles beatifically, and dons various avatars each day.
     Like now, it is painting the back of my tee yellow. Some days, like yesterday, it turned into a huge melon, but that you could see without hurting your eyes. Sometimes, I can see it compete with the moon, as it slowly turns mellow, hides behind the clouds, and dares you to find it.
     Once, I just arranged my cam-corder and my pair of binoculars in such a way as to shoot the sun going down the distant buildings. And then, it happened. I kept watching at the recording for two days, but I now have no idea where it is. But I got something else.

Thanks to my pair of binoculars!

Hiding behind the clouds... 

Fair and Lovely!

The sun peeps into my house through
the window that I so love

     And many a time, you get so tired of the heat of the sun that you run to shady places (no pun intended). And in winter, you wish that the shadow of the building were not on you. And thus, even the sun shows me that love and hate are born of the same source.

And the candle that kills the dark when the sun is not up yet, I believe, is the child of the sun.

Zephyrs That Rock You

     I love the wind. And love it big time. I am Jai, and I am 16, introverted (they call me so), nerdy, emotional, human, humane. I love music, and I love to believe that whatever happens, tends to follow a certain rhythm. I believe in my feelings more than my thoughts; I tend to judge things; I like being organised. 

     I believe in hating bad things and loving good things, so that you finally do not realise whether the emotion that you want to show is actually good or bad. I am not at all a people person. I love being with my friends, and I might know in the heart of my hearts that there are problems around me-grave ones, too. But I like to believe that in actuality, everything is all right. Everything can be brought to be good. Everything can be fine.

     I do not like people who discriminate on the basis of religion (it is a non-entity), sex or sexuality. I strongly believe that love and hate are the fruits of the same subconscious emotion; that you could pile up all your hate, and you could build something useful out of it, just like the raddiwala does.

     I don't know what to call the force that makes me think all this. For some, it is the atmosphere around me. Some call it God. And I call it Conscience. 

As in The Alchemist,

"When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person to realize his dream."