That thing …forever!

Sun spread itself on the floor of their drawing room. The only sounds that bothered the otherwise quiet air were the occasional hush-hush of few members of the family and the call bell that the maid would answer once in a while.

Ravi and Sarika were sitting on the either side of the clean white sheet; motionless, speechless but full of thoughts – thoughts which raced from one to the next, without giving any clue where they got lost in the whole scheme of things. 

He was lying on the floor, resting his both hands back to support his body which would have otherwise fallen down. He scanned around the house looking at the walls and the roof and the floor and the door and the windows. They all look quieter. Quieter than what they all seemed a night before this day when they all were filled with the cacophony of their fights, echoing the hate they would spill off on each other. Could it be the suffocation of that hatred which is responsible for what happened – he wondered. He then fixed his eyes on one end of the white sheet, the end opposite to where she was staring at. 

Her lower lip curled itself inside to get wet. Her eyes would have turned into stone if they were not blinked for some more time. She could hear her voices from the last night. She had almost shouted at Ravi, “I want to be free forever. And I want my son to be free… free from the clutches of your failures… free from your anger… your rage… your fucking, miserable life... for god’s sake! I want to take away my son to a life of hope and positivity and happiness…. forever and ever.”

It’s been two months. Their divorce was settled and now they were fighting for their son’s custody. If things would have gone as planned, they would have been sitting in the court room today to hear the verdict. Last night, both tried to argue, as their last chance, before the final verdict… just in case the other would change mind… or heart. No judge. No advocate. No legal hearing. Only their twelve year old son, to their ignorance, was standing behind the closed door, as motionless, speechless and full of random thoughts… as they were now. 

She wondered now, what does forever mean? 

Rishabh is dead… forever. And beyond death, what else is there… like forever? Feelings? People? Possessions? Life? …not even life. Only death is forever… naturally. Everything else is forced, constructed. If you decide not to talk with someone forever, you force yourself to not to. If you decide not to love someone forever, you force yourself to commit to it… and in our rage to hate each other forever, we went a little too far… so far that we lost our son forever. Was it all about him?

All this while she could hear her voice rise. From low pitch to high. Just like last night. Only that, it was in the head. It appeared as if her thoughts were talking to his, growing over in their heads, as loud as they could, strongly contrasting the silence outside. she felt him saying – No it was all about us. It was always about us. We had almost forgotten that he existed; existed as a person beyond flesh and blood. A person with a mind that might have had hundred questions for us and a heart that would be bleeding with thousand emotions, with what was going around him. But we never really cared.

She moved her eyes from one end towards another in a hope to see Rishabh’s face but got caught by Ravi’s, who had moved away from the face, in a hope to seek a momentary withdrawal from the reality of the moment. When they both met, they could not really decide what was more profound in each other’s – the guilt or the sadness? Hatred? Probably that was long gone, before they could even realize. Sometimes we engage ourselves in a desperate search of that “forever” thing… so intensely that we almost forget what we really wanted for ourselves, for ever.

Irresponsible entertainment?

What would we do when we graduate from X with good grades and getting admitted to a good junior college? Shop? Party? Have fun? This girl, I met some days ago, more than anything else, raced around to get her name changed. Why? Because her name, apparently, had become a way too popular.

It may sound a little too frivolous. But trust me, if any of you would have met her, you would understand what I am talking about. If you had seen in her eyes the guilt of bearing a name that was adjective-zed with something like “chikani” and contained in a song that vulgarizes one's being, you would understand where I am coming from.

When I asked her why she changed her name, she informed me, “Bhaiya, I don’t want to spend my first few months of college in embarrassment.” I felt angry. Imagine if I had to rename myself because some careless a**hole has turned my name into a cheap entertainment! Some people may argue that this girl, and all the girls like her, need to have courage and strength to fight it or to ignore and not to be affected. I ask, fight or ignore is a good idea... but how many times in a day?

I am sure when her parents would have named her whatever they did, they must have had some very beautiful connotation. And we – people who create such songs and those of us who have made them so popular – have brought shame upon the same name. At this realization, I think of all those girls who may be named a Munni, a Sheela, a Chameli and such. What creepy humiliation it is when you walk on the street and someone at your back sings “Sheela ki Jawani” or “Chikani Chameli”!

Men have been objectifying women since ages. That's pathetic. But what is more crazily insane is women's participation in this process of victimization. This has to stop. And to stop this, it’s not men who will take the initiative, some may be empathetic though. Rather its women who need to take the lead. I wonder - why a Shreya Ghosal has to sing Chikani Chameli in first place? Why a Farah khan has to create space for Sheela ki Jawani in her film? Why Malaika Arora has to dance on Munni Badnam Huyi? Why these women do not have courage to say no to such demands? After all they are established and powerful figures in their respective professions? Aren’t they?

As I understand cinema, the concept of “script ki demand” is crap. There are hundred other ways to narrate one's story. One just needs to explore those other ways. And I don’t think it’s about creative liberty to do what we do in liberty’s name. If that would have been the case, it would have been interesting to listen to Katrina ki jawani or Farah badnam huyi. But we don’t. Because in the name of creative liberty we rarely spill off the shit on ourselves. It’s mostly others.

I respect the courage with which all the girls with these names are surviving and fighting this humiliation. On my part, I pledge never to play to any of such songs. I pray that someday our film industry will grow to be a little more sensitive. I also hope that in one of the Satyamev Jayate episodes Mr. Amir Khan also talks about the social responsibility his industry has and is not catering to. Amen!

P.S. – I am a huge Amir fan and I love his work, including SMJ.

Reinstituting faith...

“How do we inspire ourselves to greatness when nothing less will do? How do we inspire everyone around us? I sometimes think it is by using the work of others,” suggests Nelson Mandela to Francois Pienaar, in the movie, Invictus. Frankly my quest right now is not for greatness. That’s too much to ask for when all I am seeking is sustenance in and a periodical, critical review of the decisions I have taken in my life. Why I am where I am and why am I doing whatever I am doing? In such moments of uncertainty I seek out for reasons, and further for inspiration to sustain those reasons.

Recently I happened to meet two inspiring sets of people.

I was walking towards Matunga station with some friends. That’s when I spotted this lady, busy teaching this child while running her vegetable shop. I wonder, what kind of determination and faith in education it would take for a mother (or guardian) to keep on educating one’s child in most difficult circumstances of life?

Few days later, I happened to visit the Cuff Parade Slum area which is majorly populated by fishermen and their families. I met these two awesome boys (right in the above picture, boys in the school dress) who lived next to a filthy garbage collection pit (left in the above picture). Still, they were getting dressed for their school with a happy smile on their faces. There was no one in the house. I assume their parents were off to work. The elder brother was helping the younger one to get ready. Their smiles whispered to me then, “We believe in what you are doing, do you?”

I would want to make a point here that I don’t intend to glorify the “power of poor to fight against the odds of poverty”. That’s not the aim. I have met people from other sections (the upper and the middle class), who have lived their lives with equally strong examples of faith. It so happens that the two stories I mentioned here come from a certain section of society (of which I have other issues but shall not discuss it here, as it's not in the scope of this piece). Also, I think it doesn’t matter which field of work we choose to live by; what matters is our understanding about our work and what is it intended at. Rest everything falls into place.

I have read Gandhi’s talisman* in almost all my CBSE board books through my schooling days. However its true meaning only unfolds now when I think of that lady on the street, those boys in the slums and many such amazing set of people I happen to interact in my course of life. With this, the doubts in my mind start melting away…!

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* Gandhi’s Talisman: "I will give you a talisman. Whenever you are in doubt, or when the self becomes too much with you, apply the following test. Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest man [woman] whom you may have seen, and ask yourself, if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to him [her]. Will he [she] gain anything by it? Will it restore him [her] to a control over his [her] own life and destiny? In other words, will it lead to swaraj [freedom] for the hungry and spiritually starving millions? Then you will find your doubts and your self melt away." – Source: http://www.mkgandhi.org/gquots1.htm

P. S.: The opening of this blog is same as one my previous blogs,  http://rohit2093.wordpress.com/2011/01/28/beyond-the-cycle-and-cancer/  . It fitted in here pretty well and didn’t feel like changing it.

Time we change our sports?

I was sitting in my window last weekend, watching children play various sports in this huge ground opposite my building. I was following them, from cricket to football to volleyball and so on. And something struck. We have always believed that sports teach us stuff... but today, it was interesting to note how they teach us stuff that might mirror the society they originate from and those where they flourish.

Take cricket. There's one batsman and one bowler. Rest all are others. Their position may strategically have value but socially, in the structure of cricket, they are not as valuable as the role of a batsman, followed by the bowler. This is more apparent in gully cricket, where there's no team as such. Rather children take turns for batting. You ask a child who plays cricket, and 99% times you will hear that he prefers being a batsman. In fact I have seen insances where children cheat – they play their part of batting and then go home excusing themselves with “mummy is calling”. Everyone on the ground wishes to bowl the batsman, so that they can take his position. We know so many good batsmen or bowlers. Barring few exceptions, how many good fielders are remembered (and given a chance to endorse products)? Doesn't it in a way reflect the society where certain hierarchy is DNA-fied in the its structure? And where else this sport could have originated other the Great Britain, which has a history of hierarchical social setup? And where else could it gain such popularity other than India (and its neighbouring countries), which is so profoundly fixated with its love for class, caste and creed?

Well this is not about discussing how good or bad cricket is. The sport may have its own merits. However, I am more concerned about the lessons we are planning for our children on the field. All I am asking is, if we are really looking for solutions to such problems of social stratification, shall we not relook into what's going on in the schools (and not just classrooms) and streets and sports grounds? It has long been established that what's going on in the classrooms is not the most right thing that can happen to our children. Shall we also give a thought to what's going on with them on the field? And more so when The Great Britain itself has successfully shifted it's focus from cricket to football? Isn't it time we change or transform the sports we play?

P.S.: I am just thinking aloud. I may not be right in what I am proposing. It's just a point of view. I invite all the readers to post their views and have a good discussion here. And would really appreciate the cricket-lovers to give it an objective thought before presenting their views :)