TINA

Dear TINA,

You have left me with no alternative (if you'll pardon the puns), except this feeling of helplessness. All we could do was watch whatever was handed out to us. Cynicism had led us to curse you, dear TINA, you who has been there for the past thirty years, right alongside the Left Front government, their bosom pal, whom they strove to preserve. We never realized your presence when we were growing up. Not that we registered any political presence at that time to speak of. But now that we have seen what you imply, our frustration is growing. What do we do? Your presence so effectively erases the ultimate solution a democracy has to its problems. But then again, it seems we have slipped from our position as a democracy. In that case, TINA, your presence has been justified and we were fools not to recognize the threat you pose now, earlier. 

Hope had been lost when we first recognized your face for an inevitability, TINA. But hope is now returning. There are other ways other than the obvious way. We shall find them. For now the time has finally come when people have been too deeply betrayted to be comforted by their apathy anymore and they have thrown down their blankets of endless, cynical, hedging talk and decided enough is enough. Anger is pure and primal. And for us, it spells the re-incarnation of hope. Even in your face, oh TINA.  We don't need the paltry excuses for opposition that you give us to chew on. As far as we are concerned, we are the only opposition this government truly has to fear. There are intelligent courses of action, and we shall take them now. No escapist withdrawal into the arms of polite debate or the mindless tantrum of a bandh shall suffice, for we chafe for action. Your lover has spilt blood on the ground, TINA, and we have smelt it. 

Your love affair is over, TINA and the Left Front. There is a force called civil society which you never had to encounter before, but which has mustered its forces now. And yes, there is a force behind the talk, or atleast, there is a force NOW. And NOW is what matters, is it not TINA? For in anywhen, in any now, you can be deposed. And we are about to make sure that happens......somehow.

TINA, TINA, you bitch, I'm through. 

Another childhood idyll falls

This time it was the old favourite storybook series: Malory Towers. 

There had been a time, when I was twelve years old (i.e., not too young!) when I had had a heated debate with a literary critic about why she considered Enid Blyton politically incorrect, why she said women were misrepresented in her stories, because at that time, I still would not have taken a word against the author I had spent my childhood with. This time, as I read, I watched in mental horror as I myself critiqued her rigid sensibilities. Malory Towers, a haven to which all us youngsters had once wished and wished our parents would send us to, slowly dissolved in my opinion as a haven and became a structured prison! 

Not only is xenophobia more than painfully apparent in the characters of the two Mam'zelles, Dupont and Rougier, one being stringent and an ultra-prude while the other is gormless, but the conventionality and strict codes of conformation struck me as being even more painful! The girls themselves are snobbish, heirarchized and extremely exclusivist. For the first time in my life, I actually sympathized with Gwendolen Mary!! 

There seems to be a central core of exemplars in Darrell, Sally and Alicia. They decide who gets to fit in or not. Anyone who is different, is put down in a list for rectification. As if difference is necessarily a flaw! The talented girls all have weird quirks. Belinda and Irene, talented in art and music respectively, are scatterbrained, and often make fools out of themselves. Alicia, who was a little on the wild side, becomes acceptable in the later books, only after she has been tamed to the norms. Her wildness is only allowed to express itself in harmless tricks and jokes. The potential for her to become subversive is clipped, even before it has a chance to assert itself! Mavis, a girl who had an enchanting voice, was flawed with the sin of pride. Once she has been taught her place, she is willingly accepted, but her place is apparently well behind those of the main trio. Bill, a girl who loves horses, has her feminity disregarded. Since she is a good rider, obsessed with horses, comes from a family of 7 brothers, she is branded the archetypal tomboy without ever getting a say in the matter!  She isn't ever given a chance to grow into the woman she will eventually become, no space to discover her own identity for herself. In the fourth book, she is given a friend in the form of a girl named Clarissa, who, on account of becoming friends with the much marginalized Bill, is from the next book onwards, similarly side-tracked. Identity is a big problem in Blyton's school stories. All the girls seem to be bred towards a similar purpose. All the girls are white, and Christian. No representation of diversity. If one cannot fit in, one's edges MUST be trimmed until she can be forcefully made to fit inside a singular mould. The fact that in school, one makes choices regarding the sort of person she wishes to become doesn't appear of consequence to Blyton. In this respect, I believe she misses out on the point of school altogether! By the end, one gets bored. Through 7 years of school, all their education has done is to negate all notions and values of individuality. There is strength in community, not in singular purpose. The women are always denied the opportunity to assert their individual wills or personalities. Even academic excellence is not given precedent over social viability!

Gwen, according to me, is the most rebellious figure. In her continuous unwillingness to conform to the desired norms of womanhood and responsibility, no matter how negatively Blyton paints her, she stands out as the sole opposition to established authority. Because of this, I keep on cheering for her now! That there can be alternative human beings to Darrell Rivers can only be seen through Gwen!

People like my parents keep on stressing how evergreen a writer Enid Blyton was. In my opinion, creating a false idyll for children is ultimately disappointing. I don't know how I would have reacted to a socially conscious narrative between the ages of 5-12. In my currently enlightened state, I would like to believe socio-political awareness should start as early and as naturally as possible. But perhaps I would also be doing Enid Blyton wrong if I didn't consider her environment. Her era's prejudices seem extraordinarily blatant to us now, but maybe our own will seem just as blatant in times to come.

Schindler's List

Forgive the blasphemy, but just a coupla weeks back, I saw Steven Spielberg's classic, "Schindler's List" for the very first time. But in seeing it at this age and in my current circumstances, I think I pretty darn well ruined the film for myself.

Let me explain:

I don't know if it's plain some kinda immunization to death and destruction and mass murder or what, but for the first time, I felt a total lack of sympathy for the suffering of the hundreds of Jews. And as I realized this lack of sympathy, I simultaneously felt a sense of shock at myself. Spielberg's film is obviously meant to make the audience witness the horror of the death camps, the unthinking cruelty of the Germans, and against this backdrop, the charity of Schindler, who, as a businessman, is only capable of buying the Jews in order to keep them alive.

Well, in my opinion, all this highlighting of the suffering of the Jews is very fine and dandy, but was this any justification for what the Jews themselves have perpetrated in later years?? I am referring here to the seemingly unending conflict in Israel-Palestine. I felt a sense of anger in watching the film. The Jews themselves have spilt so much Arab blood, was that some sort of revenging themselves because of the massacres of the Jews down the ages? Having, as a community, faced so much violence, one would think they would be the first to want to avoid any more warfare in the name of faith, community, ethnicity, whatever.

I was talking about these conflicting emotions to some friends of mine later, and they also mentioned something very interesting. In the west, there is some kind of belief that this has been only genocide in world history. The suffering of the Jews has been glorified so much and the Holocaust heroicised(what's the right word here??!!!). What about all the other ethnic cleansings, genocides, mass murders in so many other nations world over since time immemorial?? Many of which western powers have themselves perpetrated or sponsored.

My parents,while watching this film, kept on going "tch tch, eeesh" and constantly shuddering during scenes of brutality. They kept on re-iterating what a cinematic classic this was. All this time, I felt infuriated, helpless and more and more angry. I couldn't divorce the Holocaust from my own experiences of history. I mean,since I was born, Israel-Palestine has always been a zone of seemingly perpetual conflict. And I am now twenty. The Gulf is still uneasy. I'm sure one cannot blame the entire Jewish community for the Israel-Palestine situation, but isn't the western world demonizing the entire Muslim and Asian community because of terrorism??

At the end of "Schindler's List", I got up feeling extremely disgusted and nauseous and realized I had probably ruined my reception of the film. But I couldn't help it! What are you supposed to feel at the end of a battle of such conflicting emotions? How do you react to the murder of a community which you know will turn out to be cruel, heartless warmongers themselves?!!! For the first time in my life, I didn't know what to feel.

A Little Matter

There are many little things we can do to save the Earth. Here's a reflection on saving paper that occurred to me in an auto today.

My parents are academicians. There are lots of empty notebooks lying around in the house courtesy the conferences they have to attend. I have always tried to use them as an alternative to buying new notebooks for college. It's a great way of saving paper. But this is only in college. Think about school.

In school, we used to have prescribed khatas which were the only brand we could use. These khatas generally used virgin paper, and a lot of it at that! (does anyone remember metropolitan khatas?). We could never use any other form or brand of notebooks. Isn't this a colossal waste? There are quite a few notebook brands available nowadays that make the khatas out of recycled paper. Or even for kids in situations like mine, who already have tons of khatas lying unused around the house; wouldn't it be great if they were encouraged to use the resources they have instead of using up additional unnecessary resources? And in school we needed a LOT of paper!! And then there were tuitions. I mean, a khata is a khata. Does it really matter what brand or colour it is? These are one of those unnecessarily trivial and useless rules schools still steadfastly adhere to. Instead of incorporating subjects like EVS to spread the message of conservation, teaching kids little conservation tactics like these, I think, would work better.

Ribbons of the World Untie!!

I have lots of ribbons.
Red- In support of people with HIV/AIDS and also in support of the spread of correct information regarding HIV/AIDS

Purple- Against Child Sexual Abuse

Blue- To Save our Planet

White- For World Peace

Black- Against Racial Discrimination.

I could have lots more ribbons for all the evils in the world today, if there are enough colours to go around.
What a lot of problems we have in our world.

Baby Booze

A/N: The following is not meant to be read by anyone who knows my parents!

It's all very fine to make a classy face,

And claim that you know wine,

But you're going to botch,

Tasting Scotch,

Unless you make yourself supine.

Distraction never caused no harm,

To the appreciation of the beery barm,

And many a tale,

Will go well with ale,

But Whisky, would lose it's charm!

When you're well fed,

Wash it down with mulled mead;

Or with a quart

Of the finest old port,

But take Whisky alone instead.

The old vodka and ginny,

Might make excellent Martinis,

And brandy go well with cake,

But I'll insist to a fault,

With good single malt,

You can never make a mistake!

A pirate and his rum

Are faithful old chums,

But Whisky makes a finicky choice.

Only those who have class,

And a tall soda glass,

Are privileged to hear it's voice!

Don't drink in a crowd, when you're down and depressed,

Whisky's to be had when you're free of all stress!

'Coz when things look bleak,

That you won't last the week,

The old booze'll just worsen your mess.

Mix it with soda, or put it on ice

Whisky is not your everyday vice!

Nor meant for macho swiggin'!

Sit back, if you please,

Be perfectly at ease,

Until you're ready to begin.

Croon to your liquor, as if to a lover,

Come to a deep understanding.

Then go for the dip,

And take the first sip,

Than wait!...don't be demanding!

Burning, burning, wait for the fire,

Of this celestial brew,

It'll singe your throat with an acrid warmth,

Once that first mouthful is through.

Go ahead, get drunk if you want,

I'll admit it's hard to resist.

Speaking for myself, I'm far more pleasant,

When I'm perfectly pissed!

Mind you! I'm no dipso! I'm just appreciating,

An example of manufactured art,

Besides, Scotch is best when had with discretion,

I've maintained that right from the start!!

So let's raise a toast,

And ardently propose,

This the finest of blends.

With a "Weis Heil!" then a "Hic!..."

Next morning you'll be sick,

But believe it was worth it in the end!

High in the hills,

Where the amber distills,

Closer to the heavenly guys.

If they take an afternoon off,

And nip down for a quaff,

I wouldn't be at all surprised.

To ancient gods and old friends

I have a question about answering a particular question that bothers me.
How does a person like me answer that deceptively simple question asked at most polite social gatherings by scarcely-met relatives and acquaintances: " So what are you planning to do after college?"
How do you politely break it to them that "after college" is like a black hole you don't wish to look into? How do you break it to them that you are "between dreams", as it were? That your effective plans for the future have been trampled on and you're looking at Stage One with no more energy or enthusiasm to script a new dream. That you've been pushed into Cynicdom and Un-belief. That the hope you'd had of scripting your own future has been effectively flushed down the toilet, and once again, you're standing on the threshold of making the decision of living your real life on the sidelines, just letting that portion fill up the cracks in an otherwise solid block of "I-don't-caredness".
The answer is, you don't. You just smile as usual (while inwardly squirming) and reply with something socially acceptable; preferably impressive sounding, list a couple of Ivy League universities off the top of your tongue, paint your prospects the colour of money; and equally fake.


Another thing, on a completely unrelated track.
I was watching Star Wars Episode I: A Phantom Menace the other night. Now, anyone who has known me at all in the past, will know about how addicted and crazy I am about Star Wars. Once upon a time it was my one and only obsession. But this time, I dunno, for the first time in my life, I couldn't relate to what was going on on screen. I was (I found my own self going "hawwwwwwwww!!" when I realized it!!) quite bored. Now, I know I've seen Ep I atleast 50 times before, but with Star Wars, getting bored is NOT an option! And this was supposedly my most favourite of the Star wars series!! I began to nitpick with the technicalities, notice flaws in the script, think how banal the dialogue was, wonder why George Lucas (once my hero) couldn't have done something worthwhile like Frank Coppola and Steven Spielberg have................in short, absolutely blasphemous thoughts had begun to course through my brain.
Growing up is hard. But to realize that old ideals, fantasies and worlds have no meaning for you any more, is a different ball game. It startled me when I realized it and began making me question how much I myself had changed to cause these corresponding changes to take place. Something I had once thought impossible had now actually happened. One cannot remain a child forever or take childhood with oneself when one grows up, but to lose a fundamental fantasy, something that had been such an integral, fun part of my life before, was jarring. It was like losing a bit of myself, especially a part I was extremely fond of and secure with, something I had a great deal of affection for still. But I also realized another thing. This had been coming and I had only been denying myself the inevitable. After a point, you just have to hold the funeral, shed your tears, and move on. I think I buried Star Wars the other night. My memories of them have probably become just that, memories, something that will fade in time. Somewhere along the line, I had left my Neverland behind.

STORM!

What is it I love about thunderstorms? I love the jhoro haowa that arises as a prelude to every one. The tang of moisture gives it away at once, especially at the end of an oppressively humid, temper-fraying day. Even if not accompanied by the rain, the jhor is enough to always set my nerves a-tingling. Storms are so .................wild!! It seems to touch the raw, primitive side of me. It makes me want to DO things. I always find the storm imparting some kind of energy to me. I feel energized, activated. Like I can do anything; like a superhero. At my Rashbehari house, often, at times like these, the beginning of the monsoons, if i caught the whiff of a jhor beginning to arise, i would race up to my chhad. There would be a canopy of dense, dark thundercloud encircling the horizon. Looked like an umbrella over the world. I would climb the parapet and enjoy the wind blowing against me while all around, windows and doors crashed against each other or the wall, and people in all the neighbouring houses scrambled to pick up the washing. Chaos in the dark, and I loved every minute of it! I loved waging an imaginary battle against the wind, needling it, taunting it, to blow harder and harder! I loved to get wet in the really fierce, hard rain, that penetrated through to the skin at one go (weak and wimpy drizzles are just plain annoying!). But of course, in situations such as these, I would be forcefully pulled off the parapet and into shelter before I could get properly wet! :( When I was in school, somehow the storms would freakishly coincide with home-time and me and a couple of my friends would rush out without umbrellas or raincoats on purpose into the downpour and waltz intentionally down the long drive to the gate. By the time I got home, with my hair plastered to my forehead, and annoying semi-dried trickles down my back, my books would have to be spread out to dry on the floor, and I would get a royal pasting! ( As if I ever learned!) Unfortunately, it was easier to be as carefree in younger days when one didn't have to worry about transparent tops!! I am still thrilled and awed by the sheer power and majesty of thunderstorms. I think they are the most regal of natural phenomena. I try and link scientific explanation with natural fact, but in this case, reason somehow always fails. it's much more logical to the imaginative mind to believe in gods waging war with lightning bolts and clouds ramming against each other to give vent to thunder. Storms embody passion for me, and the source of unspeakable, inexplicable elation. And also, (at the risk of seeming to drop intellectual tidbits!) storms remind me of a passage from one of my most favourite Shakesperean plays: CASCA:

Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth

Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,

I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds

Have rived the knotty oaks; and I have seen

Th' ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam,

To be exalted with the threatening clouds:

But never till tonight, never till now,

Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.

Either there is a civil strife in heaven,

Or else the world too saucy with the gods,

Incenses them to send destruction. CASCA: Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! CASSIUS: A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA: Who ever knew the heavens menace so? CASSIUS: Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night; And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. CASCA: But wherefore did you so much tempt the Heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. [ Julius Caesar; Act I Scene III ]