Decadence!

The most cruel of all despotisms rests in the oscillating state of our mind between what we believe to be good and bad. For our mind can inflict such nasty duress if we are caught at fault by our own measure of morality. Some have become total lunatics walking nude on the roads as madmen and some have ended their lives committing suicide - not been able to overcome the pressure.

While there is a general belief that morality is a totally relative measure, there ought to be a basic objective sense to it. For I am a firm believer of the beautiful blend that subjectivity and objectivity can generate. Such a thing is necessary for the world to truly progress. For - if there is no practical referendum, we would run into unwanted issues. Because the offenders would easily find an escape by presenting their suggestively bohemian tendencies - as their sweet intellectual excuse.

You would be baffled to listen to few of the stories that float in the city because of the yo-yo IT lifestyle. Hear it firsthand, it would be even more disconcerting. Debauchery is on the rise. The orgies of the mind tarnish the purity of thought. People are willing to experiment before any serious commitment and there are provisions to try out what is fantasized in the private. The moral decay has reached a point where we have learnt to say chills and okays to detestable acts of uncontrolled passion. May be we have gotten used to so much perversion that our minds have struck a sorry compromise - only to enable more decay.

Whatever be it, surprisingly goodness has still not reached its expiry. I was really ecstatic knowing how Mr.Satyarthi made us all proud last week. Trust me, there are so many nice people living their silent and modest lives - adding beauty to this world. We see simple deeds of kindness bringing smiles to the hearts of many. There is a group in Bangalore - that works to rescue girls taken into flesh trade. You should listen to the brave stories of those young girls and the way they were rescued. I know of a man who shared a note with me which reads as follows.

Dear Men.
Every woman deserves to be loved, not to be lusted after. Love doesn't mean that you need to straightaway try getting into relationships with every woman you see and that, it should end in biting each others lips and dirtying your bed. Do not add blemish to the repute of the real men the world still houses. There ought to be a basic sense of respect we need to show towards all women. Talk, do not flirt. Joke, do not hurt. Compliment, do not fantasize. Correct, do not judge. Help, do not make them indulge later. Be considerate. Be good. Be a man. Not just to those you know. But to everyone.

Dear Women.

Think not - that every man is after your private parts. That wearing skimpy dresses would impress all men - more than sexually. But be sure that almost all men would fail the test of bed. So, be mindful of your steps. If there be an ugly past, do not allow yourself to be taunted by it. Let not your initial defloration provoke you to more promiscuity. Forgive yourself. Do not repeat the mistakes of your past. Be wise. Be happy.

They say, compassion is the basis of morality. So, let us love. Let us not dwell in the past and accuse, but forgive. Comfort. Console. Spread smiles. Feed the hungry. Light lives. Accept everyone into our fold with open arms. How else could we wage war against decadence which needs to be defeated and burnt to ashes! Let us fight. Fight, till we die that valiant death.

All The Small Thrills!

I am a peaceful person but that does not discount troubles in life. Last week, I was threatened by a man who claimed to have been to jail five times. One thing led to the other; and another; and finally I was caught in a situation where I was alone with him and his associate for a good four hours in the dead of the night. I asked him why he had been jailed five times. All the reasons he gave me were political in nature. He had not killed anyone or bombed a building or molested a child or raped a girl. But he derived his happiness from the fact that he had just led the life of a prisoner once upon a time. Basically he thought, that could scare everyone and that - that gave him a revered image in the society. While I shall restrain from disclosing what led me to these people and the rest of the story, I have to tell you that we departed on a good note exchanging smiles and hand-shakes.

Speaking of hand-shakes, I remember a weird incident during one of my bus travels from Palaghat to Coimbatore few years back. There was this gentleman seated next to me. He seemed to be a well-mannered person, spoke impeccable English and started the conversation with a good hand-shake. I had thick beard then - with the usual villainous grin. He said that he was a weapon dealer and asked me if I wanted weapons. I instantly knew that he mistook me for someone else, but I continued talking. We discussed about all the latest bombs and guns available locally. Not to make him feel bad - I asked for his number, told him that I would give him a call if I find need and got down at the Ukkadam bus stand.

Ukkadam bus stand. Sparks in me a different memory altogether. My brother's new bike was stolen by a rival gang. We were searching the bike in every nook and corner of the city. Next to Ukkadam, there was a place where stolen bikes were dismantled and the parts sold at a very cheap rate. The place - as expected - was very spooky, with all the ill-mannered people there. I picked up a very bad fight with those men and got thoroughly beaten up. That was when I realised - the shaktimaans and the superheroes were only TV characters.

Getting beaten up. It surely teaches you more than a few fighting lessons you pick from such experiences. It definitely smoothens your social behavior. Helps you keep your calm and know when to time your rage so the opponent is totally decimated. I was beaten up two other times by the RSS men, received serious threat calls thrice; and there was a group that sought to kill me with knives and I made a miraculous escape. I prefer to keep the reasons behind these - forever in the dark.

The dark. It was one in the night. We were walking. My friend and I. We heard a woman's cry and proceeded in that direction. Saw a drunken man mercilessly beating the woman and her small kid. We looked at each other and plunged into action. Beat that guy properly till he fell on the ground and could not get up. The woman was crying even more loud. She spoke in Kannada. Said - the man was her husband.

Husbands and wives. Have you ever seen wives pumping up their husbands and instigating them for a fight? This happened in Madiwala over a silly vehicle parking squabble. Close to ten men from their houses in the street came out - with their women howling at us asking their men to beat us. Just four of us. After a few punches and kicks, we somehow made peace and left for Nandi Hills.

I can go on and on. But before I start boring you, I shall stop here. You might laugh at these or you might feel what stupid of a guy I really am. Or you could have faced fascinatingly better thrilling situations. However be it, these things help us understand and appreciate our world better. Though you might choose to disagree with me because you feel that there is some degree of danger associated with each of such incidents, these - I feel - are absolutely necessary to make the person who we really are and to truly acknowledge that the world we live in - is perfectly lovely and amazing!

Why is the world round?

I am generally not a bull-shitter. But this time - absolutely could not help it. Had to write this. Because all my prayers to fall asleep at least before three in the night are never heard almost every single day round the year. So I thought. The rascal in me set the neurons in my silly brain into that stormy rebellious motion. A simple rage. An easy question. Why is the world round? 

But no answer. Well, certain things have no answer is what we have been told. Or so we were made to believe - right from when we were kids. The beginning of each of our times. Would that stop us from thinking the things that we, by societal dictum, are banned from thinking? Nay, a hell capital NO is the word. The right word. So, back to the question. Why is this world round?

This had not stricken me as hard as this. I know what you're thinking. No, you don't have to stress your mind in that wrong judgmental angle. Oh yes, I perfectly understand. Your next question is - Dude, what happened to you and what is wrong with you? I can sniff that dirty trail of your thoughts. But no dear, I don't drink or smoke or do drugs. Girl(s)? No time for that! Oh, guys then? No thanks, I am straight. Sincerely straight. Oh got it. Are you in love? Well, who in this big round world is not? May be there lies the answer. But dear, infesting your thoughts with love - to find an answer to a pressing scientific question - is definitely not the right move. It would only lead to much confusion. Tell me - why is the world round?

Now the converse view. Had the world been flat, would it have created the scenic beauty and the evergreen imagery that we romantically call - nature - for our hearts to joyously revel in? The mountains, the rivers, the dry land, the forests, wild life and the oceans duly reveal that there is no fun in the world being just flat. But why? Is flat the correct opposite of round? - that the connections we make here and the reasons we build - suffice to quench the question that burns my sleep away. Why really is this world round?

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!

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.

An Elegant Tapestry Of Thoughts!

Your lively eyes send out that gaze and then withdraw. I am not surprised to know that I am the central theme of your peripheral vision. How you tease me with your eyes! And yes, I fail not to notice the glint in that blush that twitches your lips too much, but your mind tries to control - yelling in your head – ‘let him not notice!, let him not see that!’. Why do you do that? I wish I could read your heart!

An awful reader that I am, once I tried to understand what you might think! The medley of your heart was so lovely that I was taken captive at its very first tunes. Without even stepping inside its doors, I was already captured into that maze - never to find an escape route. And you, my captor, wouldn’t show any mercy to your prisoner. I still go round, round and round to find a way out. But wherever I turn, I only find you covered in truckloads of rose petals.Your resplendent glory destroys my balance, and I am left with words, just words and more words, and yes - an unkempt beard. I am plagued with the poetry of my own mind.

Then I suddenly think of blood splashing everywhere. Yes, I puked when I first saw the chicken’s head chopped. I can still see those images with a lot of grain and a fading blur. If not for the society that butchers our hopes - only to slurp them up with its insensitive carnivorous norms, I would have carried you home in my arms. The problem is not mine, but yours. It is you who give a damn about society. It is you who would not come. ‘Not here not there’ - is your mental state! You mind validates your position with reasons. To distract my thoughts from the obvious disappointment, I imagine of my sweet doom. What if I die, would you not come home to have a glance at my coffin? I would make sure that I smile before I close my eyes for good, so you would not come and go disappointed.

No no, I rub these thoughts away. I would never make such stupid mistakes which people of low emotional caliber make. Suicides and lowly deaths are for cowards. I want to live. Live with a hope that someday we would be one. It might take few more days. Or months. Or even years. But eventually I know we would meet, smile, exchange words and fall in love. Oh yes – eventually! That is a deceiving word showing forever tendencies that wanes your hope to slow death. But, what of it? Hope might die, but not the vigor that is seeded in my blood. With vigor - one could regenerate the dying hope, open doors after doors of unexplored possibilities, traverse horizons and make accepted practicalities look so cheap and foolish. Yes - I am an extremist, I am a fanatic, I am crazy and mad. Call me more names, I would only smile. But I am so blessed that my mind can produce an elegant tapestry of thoughts whenever I go through a period of contemplation. I am sure I would make all my humble musings work as I complete the race I run; and in the end, when I raise those colorful flags of victory - you would come running to me. Please tell your heart that I wouldn't mind a tight hug and a few close-eyed kisses. I do want to live to see that day!

Domineering complexes and the fruits of Bashan!

The siege of the beautiful commissariat. Turn every possible direction, the scene is the same - lush green mountains, peaks and valleys. When the day progressed into the night, the beauty of the place drastically increased as moonlight glimmered on the lawns. There were oak trees everywhere, fallen acorns lying around scattered and squirrels sweetly squeaking as they grab those oak nuts. But the beauty, one dreadful day, was desecrated by a tyrant named Hazael who was King over Syria. The siege was deadly. Everything was destroyed. The provisions looted. Trees cut. Fires lit. Women raped. The heads of children smashed with stones. Men mutilated and most of them killed in torture. King Joash gathered his armies and battled hard to reconquer the place, not once, but thrice and finally, after much struggle, regained it. But the regained Bashan was no more a beautiful city. It was a destroyed dunghill filled with blood and loud bitter cries. Pitifully, the place vanished from history after this final recorded event.

Well, my intention is not to tell you a story from forgotten middle-east history. But to draw your attention to the congruence it generates with our present day living. Here I go! There is distress everywhere. This is added to our lives in no comprehensible proportion as days roll by and the Sun goes up and down. These could be nullified by the good things that happen in our lives. But there is a greater distress that can take hold of our lives if we allow our minds to be incarcerated by the domineering complexes of the tyrants we see everyday.

These complexes have the power to jinx us into the vile spell of deceptions. There are no incentives for being good, but showers of praise for people who are successful cheats. Bharat Mata Ki Jai and the Common Minimum Programme were blatant deceptions, polarization behind the scenes was the ugly truth. Misuse is the way to prosper. Impose things on others, stifle their words, let them not voice their opinions, kill their spirits, molest the rationale, mutilate their minds, backbite, sex it up, be judgmental just the wrong way, be wayward, fake it, do not analyse why people act the way they act, create confusions, shatter peace, gamble with lives, make divisions, denigrate enviously, create fables and float it in the media, yearn for people to admire you even if you knew they were false, be a narcissist, be sadistic, compromise quick, have no stance, change colors, never accept your mistake, feel you're always right, mock others, abuse, help people only if you get something in return, feed on other's pie, stump from behind, swell, gloat, think you are bigger than the universe, take a lot of pictures and upload them on facebook - these are steps that you can take to become the smartest kid every girl and the larger janata would go mad about. Wake up to the era of post-modern siege!

You might wonder what they would siege! Dear, it is your mind, the Bashan of your life, they siege. Your inner peace would go to the tatters - robbed and violated. Because it doesn't matter what you actually are, what matters is what they think who you are. If you're thought as a scum, you would forever be treated as a downcast Manu Smriti style. If you're thought as an assertive violator - (oh, how could it get easier than this!) - they would frame you in a false case and send you to jail. After years of mercy petitions, you know what you deserve is no less than capital punishment and you would be hung till your intestines gush out Afzal Guru style.

Scientists say that planet Earth has gone through 23 Ice Ages. Oh rightly yes - I am a big fan of the Ice Age movie series. In every part, you would see Scrat, the saber-toothed squirrel, with an acorn(oak nut), the fruit of Bashan. Whatever happened in the movie, the acorn would be shown with the squirrel chasing it - in the beginning or in the end of the movie. Nothing would happen to the fruit - though it passed through all those dreadful Ice Ages. That is the spirit one needs to breed in one's inner self. 'You can kill a man, not his spirit!' - is how our tombstones should read. Let us pass through ice ages in our lives every now and then, let worse things happen, let the whole world conspire against us - but no, let us not give up on our upright behavior and principled living - at any cost.