writing needs leisure. but sometimes we need to write when there is no time. usually we write because the words simply flow out. but sometimes the swirling words get clogged and evaporate, and writing needs to be a process of unclogging and condensation. in these times of perpetual tension and writing blocks, of mounting deadlines and low productivity, where facebook one liners and the instant gratification therein seem to cover up the need for longer, more boring, mostly solitary excursions in public spaces- can i try write again?

wanted: ignorance

i am bright enough to know i am not that bright. i am cool enough to know i am quite dowdy. i am intellectual enough to know i am psuedo. i wish i knew less.

nation as god

much of last month went into one of those ridiculous promotion related courses that we lecturers have to do. now i am not going to rant about that course. as such all my friends have heard enough and more about it, and were looking forward to its end much more than me. but i wanted to share this.

now the first half hour of each day was called a review session, where we were to elect a chairperson among ourselves, observe a two minute silence, review the previous day's sessions and also come up with a 'thought for the day', to top it all. and one thought school was over. a prayer was optional and the first day we had some chanting of mantras. a few of us decided that we needed to do something about this and managed to convert the silence into a prayer thereby managing to avoid any prayer. so a secular victory? yes, but we couldnt do anything about another mandatory ritual- ending the day's proceedings with the national anthem. its logic never even came up for discussion.

what was also striking was the number of speakers who managed to assert their pride as Indians no matter what subject they were dealing with- teaching methods, respect for teachers, clothes of students, india's foreign policy, the actions of indian courts. and for even a mildly critical query, they felt the need to re-assert their Indian-ness, as no answer can better national pride. if someone persisted with the questioning, they aggressively retorted with - 'i cant help it if you dont feel proud as an Indian'. and if any of these starlwarts were doing the last session of the day, their chests puffed a little more while singing the national anthem.

so the nation has become our god, that which cannot be contested. even for a generation which is understood to be over the nation and for a profession considered to be woefully archaic in the liberalised era, nationalism exists as a convenient and reassuring marker of identity and its symbols are constantly invoked. this everydayness of nationalism is tougher to counter than the omnipresence of religion.

net me not

I tried so hard to not be a television addict that i didnt realise when i became an internet addict :)

word weary

My maternal grandfather was a man of strong will and many quirks. It’s a lethal combination, as is apparent. In the last decade of his life, this lead to many exasperating experiences for his immediate family. One of these quirks was a penchant for going into ‘mauna vratams’, i.e. taking a vow to not utter a single word for a whole day. Given his restless nature and levels of disenchantment with religion- something he probably didn’t acknowledge himself- a day of silence did not mean a day devoted to meditation or quiet reading or even tele-viewing. In fact he chose those very days to visit sundry relatives and friends, carry out random tasks at the bank or worse schedule important meetings. These led to hilarious and rather embarrassing situations (for those who accompanied him as translator/interpreter/whatever) where he would communicate through writing and sign language and occasionally give into an outburst induced by the non comprehending faces of those unfortunate souls he was meeting up with.

What was about this vow that he sought to take but could implement only in letter not in spirit? Why am I thinking about it now? The past few months have been the wordiest in my life, I have been incessantly talking. To different kinds of people. In different tones. Persuading, requesting, questioning. Angrily, despondently, formally, informally. Planning, discussing, updating. Typing, chatting, writing. Wondering what had to be said and what not to be said. Analysing how things were said- by me, by others. Putting down the phone, and then starting all over again.

And when it all got over, without a victory to celebrate, the one thing I wanted most was silence. That’s when my grandfather’s clumsy experiments came to mind. He was never a garrulous type, but he wasn’t the silent one either. And yet he wished days of no conversations. I need to block out too, but I keep getting back to it. I seek silence, but keep having to say it. Usually when I am done with something, I feel empty for any communication. But this time, the words keep flowing, I don’t even know whether I am making any sense. I even feel detached from my words- it’s a weird feeling where I don’t remember the last words I had just uttered or one part of my brain can see me saying things and wondering what the hell am I up to. I am perpetually distracted by myself, lol.

Yes, I do need to take a vow, a word fast. But will my genes allow me to implement it?

don't call me

don't call me
I can't bear the phone ringing
it interrupts my nothingness

don't call me
I have nothing to say
no news, no gossip, no bitching

don't call me
I don't want to run down the world
say my life is in shambles
though it very well may be

don't call me
I am tired
of saying the same things
over and over again

I am tired
of hearing my own voice

Yamuna ki dhaara

Can non-vegetarians support ethical treatment of animals? There is a rational and affirmative response to this, but a question like this instantly puts you on the backfoot. I felt myself in this rather inconvenient posture for the two days I was last in delhi. It was my shortest trip to delhi perhaps, but also one of the most hassle free one. Thanks to the delhi metro. By some strange coincidence, i found myself entering the new Yamuna Bank metro station on the first day of its operation, complete with dozens of TV news channel crews, officials and those saddest of creatures- protesters. i barely knew what the protest was about, but had to fight the instinct to go join them because i could get late for the meeting i was heading for- and plus I am rather metro illiterate and had to find my way about.

Inside the metro- possibly the first one to chug out of that station, as i sat contemplating the possible reason for the protest (was it those barely heard and heard only to be ridiculed environmentalists against the commonwealth games village or was there something about the metro station itself) I found a mike thrust on my face by an exuberant woman belonging to the creed which now rules our lives- television journalists. The reporter wanted me to speak on how convenient the metro was for me (jeez, come on, could i possibly have something negative to say about THE metro?)and even as i started to talk about how the protesters were probably making a point to be considered, she cut me short. Her script was being trampled on and she took over to salvage it- jumping up and about though the metro ride was completely non bumpy, saying how while environmentalists were worrying about the impact on the yamuna floodplain, 'senior metro officials' had already clarified that there was no such danger and everything had been taken care of. So with her clean chit we can all go back to enjoying our beloved metro.

I love delhi metro. It is easily one of the best things to happen to delhi. People have been talking about the big role Delhi Metro is playing in inculcating a sense of belonging and pride in the city, a sense Delhi-ites were supposed to lack in unlike Mumbai and Kolkatta wallas. And even if was aimed at the middle class, its users are not at all just the vehicle owning, auto affording people. And yet, the metro is by no means infallible. Its construction has meant massive tree felling (look at the completely illogical Airport to CP direct line and the impact on the ridge), demolition of historically significant structures, possible erasures of history with all the digging in the Mehrauli area for instance, not to mention the accidents that have taken lives of workers and others. Yet the metro's reputation remains untouched, especially in contrast to the kind of villification directed at the BRT. Now we can add to this list, a list not really found in our front pages and detailed analyses, the negative impact on the yamuna.

The yamuna bank metro station is located on the Yamuna floodplain. It is a major station, as the route here splits into two leading to Vaishali and Noida. It is a station located at the surface level. As such it is a violation of the high court orders according to which no construction or habitation can take place within 300 metres of the river. This was the same order used to demolish the Yamuna Pushta slum cluster. The cause of the river's right to live used so passionately to drive out hapless people living in the place for decades however fizzled out when the question of the other violations came up. These causes were more powerful, the progress of religion (Akshardam) and the religion of progress (the commonwealth games village). The court threw out the case against the monstrosity that is the Akshardam temple despite the very strong case that DDA had sold to the temple trust land that didnt even belong to it. Today the temple has entered the tourist map of delhi, complete with food courts, boat rides (the river it has helped destroy is so choked that no boat can move in those waters)and what not even as the other monuments remain neglected, encroached, and vandalised.

The games village itself was initially planned as much needed hostels for Delhi University and the metro line touted as a connection between the campus and the hostels. At what stage it became flats aimed at private buyers like the Asiad complex one doesnt know. Now with the downturn the DDA is busy trying to bailout the private developers who had over priced their apartments like the rest of the realty sector in those boom years. A faded banner greets the entrance to the construction site, reminding us that these constructions are at the cost of the river, but who cares?

We could ask, even if all this is valid, is there still any point in protesting now; now that the construction is over or is not going to be halted. It could be at most symbolic protest, to register the double standards and the anti-poor nature of the courts, law, administration and the selective use of environmentalism. Even as the symbolic value is important in itself, the issues raised include those the state have to address and cannot merely shrug off with a 'whats done is done' liner. The Yamuna Jiye Abhiyaan submitted a memorandum which also higlighted the loss of livelihood of the farmers cultivating the floodplain land. The issue of just compensation and rehabilition of the farmers and for all those displaced due to slum clearances, constructions and beautification plans has to be addressed and cannot be as easily shrugged off. Nor can the issue- immensely complex and of vital importance- of saving the river in the city.

I remember this old painting which appeared in some newspaper years ago, of the flowing yamuna waters hitting the walls of the red fort. That painting by an anonymous painter is etched in my memory and I hope I have preserved it somewhere. I hope someday there will be enough people who can tilt the powers to be to revive and preserve the river and the humanity of the city I love. In this hope and in the struggles that are going on, I find strength to deal with the guilt I will feel everytime I board the metro and cross the river.

For more info see http://yamunajiyeabhiyaan.blogspot.com/