what next

no, i won't write about mumbai - 26th november.
i won't, as I am afraid it might just be the alibi I need to console myself that I had done my bit, I had done something. No, I have not and I do not have the answer as to "What should (not can) I do ?"

the unfolding of the morning

The rhythmic monotony of the noise made by crow's ensured enough irritation to disturb me out of my slumber. The music of the car in reverse and the windy chill caused by my unregulated fan added to the feeling. The sleep was over.
There was darkness in the sky, like old memories that are always there beneath the surface, one only needs to the scratch the surface and they will show, like the old paint posing in its ingenuous nudity due to scratches made on the newly painted car's body. They sky was getting the paint of the morning.
It can evoke images in mind without even asking for its permission to do so. Such is the effect of sound. The crow's were a means of protest by the nature of something gone wrong somewhere near. Certain music reminds one of some incident or some people, though reason may never be able to establish the link. Mothers were busy with getting the children ready for school, the children were as busy as children could be and with things that one wishes with much longing one could get busy with, at a later age.
From the parted curtains I looked out, a crimson horizon greeted me. Ah ! what feelings is nature able to inspire in man everyday. What is made for what ?
Laziness, heaviness and some other -ness (earthiness in general) caught up with me. Why has man this dual pulls defining his existence on earth. His mind, his brain and his soul can soar without stop in the skies of thoughts and emotions unhindered and untied but his body must drag on this earth and be subject to all types demands and be caught in ties?

a sunday afternoon

i thought of my mother,
had just talked to my sister,
not again in the day with my dad,
family - out of contention.

good friends, not so good ones too,
cousins distant and the nearer ones,
some busy on their phones, some
not reachable they said, thank you for that

her ? been so long now,
don't know what to say and what not to,
yeah, don't even have her number for that,
new flames, old flames, would be and could be flames
are mere flames after all.

Am I still thinking, of whom to call,
When the person I should be talking to is myself.
Am I thinking what to write,
Do I have to write, or think
or do both in a vague priority order ?
For me, or for readers,
for joy, for encomiums or anything of that order,
too much in my head now,
chuck it, leave it,
write it, leave it.

Little Learning

This piece of writing was published here (thanks to a Reeti - a friend)
http://writeherewritenow.co.in/

“Let’s organize a feast this Dipawali”, exclaimed the eldest member of our small gang of children after the usual session of post match analysis at the washerman’s well (interestingly there was no washerman in our village since the last few generations). Some doubts were cast by some of my friends, echoing more of the concerns of their parents and grandparents than their own. Some jumped at the idea. I was somewhere in between - confused. Most of the members of the ‘khatti’ (that was what the sessions were called in Oriya) were elder to me and by quite a few years.

But then the eldest member ‘Pupu’ was convincing. Venue was decided, menu followed, cook was (s)elected and time and date fixed. We worked our further details of logistics including coming back early from school, ferrying the cook on someone’s bicycle, who shall bring which utensils, who will do the shopping etc. Younger ones like me got the responsibility of arranging water for cleaning and drinking – washerman’s well was our answer to both. Pupu was in-charge of the most important responsibility of all – money collection.

Some calculations were made and a round figure of Rs 5/per person was agreed upon. Some members opposed it. “Rs.5/- per person, we are not even having chicken or Kheer!!”, exclaimed Khoku. One glance from Pupu and he came up with real reason, “My granny would never give me anything more than three rupees”. “My mom had given me two last week she will not give nay for this week, I can manage one more at best”, this was Paku.

Pupu looked at both of them, breathed a heavy sigh of irritation and did some more mental calculations. Paku tried to help, but he was shooed off. Pupu needed more space than his head offered, he used the wicket made up of a tree branch as pencil and the ground as his slate and started the Black Magic we all call Maths.

“OK, all elders (four unfortunate ones, ha ha!) to contribute Rs.5/- , the younger ones have to give Rs. 3/-, not less than that, we are having a feast goddamnit!!”.

“Can we get our younger sisters and brothers?” I was sometimes very considerate of my sister.

Pupu seemed to like the idea “But you have to get Rs 2/- extra for them as well”

I did my maths – 3+2 = 5, then a big smile lit up on my face. The reason was not known to anyone yet.

“By playtime tomorrow everyone must get your contributions. Don’t come to play without the money” Pupu the in-charge announced as we all dispersed.

I went back home and after washing my dirty limbs and having said my prayers, I started a secret search in the house.

‘5’, this is all I have to get. This number started flashing in my mind. I have seen it somewhere. I don’t even have to ask mom for money. 3 + 2 = 5 this is all I have to get for me and Chiki.

Eureka ! besides grandpa’s big radio, there is where it was, five rupees. I went to his room silently, he was reading Ramayana and chewing his paan. I looked at that spot where I expected my prize and it was there, but so was grandpa who was now looking at me. I smiled and dashed out of his room.

“In ten minutes he will be out to meet the other village elders and discuss village matters over a game of cards” I was waiting like the cat, waiting to pounce upon the milk left unguarded by my mother.

I waited outside with some book in my hand and the opportune moment arrived exactly ten minutes after. I wasted no time in grabbing the money and putting it in my pocket. I transferred it from my pocket to my school bag. I was very happy, no default on my part, no excuses to Pupu and hey I would be one of the first to make my contribution of 5 – as much as the elder ones!

I ran all my way to the playground next twilight. I saw Pupu with the bat and some other guys around him.

“Hey, 3 for me and 2 for my sister, total 5” I could not have held it any further. I handed out my contribution to Pupu, and waited for acknowledgement and kudos for promptness.

What followed next was the loudest and unmusical round of laughter I had witnessed till then. I could not get any of it. Did they not expect me to get the money at all or was it the promptness

Pupu held up the coin for all to see and then with a most sympathetic smile said “ Buddy this is a five paisa coin, all you have got is five paisa” Then he mimicked me “ 3 for me and 2 for my sister”.

Another round of shameless laughter.

“But it is 5 right, and 3 plus 2 is five, right” I was thinking aloud.

“Dude, you should have asked someone at your home for five rupees. I am sure you saw it lying somewhere and picked it up.”

“Yeah” I admitted meekly and thought " How the hell does it matter to you, I am giving you 5 ".

“You got the maths right but Rupees are different from Paisa, you will learn this at your school” Paku it was.

“ 3 for me and 2 for my sister” again Pupu mimicking my statement.

I was flared up and embarrassed at the same time.

The whole afternoon practise session was punctuated with Pupu and Paku's mimic directed at me. I ran all the way back to my home thinking 5 paisa, 5 rupees, 3+2 = 5 and when I reached I screamed.

“Ma what is the difference between paisa and rupees?” I don't remember whether my mother taught me the difference then but that's besides the matter.

After all these years, whnever we meet, Pupu and others still chuckle with much delight “ 3 for me and 2 for my sister”

It would be unfair to me, to not to state that I was 5 years old and had not yet gone to school and the little learning I had in maths was from my late grandmother.

bhaiyya

I ask this watchman at our office to swipe his card to let me in (did not get my ID card) " Bhaiyya, zara gate khol do na"
"Kholta hun saab, par main Bhaiyaa nahin hun, main Maharastrian hun", was his queer reply.
I was taken aback, could not understand what he just told me. Did he get offended? Why? I called him as Bhaiyaa, what else could I call him?
"Ah, arre haan bahut lafda chal raha hai aaaj kal" was all I could say while passing by the door and finally gettting the full meaning of his words.

'Bhaiyya' or 'Bhaiyyaji' is a term people generally use to refer to people from UP and Bihar and that guy did not want any misconception. Why?
If you have followed newspapers for some time now, the biggest news coming from Mumbai have been related to BSE Sensex and this isssue of Non-Maharastrian working class in Mumbai.
I am sure you would have read enough on this issue, and have your own opinion and your own numbers to back it up, I am not going to add to the same debate.

I would like to look at the core of this and any other lines of separation or division that men love to draw and plunge into the 'us' and 'them' cowardice.

Is this a new phenomena? By no means. Divisiveness is as old as man himself. Reasons change, evolve, return and multiply and the people at the other side too change accordingly as not many (actually other than yourself) one can fit all the bills.
Forget all, lats take your parents - one of them cannot be of your own sex and by this reason alone both of them be on one side.

I am sure you dont want me to start counting the reasons now - some have nothing to do with man such as sex, colour of skin, country you are born in and others man created himself just to divide himself such as religion, creed, education, caste (may be read as profession one chooses for himslef or is born into), social class, economic class and i have studied about some socio-economic class too, region and many more.

Why does man do this thing then?
The reasons may be many, but the most prominent ones would be fear and ambition (wait are they not similar, an ambitious man is also a very afraid man, who is not happy with or is afraid of the way the things are at the present and would do anything to change it).
Anyway, man is afraid of himself and more so in solitude, thus he wants assurance that there are more people like him and he wants to add on numbers on his side and feel better (read less afraid) and thats where ambition comes into picture. The people who are very ambitious, use its cousin fear very well to play the game of division.
Man has an incessant need of staying close to himself and in the lack avenues to do so (what else would you call the hours people spend on work, travel, food, routine etc.) he chooses to get himself closer to other people whom he calls 'us' and to squeeze the radius of the people in the 'us' circle he brings them closer and thus starts to find differences in many of them and unable to bring them asny closer he distances them are 'them'. Rest is there for us to witness.

Is there any solution?
I don't know. Even if the catastrophe called 'fear' is removed from people's minds I am not sure, whether there won't be grades of 'unafraid level 1, unafraid level 2 or unafraid recently, unafraid classic' and so on. As long as there is reltivity and things can't be absolute (man not even the ground I stand on is absolute, not the time, not anything I have ever come across) there would be this divisions. "Divide and Rule " eh?