why should i look at your moon

A 'public' school in Chennai. Moans the loss of teaching days. rains, bandhs, festivites have taken a toll. so it decided to work on tuesday.
conscientious teachers?
dedicated school?
of course. and such brilliant trouble-shooters as well.
all it needed was to allow the 'few' Muslim students to take the day off. so generous of us. they can celebrate Id. everyone doesnt, no? so why lose precious time. pongal is coming next month and we need to take that week off.

the kid gets it right

these times

when the jar has been emptied
and remains so
when you lose
never to gain
when you move away
and don't get called back
when you move away
but don't come in someone's way

where seasons change
but the heart sees no spring

where there is no cosmic balance
no self regulating ecosystem
when what goes
doesnt come around

when times are not changing
when times don't remain the same
when life is not
that neat set of propositions-
direct and inverse
it is feted out to be

never say goodbye

there is an alternate universe out there. in the increasingly plasticy high-pitched blundering yet very much our world of meanings, our family that is hindi cinema, there are finally some relatives we can relate to. vinay pathak, ranvir shorey, rajat kapoor, saurabh shukla, brajendra kale, and the others whose names i dont know but the faces i can recognise- from a small role in that film, from an appearance in that serial. they come together again in Dasvadaniya.

the film marks a hat-trick, coming after bheja fry and mithya. populated by characters who are in situations you hope you never will be in. and yet what marks these bizarre situations- an actor finding himself playing the role of a don in real time, the aspiring singer finding himself a live cartoon, and a regular accountant handed a pink slip of life with three months notice- is its everydayness. a world when you have to wait in real roads, climb real stairs, stare at the real sea hedged in by buildings and visible only from a higher floors of an apartment block, a world where people forged childhood friendships in their 'society' as apartment blocks are called. a world where u can laugh at and yet emphatise with the character. where jokes dont mean an endless routine of caricaturing.

I cant help comparing dasvadaniya with dostana, if only because they came out around the same time. but where the 'aunty aunty' character was so made that she could be humilated, vinay pathak's encounters with his boss and even his clumsiness in the plane (stock fare of slapstick comedy)are strikingly nuanced. he may be a simpleton in many ways, but he is also a mature guy, his assessments of his life and handling of dissappointments touch you. you dont pity him, you identify with him and you respect his feelings.

dasvadaniya is what a film is about for me. unlike dostana, which interests me only as a cultural text (its handling of homosexuality for instance) but irks me for it is not a film. even by the standards of mainstream big budget hindi cinema, dostana makes not even a modicum of effort to develop its characters, make the friendships convincing, trying to see a story in all that display of skin and sand is asking for too much (i am not making a morality argument i must clarify and i do find the relentless focus on John's scantily clad body interesting. but thats what it is- interesting not involving) unlike this shabby-under-all-the-glitz effort, dasvadaniya is a story well told, with restrain, with attention to detail. it is not a new concept and it may never become one of the top 100 films of all time. but it is a film watching experience. not only is it a counter to dostana type assembly productions, it is an effective foil to the other format of hindi cinema- the melodramatic one. in this particular case, it is the perfect answer to the film i do like otherwise- anand.

i liked the fact that when vinay finally gets even with his boss, it is not through a long truimphant dialogue. that his equation with his brother is shown as different from that with his boss, stressing that everyone goes through different roles in life. i liked that contented smile when he manages to tell the love of his life how he feels. and the conversation with the best friend- it was awkward, with pathos but also ordinary in a potentially explosive moment. where memories are recalled, but emotions are incoherently articulated. vinay doesnt moralise, doesnt lecture on what life is, he reflects and you can follow his thought processes.

spoiler alert: what it left unsaid was even better. the guy before his death finalised parting gifts for everyone. but not for three people who can be deemed to be the most important people in his life. he didnt because for these three people he was a active valuable person. theirs were relationships of mutual value. the gifts were for people who had added to his life, made it better especially in the last months. there is no explanation in the film, but i read it as such. and found it brilliant.

commitment

to seize the moment,
live it
let it course through
my being
and
let it go
to sail free
denying it anchor
to be secure
in its transience
to savour
the morning after

to be selfish
and not want to feel so

What Women Really Want

A shorter version of this appeared in The Indian Express on 10 October 2008.

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/What-women-really-want/371539

There is a key difference between Plato’s ideal state as described in the Republic and the second best state in Laws. In the former, Plato abolished marriage and family for the ‘guardian classes’( i.e. the rulers) through what is called the communism of wives (not husbands!) and property, removed child rearing and education from the realm of the family and made it the all important task of the state. Alongside, he argues that women have the capacity for reason and hence should be trained like men to participate fully in all aspects of public life, including war and governance. In the Laws, Plato reintroduces marriage, family (male-headed of course) and private property for the guardian classes and this has significant implications for the nature of public life he offers women. Their duties, apart from household work, are confined to low ranking, child oriented and domestic tasks and restrictions are placed on movement, military service, and education. The central idea that emerges from this comparison is that for a woman, marriage/family, motherhood and domesticity cannot co-exist with public life, it is in the nature of an either/or choice.

While the Indian state has not explicitly kept women away from public life in terms of political participation and especially paid employment (indeed they cannot do so, as the masses of women have to work if their families have to survive) they have steadfastly adhered to two ideas- that a woman is primarily defined by motherhood and domesticity, and that child rearing is exclusively a mother’s responsibility. This viewing of women (across class differences) through the lens of motherhood and the model of the housewife is reflected in almost all state policies aimed at ‘welfare of women’, often clubbed with ‘child development’. The recommendations of the 6^th pay commission and the eventual action taken on it by the central government is only the most recent manifestation of this perspective.

The pay commission recommended increase in maternity leave from 135 to 180 days, and more significantly additional paid ‘child care’ leave upto 2 years for women to take care of minor children, not just during infancy, especially for examinations and sickness (both accepted) and flexible working hours for married women to meet the dual demands of home and work (not accepted). All these measures come under ‘allowances’ and get termed ‘gender-sensitive’ provisions, ‘keeping in view the dual responsibilities of the working women and increasing practical difficulties in balancing work and family responsibilities’ as reported in most papers.

Likewise, announcements regarding mid-day meal schemes routinely made by governments are accompanied by exhortations that mothers monitor these schemes to ensure the well being of the child. The Integrated Child Development Services (ICDS) meant to combat malnutrition and infant mortality as well as act as pre-school centres proclaim that ‘No programme on Early Childhood Care and Education can succeed unless mothers are also brought within its ambit as it is in the lap of the mother that human beings learn the first lessons in life’. It is another matter that the government pays scant attention to the service conditions of the anganwadi workers who are the backbone of the ICDS scheme. These workers, often women from poor families, are paid a pittance as ‘honararium’ as their work is considered voluntary, despite the fact that their services are used for implementing a whole range of government activities at the local level. As they are not regular government employees they do not get covered by any pay commission.

The other side of glorifying motherhood is the absence of the father in the entire discourse. While the 5^th pay commission had introduced paternity leave, it is for a grand total of 15 days. Those who avail of it often make news, as a web search would show. The 6^th pay commission goes a step further by placing not just early child care but care for the entire duration of childhood on the mother. That the male employee is also most likely a father and that fathers can (leave aside that they ought to) take care of children during sickness or help in exams appears beyond the comprehension of the state. One news report pointed out that these provisions discriminated against single fathers, thus reinforcing the exceptional nature of a father’s child care responsibilities.

That motherhood would ‘rightfully’ encroach on a woman’s employed life is deeply internalised in society even as work participation rates among women continue to rise. If the masses of women have always worked, either in the family’s economic activities or more often as paid workers, among the middle class too, the older debate of whether a woman should work or not after marriage has been eclipsed by the near acceptance of the need to work. Notwithstanding the fact that ‘saas-bahu’ serials continue to vilify the working woman, employability is a much sought out qualification in the marriage market, as evidenced in the matrimonial advertisements.

However, increasing work participation of women has not meant any effective change in the distribution of roles and responsibilities within the household on gender lines, despite what the glossies say on the changing Indian family and the new age man. What happens as the pay packet increases is the reallocation of household responsibilities to servants often under the supervision of the mother/mother-in-law.This internalisation explains the near absence of any discussion or analysis on these recommendations of the pay commission in the past 6 months even as almost all other aspects have been subject to intense scrutiny and debate.

At another level, it is important to note the absolute disconnect between the state’s policies and the demands of women themselves. Various studies and reports brought out by women employee’s associations and federations, the women’s and health movement and organisations working on issues of child and maternal health have consistently demanded the provision of day care and crèche facilities in or near the workplace. In India, there is a near absence of safe and reliable day care provisions in the government and the private sector, even as just a few private enterprises have begun experimenting with in house crèches (and have noted the positive impact on employees- male and female). This despite the fact the existing anganwadi infrastructure can easily be expanded to include this vital need. Most studies of the NREGA implementation note the failure to provide day care, despite the Act providing for it.

Moreover is it not vital to ensure easily accessible crèches if we were to succeed in the UNICEF mission (of which India is a signatory) to attain exclusive breast-feeding for the first six months of a child’s life. And yet, the breast feeding campaigns in India focus only on ‘awareness raising’ and not on enabling workplace environments.

Surely, it makes more economic sense (apart from being a sign of a caring state/employer) to provide day care facilities rather than dole out extra leaves. Which woman employee would choose a year extra leave over assured day care though out childhood near her workplace? That the state finds it easier to dispense with employees for long periods points to both the concentration of women employees in the lower levels of the bureaucracy and its lack of will to recognise childcare as an ‘economic right’ of its employees.

We do not have to abolish the family, like Plato did, in order to socialise child care or ensure gender equality; but surely we can recognise that child rearing is both the shared responsibility of the partners and the collective responsibility of society and that only equal and happy families will result from a state genuinely interested in the welfare of its citizens- women, men and children.

Hear Evil, Read No Evil?

I dont have a tv. Most of the time, especially when important events happen like bomb blasts or police encounters, I am very glad I dont. I shall live longer perhaps. But when I am in delhi, I catch up with my older avatar- the channel surfing, remote control freak one. And I try and familiarise myself with 'popular culture' as they call it. Yesterday I even saw quite a bit of Balika Badhu, the latest soap in town. ya ya there was a moral in the end, but for what i saw they seem to actually celebrate child marriage.

Anyway what spurred this post was actually the movie I saw on HBO this evening. Though our regular Hollywood fare, it had the subtitles on and this is how the translation/transliteration happened.

we dint have , did we
if you are keeping away because we had , then you can rest on that account
i dont remember the last time i cried after so i am overwhelmed
you look very

and so on. yes! you can hear it but cant see/read the word. there wasnt even the --- or **** to tell you a (shhh) bad word was being used.

I guess the subtitles were for us, the poor desi audience, but was the censorship for us as well? Surely this is self-censorship, for I think even Balika Badhu may very likely use it soon. I can almost read out the moral -' kachi umar main sexual relationship bachpan ko khatam kar deta hai' probably after a scene where the kids have explored sexuality.

I remember gay and lesbian kisses being edited out of sitcoms in Star and Zee channels, and even then it was self-censorship, but this takes the cake. So why? And why only in print? And you cant even say 'you look sexy?'. Long long ago some filmmaker had to re-record the song 'sexy sexy sexy mujhe log bole' because the censor board asked for THE word to be replaced. The songs doing the rounds these days (and unlike tv i am very updated on those thanks to radio) have phrases like 'saiya saiya sexy lage hai mujhe' and 'I am craving for your body now'. Not to add that one of our lyricists' most favourite words 'shava' means sexual passion. My friend who has been dealing with urdu and persian words made this startling discovery and i have been scandalising people ever since. But we can put that down to ignorance.

So whats next? Lets activate our imagination and outpace them. Meanwhile I shall go catch some old episodes of and the city.

finding tirthan

Rewind to summer 2006. it was, for me, the best of times and the worst of times. it had been six months since I moved to Chandigarh, set up home. At the end of the semester, I looked forward to a summer break in delhi, though it was not meant to be as leisurely as it sounds. My parents had decided to shift home, yet again, and I knew what was in store. Still, my spirits were high, I wanted to meet my friends and get back to the teen murti library. Emotionally, however, it was also a harrowing time. looking back, I don’t think I have ever felt pain like that, before or after. And I didn’t know then that getting over it was going to be much much longer than I had imagined.

So anyway, it was early may then. The big plan was that Sri was supposed to come to Chandigarh with a couple of her friends (and my acquaintances), we were then to go to a place called Chindi in himachal for 2 days, and then while those two would take a direct bus to delhi, Sri and I were to get back to Chandigarh and drive to delhi the next day. so that was the plan. When more efficient people make plans, I happily concur and at most assuage my guilt by doing what I am told- make a phone call here, or an enquiry there.

But this was not to be. the plan, as plans often do, fell through. The 2 friends weren’t sure why they need stopover in Chandigarh; they were probably feeling awkward about the fact that they hardly knew me or thought the time could be better spent by directly reaching chindi. And Sri, in her completely sorted out thought process, decided that come what may she will land up in Chandigarh on Friday night. This she tells me on Friday morning, and added that we were both to think about where to go as it would make no sense to now go to Chindi. I had read about Shoja long time back in some magazine, so did a brief search in my colleague’s computer. My room had not still been wired into the net. Some random site that came up in the search spoke about trout fishing in the tirthan river near Shoja. I jumped at the mention of a river and did another search but it threw up some info of a guest house which seemed very expensive. Places to stay in Shoja seemed even more unaffordable. There was no way to call, as no phone numbers were provided.

Sri arrived by late evening, we had dinner, and were all set to sleep because we had to leave early morning to the bus stop. But what exactly were we to do once in the bus stop- that minor detail we had not yet worked out. So we sat down to review options. The easy alternative was a drive to Kasauli, both me and my car were confident of doing that stretch. But that didn’t appeal, as we had both been there before. So with the info we had from my meagre research, we decided to take the bus to Aut, from where we were to find buses to Shoja. Happy to have taken this decision, we slept and reached the bus stop on time and boarded the bus. Looking back, I wonder at how little we thought about where we were headed. While I appreciated that kind of wanderlust approach, I had never done it before. Of course, Sri and I had done a couple of trips before from the completely planned (tickets, accommodation all booked) trip to Landour to the trek to Valley of Flowers where we made no bookings but had the itinerary worked out. I guess, that May morning, we felt that we had graduated to the next level.

It was nearing 2 pm when we got off at Aut and crossed the road. Now that road is no longer there, it has been submerged by the larji hydro electric project. At that time the construction was going on, and the water was of a brackish colour and hence hardly inviting. Enquiries revealed that we needed to get to Banjar to reach Shoja or the tirthan region. So we waited and took the bus. That was another two hours by the local bus which stopped too frequently. We tumbled out in Banjar and began enquiries, now more earnestly for we could see that the day light was not going to last. The moment of decision had come. We were told Shoja would take an hour and half and no one knew when the next bus was scheduled. At least not for an hour, locals confidently informed. We turned to the taxis now, the time to spend had come. To the taxi guy I asked the question which had drawn a blank in Aut- did he know about a place called trout house. And he pointed to the logo in his taxi, and indeed it was that very place. We decided to take the chance as it was closer than Shoja, and hopped in. I later realised that the choice was between the higher mountains and the valley, and we had opted for the valley. The river doesn’t flow by Shoja.

Almost as soon as we drove out of the banjar market, we were along the tirthan river. This was a different river. Clear and fresh, noisy, flowing over white rocks, forming little rapids all along. And pretty little villages perched on the mountains admist forests and meadows. some ranges were rocky and barren. Quaint wooden bridges and the iron basket ropeways connected the two banks of the river. Both of us knew that even if we had to return to Chandigarh that very evening for lack of accommodation, this sight was worth it. I was busy calculating if we could just go to the river side for a half hour before turning back. And as the road got worse and worse, the view got more enchanting. Soon we reached the Himalayan Trout House which was just across the river, by the road. The taxi driver left us staring dazed at the river, to find out if there were rooms available. And there comes a man in a blue kurta, Christopher, one half of the couple who run this place. The place was full, but since one occupant happened to be a friend of the couple, he was asked to vacate and move to the tent (or the house) and the fancy room made available. It was a tad expensive by our previous budgets, but we realised we could do it. One look at the room and the conversion was complete. It had been freshly made, and smelt of fresh pine with tasteful décor. After a cup of tea, we went to the river side. As we sat on the rocks with our feet in the ice cold water, I felt so many things at the same time and yet such peace. Intense excitement. A sense of discovery as if the place had been conjured up right at that moment of our arrival and specially for us. Achievement. Gratitude- for those two who changed the plan- and triumphant, for if they hadn’t, we would not have made it here and look what they missed out. And finally, I could think back on the horrors of the past month, and sitting there, found the energy to cope with it all.



We wandered about the rest of that day, spent time by the campfire among the assortment of people collected there, and the next morning trekked up to a waterfall, which is according to me the best waterfall in the world, and returned to the river once more before we left on Sunday evening. As the taxi took off, I knew I would return.

This April, two years later, I did return. I started the last week countdown to my 30th birthday with a drive with my sister. Six and half hours later, we were along the tirthan river. I had fulfilled a promise, to myself and to my sister who had in the time of 24 months reminded me about 24,000 times about it. I think I cant now be burnt at stake for being a bad sister at least on this count.

All along the drive, I was unsure about my feelings. I was not sure how I would react to the place. In the past two years, I had carried a certain image of the region, it could collapse. I was reminded of how it took me time to even react, forget assessing my feelings, to Bombay, the city of my childhood, when I had returned after many years. But the river, the rocks, the villages, the bridges and mountains above gently rested anxieties. Sure the place had changed, there were much new construction, some of them rather ugly. I hope it doesn’t meet the fate of the touristy destinations in the country. As of now, it retains all its charm, self confident in its power of seduction. You can’t as tourists say, ‘do’ this place, it opens up its secrets slowing, enticingly.

That evening, after we had to leave the river side due to sudden rains, I sat under the now covered gazebo, hearing the patter of rain, facing the river and called Sri. I hadn’t spoken to her in over a month. She had no idea where I was. As she picked up the phone, I said, no preamble nothing, ‘guess where am I?’. Sri took just a second, and her voice assumed a zing tone as she exclaimed, ‘ tirthan!’.


Epilogue:
I returned again in May. And this time, after 2 days of being spoilt by the trout house, went to Shoja. The drive to shoja was beautiful, through thick deodar forests, pretty villages, and awesome views of layers and layers of huge imposing fold mountains. It was so lovely, especially the sunset. And yet, I could not stop myself from a mental thank you to the local bus service for not scheduling a bus to Shoja at the time we had landed in Banjar on that may day two years ago.

kya rock-shock

One of the first things I did on getting the internet connection today was to listen to the songs from the film Rock On. It’s a big deal cos I have no knowledge of rock apart from reading Pink Floyd’s lyrics. I am of course a devoted fan of Indian Ocean, but have never associated it with rock music. It has elements I guess, and they are primarily performance oriented like rock, but I need to be enlightened on what actual genre their music falls under. So, what am I saying? That I will explore more of rock? I am not sure I will take all that initiative. But if ever I do, I will have to credit this film for it. My friend, with whom I saw this film, is a rock fan and she tells me the music is not ‘filmy’ and is authentic to the spirit of rock. And it’s the music which will live on. For the film is a no show.

The characters are well cast, they have the ‘look’. But apart from Debbie, no one becomes the character. I couldn’t find a story being told in the film, even if it is a oft done story. Maybe it is the influence of hindi cinema’s emotionalism or maybe it is my familiarity with the American ‘lets talk’ culture, but the film is much too unexplained. It is not understated communication, rather it is the lack of any effort at connecting with the mind of the viewer. It never takes us thru the process and the pain of the breakup. And never tells us why they managed to get back. We keep waiting for something which will put the film together for us as an experience, and that never comes.

And yet, I hear, the film has connected. The reason, if one were not to fall into cynicism and proclaim that any film manages an audience these days, i think is in the music- it has energy, joy, pathos, and lyrics to match the moods.

sloganeering

Recently i had to go to the Bsnl office. now going to any consumer care related office (government or private) is not my idea of a good outing. i end up losing temper, getting frustrated about the system- the works. but bsnl seems to expect this attitude from customers, and since they cant change their way of functioning (for that would erase their very identity) they came up with a plan to cheer customers. lined up all along those old stairs and dreary corridors are slogans, all by the way on power saving. I think they had an in-house competition among the staff for this. (wonder what the prize was- a free phone connection? or a promise of a lifetime hassle free billing?) What a novel idea! engage the staff and make the customer smile- in one go. Some top guy has taken his refresher courses on personnel administration seriously. Anyway my favourites were:

Save one unit a day, keep power cut away!
Maximise Energy Conservation, Minimise Financial Implication!
When its bright, Switch off the light!

Hey come on, these do rhyme, dont they....

When in doubt?

When in doubt, play trump- it was one of the rules of that 'intelligent game' - Bridge that my dad taught me. needless to say, I am not so good at it, despite the occasional streak of amazing luck. know people who would rather endorse- When in doubt, have coffee. So what is it that I do when in doubt? What do I keep returning to- when I really don’t know what to do. When I need to recover some sense of self? Or achieve a state of unawareness about the problems beseting the self. Atheist that I am, God and prayer are not an option despite an occasional yearning for the qawwalis in Nizamuddin dargah. So what is my pilgrimage?

1. Tea.

Cant think, cant write, cant read, cant sleep, depressed, bored- my first instinct is to get myself a cup of tea. I hope that once that beverage has seeped into my blood system, something would miraculously occur. But at least with writing, there is no such thing- its back to hard work with words, even as the cuppa adorns the desk. But the power of faith- the kettle continues to boil in my house.

2. Pride and Prejudice

My copy of the book is in near tatters; if its pages could speak it will tell you of the great diversity of moods with which they have been held. I keep discovering meanings, I keep marvelling at the insights and the prejudices of the writer, and especially wondering if people ever spoke like that, whether conversations could really be so nuanced and yet spontaneous. Other Austens beckon too, but this is the one with the irresistible pull.

3. Monumenting

The thing I miss the most in the city I live! A historical monument gives me a sense of calm. Even the ones teeming with tourists. Somehow, all that din just doesn’t register or is a murmur in the background. I could be happier without it, so I really prefer the not-on-the-ten spots to visit-list of any place. A drizzly cloudy day or a winter afternoon is ideal, but when the craving begins, heat or humidity doesn’t matter. The impediment is of course the illogical timings decided by ASI and liberally modified by the guards- I am still seething from not being able to enter urgasain ki baoli recently. A glimpse of the steps leading to the well only flamed the desire to be there. Monuments, especially the medieval ones littering delhi- they get me. So when I cant make sense of myself, this is where I want to go.

4. Cleaning

This is a confession. When my brain is blocked, the dusting cloth is my best friend. I rearrange furniture, put clothes into order, sort out bills, scraps of paper I cant made head or tail of, get around to disposing old newspapers, make lists of things to do and a timetable to be followed henceforth. By the next cleaning session, millions of timetables have added up and face the wrath of an unceremonious expulsion. I have perfected the art of ‘making a fresh start’. When life is smooth, the house is in perfect disorder.

Blue Trunk

Every now and then, I used to open a blue iron trunk, examine its contents one by one, throw some away and put most back in.

Letters, often chronologically arranged. Some of my own- never posted. Greeting cards. Some of them, handmade. I haven’t written letters or sent cards for a long time now. Movie tickets, with a little note on the backside- about the film or who I saw it with. Stuff friends had scribbled on my notebooks during class. A school project. Even an answer script, I topped, you see. School Magazines with some of my stuff in. And photographs too. A feather. A bark of the tree that has long been chopped off. A stone with a few words inked in, they have blurred now. The script of a play I was part of. A school momento, I wonder why I didn’t throw it. I despised both- the school and the momento- it is the ugliest possible. Even an autograph book. Poems, well that’s what I called them. Tucked into a diary I started over 15 years ago. I kept at it regularly for just over a year, but kept ‘re-starting’ it over the years.

I haven’t opened that trunk in two years now. Its lies in the attic of my parents house. I contemplated moving it to my house. But I didn’t. I can still see the contents as I listed them just now. And my life scrolled across. But its better located in that hidden corner. I wouldn’t want to throw anything away. I wouldn’t want to hold any of it as well.

Bounce

Past few days I have been playing this game on my cellphone with the feverishness with which i used to, in my pre-history, read novels. Maybe i need some counselling from Mac, about this sudden turn towards games-on-the-mobile, something i used to despise almost as much as i do camera-on-the-mobile. But something struck me about this game about guiding a ball past many obstacles to reach higher levels. There is no killing involved in this game, as in, in order to reach the target the player doesnt and cannot destroy anyone. It rather has to overcome those which can destroy it. It cant kill its detractors and finish them once and for all. Some times it has to trace its route of progress all the way back to the starting point just to enter the next level. Instructive and humbling.

My obsession with the game is over as well, it seems. For some reason or the other i cant get past level 7. I have one gate to pass, and i cant, try as i might, find it. So i have given up. Some meaning in this as well...

end of history

CPI(M) says Tibet is China’s internal matter, so no comments. Well so from now on we should not comment on

1. Racism, so no judgment on apartheid in South Africa please
2. Islamophobia, since its worst and everyday manifestations (as with racism) is on citizens and legal residents.
3. Colonialism as well, since before the colony became a state, it was part of another state, and hence its internal matter.
4. Torture, inhuman and draconian laws, human rights violations, anywhere. Including Palestine, its Israel’s ‘internal matter’. There is no Palestinian state and cannot be, as it will be against Israel’s sovereignty.

I could go on….and so could you. The point however is, do you want to go down this path?

Tagging along

I am doing this tag for two reasons, one, I have never done a tag before (yeah my life is that miserable) and second, its on hindi films. I can add a third, I am in a particularly washed out state right now, tired and not feeling any satisfaction about work well done, cos the work is not worth it in the first place. so i need something to pep me up.

Anyway, here it goes:

Five film titles that describe your life:

1. Chalti ka naam gaadi
2. Maine pyar kyun kiya
3. Waisa bhi hota hai
4. Sapnay
   
5. Rama rama kya hai drama (!!!)

Five songs that describe you:

1. Jaane kya soch kar nahi gujra
2. Jaane kya chahe mann bawra
3. yeh kya jagah hai doston
4. Dil khudgarz hai
5. Woh subhah kabhi aayegee

Five Bollywood characters you can relate to:

(Smita Patil in Bhoomika was my first choice but am trying to not repeat vagabond)

1. Geeta (Chitrangada) in Hazaaron Kwaishen Aisi
2. Rose (Lillete Dubey) in Zubeida
3. Tony (Amol Palekar) in Baaton Baaton Main
4. Geet (Kareena Kapoor) in Jab we met (in a strange way also Aditya (Shahid Kapur) in Jab we met)
5. Anooradha Patel in Ijaazat
   

Five characters you want to kill:

1. Raj Babbar in Insaf Ka Tarazu (I would like to kill that filmmaker too)
2. (Narayan Shankar)Amitabh Bachchan in Mohabaatein
3. Shah Rukh Khan in Kal Ho Na Ho
4. Amitabh Bachchan in Black
5. Aamir Khan in Raja Hindustani

Also- Bhagyashree (Suman) in Maine Pyar Kiya

Five characters you would like to date:

1. Manik (Rajit Kapoor) in Suraj ka saatvan ghoda
2. Sashi Kapoor in Kabhi Kabhi
3. Irfan Khan in Maqbool
4. Sanjeev Kumar in Namkeen
5. Purab (Neel) in My Brother Nikhil (yes, he is gay, but this is my wish list not his)

Moving on

Sometimes we need someone to tell us -its all ok, things are going to get better, all problems will get sorted out, what we want will come about, things will work out- often with a liner- we just have to work at it and it will be done. We get such reassurance from others every time we are in trouble. Sometimes we reassure ourselves with these same very words and tactics. Tell ourselves- I will make sure that such-and-such situation never arises again, I will work hard, I will do all I want to do...

I am done with such reassurances- from myself and others. I think I have overdrawn on my permissible quota anyway. I am tired of it. I cant hear another reassuring word anymore. I want to scream out saying- stop, you're doing it again, you are doing what I dont have the will to hear.

I dont know how much of my will can survive if I get rid of these comforting expressions. What does survive will make me, or destroy me forever. Either way, the prospect is infinitely better.