Saturday, September 20, 2014

In Solidarity With The Gazans



It was a long time ago. The time when the supposedly civilized men of the world fought the ever-ridiculous First World War which took the lives of countless many. Bombs fell everywhere. Little children, women and men fell dead. Heaps of dead bodies. Blood. Bitter wailing. Barbarism. Somehow, then, came the eleventh of November, nineteen eighteen. Had Germany not faced trouble with its own revolutionaries, the war would have continued a few more weeks leading to a few more million deaths. The story did not end there.

The Brits took away the southern part of Ottoman Syria and called it 'The British Mandate of Palestine'. But they were unable to curtail the ever-bursting conflict within the region. It was then the MacMahon-Hussein Correspondence was devised in favor of an Arab Independence - provided the Arabs fought the Ottoman rebels. In parallel - was signed the secretive Asia Minor Agreement. The Arabs did not understand the deception. Result, the people of Mandatory Palestine who craved for freedom and a peaceful living were duly betrayed.

The Balfour Declaration was then announced. This added to the confusion. Had they read even the slightest hint of the deception, they would not have allowed themselves the embarrassment of a British Civil Administration starting from 1920. The Arabs were good people. The war had just concluded. The confusedly religious Ottoman state had not done any good to them. All that religion could do was to leave them with bruises. Their eyes searched for hope and just that. They were waiting for good days to come. 

The Yishuvs were, then, a feeble minority. Only 25,000+ of them. The Brits, as always, were ever cunning. To destabilize the Arab Pro-Independence wave and to further their interests in the most acceptable way possible, they accelerated the Jewish migration. Then came Zionism that forwarded the outrageous notion that a Jewish homeland be created within The British Mandate of Palestine. The increasing Yishuv population were majorly Zionists. Now there were over 600,000 of them. And the conflict started.

We know the rest of the story. The State of Israel was formed in the land the Arabs had been living generations after generations. The MacMahon-Hussein Correspondence, they finally knew, was farce. Their hopes were heavily mocked. Since then it had only been humiliation every single day. They were given a small strip of land to live. The Gaza strip. Hence the name, the Gazans.

There are arguments made in favor of the Jews. We see news articles about the social work Israelis sometimes do in the Gazan camp, asserting to us that the Hamas are the real villains and the Jews, the angels. There are also other 'scholarly' readings that state that the Gazans - if they be in power - would never have done such high humanitarian work. How comical can our news articles glibly get - to prove the unrighteous right and the deprived wrong! Whatever be it, nothing can erase the fact that the Gazans had been betrayed the freedom they very much deserved.

Yes, the Jews did suffer a lot under Hitler's regime. But that doesn't sound reason enough to displace close to a million people from their homes to make space for the Jews. What the Gazans are going through now is worse than the holocaust days of the past. If it is right for Netanyahu to arrogantly state that he would not accept any ceasefire even if he faced international pressure, how is it possibly wrong for a common man to resort to arms when he sees his child bleeding to death? I stand in solidarity with every Gazan fighting - with arms or without.

Over this issue, the Christians and the Muslims exchange hateful words - to this day. The bitterness centers around the fact that the Muslims hate the Jews and the Christians would not dare speak against them. It stems from the generalized belief that the One they worship is still the God of (present-day) Israel. Few Christian TV channels frivolously speak of how few rockets launched from the Gaza strip deviated from their directions, not hurting the Israeli camp - praising God for that. How badly would God mock at your dubious divinity and the verily sanctimonious outlook! When news channels show Gazan kids dying in large numbers, they complain that the media coverage is favoring the Palestine and take pride in the amateur weaponry of the Hamas - producing ungodly explanations to exalt God who is love. He would certainly detest all these exaltation! Not one word against the Jews, because they are God's people, your minds sometimes warn. How ridiculous! Aren't you supposed to love? Love immeasurably? And, aren't the Gazans also created in the image of God? Why don't you stop tying religion into this and support the ones who are truly victimized and are at loss?

The intent of the theme called the pan-Islamic brotherhood, though progressive, have lately faced a lot of criticism because of the fruits it has produced. In the Kashmir valley that is sinking now, hundreds of Muslims turned up few months back to protest against what is happening in Gaza, but they cut loose and like mad men - randomly threw stones at whatever they thought was owned by the Indian Government. What pathetic relation their derisive religious minds had made! You do not like something happening in the middle east, and you damage your nation's property! Why don't you set fire on yourselves!!

We have to understand the fact that the world cannot be run on a religious agenda. The outcome of such attitude would only bring about chaos and produce a failed state. Dawn would one day enchant our eyes with its lovely rays when people grow in their thoughts to comprehend that God is beyond religion. Let us dream of a world where wounds are healed; where broken cords of love are mended; and where peaceful co-existence is still a rich possibility. May our dreams come true, I pray!

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Definitive Gaze, Men, Women And All The Related Rubbish!

Rush in the lift alley. The lift comes up from the basement. Stops. There is place for one. The lady refuses to get in - but with a smile, because there were all men inside. Everyone notices this. Those looks were indeed very decent and thoughtful. As opposed to the usual molest-ful stares. They found her interesting - though she was not all that dashing with her looks. Minimal make-up. Bright eyes. Modest dressing. Destination 6th floor. Two men get out. One runs to the loo. One runs down. To the ground floor that is. But no, she is already gone.

His pocket diary, the most secretive one that he maintains. He takes that out, writes a poem that he has known. This time not his own, but of Wordsworth's.

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

You could call that impeccable memory. How did he remember all these lines! Of truth, the tranquility of his soul was disturbed. Yes, but in a sweet way. The sanity of his mind, fortunately, remained intact. So to note from the poem: the month of this occurrence - May - was duly underlined after he writes this down.

He goes to his scheduled trainings. Answers questions. Asks questions. Solves classroom exercises with a lot of energy. Also scribbling of love in his A4 papers. Takes a break. Coffee. Finishes all sessions. Comes up to the floor again. There she is. On the same floor. In the same department. With the same team. Total shock. Any further forwards in this direction, he knows, would be disastrous and almost unethical. So he comforts his heart, says a mature no, and moves on with his life. Or so he thought.

Here comes the bad guy into the story - that is me. When he, by mistake, leaves his draw unlocked - I open to grab a marker for a casual business discussion. And I find the pocket diary. I pick that and read. No names anywhere. There were poems and dates. I search for names but wouldn't find. But there were cues he had left. The underlines. May - from the Wordsworth poem. Team, from another one. Green Tea. Glasses. Handbag. Yellow. Smile. Saree. Feet. Sev puri. Macroons. Apples. And so many other underlined words from so many other poems. Such spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. He must be one hell of a poet. But this one talent so conveniently hidden to the outside world. I could somehow get the picture. And now, could vaguely figure who the central character in these poems would be.

I could now - also connect so many other dots. His disappearance for a week. The rash riding. His love for pets. The accidents. The fracture. One broken teeth. Fierce fights. The police. The money launderers. The drug dealers. The many midnight escapades. The jumping from the moving train. Spending weekends alone in the Sathyamangalam forests. The Mangalore trips. All of these made sense. Finally.

The Gandhian in him must have called all of these - Experiments With Truth! But I call all of these - rubbish. This is not the only one guy, there are so many others roaming like mad men out in the streets - behind women they know they cannot win. Or even if they win, they know it would be more trouble and no peace. Or they know not. Or I am totally wrong. And they're all right. Whatever that is, please keep in mind that you live your life free of unnecessarily overwhelming thoughts about other people that could harm your inner peace. May be after all of these experiments, he might - one day - come back to square one. Back to where it all began. To know that he had been a fool all along. To laugh all of these away. To understand that the look that stole his heart was no more than a stray gaze. And that there was no definitive element that added much romance to this whole scene and fascinatingly electrocuted all these days of his life.