Tuesday, 28 August 2007

Death Of A World

The butterflies flutter in the meadow beside the rabbits. Such sweet helpless fragile beauty, hanging by slender threads in the darkness of the swiftly onrushing midnight.

A sudden blast rips apart a restaurant. People fall, bleed, flee. Flames and shrapnel everywhere. The darkness is upon them.

A group of friends come out of the cinema hall laughing. They take a swig from the bottle they clutch and burst out giggling, holding onto each other, wishing they never need leave. The sunset colours the sky vibrant orange and shades of Ferrari crimson. The clouds slowly gather, but they goof off in blissful oblivion.

The falsely cheery electric chandelier lights up a table set for a family dinner. All around it they sit, grins plastered on their faces, making small talk, chewing delicately, there and yet not there. The storm clouds hover above the roof.

The girl looks up from her strokes at the swimming pool. The sky has burst open and sheets of rain engulf the little pool. She stands in the water and lifts up her arms, feeling the power of the drops searing her bare skin like bullets and pummelling her upturned face, revelling in the liquid glory drenching her senses.

He sits alone in his bedroom, the door shutting out the outside world. He is focused solely on his guitar, on the purity of the notes and the harmony of the chords. His music transports him away from his dull reality. It gives him wings. It is his escape.

Someone sits before her computer, headphones on and fingers flying. She finds support and friendship in the ‘virtual world’. She hides before the glare of her screen, masking her loneliness and revealing her heart to a bunch of pixels and yellow smileys.

The boy buries himself in his textbooks. The arcane concepts and ideas draw him in. He turns his back to the window and bends eagerly over electrophilic aromatic substitution. The owls' hoots rent the dark night outside in vain.

And they lie on their beds at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why they feel so empty. What went wrong? What have they lost? What must they find? The questions whirl in their heads like puppies chasing their own tails, round and round. The disdainful cat sits on the windowsill and licks its paws, occasionally smiling its all-knowing Cheshire grin.

They are all zombies in their world. Dead. Devoid of feeling and emotion. The walking, talking dead.

I live in this world too.
I am dead to these things.
I am dead to the world.


I come alive only for you.

Sunday, 26 August 2007

Who Is To Blame?

“FORTY-TWO KILLED, FIFTY INJURED IN TWIN BLASTS,” screamed the headline on the TOI website. It shocked me beyond words. Sure, Hyderabad has always had some religious tension, hardly surprising given its Muslim population. But it was always the safest, calmest place I knew. And those bastards ripped apart Lumbini gardens and Gokul Chat – they didn’t even care who got killed! What an utter disregard for the sanctity of life… it would make anyone sick to the core.
The bombers used RDX – a simple explosive millions of high-school students across the country know how to make, at least in theory. That’s a chilling thought – life is so frighteningly cheap. A bunch of chemicals, a single twisted thought, a fuse in my hand – and I could send a dozen lives spiraling out of control. What’s there to stop me?
What, indeed? People blame the government: they say there should have been more security, that Hyderabad was a simmering stew of religious resentment waiting to boil over. That’s pointless. Is the government supposed to post guards at the door of every eatery all over the country and check that people aren’t bringing in bombs? Even if they check arms and explosives dealing (which they haven’t really done either), RDX is relatively simple to prepare even on one’s own. No, you can’t directly blame the government in this manner.
The keyword here is directly. The government set up the tension and unrest which indirectly led to this. It’s no coincidence that the rising blasts and terrorism is simultaneous with an increasing recognition of religious and caste differences, minority support and playing off different factions against each other. The government’s casteist and fundamentalist policies only serve to continually remind people of their differences rather than their unity. We’ve all heard the arguments over the OBC/ST/SC policies a million times, hopefully I don’t need to repeat them. Let me just state my stand: I don’t believe that any sort of ‘difference’ should even be recognized in the constitution besides economic ones, except of course where we’re actually celebrating our freedom and diversity to be whoever we want to be, with no discrimination whatsoever. The government continues to waste time worrying about how many Muslim leaders we have, how many minority caste leaders, cries bloody murder for the smallest ‘politically incorrect’ sentiment expressed and accuses its opponents of being fundamentalist and oppressors. Small wonder then, that such intolerance and discrimination is uppermost in the people’s minds. I’m reminded of the lyrics of ‘Across The Lines’ by Tracy Chapman: “Little black girl gets assaulted, ain’t no reason why/Newspaper prints the story and racist tempers fly/ Next day it starts a riot, knives and guns are drawn/ Two black boys get killed, one white boy goes blind… Choose sides, or run for your life. Tonight the riots begin.” And so it goes. Fundamentalist tensions and casteist policies = quick easy blasts = potential devastating massacre on the streets of Hyderabad. Can you hear the terrorists laughing in glee at how easily we fall into the trap? And can you see the politicians mouthing useless words of meaningless sympathy?
There was a time when politicians truly believed in their duty, and that the troubles of the country were their responsibility. As a child, I heard about Lal Bahadur Shastri resigning as Railways Minister following the train derailment at Ariyalur, and I simply couldn’t believe that a politician would do such a thing. The present apathy is so deeply ingrained! Today can you even conceive of any minister doing more than ‘expressing condolences for the bereaved’, let alone resigning? A friend of mine noticed my agitation and remarked ‘u still get shocked it happens so often’. All too true… we have seen so much tragedy and intolerance and utter senselessness that we have become numb. Yes, comfortably numb – what can we do except warm our asses anyway?
So I decided to move on and find out what was happening in other cities. In Mumbai, action has not yet been taken against the Shiv Sena leaders indicted for the famous 1992-93 riots. All they can do is talk about it. Here’s a clear example of politicians being responsible for this mess, and yet they are beyond justice! In Bangalore, a woman committed suicide after workplace harassment. And yes, she had approached the State Women’s Commission for help earlier. In Kolkata, some parents demanded that a primary school should expel the HIV+ kids there to keep their own children ‘safe’. And in Delhi, there is a heated government debate on whether to lower the drinking age from 25 to 21. Isn’t that farcical? A person can drive, vote, even raise a family at 18, but is too young to drink! As if anyone even takes that law seriously! Hm, perhaps the parliament had nothing better to do with their time and resources? The government is wasting its capabilities on non-issues, or worse still the wrong issues entirely, instead of focusing on things that matter. How can we worry about the drinking age when such a large percentage of the population lives below the poverty line, in constant hunger? What is the point of even discussing this on here when so many millions can’t even write their own names, and are consumed by deadly ignorance and superstitions?
Obviously such people vote for whoever can solve these issues for them, short-term. Who can blame them for being more interested in their bread and butter than a nuclear deal? The parties exploit these feelings and come up with promises which will garner them votes. The downtrodden simply feel grateful that someone is even paying attention to their voice. This power is a heady feeling. How often have you felt that parties these days are more interested in merely forming a government and holding on to it, as opposed to actually solving the problems of our country? And you and I are average apathetic middle-class citizens, already having given up on the government, content to let them have their way as long as they don’t affect our lives directly.

Well, let these blasts rock you back to the reality of our situation! That could have been you or your loved ones sitting at that restaurant that day, a victim of all the chain reactions resulting in the death of democracy. Don’t let this end like all the others: “Little black girl gets assaulted/ Don’t no one know her name/ Lots of people hurt and angry/ She’s the one to blame…” Don’t let this sink back into obscurity, wipe off the blame onto someone else, preferably someone obscure, and sit back with a clear conscience. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines democracy as ‘government by the people’. Yes, I would point the finger at the government, and of course sadistic fundamentalists everywhere, but we’re also part of the reason. It’s not separate from us – it’s our country, our responsibility too. We can write and express our views, join protest groups, get into government, start NGOs, work within our individual capabilities to eliminate the root of these problems – ignorance, intolerance and fear. I believe in the potential of India. No country is perfect. It has to become perfect.

Monday, 13 August 2007

Ruminations Beside A Ticking Clock


Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The clock ticks you ever closer to death.
A moment spent doing nothing is a moment forever wasted.

You’re reading this? Good for you. You will hear things you should know before you die.

Come on, sit by me. Have a drink. Tell me about yourself.
No, dammit! I do NOT want to know your job or salary or how many cars you own or how many women you’ve fucked. Don’t you know anything about yourself?

Tell me, what do you fear?

Cockroaches? Ha! They’re just little brown creatures on wings. Are you afraid of flying, then? Or are you just afraid of everything that’s different from you?

Do you fear lies? Mistakes? Do you hate being wrong? Hey, who decides what’s right or wrong anyway? Who decides what truth or reality is? It’s all in your head. You’ve invented your own fears. Even Satan and Hell are all in your head. You can choose to live without them anytime you want – IF you’re brave enough.

Are you a coward when it comes to pain and suffering? Then you’re becoming wise, my child. That is indeed a powerful fear. But what about the others who suffer every minute, every day? Do you ever think about helping them? Oh yeah, I see – you can’t face your fears, even when they’re happening to someone else.

Do you fear the ultimate, then? Death? But if you don’t want to die, then why do you pray to go to heaven? Being alive is a state of mind. You can breathe and still be dead. Poets ‘live on in their work’. Fearing death is the first step towards it. Bon voyage, mon ami.

Are you afraid of me? (maniacal laughter) Because I told you things you didn’t want to hear? Here’s one more – I pity you.

Go on, run away. Hide your head under the pillow. The monster in the closet will come to get you tonight. Just wait until the clock strikes twelve.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Monday, 6 August 2007

Portrait of a Flight

ssssssssssssssssssssssssss Peak.
ssssssssssssssssssstip of the
sssssssssssss top, to the
sssssssssssto the
sssssssssup
sssssssright
You climb

You stand at the edge, the ledge
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssteetering sss a ssss bit.
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss just s little

You laugh and let out a WHOOP, a barbaric yawp.

You take a leap and Fly,

ssssssssssssssssssssssfalling…
sssssssssssssssssssssssssfalling…
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssfalling…
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssfalling into the a
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss b
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss y
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss s
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
s

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss splat

Sunday, 5 August 2007

Longing for Cursed Treasure

His tall silhouette against the sun
Draws me irresistibly closer.
He turns, and speaks to me.
My heart flutters strangely (shut up!)

Dark hair, dark arms, dark eyes.
Eyes that bore a hole into my soul
And see me for who I am, and what I'm not.
His sardonic smile flickers in and out.

I steady myself (stop it!) and listen
To strange ideas, piercing insights,
And incredible tales beyond imagination.
My intellect thrives on his.

The force of his personality
Is a vibrant inescapable magnet.
He lives dangerously, on the edge.
Someday he'll drag me over with him.

Oh! but I hate him, I hate him!
He stands for so much that I'm not.
(Damn him! I passionately wish he was in hell!)
He also stands far, far away...

Then he turns, and walks away.
I long to call out, reach out, anything!
Instead I stop and ask myself
"What is wrong with you, you fool?!"