tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23612159381010039122024-02-22T21:38:00.951+05:30Parthajeet Das's blogFirst draft of my writingsParthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.comBlogger244125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-25135009970265911032023-08-19T09:41:00.005+05:302023-08-19T09:41:55.969+05:30When we were locked in ! <p>This is my first attempt at photo blogging! I am not too sure of the rules and formats and not sure even how useful is this platform for the same but we won't know until we try. </p><p>This relates to the period when we were all locked indoors due to the COVID-19 pandemic. When our freedom to step out of our homes at will, our choice of meeting people (friends, colleagues, strangers) and doing what we wish was taken away. Forced to see the world from the limiting frames of our windows and balconies, I found the frame of camera liberating. The frame allowed me to look up to the skies, zoom in and look at objects far away, zoom out get a different perspective, step back to soak in the surroundings all through the power of the lens. One of the things that my wife and I used to talk about is the colour of the sky. I used to joke around that in Delhi the sky is brown or grey because of the terrible air pollution. The AQI numbers of Delhi were usually a matter for memes as we had stopped worrying about it beyond a point and started to make jokes about it. Due to the pandemic induced lock down the AQI numbers were as good as any other city and "the sky was never blue(er)" as my wife often remarked. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5QA69eG74BJE9kzpuhqUHF8wI-3-gsuN6Bclp80DCOkZKBCJf75oQ0MrSTUHuAEZqmQeq_sbVwLx70oIpZuB1AGkknhNHSzwhhFLChR_SHUDlEUOlZHFgdKQPBmU04BonxJIuOvK0QuzJTsA6eQdEjivofxBXCr47EK8YV-usT7cL54ZOEENhCXeZg/s4272/IMG_6659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5QA69eG74BJE9kzpuhqUHF8wI-3-gsuN6Bclp80DCOkZKBCJf75oQ0MrSTUHuAEZqmQeq_sbVwLx70oIpZuB1AGkknhNHSzwhhFLChR_SHUDlEUOlZHFgdKQPBmU04BonxJIuOvK0QuzJTsA6eQdEjivofxBXCr47EK8YV-usT7cL54ZOEENhCXeZg/s320/IMG_6659.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>I was particularly fascinated by the birds in and around my house and the small park facing it. We live in one of the smaller blocks of the busy and bustling Malviya Nagar in the southern part of Delhi. Delhi contrary to it's image and actual status of one of the most polluted cities of the world with worst AQIs which are often 7-10 times that of the accepted range, is home to a large species and number of birds. There could be many reasons for it but one of them is the fact that Delhi for a capital city of a large, populous country has one of the largest percentage of green cover in terms of forests, parks and natural habitats. Most pockets of Delhi's 'colonies' or 'blocks' would have a small or big park. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiday3dqn_lWdeYxyJOlNuRNUBXvpOUM892UK9c0xW8MwrJdiy9MdUdnyDeSawwfefCKSqCxF_UgmLBEQQ1AeWGuurT6j9rdGGmi6pZYdoIeFm8geK7SBoSnign17NPRJ16SX_-Bgk73YqkTWcUCVuoGhY0tx_9UvKAMtXmxJcXSYZu6pzFjwduydF_ig/s4272/IMG_6531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiday3dqn_lWdeYxyJOlNuRNUBXvpOUM892UK9c0xW8MwrJdiy9MdUdnyDeSawwfefCKSqCxF_UgmLBEQQ1AeWGuurT6j9rdGGmi6pZYdoIeFm8geK7SBoSnign17NPRJ16SX_-Bgk73YqkTWcUCVuoGhY0tx_9UvKAMtXmxJcXSYZu6pzFjwduydF_ig/s320/IMG_6531.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1n9LzH9lYpG7jMBwD14i6ELD4aXvJdYk9HFuqNFGACqqXF99oOCESwkgmrD2WLj6XaNu25kj9ayGDGmr7hgQNpxtVZmZdGHGMMb2MBbK0WLWnfNwOG5IySbkJbp53qiLEpi1tJ8hDYcyxJCs18nHbZwuBGhwYQBqcuB-intyXoDYKrfuil3TodBHPGQ/s4272/IMG_6612.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1n9LzH9lYpG7jMBwD14i6ELD4aXvJdYk9HFuqNFGACqqXF99oOCESwkgmrD2WLj6XaNu25kj9ayGDGmr7hgQNpxtVZmZdGHGMMb2MBbK0WLWnfNwOG5IySbkJbp53qiLEpi1tJ8hDYcyxJCs18nHbZwuBGhwYQBqcuB-intyXoDYKrfuil3TodBHPGQ/s320/IMG_6612.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Where one would find common birds like pigeons, crows and bulbuls along with many other small birds such as the sun-bird, fly-catcher and others. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5-29KUs11YG8l7xMxXHApBTl0Z3o2BLsttp7JvLqKXz-dTWu2bJZnfXcpOf_rv0dMnj8FffaTiIvogeGmX4inUOETrAJPMjH3XP-hX7hwQnjmisNk5ZDtF1x8zURwf4daDJfapYu_Jn0NKLhNczJKoUT3rwxj6MqcO8_tVMUfnwuXhmzmxVG5hlBOCA/s4272/IMG_6484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5-29KUs11YG8l7xMxXHApBTl0Z3o2BLsttp7JvLqKXz-dTWu2bJZnfXcpOf_rv0dMnj8FffaTiIvogeGmX4inUOETrAJPMjH3XP-hX7hwQnjmisNk5ZDtF1x8zURwf4daDJfapYu_Jn0NKLhNczJKoUT3rwxj6MqcO8_tVMUfnwuXhmzmxVG5hlBOCA/s320/IMG_6484.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>And just because they don't have a fancy name, we see them everywhere around us and do not have to travel to somewhere and wait for sometime doesn't take anything away from their beauty, their cheerfulness, playfulness and voices.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7SQ-W86rvFZeTuf3k9lb1KtALHD-T_yyBrTLCXX7Etn3VRgRW5rpnh30qr7OSJWGDXKQs0PPpVi8FDXpJziD9Lli3q7mEsXqz_YjocV42bmC0baF63htZ3rjVdo1e2syXcqE10wgWKNzSNytcFYAKoN0GVUzr6jErRCIrb8od1X-WY8hLtFN0-eqTg/s4272/IMG_6574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7SQ-W86rvFZeTuf3k9lb1KtALHD-T_yyBrTLCXX7Etn3VRgRW5rpnh30qr7OSJWGDXKQs0PPpVi8FDXpJziD9Lli3q7mEsXqz_YjocV42bmC0baF63htZ3rjVdo1e2syXcqE10wgWKNzSNytcFYAKoN0GVUzr6jErRCIrb8od1X-WY8hLtFN0-eqTg/s320/IMG_6574.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>We have a special relationship with the pigeons though. We love them, hate them but can't do without them and vice versa it seems. They are always eager to come to our small balcony, sit on our AC, do their thing (yes!) and even tried to make their nest and lay eggs. We call them our 'boys' and one of the first things that my wife does in the mornings is to clean up the mess the boys leave around and rest of the day it's my job to shoo them away. But boys will be boys! </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusZlzUaC5fnhV8DBMpnWL8BoGxj5NHTESCvNpPuGImbKYUfgu2hNktFqhWxDv8KJKHfggw8Vq5Xb3ZqOe0TkzsZ9WHH8djXjMMneLSTaRXSdwFXaaVru2J9SsNin6JANjYB8VGdST5oyCpGRr1nyKi08S5hQtzAKr4emkZ5WRDD7gBlGEIRD8QvVzSg/s4272/IMG_6537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusZlzUaC5fnhV8DBMpnWL8BoGxj5NHTESCvNpPuGImbKYUfgu2hNktFqhWxDv8KJKHfggw8Vq5Xb3ZqOe0TkzsZ9WHH8djXjMMneLSTaRXSdwFXaaVru2J9SsNin6JANjYB8VGdST5oyCpGRr1nyKi08S5hQtzAKr4emkZ5WRDD7gBlGEIRD8QvVzSg/s320/IMG_6537.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHZfd4tEv09n60NwDYVSi-72DLUjvM2H_-O-SyvcmPJdQRr7j8qYoqIVVeg1999ZcxW-VowXZ3LNbsg93bpNbjld007AJ82bE8BX9E9SUdYcqkNFsp36-hHvCyXvdwWLQVpNNxXRfxjqwUxQJrhfDzfULf8pOAdU0bdCH2c4MEu3QgFBO0L81cE0Alw/s4272/IMG_6690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHZfd4tEv09n60NwDYVSi-72DLUjvM2H_-O-SyvcmPJdQRr7j8qYoqIVVeg1999ZcxW-VowXZ3LNbsg93bpNbjld007AJ82bE8BX9E9SUdYcqkNFsp36-hHvCyXvdwWLQVpNNxXRfxjqwUxQJrhfDzfULf8pOAdU0bdCH2c4MEu3QgFBO0L81cE0Alw/s320/IMG_6690.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>And boys like to do boys things! They reproduce and their children do necessarily take after them initially but soon they too become part of the 'boys' and we can't tell one from the other.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjx5VdDFMiUOzW3moqJxOHqI9fBXR5La3L0Evcdzg-LgQOclkePwr9TgLmrA9surPuavXFN7lioSS6ZBw3OVKIG3jgPDHhsQTjaVB4h7tTWJHuoEbqyONM-jowtpkhXgfgeGaSoQqCdxTxsUCmDq3ahJE50zmvzYPnQL7wPc2X_4TzZJ0D1lcrn-crHA/s4272/IMG_6545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjx5VdDFMiUOzW3moqJxOHqI9fBXR5La3L0Evcdzg-LgQOclkePwr9TgLmrA9surPuavXFN7lioSS6ZBw3OVKIG3jgPDHhsQTjaVB4h7tTWJHuoEbqyONM-jowtpkhXgfgeGaSoQqCdxTxsUCmDq3ahJE50zmvzYPnQL7wPc2X_4TzZJ0D1lcrn-crHA/s320/IMG_6545.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FG4xWTnj5PSf_s4PE44tZqxfSESIemne9dZUp9EuHQplXHQfJX9e8tsffPQSzeypmdElYToE0MuE1NgH8NKlTSObgFMOZfveO1wTMcNMvq0tjPEx2T7nL___w1rFH2onIDEZKlyr5ux0MErLoP34AwTPSkGfUwJOrHjjhFgGaaRRKkEuzPjNxDKeKQ/s4272/IMG_6582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FG4xWTnj5PSf_s4PE44tZqxfSESIemne9dZUp9EuHQplXHQfJX9e8tsffPQSzeypmdElYToE0MuE1NgH8NKlTSObgFMOZfveO1wTMcNMvq0tjPEx2T7nL___w1rFH2onIDEZKlyr5ux0MErLoP34AwTPSkGfUwJOrHjjhFgGaaRRKkEuzPjNxDKeKQ/s320/IMG_6582.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JlQa3pQIAcU9Iu_BoVdWdA66XFx3pazMucKNSRRU7wn0DTj_ytJZDzOFVOl4f7lq0rTUWSXKqd8CU1QLQzPQkrzTiC7dmcBagXLSVOyFcxDymM56Rh4EMSn6-Ab6BWHTxXC8C3UfZrP8-RhMBEd1ENMtQ0K56-BCtNcaknR2LbfteJwqjySph01DYQ/s4272/IMG_6603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JlQa3pQIAcU9Iu_BoVdWdA66XFx3pazMucKNSRRU7wn0DTj_ytJZDzOFVOl4f7lq0rTUWSXKqd8CU1QLQzPQkrzTiC7dmcBagXLSVOyFcxDymM56Rh4EMSn6-Ab6BWHTxXC8C3UfZrP8-RhMBEd1ENMtQ0K56-BCtNcaknR2LbfteJwqjySph01DYQ/s320/IMG_6603.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>These are pigeons too (they are called yellow-footed green pigeons and are apparently the state bird of Maharashtra)</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZg0ooZekIXL_9t9snXkvDSI6Dal7mmHGXMK6-ZUvBwdAz5NTGrYU-CGbXzoV-LO1ivv9Ut8jjhHJOFM9KCz5g8lkMRW75loJLWTejF4zzZA5RFowJPE412xeS0yjAJVldXuOunzQDDGi6_FbpzTrOJN035BXU79P2UzXpJB578Vg6dEO0n7n9nWVcQ/s4272/IMG_6636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZg0ooZekIXL_9t9snXkvDSI6Dal7mmHGXMK6-ZUvBwdAz5NTGrYU-CGbXzoV-LO1ivv9Ut8jjhHJOFM9KCz5g8lkMRW75loJLWTejF4zzZA5RFowJPE412xeS0yjAJVldXuOunzQDDGi6_FbpzTrOJN035BXU79P2UzXpJB578Vg6dEO0n7n9nWVcQ/s320/IMG_6636.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8e8UM5tfj6d6s04jIgocJyGYmzG6hMxny4YeucyXQmXmQLghYZqF9Q431rtO-NU9Isee4X6owwbmy21nSpEQwplO0I_zsolz7KdonMlSiO1VdO1KqVb1-7FJEtViTkZ4fvkAcwz-snrj5yMLIAFpr8aj-1PpnD_cR7T-OkBYjmdXrFcFlCGjSP2l8rg/s4272/IMG_6568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8e8UM5tfj6d6s04jIgocJyGYmzG6hMxny4YeucyXQmXmQLghYZqF9Q431rtO-NU9Isee4X6owwbmy21nSpEQwplO0I_zsolz7KdonMlSiO1VdO1KqVb1-7FJEtViTkZ4fvkAcwz-snrj5yMLIAFpr8aj-1PpnD_cR7T-OkBYjmdXrFcFlCGjSP2l8rg/s320/IMG_6568.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">When you are forced to slow down and be steady, you observe the change in things, you otherwise would not. Like we saw the change of seasons through this peepul tree: where we saw how the lush green leaves of the tree turned pale-yellow, fell to the ground leaving the tree without any leaves but where hope and life slowly found it's way back. We saw the cycle of life repeat itself again and again.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChSk2erFVowvPJ0e0lBH8dot-v9vkpooBUvWLo4b3qiwNa8UtKszwG1j65ddDE4O5XJk0lrTIofL92V-W_bQAeW7Osn4gOyi56OH0uRe5M0bqn8HcLgReFaKFVSdxPtRU-SOZFQB7_4fyVUjRj_fAfJVX_nzqzHcyOyzx98TjBKqXKNNB8-b5vfXTCg/s4272/IMG_6597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChSk2erFVowvPJ0e0lBH8dot-v9vkpooBUvWLo4b3qiwNa8UtKszwG1j65ddDE4O5XJk0lrTIofL92V-W_bQAeW7Osn4gOyi56OH0uRe5M0bqn8HcLgReFaKFVSdxPtRU-SOZFQB7_4fyVUjRj_fAfJVX_nzqzHcyOyzx98TjBKqXKNNB8-b5vfXTCg/s320/IMG_6597.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8pwipWV_x3k86czaKCehQbXOXgR0Pv1wuZTyzLPpe-q9jnyX7v_bUOc_AzS3lgi08NUUVZ0wDBeUK702-Twxv3a6i_Zj8ImPoQmbHaAa-ObIGt_IszJOAhMzoJm-Fmbsedw4lleWVv4wKTbFf4GbTMAddjAJpGgaX1BIPuDz5A06uDab4zcj5xcV3EA/s4272/IMG_6512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8pwipWV_x3k86czaKCehQbXOXgR0Pv1wuZTyzLPpe-q9jnyX7v_bUOc_AzS3lgi08NUUVZ0wDBeUK702-Twxv3a6i_Zj8ImPoQmbHaAa-ObIGt_IszJOAhMzoJm-Fmbsedw4lleWVv4wKTbFf4GbTMAddjAJpGgaX1BIPuDz5A06uDab4zcj5xcV3EA/s320/IMG_6512.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhibknwwJosFV7GLfSL6_ijSTC9Qiyj9762fhswRK1b7nRY7VKLIeJopw1KgOg0lTYgO3WiYw3-Bm9vdl4iRfa9LCpNauDLwqyc3TsQhl577l9anQ-s8xesYrNMsdJuAj6xrAYKBAaDfABpx0W3Dm8r-ryzd5SplayREK0XUkIUaSiOzKXEs-cV5d3b4g/s4272/IMG_6525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhibknwwJosFV7GLfSL6_ijSTC9Qiyj9762fhswRK1b7nRY7VKLIeJopw1KgOg0lTYgO3WiYw3-Bm9vdl4iRfa9LCpNauDLwqyc3TsQhl577l9anQ-s8xesYrNMsdJuAj6xrAYKBAaDfABpx0W3Dm8r-ryzd5SplayREK0XUkIUaSiOzKXEs-cV5d3b4g/s320/IMG_6525.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqpoj-quPBLlaDe654FegIQvXA9m6_pNR_vndflOp2aBURAE3Mpx5rqfW8GF5D7HTLgqd9UUIWS-0J3zEjplWBnXy-frGmNdSExG0SYXTnsw0S2WHy8BhVZnMCDLQIpZtSELgVbPTWKHoR_MlgCzzgfsnCZmo9W6HGPHt0D506Pgio-zT1V-1LKO-0w/s4272/IMG_6594.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqpoj-quPBLlaDe654FegIQvXA9m6_pNR_vndflOp2aBURAE3Mpx5rqfW8GF5D7HTLgqd9UUIWS-0J3zEjplWBnXy-frGmNdSExG0SYXTnsw0S2WHy8BhVZnMCDLQIpZtSELgVbPTWKHoR_MlgCzzgfsnCZmo9W6HGPHt0D506Pgio-zT1V-1LKO-0w/s320/IMG_6594.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>These vegetable vendors and other essential service providers were the only humans we could see other than ourselves. It was interesting how it took a pandemic to make us realise what was essential and what was not! How these jobs and people, hitherto unnoticed became celebrated as frontline workers and heroes. But for how long?</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_FZWil7re0c4vMXii5o2NDMd2zyIlyw7jJUOCVEuohEGsU6xlfuIr8gfjmS8327tP5wV7RuSfrg7TgWku7alPvuCBTOK1dOj_ottUVlpxhM760sQnu8WdL9uNwdulVUYE2v_aqmhQ7pgHFO1pOBda65nt0x-_suP0jldxrjpKEZ-cGMPO8OO4Ifxg5w/s4272/IMG_6694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_FZWil7re0c4vMXii5o2NDMd2zyIlyw7jJUOCVEuohEGsU6xlfuIr8gfjmS8327tP5wV7RuSfrg7TgWku7alPvuCBTOK1dOj_ottUVlpxhM760sQnu8WdL9uNwdulVUYE2v_aqmhQ7pgHFO1pOBda65nt0x-_suP0jldxrjpKEZ-cGMPO8OO4Ifxg5w/s320/IMG_6694.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>We also saw deep compassion and thoughtfulness for not just humans but animals. This guy would turn up at the exact same hour, sun or rain; serve the dogs of our and other streets with cooked food on paper plates and then come back to collect the plates.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfLv4MpcRF4nyIJ7O6gFYUxi3T3NNLWYOZLob6tC4fUQ8caswYxBEQjWOcjLrMDoVA6jPE_2G4Pm4d5AZSYI8QdEdZAYUvO7aKAyY_wkFNvVQhJ6s7bwEhdSi4NsBzSAGtyf3ZnJpmLr6DlLAMrKqOHAhlkdDZr9fxyWHFi4R7bRmi6083NM4gi4EXw/s4272/IMG_6605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4272" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfLv4MpcRF4nyIJ7O6gFYUxi3T3NNLWYOZLob6tC4fUQ8caswYxBEQjWOcjLrMDoVA6jPE_2G4Pm4d5AZSYI8QdEdZAYUvO7aKAyY_wkFNvVQhJ6s7bwEhdSi4NsBzSAGtyf3ZnJpmLr6DlLAMrKqOHAhlkdDZr9fxyWHFi4R7bRmi6083NM4gi4EXw/s320/IMG_6605.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Here are some of the rockstars and celebrities! Well, I know some of their names and could share details but just enjoy their beauty, grace and poise ! </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNSCq4bNEEYaVwG49PQBiUmI1DGgV-mMFSwy6SWVy_oBiKVhienAn3E8-uClEVJBE7EmFUSLSV7-gDzgDfQ7PJ_GN_6lDJio-H4ndqy4y_cWvVxB_bE0_HpBduWmhCp82HqRGATBrv9Js2jAsA8oT92xUDKTCYlQ5otQhSjYxBbQS4VN09-MDzRilEQ/s4272/IMG_6558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNSCq4bNEEYaVwG49PQBiUmI1DGgV-mMFSwy6SWVy_oBiKVhienAn3E8-uClEVJBE7EmFUSLSV7-gDzgDfQ7PJ_GN_6lDJio-H4ndqy4y_cWvVxB_bE0_HpBduWmhCp82HqRGATBrv9Js2jAsA8oT92xUDKTCYlQ5otQhSjYxBbQS4VN09-MDzRilEQ/s320/IMG_6558.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6tmrDiwkyOhbQw0uhvch0ZyVgB7UBBUzUiK1tUHOgIk-cIBCSx5NMKn4rd9WiCvD4x6A00-Trt7Uo7cPsFc52aWdyk-lLJ8K1hJa-RcoSmOlw9zPqIRd5Bx6XzPaaqNrRNLvtsKO5NON0dVjlFlbjScG-Yt_xpA6rxmpEFdKUzFYMt4_sgiCk7_dfA/s4272/IMG_6576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6tmrDiwkyOhbQw0uhvch0ZyVgB7UBBUzUiK1tUHOgIk-cIBCSx5NMKn4rd9WiCvD4x6A00-Trt7Uo7cPsFc52aWdyk-lLJ8K1hJa-RcoSmOlw9zPqIRd5Bx6XzPaaqNrRNLvtsKO5NON0dVjlFlbjScG-Yt_xpA6rxmpEFdKUzFYMt4_sgiCk7_dfA/s320/IMG_6576.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVr5t3U0aOmstuXwVKZ23QyTKXbWCmlCYqcTVN0SkLBAJSLjjBQO5hwrjufUE-2ZzqB1PzB5GO_1GL4ymn-YhdYS8v6msBFnpaP4kX66jWTQpVBsyPmTX_HGeu5dHrObhW2ZsbQ7b1PXFgqPFSyybz0dOrLyVifb__FSsVu7pTRJ1vaeHy2l-6o460oA/s4272/IMG_6682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVr5t3U0aOmstuXwVKZ23QyTKXbWCmlCYqcTVN0SkLBAJSLjjBQO5hwrjufUE-2ZzqB1PzB5GO_1GL4ymn-YhdYS8v6msBFnpaP4kX66jWTQpVBsyPmTX_HGeu5dHrObhW2ZsbQ7b1PXFgqPFSyybz0dOrLyVifb__FSsVu7pTRJ1vaeHy2l-6o460oA/s320/IMG_6682.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiJUz5AGPbFXFXxeGgHGDCPuxsl0SogvQH5j0h3MV5M-JuU2BsazuJRjadWQzEyoHkPZlMU_4aY4VS9K557W2by_qZHUrgPaSWIcsHaW-zzhq5JZfnUAsope_g2ejNwRS3aHM-C4-AbDhmIbnX7KwAJ-BzPd_zwkI9JVLwm9ejymddM5bheAJXKzmJZQ/s4272/IMG_6700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiJUz5AGPbFXFXxeGgHGDCPuxsl0SogvQH5j0h3MV5M-JuU2BsazuJRjadWQzEyoHkPZlMU_4aY4VS9K557W2by_qZHUrgPaSWIcsHaW-zzhq5JZfnUAsope_g2ejNwRS3aHM-C4-AbDhmIbnX7KwAJ-BzPd_zwkI9JVLwm9ejymddM5bheAJXKzmJZQ/s320/IMG_6700.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhjE1DqsruI11mI6ZLhHOZ6n250DcCO65RPU7HOn-H-4Ip0gXZXrCyp0IP3zyZciEKqJx7BYYpNIdypizEoT-FAi5Rv7GIQXc8Tn1z1rSQRVf3ItDD0JCNR2f4ss7ZBiHf9u11g_bx37DmkKipF4ELL-8RgH177jmx4ocZE9p3lioBjKQW-QiFhVpQQ/s4272/IMG_6716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhjE1DqsruI11mI6ZLhHOZ6n250DcCO65RPU7HOn-H-4Ip0gXZXrCyp0IP3zyZciEKqJx7BYYpNIdypizEoT-FAi5Rv7GIQXc8Tn1z1rSQRVf3ItDD0JCNR2f4ss7ZBiHf9u11g_bx37DmkKipF4ELL-8RgH177jmx4ocZE9p3lioBjKQW-QiFhVpQQ/s320/IMG_6716.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiwN6LCdjLjtBk6Ox4aXthAbxMTos5VoPDtQt0j96BavizUifkkkpWhkeR-ba4oakP55OS9U6wov-ahTIRwR0HDvYUr_nAI7UJD2Sy_Hp5dAUT9rKcHKgQIJEYHdsRW0EWdH-DZ1fQv-zaRpjm5Ip4u-bQGZixqXEkRteHXUm7jIpUd1Bba_oLkX5Bjg/s4272/IMG_6724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiwN6LCdjLjtBk6Ox4aXthAbxMTos5VoPDtQt0j96BavizUifkkkpWhkeR-ba4oakP55OS9U6wov-ahTIRwR0HDvYUr_nAI7UJD2Sy_Hp5dAUT9rKcHKgQIJEYHdsRW0EWdH-DZ1fQv-zaRpjm5Ip4u-bQGZixqXEkRteHXUm7jIpUd1Bba_oLkX5Bjg/s320/IMG_6724.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />Will end this blog with a story of hope. I was told that sparrows - the common house sparrow had apparently almost disappeared from Delhi some time back. Maybe because of some efforts, or some prayers or hope but most certainly because of the wonderful ways nature works they have now made a comeback. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsy1tGfniQlG2V9LuIsOtUarm1REaIlgb6-Df_Qhjg2s6_ywDTfGew6p-MDeKkkkZVC9VsmhAjXhQVuPRrs1yMG_oPBr3sXQ9WywrVcomnNjkSR912iV6F0ncc8gJoA6QgUljRTT6HAdls_6DZ2w2y2sLKHEVGKIxmjeEmrKX4MFlGB1mhETpXafmGlA/s4272/IMG_6638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsy1tGfniQlG2V9LuIsOtUarm1REaIlgb6-Df_Qhjg2s6_ywDTfGew6p-MDeKkkkZVC9VsmhAjXhQVuPRrs1yMG_oPBr3sXQ9WywrVcomnNjkSR912iV6F0ncc8gJoA6QgUljRTT6HAdls_6DZ2w2y2sLKHEVGKIxmjeEmrKX4MFlGB1mhETpXafmGlA/s320/IMG_6638.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIu5kGriKR2uI3dv0rxvtDbyW1MZqq4J2f8_KpXBnp_4EYvTVR9AGb_6eT4qhFD5fhsLnjTLVqnVCAGbYaX8O9d2QLN5QZGzaK34UHfd0JcckYe4KrHnQ8SxU5AO7Yf6docBeryM9EJNkxNX1pDiogKbNNX4yL0Hv-QgwpkUaOkgMGVElCY8OiHkdvFw/s4272/IMG_6732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIu5kGriKR2uI3dv0rxvtDbyW1MZqq4J2f8_KpXBnp_4EYvTVR9AGb_6eT4qhFD5fhsLnjTLVqnVCAGbYaX8O9d2QLN5QZGzaK34UHfd0JcckYe4KrHnQ8SxU5AO7Yf6docBeryM9EJNkxNX1pDiogKbNNX4yL0Hv-QgwpkUaOkgMGVElCY8OiHkdvFw/s320/IMG_6732.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><div>Do leave a comment. On the photos or the writing or both. All photos were taken by a human (me) using a Canon EOS gifted to us many many years back by family. To the freedom to be out of our homes, fly away from the routine, travel and live.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Z_pzbqdGO104Yfmg5MOkZuQszL8BuL_EbNeFrPphLli2nu7IwPUzyvW9I-YJpUpN_FClzDhOGImAXQMKplPkG4_y8jjyK_5W1HCWaDOn4HuphrGU1b5Jb4dpnzglS-oSPRR-ZPy1esoFZuWjkrcTk3ZnPRVKfsVg89yE31mr1y34IxCI_brroT2sDQ/s4272/IMG_6667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Z_pzbqdGO104Yfmg5MOkZuQszL8BuL_EbNeFrPphLli2nu7IwPUzyvW9I-YJpUpN_FClzDhOGImAXQMKplPkG4_y8jjyK_5W1HCWaDOn4HuphrGU1b5Jb4dpnzglS-oSPRR-ZPy1esoFZuWjkrcTk3ZnPRVKfsVg89yE31mr1y34IxCI_brroT2sDQ/s320/IMG_6667.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><p><br /></p></div></div></div></div></div></div>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-11583665503092097202023-08-15T09:12:00.002+05:302023-08-15T13:12:13.721+05:30Hope for learning and learning for hopeIt's hard for me to feel elated, ecstatic and upbeat about the day i.e. 15 Aug, our independence day. I am not a pessimist but it's hard to look beyond the 'here and now' and find solace in what we have achieved as a country in all these years and feel as euphoric at least not as we are supposed to feel about it - 'Har Ghar Tiranga', 'Har office Tiranga' and post-selfies about it and 'Amrit kaal' the echoes of which is going to last another 1000 years or so we are told. <div>Well, people who have tried to control, predict and shape history with their vice like-grips, ever-so-sure about the firmness of their iron-fists, the certainty of results of their actions, infallibility of their designs and programs (or pogroms if you like) have often lived to see something different, unexpected and disastrous befall their el-dorado or utopia. Some of such mythical, imaginative (as they have no base in reality) and utterly nefarious designs, structures and actions may take a few generations to be decimated and pulverised to the dust of time! </div><div>Coming back to 'what is' and 'what would be' makes one a bit poignant, a bit pessimistic, almost forcing one to flee and avoid these thoughts and find solace in work, endless distractions on phone, music, Netflix (cinema, webseries) or in travel, yoga or gym, in social occassions, family and other banalities of the day! </div><div>Yes, we have achieved many things and the very existence of this nation-state as a sovereign (yes we are not directly governed by another country), democratic (at least in pretention of adult franchise, elections and government) and united (yeah, we haven't had state(s) splinter away from the country, a civil war that resulted in a coo or similar) should be celebrated. We are doing better than ever as economists and statisticians will tell us in terms of well-being not only in economic development (GDP, GDP per capita, roads, ports, airports, infra and what have you!) but also in social indicators of health, education, nutrition etc. Many social disaparities have reduced such as access of girls and socially disadvantaged groups (SC, STs) to primary education, women's participation in economy etc. So what's the crib about? </div><div>The gripe isn't about the direction; it's about the pace, the inclusiveness and wholeness (of texture) of this progress or growth we have achieved in all these years after independence. </div><div>Let's unpack one by one. The pace or quantum or rate of growth. It's hard to disagree that a faster rate of progress would have been better, that's the nature of any growth, more always seems better! But, haven't we done well looking at the constraints of resources (we were left an extremely poor country) and where we started (our baseline was so low!)? Yes, we have done well compared to where we were (the starting line) but one has to also look at where one should be (the finishing line)! I will quote only one set of statistics of a field I know well - education and can argue, debate with facts, data, experience and understanding. But, I am urging you to reflect if the same is true of other areas of human life. </div><div>We have ensured (today and almost for a few years now) that almost all (90% or more) of our primary school going age children are enrolled in some or the other school (government or private). This we should be happy about. Could we have done this earlier ? Yes. There was no reason why we couldn't have started earnest efforts soon after moving education into the concurrent list in 1977; making universal primary education as a national goal as we did after the MDGs prioritised Education for All (EFA) and allocating resources and efforts towards it for the next 20-25 years as we did under Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan (SSA). We could have been where we are today in the early 2000s! </div><div>Second, talking about the wholeness of things. Most children are enrolled in schools but only 60-70% of them attend schools regularly. I am taking a larger range to accomodate and avoid discussions about which sources I am using and reliability of one versus the other - ASER, NAS, NFHS or anything else. And as with any avereges, they mask the situation or starkness of data - so Bihar, UP (and that's a lot) attendance situation is 45-60%. Enrolment is not schooling ! My name is there in a school register, is not equal to I go to school. Simple? </div><div>Third, more than half of the children in the schools are not learning the foundational skills of reading, writing and basic maths. The world bank calls it 'learning poverty', some of us call it a 'learning crisis' and even 'learning emergency'. It is all of that. Again, let's not get into statistics, data reliability, incentives or under or over reporting here. I can separately engage on it. More than half of all children (mind you this is regardless of private or public) of primary age not learning or acquiring these basic universal skills would means crores of children, 7-8 crores of them ! Let that sink in slowly, take your time. </div><div><br></div><div>To come back to the inclusiveness of the progress. It shouldn't be too hard to guess who would be the majority of these 7-8 crore children. Children belonging to SC, ST, religious minorities, remote rural areas, girls, children enrolled in all government or affordable private schools? In other words, children of poor parents or parents who are unable to spend large amount of money on their child's education or life. That's the single biggest determinant - parental income. So, income poverty is the reason for learning poverty and further those children who are subjected to learning poverty today are the ones who will very likely suffer from income poverty as they become adults and start their families due to lack of these basic universal skills. I used the word subjected to learning poverty as we the state (people of this republic) are responsible for it not the child. </div><div>We even guaranteed it (mind you not enrollment in schools, but education or learning) as a fundamental right ! So, if the children are not learning, we have failed to provide and ensure that right for them. </div><div><br></div><div>I want to end with 'what would be' and yet again in this age and times of post-truth (basically falsehood) something that doesn't give a lot of scope for optimism is that if we are not aligned on a single picture of reality today how can we on the plans and direction of future. In fact to make matters worse, some people are actively attempting to change 'what was' i.e. history! What happened, happened! Yes, we know that certain narratives get more prominence than others - that of the victors and that of the rulers but alternative narratives do exists and they come out in their own time and space. It is for the students of history and others interested to pick a wholesome meal out of this buffet of narratives. But for a section of those who are ruling today (and in majority) for the furtherance of a bigoted agenda, driven by the desire to shape the future, it's not very scientific or healthy to attempt to change the past. </div><div><br></div><div>That's worrisome yet again not just because we are making a mistake or many mistakes or going down the wrong path! That we have done many times in the past and will continue to do so. It's the systematic shutting down or the attempts to shut down the possibility of learning (from our mistakes and successes both) that's the most concerning for me. Starting with poor learning for children but certainly extending all the way to the very poor learning (or re-learning tending to brainwashing) of adult-citizen, fuelled and fully aided by media, technology and the powers of narratives. </div><div><br></div><div>Societies and nations will continue to make mistakes and have deep rootes challenges of class-divide, caste (this is our special contribution), religion, region, language, sex, sexual-orientation and everything else that can divide (and interestingly unite) the homo-sapien but as long as we learn there is hope ! </div><div>There is !</div><div><br></div><div><i>Sincere, apologies for lack of editing and mistakes. I just typed this whole thing on phone and posted it. </i></div>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-33727601746958765492021-09-17T08:20:00.002+05:302021-09-18T06:45:54.711+05:30foundation literacy and numeracy (FLN) stories from my early years !<p>The choice of the title should not surprise people who are aware of my recent work and what I do. Still, worth mentioning again that I work in the education sector (primarily advising/supporting governments) and in recent years, focus more on early learning which the New Education Policy (NEP) and state governments across the country prioritise as Foundation Literacy and Numeracy (FLN). </p><p>Over a visit to friends, I was recounting a few anecdotes from my childhood to a "FLN grade" girl - my niece, Ohana and I thought some of them would be a good reads for others as well. </p><p>Will start with couple of stories shared by my mother about her grandfather. He (Banshi Babu or simply Babu for the villagers) was a really influential and affluent zamindar in the Jagatsinghpur district of Odisha who was revered and feared. He had a tall, strong figure and a booming voice to support that image. I had seen some black and white pictures of him at my late grandfather's (Aja's) place, including one holding a ten month old me, and I concur! </p><p>My mother was a good student all her life as my mausis (aunts) and other family members would share and yet again I had seen black and white pictures of her as a school girl with two pony tails, holding aloft a large shied/trophy; but she did not start out like this. In her early years, in the village school, which as you might have guessed, was set-up by Banshi Babu, she was often called out by a particular teacher as a stupid and naughty girl. One day, failing to do something that was asked of her, my mother was pulled to the front of the class by the teacher and as a means of chastisement, he wrote the Odiya word 'Gadha' (donkey/fool/stupid) in reverse on the blackboard and asked her to paste her cheek to it. So, my mother spent the entire day with the word 'Gadha' written on her cheek. Well, those were the days no one had heard of capital punishment ! This teacher actually had some tiff with our family and clearly the only thing he could do to extract revenge from the zamindar of the village was to take it out on the old man's grand-daughter. </p><p>My uncle (a year older to my mother) was furious when he saw my mother back at home and took her to their grandfather, who instead of getting angry at the teacher and unleashing wrath on the poor gentleman simply asked my mother </p><div style="text-align: left;">'What exactly was the question he asked you?'</div><div style="text-align: left;">'He asked me to do some mathematics questions and I made a mistake' my mother replied. </div><div style="text-align: left;">'Is it? What exactly did he ask?' <br>'He asked me do some basic addition and subtraction...' my mother was almost in tears. <br>'Cry out loud you stupid girl ! Well, everyone makes mistakes, but you didn't have to roam around the whole day across the school with this 'Gadha' printed on your face. At least wipe out the chalk mark on your face now.' my uncle was clearly furious. <br>'But he asked me not to...' my mother said sobbingly. <br>'Okay, okay. I do not know why there is so much fuss about this simple matter.' their grandfather was trying to restore order. </div><div style="text-align: left;">'But I did not know how to solve the questions...' my mother was still in tears. </div><div style="text-align: left;">'come, I will teach my grand daughter mathematics. Get you silata (slate) and come here.' </div><div style="text-align: left;">He then he broke into a rhyme in Odia, which is reproduced below and literally means "if you master Division, Multiplication, Subtraction and Addition; Rest all subjects are a child's play". </div><p><i>Hara, Gun, Fede, Misha; Au sabu patha phasare phasa !! </i></p><p>My mother retired as a Maths teacher from Kendriya Vidyalaya, Bhubaneswar and had always been a sought after teacher, often teaching secondary grades and primary grades with equal joy and elan. One day quite irritated by my lack of 'grade appropriate learning levels' she even threatened to look up my Engineering Mathematics book and teach me during my graduation! </p><p>She had developed a unique style of introducing mathematics topics/chapters through poems and rhymes she composed. She would get the children to read out with her the poems/rhymes before she got into the chapter. The kids would love the rhymes and often remember them even if they might have forgotten some topics of the chapter. After many years, her students (and to some extent my father) requested her and pushed her to pen down all those rhymes and publish them. </p><p>The second anecdote is related to forgetting and understanding and yet again relates to Banshi Babu. My mother has five sisters and being one of the older ones, she literally doubled up as a teacher, friend, confidante and even mother to them as they were growing up in Jagatsinghpur. One day as my mother was trying hard to teach one of her younger sisters and comparing one with the other, their grandfather was passing by. He enquired what the matter was in his booming voice. My uncle sprung up from somewhere and tried to pass this as a usual fight among his six sisters and get them reprimanded by the old man.</p><p>Banshi babu rather sat both my mother and my uncle down and told them about different types of learners using 'Permutation and Combination' of two simple words - <i>'Cheer' (meaning taking a long time) and 'Bega' (meaning fast/quick).</i></p><p>He said "look, there are all kinds of students and they all learn and memorise differently. there is:</p><div style="text-align: left;">1. <i>beg-bega</i> (one who understands a new concept very quickly, but also forgets equally quickly)<br>2. <i>cheer-cheera</i> (one who takes a long time to remember or understand a concept, but once done, remembers the same for long time)</div><div style="text-align: left;">then he went on to add, </div><div style="text-align: left;">the <u>best one</u> is...</div><div style="text-align: left;">3. <i>beg-cheera</i> (one who understands a new concept very quickly and remembers the same for long time) <br></div><div style="text-align: left;">and the <u>worst one</u> is clearly...<br>4. <i>cheer-bega</i> (one who takes a really long time to remember or understand a concept but alas! also forgets it too fast!)</div><div style="text-align: left;">A lesson, clearly that would have been handy for my mother in all her years as a teacher. </div><p style="text-align: left;">I move to my own (paternal) grandmother for my final story. She was a very tall, dark and strong woman. I can't recall very well if she had completed her school or not. Mostly likely she finished primary grades and that was it. She was quite strong physically and would proudly share a story of her being able to lift the large brass pots (think of something twice in size/breadth of a gas cylinder) used to boil rice, which some of the men in our large extended family could not! She was quite strong mentally and emotionally as well and understood the value of education. She would get up a 3 AM, finish all the chores and make some tiffin for my father to carry before he got on the early morning train to Bhubaneswar during his graduation. </p><p style="text-align: left;">All through my growing up years, she was often given charge of ensuring that I spend the required time at studies, particularly because she and I shared the room at our village home. On the rare, eagerly awaited days when mother and father would go out to Bhubaneswar for some work, she would be the 'villian' who would ensure that I am 'sitting in front of books', 'not watching TV' and would happily chase me down with a cane in hand, if I had managed to sneak away to play with friends in our village. Interestingly, we had a parrot whom she had taught many things to say including 'Papu, patha padhunu' (meaning, Papu, why don't you study!). I would often call out in frustration, 'as if there were not enough humans urging me to study all the time!!'. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I have never learnt Odiya at school. I spent my FLN years (Grade 1-3) at Vishakhapatnam where my mother started her career as a teacher at KV Malkapuram for their mandatory 'outside the state' posting. We came back to KV Khurda Road/Jatani after few years and that's where I finished my school. Again, no chance of learning Odiya at school. <br></p><p style="text-align: left;">It was my grandmother and to some extent my grandfather who taught me to read, write and understand Odiya. I vividly remember some of the first books which were essentially 'Illustrated Ramayana and Mahabhratas' that my grandmother introduced to me. She would spend the entire afternoon and evening with me and my sister encouraging her to practice writing Odiya letters, numerals and/or getting me to read aloud stuff from one or the other books. I really took on to mythology and the stories of Ramayana and Mahabharata; so much so, that in later years my grandfather and his friends would often call on me to resolve a conflict among old men of "who was whose son" or.... "who married who" with respect to any of the mythological characters from these epics. They were super proud of me. Yet, again all that credit goes to them as my first teachers. Had it not been for them, I would not have been able to read and write in my own mother tongue. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Thank you won't be enough for such teachers! </p>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-35131395876271112812021-06-12T18:53:00.004+05:302021-06-17T21:52:39.842+05:30the head of the family - my badaapaI used to often say in jest, "my family is a village and my village is my family" referring to the ten-fifteen households of 'Mohanty Sahi' of our Chhanaghara-Kushamati village, though there were fewer Mohantys than 'Das'es (our family name). It always felt like a big large family-village, while growing up, in this relatively modern village, just on the outskirts of the railway town of Jatani, which was just on the outskirts of the capital town Bhubaneswar. We were all a part of the same family tree and while the parents and especially grandparents had the exact nature of relationships - who got adopted by who, who married into who, who moved out and settled where; for us children it rarely mattered. We used to run around, from one house to the other, play in fields together, stole mangoes and guavas from each other's backyards and celebrated all major festivals as one big family. Everyone knew what was happening with everyone. Everyone was related to everyone. Few years back Kali Badabapa (elder uncle) created a family tree all the way from Anam Das (literally someone without a name) to our generation (with my and my cousins names) typed out with pictures. Badabapa used to say we don't know when this first person came to this village and where from; whether he was a man or god; but we owe it to him to remember him and for future generations to know about him. Hence, he did this meticulous job of capturing the entire family tree and relationships. <br /><br />My grandfather was the youngest of his brothers and one of the youngest of his generation. They all had their set routines and mostly kept to themselves and one could very well predict where each one of them would be at a particular time of the day. We knew this for sure; it was critical for us to time our trips to gardens or pick the place for mischiefs and games. We needed to know where they would not be! In my father's generation, Kali Badabapa was the eldest in the village and most respected and revered. His father was the eldest among the grand-fathers. And yes, everyone in their generation was addressed as grandfather and everyone in my father's generation was addressed as badabapa (elder uncle) or dada (younger uncle) depending on the relative age. Also, in keeping with those times, there were at least six or seven brothers and sisters in almost every family. The age gap between the brothers and sisters, the age at which they got married and had children vis-a-vis their next generation created some interesting situations. There were uncles who were younger than brothers and sisters older than aunts. To illustrate, the elder children of some of my second cousins (my nephews and nieces) were in fact as old or even older to me. Clear ? Try this. A typical village cricket match score board might read: <br /><br />Pupu - 4 runs : caught - Chungu (cousin brother), bowled - Dhunda (uncle) <br /><br />The first story has to be about my birth. Father was posted away somewhere in Odisha (most probably Puri) as a part of his transferable job as OAS. It was the trio of Badabapa, my grandmother and my uncle who took my pregnant mother in an autorickshaw from the village to the Railway Hospital in the nearest town of Jatani. The doctor in-charge there was on leave and the emergency doctor refused to take up this delivery case which was starting to look complicated. It was the month of December and it was getting late, dark and cold. Badabapa decided to take the motley group and head to the District Hospital at Khurda and that is where I was born in the wee hours of the morning. My grandmother used to always narrate a story how I was born the size of a mice - she would always open up her palms to show ‘this is how large this boy was when born and then by Lord Gatiswara’s (Shiva, our village deity) grace once he took in a few breaths, he swelled up to normal size. My mother clearly never believed in the story that her son, born to the size of mice, grew instantaneously after inhaling air and moisture. Badabapa, also confirmed my mother’s version as she was his favorite, almost like a daughter, though the traditional customs require a more formal degree of deference between them. My mother later told me he would always enquire about my health, medicines I was taking, advising my mother to either increase or decrease the dosage etc. How does one even think of thanking someone for this? How does one thank his own blood, for one’s life?<br /><br />In all the hustle-bustle, fun and memories of village life, one picture of Badabapa that remains firm is that of a man of principles, who had always the interest of the family, village and community paramount. The very sense of right and wrong was determined for many of us by what Badabapa said, advised or decided. If he decided for something, that must be right. Such was his righteousness and fairness that even those elder to him (my grandfather and other grandfathers) would consult him. He was always there in the times of crisis and grief; of his immediate family or otherwise. He was always happy with the progress and success of everyone. He was deeply committed to the village school and its welfare; he was the official and unofficial head of the village committee and would work out matters for the benefit of all, whether related to health or sanitation. When I received the National Balshree Award 1997 from the President of India many people, known and unknown, wished me on many occasions, at school, at Delhi and at home. But the memory of Badabapa pulling me closer to his chest and exclaiming "..well done! you have upheld the name of the clan..", would remain strongly etched on the sands of my memory. I can almost feel his red-checkered gamuchha, white dhoti and droplets of sweat on his bare chest even today.<br /><br />He and his wife, Maa (again, this was a universal name for all children) were the ideal son and daughter-in-law. Having served bed-ridden parents for nearly two decades with love, affection and fortitude. Most grandmothers (including mine) who as mothers-in-law always had a complaint or two about their daughters-in-law (our mothers and aunts) would never tire of praising Badabapa and Maa. Such was the nature of relationships, that Maa used to call my father 'Bada Babuli' or 'elder Babuli' (Babuli being the name of their first-born). Anytime my father or any of us went to Badabapa's house for something and Maa was around the kitchen, she would not let us leave without serving us something to eat. That still continues even today on our rarer visits to our village. <br /><br />On the matter of food, sharing and brotherhood, let me recount a story in the memory of an elder cousin brother Chandu Bhai, whom we lost untimely due to a road accident. Manabasa Gurubaar (usually in the month of Nov-December) is a very auspicious and holy festival in Odisha. It is in the honour of Maa Lakshmi and the puja, preparation of delicacies (including the variety of pithas) is led by the women of the family who usually keep a fast. For us children though it is a day of eating various salted and sweet dishes which are usually shared among families. One such Manabasa, Chungu bhai, Chandhu Bhai and I, we sat down together, in the verandah of Badabapa's house which was at the centre of the three families. Maa had put out a large thaali for us and started to serve various delicacies that she had prepared and even some that other families had shared with her. All three of us were unusually (or usually) hungry that day and within minutes, we managed to finish around 3-4 servings by Maa. This was a particularly visible spot and watching us eat there, my mother and other aunts got us peethas, ghantas, dalma from their homes and handed them over to Maa to serve. We finished them in a hurry too. All in one big plate. People gathered around; some from rooftops, to see what looked like an eat-off contest. Sisters and aunts kept coming in with bowls and plates full of delicacies and no sooner than they arrived with plates-full of food, they were consumed. We had no idea, what came from whose home and who ate what. We ate for almost an hour and the quantity and quality of food that we three gulped down remains as the best food memory ever. We would always recollect this memory with a smile mixed with joy and pain (after we lost Chandu bhai). <br /><br />In later years, whenever I used to visit our village, I would share stories of my travels to different parts of the country, including to religious sites. Badabapa, Maa and some other friends and relatives had formed a motley group of pilgrims who travelled in groups of 10-15 to all the religious places. Badabapa would be the head of the group - he was a natural leader, and plan out all things. He would book the train tickets, work out accommodation, darshan timings etc. After checking my well-being and progress, Badabapa would sit down with a pen and paper and note down as many details as he could about places I had visited and were in his scheme of things to visit. Maa would serve me a small dose of playful scolding alongwith food "...it is you, who gives him all this info and puts these travel plans in his head and then he drags us all along at this age to god knows where all..". <br /><br />Badabapa used to reflect on the loss of village life and would simply sum it up by saying "..how will a village thrive if the people who make the village are not here..". Again, he would never say it with any bitterness but rather as a pain as most of us moved to bigger towns and cities for education and work and our visits back to the village became rarer and rarer. He would say it with understanding and empathy. He would be happy with the fact that some of us still have a lot of attachment to the village and do come back whenever we could. He was surely a big reason why we did so.<br /><br /><br /><br />I heard from my father that he was unwell, but I was sure he would recover. His demeanor, his smile and his spirit used to always belie his age. When, a few days later, I heard that he is not recovering and rather has reduced his diet drastically, I began to worry a bit. I called up and even managed to speak to him. When he heard that I was recovering from COVID myself, he got very concerned and advised us to be cautious and take care. His concern for the well-being and health of others was the primary thought with him even in his last days. Badabapa was an active man; always doing something in the verandah or backyard and in these last days he must have been a bit restless, not being able to meet many people, travel, inquire about everyone due to the pandemic. I believe but he had done his bit. Left an ideal so high for us that it can never be emulated but only inspire us. He has lived his life to full and given so much. What hurts is that many of us could not be with him during his last journey due to this pandemic. While his body rests, quite rightly in the village, the heaven will be so much better a place now, that his soul has gone there; he will make sure it is ! Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-61407536994453850022021-06-07T06:53:00.002+05:302021-06-07T15:49:29.797+05:30My grandfather, my friend and spiritual companion <p>Aja (maternal grandfather) ! this is for you. </p><p>My earliest memories go back to the small, idyllic and beautiful village Palli, which we used to refer as Aja Ghara. Whenever we used to visit Aja Ghara during holidays or any festivities it used to be such a noisy and yet joyous commotion. There would be Aja, his band of loyal servants and even other village folks to welcome us - usually 2-3 of Aja's six daughters, their husbands and their children! The commotion would only increase, servants would be out and climbing the tall coconut trees to get tender coconuts for all of us to drink, mother and her sisters would get busy in deciding the menu for lunch, dinner with the cooks and chatting among themselves and other folks gathered around. We children, mostly living in towns and cities, would grab the opportunity and run around in the large verandas, streets, gardens, small temple of the Divine Mother and coconut fields of Aja. There was also a small pond in Aja's backyard which contributes to the first story here. </p><p>Rather than washing my feet near the well in the verandah, I took my younger sister and went to the pond to wash my limbs - in the lap of nature you see. I slipped and fell into the water. The water was deep and I was struggling for life. Thankfully, my sister rather than trying to help me, started shouting that "brother is drowning". Meanwhile, Aja and Maa, not finding us around the house, had already started to look for us. Hearing my sisters cries, they rushed to the pond and both jumped straight in and pulled me out. I was on the brink and while going up and down in the green water, I remember praying and visualising a picture of Lord Jagannath which was in Aja's room. The Lord did help in the form of my Aja, my mother and my sister who saved my life that day. I never learnt swimming; mother being terrified if ever I got near water and Aja was always extra watchful for the rest of my visits to Palli. </p><p>After marriage and my even after birth, my mother spent quite some time at Aja's place and finished her training (B.Ed). Hence, I was part-raised by my adorable, loving and doting mausis (aunt). They keep telling me many stories which I save for another day; but each one of them had a name for me, which in turn was the name in which I called them. So, there was Kandura (which means a cry baby), Papabaya (the crazy Papu), Balunga (naughty one), Shandha (the bull). </p><p>Then about giving. We always got such much from him. There would be elaborate preparations while we were about to go back to our homes. Aja would summon extra people and special sweetmeats, dishes would be prepared for us along with a big sac of coconuts, fruits and other gifts to take with us. In our homes, we would eagerly wait for Aja around the Savitri and Prathamasthami time to come with gifts, clothes and eatables for us. He would start from Palli and cover his daughters one by one, going to each daughter's place, staying for a few hours or overnights, giving the gifts and then moving on to the next one. He never missed to do this, until his health failed him towards the very end of his life. That he would do this on public transport, mostly bus and shared cabs/vehicles, in his old age and for six of his daughters was something we were thankful all the time. We would always pray - may god keep him healthy like this and he be able to travel and work independently.</p><p>Towards, his later years, he stayed at their townhouse in Jagatsighpur due to Aai's (grandmother) ill-health and the Super Cyclone and other cyclones, which ravaged their village. Born into a family of zamindars, Aja chose to work as a professor in a far-off town of Rairangpur, Baripada. This was not easy and he would stay away from family for most part of the year leaving the young children, his only son and daughters in the custody and care of Aai. Aai managed the household, affairs of the village, collected rents from leased out shops/homes and raised the children. Aja believed and told me often " I am only a custodian of all this (land and wealth), we don't know where it came from and why, so why get attached to all this..". "Simple living and high thinking" is my motto, he used to say. </p><p>On to a more personal aspect of my relationship with Aja. His visits to our home had become more frequent during my graduation, when we were at Bhubaneswar, due to his may official matters relating to his pension and land records. I would immediately shift my base from my own room to the guest-room where he was staying. He would ask us to caress his chest or legs and start sharing stories, anecdotes and works from Odiya literature which he taught at the college. I was also his official pilot, getting him from one office to the other, visiting markets other people etc. But the best part was our visits to temples. Bhubaneswar being a city of thousand temples, there was never a shortages of temples to visit and re-visit. Mornings would be to Lingaraj temple, other temples in Old Town areas, evenings to ISCKON and Ram Mandir for aarti and darshan. And there were the trips to Puri. He and I would travel to Puri, do the customary darshan of Sri Jagannath, Bada Thakura and Maa at the temple and then proceed to Saraswat Sangha Ashram (of Shri Nigamananda Saraswati - who was Aja's guru) which was near the beach. We would usually have our lunch with the Ashram residents and school children. Then we would lie down and chat with the sanyasis of the Ashram. Aja would make a donation and then we would move towards the beach in the evening, before heading back to Bhubaneswar. On a few occasions, some of my friends had also accompanied us on these trips to Puri and enjoyed the company, stories and life of my Aja more than the fun at beach. </p><p>In between all this Aja and I used to share and discuss all that we had read and understood about spiritualism, God and Man. I had begun to read the Complete Works of Vikeananda, my guru Shri Paramahansa Yogananda, Ramcharit manas, Shankaracharya and other masters and was happy to clarify my doubts from him. Aja would share insights from years of life spent as a seeker. He would also share his books with me to read. I remember some of his books, his underlinings and translations of difficult words vividly. He would share all this in the true spirit of empathy, never preaching or prescribing anything but understanding, appreciating my struggles and even sharing his very frankly. Again, the details of all these are very personal and detailed; would save them for another day. He would quote verses and passages from the rich Odiya literature, which I had unfortunately no exposure to, and explain them lucidly to me. We would discuss, debate, share points and counterpoints all the while in the spirit of true satsang or shashtarth. He was my first and true guru-bhai (spiritual companion). </p><p>Aja, I miss you in more ways than one. </p>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-41825981869516749022020-12-20T15:19:00.000+05:302020-12-20T15:19:05.939+05:30Paava Kadhaigal, netflix movie - my review <p>A friend often teases me about my penchant for watching foreign ('esoteric' was his choice of word) language content (movies, series, documentaries) on one or the other OTT platforms. Netflix has been the preferred one for me and I have devoured on the usual suspects across Spanish, French, Swedish and Danish languages in addition to English and Hindi ones. However, I stumbled upon Paava Kadhaigal without neccesarily spurred on by a good review or 'Top 10/20' recommendations. I did not even know what it meant and which South Indian language was it in. I definitely recommend this to you and don't worry there are no spoilers below that would 'give away the plotline'. </p><p>With so many options available across so many platforms, we had agreed upon a loosely defined parameter of 'is there a grip?' for deciding to watch the whole series or film. Often, S would be the first to leave the series or film if it did not have the so called 'grip'. I would either agree or continue to finish it on my own. Paava Kadhaigal has a different kind of hold on you as a viewer. It is the hold of the land, which holds your hand like someone very familiar and close to you: someone from your family, from your neighbourhood, from your community, from your caste, from your religion, from your region and from your society. Yes, all of these associations are at the core of these four different stories woven together by ties of blood, fraternity and community. </p><p>All the four directors and their teams do a sincere job and the production quality is rather good. The story tellers try to tell the story honestly and eke out the myriad human emotions, reactions, rationale and logic very well. The acting by most of the actors is believable. The background music and songs are excellent and so is the cinematography. </p><p>If you have lived and traveled around India, you would be able to understand the stories, their settings and their contexts as something you have been an integral part of. You would have either seen, experienced or heard about the different conflicts that the stories bring out. You would have had an opinion about the same. You have either been a mute receiver of the traditions and belief system that was handed down to you by your family and community or you would have revolted in your way but you would have been affected nevertheless. Even if some of us might think that we ourselves have not had to face the kind of challenges and violence some of the protagonists face in the stories, we read about them in newspapers and see such stories on TV every now and then about honour killing, inter-caste and inter-religion marriages and their ugly fall-outs. There is also the moving and disturbing story about rape. Whether you have been an actor or a close witness to any or more of such issues is incidental. The conflict between the protagonists and their families about something as pivotal as love, marriage and spending life together, is relatable because all of us have had conflicts, resolved and unresolved with the people whom we love and care about the most. All of us have seen one or more of such relationships change from purest form of unselfish love to extreme bitterness, hatred and even physical violence. </p><p>There are also strong characters and pillars of strength, positivity and hope as there are thankfully in life. The expressions of some of the strongest human feelings between mother and children, father and daughter, between sisters, among friends and lovers create an interesting roller-coster of emotions that would keep you in the 'grip' of the stories. I realised while writing this piece that the name literally means 'Stories of Sin'. Yes, if you look at the context of Indian culture, the word 'Sin' is appropriate. Only something as grave, unpardonable as 'Sin' necessitates such drastic reaction and violence of mind and action. Yet, 'sin' is usually something that has a method of 'repentance'; a particular way of undoing the harm that has been done by the person on himself/herself (mind you, the gender has significant importance here!) and the family and community at large. Only, who defines what is 'sin' and what is 'right' and with what reference points, becomes the moot issue. Unfortunately, in this series of stories the people who see and define 'sin' diametrically differently are people of the same family, separated often by only a generation or outlook. </p><p>Paava Kadhaigal. Strongly recommended. </p>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-75325518309142680102020-10-26T09:58:00.007+05:302020-10-26T10:02:41.581+05:30chacha aur 'new normal'<span style="font-size: medium;">कोई ख़ास सामान नहीं होता था चाचा का, साइकिल पे एक रंग-बिरंगी धागों का डब्बा, दोपहर का खाना और पानी की एक खाली बोतल लेकर सुबह-सुबह चले आते थे। दूकान या छत के नाम पर पीले रंग का एक तिकोना पॉलिथीन बिजली के खम्बे से बांधे हुए थे जिसके नीचे बैठकर चाचा अपनी सिलाई का काम करते थे। सिलाई का काम उनका इकलौता काम नहीं था। पार्क के पास बैठने के कारण उनके कई और काम भी थे, मसलन - ड्राइवरों और डिलीवरी बॉयज को घरों के पते बताना, मेहमानों को गाड़ी पार्किंग करने की जगह बताना, म्युनिसिपेलिटी की गाड़ी को कचरे की दिशा में भेजना, छोटे बच्चों को डराते हुए गली के कुत्तों को डांटना, उन्हीं कुत्तों को फिर घरों से दिया हुआ खाना शाम को बांटना इत्यादि। इन कामों के लिए उन्हें कोई पारिश्रमिक नहीं मिलता था। </span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;">चाचा छोटी-मोटी सिलाई-कढ़ाई का काम ही करते थे, जैसे पतलून लम्बी या छोटी करना, कमीज़ें ढीली या तंग करना, साढ़ी में फॉल लगाना, कपड़ों में में रफू करना इत्यादि। चाचा को किसीने पूरी-पूरी सूट सीलते हुए नहीं देखा, वो तमाम काम मैन मार्किट के टेलर लोगों का था जिनके पास बढ़िया दुकानें थीं और जहाँ पहुँचते ही चाय या ठंडा पुछा जाता था। चाचा के यहाँ ऐसी फ़िज़ूल चीज़ों का कोई प्रावधान नहीं था। मैन मार्किट के टेलर्स फाइन डाइन तो चाचा नुक्कड़ वाली चाइनीज़ फ़ास्ट फ़ूड। अब ऐसे छोटे-मोटे कामों के एवज़ में मिले पैसों से चाचा का घर परिवार कैसे चलता था ये अनुमान लगाना मुश्किल था। </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">चाचा ने इस कॉलोनी को क्यों अपना कर्मक्षेत्र मान लिया था इसकी खबर भी किसी को नहीं थी। चाचा कबसे उस कॉलोनी में बैठते हैं ये कोई ठीक से नहीं जानता था। किसी ने पुछा ही नहीं, सब को लगता था जैसे चाचा हमेशा से उस कॉलोनी के छोटे से पार्क का ही एक अभिन्न हिस्सा हैं। चाचा के पास हमेशा कॉलोनी का कोई न कोई होता या चाचा कहीं न कहीं होते। या तो वो लोगों का दिया हुआ सिलाई का काम करते थे या किसी रेड़ीवाले, कबाड़ी वाले या कामवाली बायीओं से सलाह मश्वरा करते हुए पाए जाते। चाचा वैसे तो काम से काम रखने वाले थे और पूछने पर ही कुछ जानकारी देते थे पर कॉलोनी में सभी चाचा को मानते थे और कुछ नहीं तो गाडी के शीशे नीचे करके दुआ-सलाम कर निकल जाते। चाचा को चाय-पानी की कोई दिक्कत नहीं होती। पड़ोस के दो-चार घरों ने मानों चाचा को अपने चाय के साथ शामिल कर लिया था। चाय के वक़्त कोई काम नहीं होता। चाय के वक़्त सिर्फ चाय। </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">चाचा के पीछे की पार्क की दीवार एक टेम्पररी स्टोर का काम करते थे। अगर चाचा न बैठे हों तो किसी अपरिचित के लिए ये अनुमान लगाना मुश्किल हो जाता की यहाँ होता क्या है। उस दीवार पर कभी एक दो कपडे टंगे होते, कभी कोई पार्सल, कभी सब्ज़ी की थैली, कभी दूध का एक पैकेट, एक झाड़ू, पानी की बोतल और रंग-बिरंगी धागों का डब्बा। असल में चाचा कई लोगों के लिए वो काम कर देते जो आम तौर पर पडोसी करते हैं, जैसे - उनका पार्सल या चिट्ठी रख लेना, उनके बच्चों पर पार्क में खेलते वक़्त नज़र रखना, किसी के घर कोई सामान पहुंचा देना इत्यादि। किसी त्यौहार के वक़्त चाचा ज़्यादा व्यस्त पाए जाते और ख़ास कर शादी-ब्याह के मामलों में चाचा के पास बाकी कामों के अलावा सिलाई का काम भी ज़्यादा होता। कॉलोनी के घरों और उनमे काम करने या काम ढूंढने वालों के बीच चाचा एक एहम कड़ी थे। किसी को झाड़ू-पोंछा लगाने को कोई चाहिए तो किसीको खाना बनाने के लिए तो किसीको मालिश के लिए। कॉलोनी में नए आये हुए परिवारों के लिए तो इन मामलों में चाचा वरदान वरदान साबित होते। फिर काम ढूंढने वालों के लिए भी चाचा एम्प्लॉयमेंट - एक्सचेंज का काम करते और सप्लाई तो डिमांड के साथ जोड़ते। लोकल पुलिस को भी कई बार चाचा के पास खड़े हो कर चाय की चुस्की लेते हुए लोगों ने देखा है। </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">कोरोना महामारी के बाद लगाए गए लोखड़ौन के दिनों चाचा नज़र नहीं आये। लोखड़ौन के हटने के एक-दो हफ्ते के बाद भी चाचा नज़र नहीं आये। नज़र आता तो सिर्फ चाचा का पीला पॉलिथीन जिसपर धीरे धीरे सूखे पत्तों का ढेर जमा हो गया था। चाचा को मोबाइल फ़ोन का इस्तेमाल करते किसी ने नहीं देखा था तो उनका हाल-चाल पता करना मुश्किल था और ये वक़्त भी ऐसा था के जब इंसान अपने और सिर्फ अपनों के बारे में ही सोच सकता था। संक्रमण के भय से अपनों को सहायता करना भी दूभर था। लोग घरों में रहने और कुछ न करने को वीरता, शौर्य और राष्ट्र-सेवा का कार्य बताते थे। हाँ कुछ लोगों को, जैसे डॉक्टर, नर्सेज, पुलिस वाले, सब्ज़ीवाले, डिलीवरी करने वाले, कचरे वाले, एक नया ख़िताब मिल गया था - फ्रंट-लाइन वर्कर्स और समाज उन्हें कुछ ज़्यादा सम्मान के नज़रों से देखने लगा था और उन लोगों के लिए थाली-बर्तन पीटना, दिए जलाना और सोशल मीडिया पे मीम बनाने में व्यस्त हो गया था। पर अगर यही लोग कभी कोरोना से संक्रमित हो जाएं तो उनका सुपरहीरो स्टेटस छीन जाता और उन्हें कभी-कभी सामाजिक बहिस्कार का भी सामना करना पड़ता। </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">तीन-चार हफ़्तों के बाद चाचा अपनी पॉलिथीन के छत को साफ़ करते दिखाई पड़े और बहुत संभल के अपनी मशीन फिट की और अपना रूटीन चालू करने के इंतज़ार में बैठ गए । पर अब काफी कुछ बदल चूका था। न चाचा के पास कोई सिलाई का काम होता था न ही बात करने को लोग। चाचा के बाकी काम भी लोगों के घरों में बंद रहने के कारण ख़त्म हो गए थे या बहुत कम हो गए थे। सड़क पर गाड़ियां कम थी, लोग एक-दूसरे के घर भी कम आ-जा रहे थे। त्यौहार भी बस नाम को त्यौहार रह गए थे। चाचा घंटों खाली बैठे रहते या थोड़ा पार्क में चल लेते। चाचा कभी कभी पार्क की बेंच पर बैठ कर चिड़ियों की आवाज़ सुनते और देओदार के पेड़ों में उन चिड़ियों की आवाज़ों और उनकी शक्लों को मिलाने का काम करते। अब पार्क में बच्चे भी खेलने नहीं आते, न ही दोपहर को सास और बहुओं की किट्टी होती और न ही बाइयों की यूनियन की मीटिंग। काम के तलाश में घुमते हुए कोई मज़दूर या दूसरे लोग कभी कभी उनके पास खड़े बात करते दिख पड़ते पर ऐसा अक्सर प्रतीत होता की बात आगे बढ़ी नहीं और वो लोग अपने रस्ते चले जाते और चाचा रह जाते अकेले। चाचा की चाय भी अब घरों से नहीं आती थी। चाचा अब पानी का भरा हुआ बोतल अपने साथ भर के लाते और खाली बोतल ले जाते। चाचा को नहीं मालूम था की ये "न्यू नार्मल " है। </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">एक दो हफ़्तों के बाद चाचा फिर दिखाई नहीं पड़े। हम अपनी बालकनी से रोज़ झांकते और सोचते की कहीं चाचा खुद तो कोरोना के चपेट में नहीं आ गए। पता करने का कोई तरीका भी नहीं था और न ही ये काम किसी के "अति आवश्यक " केटेगरी में आता था जैसा की कॉलर टुन की महिला बताती थी। चाचा की पॉलिथीन पर अब पत्तों का एक बहुत बड़ा ढेर जमा हो गया था और चाचा के पीछे वाली पार्क की दीवार बिलकुल खाली हो गयी थी। अब ऐसा लगता था की यहाँ पर कभी कुछ था ही नहीं। चाचा की स्टोरी सोशल मीडिया के लायक नहीं थी या कॉलोनी के लोगों ने कोशिश नहीं की पर चाचा अब कई महीनों से नहीं आये थे। ऐसा भी नहीं था की चाचा के नहीं आने से लोगों का कोई काम रुकता था । चाचा थे तो ठीक था, अब नहीं हैं तो ये भी ठीक है। </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">लोग अपने-अपने तरीके से कोरोना की वजह से बने नए आर्थिक और सामाजिक समीकरण को समझ रहे थे और उसके अनुसार काम कर रहे थे। सरकार चुनावी वायदे करने में लग गयी थी - हज़ारों करोड़ों रुपयों के रिलीफ पैकेज की घोषणायें हो रही थीं; बड़े पूंजीपति इसे बड़ा अवसर बता रहे थे और बड़े निवेश, कंपनियों की खरीद-फरोक में लगे थे; अमीर और अमीर हो रहे थे, ग़रीब और ग़रीब। मीडिया ने पुलिस का काम करने का निर्णय कर लिया था और सोशल मीडिया और वेबिनारस के माध्यम से लोग बिना पूछे ही अपनी राय और ज्ञान देने में व्यस्त थे। सरकारी आंकड़ों के हिसाब से हर रोज़ अमूमन 1000-1200 लोग मर रहे थे और 60,000-70,000 लोग संक्रमित हो रहे थे; इसे रोकने का कोई ठोस उपाय या प्लान न सरकार के पास था न श्वास्थ एजेंसियों के पास। बेरोज़गारी और मज़दूरों का कोई डाटा ही सरकार के पास नहीं था तो उनकी ज़िम्मेदारी से सरकार ने अपने को बरी कर दिया था। </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">सब इस "न्यू नॉर्मल " के साथ एडजस्ट कर रहे थे। शायद चाचा एडजस्ट नहीं कर पाए। </span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">based on real incidents and most likely (un)real facts !</span></div>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-67739253319176321882020-10-24T11:28:00.008+05:302023-09-24T11:24:55.265+05:30The fall of life<span style="font-size: medium;">Bijoy and Suchitra drove into a mall in an area where they first moved in after their marriage many years back. They now live in their own house, a big apartment, little far from the centre of the city, where they live a typical retired life. This was their first outing from house in a long time. Bioy’s bouts of high fevers had come and gone of its own for several months; undiagnosed by doctors but that affected Bijoy and Suchitra equally, physically and mentally. After so many years of togetherness they realised that whether it is a physical or mental pain one partner isn't affected alone; everything affects all.</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br>Suchitra was pleasantly surprised that Bijoy agreed easily to her idea of stepping out of the house. Bijoy was actually keen to give Suchitra a reprieve from the routine of caregiving that had become their life - checking temperature, taking medicines, taking carefully prepared diets, visits to doctors and sitting for long hours together in which they would say nothing but understand everything. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Bijoy wanted to drive the car and Suchitra agreed as she knew this would make him happy. Nostalgia filled Suchitra’s eyes as they saw young, newly wed couples in the mall. You could always tell them from others - excitement jumping in their eyes, a spruce in their steps, eager to set their homes, looking at different options, discussing colours, designs - ‘where it fit it the home’, ‘what needs to be bought next’, ‘what will go well with what’.</div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Many years back, they had done the same when Suchitra came to Delhi after their marriage and was busy setting up Bijoy’s one room ‘barsaati’. This energy continues even into the other rented houses they moved in, adding furniture, paintings, vases, kitchen items, glasses, cutlery and many many things collected over the years. They had always carefully thought about the things, chosen, selected and bought the things together. All the things in their home, truly belonged to both of them. They were more of memory aides - they would often slip into past, when Suchitra would be dusting or cleaning one of them and recall how they had bought or arranged for a thing, how they decided the design, where they got it from and how they or at least Suchitra bargained for the price. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br>Suchitra was very happy to see a beautifully set up store with colour co-ordinated themes and aesthetically designed objects which were of liking to both's tastes. There were many objects of utility as well. She went from one floor to the other and came down, touching the objects, flipping some, looking at price tags, marvelling at them, commenting on the design, comparing sizes and keeping them back. Bijoy kept pace with Suchitra despite his weakness and nodded in agreement or remained silent in disapproval. <br>He finally muttered ‘You have inspected pretty much the entire store. Won’t you take anything?’<br>‘I feel we have everything. Don’t you?’ Suchitra looked up at him from the corner of her eye. <br>‘Yeah, I mean we may not have some of the new designs or patterns, but we more or less have everything we need’, Bijoy gave a wry smile. <br>‘Right, I just want this ‘peeler’. This should make the toughest part of cutting fruits for you in the morning easy.’ Suchitra smiled back. <br><br></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">As they drove back, Suchitra reflected upon their conversation and wondered if they really had everything they need! Yes, one always has new desires and there many things you would have otherwise but they were more or less content. They had thought of many plans of either settling in some other city - there were debates about whether it should be a city near sea or in the mountains but there was nothing that created an aching or longing in them now. There was nothing missing. On the road, she saw a big tree that had lost all its leaves and was making a brilliant picture against the bright blue sky with its dry, white-grey branches spread out of a massive trunk. She wondered if this was the effect of fall or the tree had been like this forever. <br>After they came home, they had lunch and rested for a while in the afternoon. Bijoy suggested they go for a walk in the park. Now it was Suchitra’s turn to agree and she put out a nice cotton saree and a matching blouse to wear. Bijoy was putting on his kurta and pyjamas and remarked <br>‘We are only going to the park’ <br>‘I know, but I haven’t worn this saree for ages and its not like we are going for a run or something. Why can't I put on a nice saree’ Suchitra replied.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">'Yes, why not ! you certainly can.' Bijoy was happy.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The park was busier than usual. It seemed that the local residents had organised a small outdoor gathering. The kids were running around with their playthings, the womenfolk were busy chatting and taking out savouries from the beautiful picnic bags, the men were eating and playing cards. Bijoy and Suchitra were watching all of them sitting at a bench silently. There were a few dogs that slipped in and out of the bench next to them, there were a few birds chirping happily that they have come home, the sun was resting on the western horizon, taking a last look at this part of the world and blowing a farewell kiss towards everyone through the cool evening breeze. <br><br></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Suchitra saw a gush of dry yellow leaves from a neem tree fall down next to where Bijoy was sitting. The leaves formed beautiful patterns while falling, rolling about their axis, aided by the mischievous breeze. The fall continued for a while. Suchitra thought about the trees and fall. It is their way of the old making way for the new. The trees shed away their leaves and flowers and fruit and become dry and lifeless during the fall. One may associate feeling of sadness and loss with it, but is it not a preparation for the new life, new leaves to blossom. This is the way with the trees - they remain constant with the source/fountain of life within them while changes continue on the surface - leaves fall, leaves grow again, flowers bloom, become fruits and the fruits are taken away; the cycle repeats.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br>Suchitra reflected on their lives and the morning visit to the mall; they have grown and accumulated many things, possessions, small and big. Maybe it is time for them to give away some of those things to people who may need it and utilise it more. After all, how many things do two old people need. Maybe that will make way for new experiences for them or a new life. </span></div>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-27917607663517575892020-08-28T07:28:00.000+05:302020-08-28T07:28:31.688+05:30 ऊम्र <div>Meri sufaid zulfon se meri umr ko ishaara mat de, </div><div>Umr ka dhalna koi buri baat nahi.</div><div>Ke din dhalta hai, </div><div>To suhaani shaam hoti hai aur,</div><div>Dhup me tape badan ko thoda aaraam,</div><div>Pareshaan man ko pursukoon, </div><div>Aur aasmaan mein bhatakte panchii</div><div>Ko lautne ko ghar milta hai. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mera tazurba, meri jad-o-jehad,</div><div>Meri shikasht, meri fateh ki,</div><div>Kahaniyan kehti hain meri jhurriyan, </div><div>Inhe budhape ki nishaani mat bata. </div><div><br /></div><div>Umr ka ek padav jab pura hota hai</div><div>To naye padav ki shuruaat hoti hai</div><div>Savere ka suraj</div><div>Tab ufak pe apni laali bikherta hai </div><div>Jab raat sabse kaali hoti hai. </div>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-11088678333762568122020-08-12T17:40:00.001+05:302020-08-12T20:40:37.118+05:30Hey Ram <p><i>"ek bharoso, ek bal, ek aas-biswas;</i></p><p><i>ek ram-ghamshyam hit chaatak tulsidas."</i></p><p>I will start with my own personal association with the concept of Ram and some of my reactions to what is happening or rather what has been happening in Ram's name and also in my (and other Hindu's) name. My earliest memories are sweet, innocent, set in a small house, with my grandmother, in my ancestral village, next to Bhubaneswar. Ramayana - the story of Lord Ram was my first education and thankfully in my mother tongue Odiya which I learnt from my grandparents and parents. My grandmother and I used to sit together and go through this illustrated book with beautiful drawings of different events of the Lord's life and next to these pictures were rhyming couplets in large fonts, which are firmly imprinted in my memory. There was a similar book on Mahabharata too. I loved these stories and gulped them down with an eagerness only a kid of that age could have. My grandparents were very proud of my interest and most likely my memory of mythology. I remember on one occasion, my grandfather and his friends, well into their late sixties and seventies, could not resolve a contentious issue among them related to mythology - "who was the son of who" or "who was the wife or who" kind of stuff. These were days when Google wasn't there. I was called in proudly by my grandfather, to give my opinion on what I thought was the right answer till someone fetched a book to check the facts. No sooner had they finished the question and much before that gentleman could search the book I had given my verdict from my memory. So much for #rotelearning. I had no formal education in Odiya after that. Oh, I was correct by the way!</p><p>I revisited Ram and his story from different perspectives in school and in college. Delving a bit deeper into the aspects of his conduct as an ideal human being. Reading the works of saints and poets such as Valmiki, Tulsi, Kabir and others. The concept of Lord Ram as the perfect man "maryada purushottam", an avatara with a definitive purpose to show human beings how to live and conduct them selves; whose acts, behaviour and character was held up high there for all of us to emulate. It was the ideal that one had to strive for and I was always an idealist. So, no matter how low and hard one fell from those standards; how far one was from those lofty goals and how many times one failed, those were the indisputable and perfect standards. One also read some alternative perspectives, especially about the Lord take some untruthful measures for attainment of truth like his killing of Bali in the battle with Sugriva, Mother Sita's test of purity by the fire and subsequent treatment of Lord's own children Lava and Kusha. But, mainstream perspectives are mainstream for the same reason always - they are the <i>dominant majority </i>(mark these two words). </p><p>Anyway, the ideal remained where it should be and my life flowed with further studies, work, travel, relationships and experiences. I was not too particular about rituals, though I carried my set of Gods (small pictures) wherever I travelled; which was quite often in early days of my consulting carrier. That was the reason I always carried my shoes in a separate bag; something my colleagues often made fun of. I was reading a lot of books on spiritualism, duality, personal and impersonal God, God with form and without form etc. Ram remained a central figure though and whenever I prayed I did invoke shlokas and couplets from Ramcharitmanas. A sense of balance, a source of guidance when one was in doubt. <i>"jehi vidhi rahe Ram, tehi vidhi rahiye"</i> (do as the Lord would do!). Not that one always did. Sometimes the will wasn't strong enough, sometimes one gave into indolence and more often than not it was the temptations one could not resist. However, the deeper meanings of the stories and tales of Lord were revealed to me through my readings and I often visualised the peaceful image of Lord with Mother Sita, brothers and Hanuman for my attempts at chanting, praying and meditating. </p><p>I made a visit to Ayodhya in 2008. It was a short, solo train trip from Lucknow and I so wanted to visit this place which was in the centre of such divisive politics, communal violence and controversy. I was vaguely aware of the Babri Masjid demolition, the physical act, the political agenda behind it and the violence it incited in the aftermath. The indecisiveness of courts, the continuous whipping up of the issue for political benefits and the stall mate throughout the subsequent years either made me ignore the matter for the sheer spectacle it had become or brought my focus to the more personal and spiritual side of my faith. By this time, I did not go to a holy place just to fulfil some rituals, pray for specific things, appreciate the architecture or location or have the <i>prasad</i>. It was all of the above but also seeking a deeper connection with all those seekers who have come to these places with so much faith, positive thoughts and devotion, ultimately seeking more insight and realisation for me. I have this habit of meandering a bit before coming to point. So, I went around the 'tourist spots' of the city such as Hanuman garhi, the ghats etc. It was extremely hot and humid and I could find solace and respite only when I had a stomach full of nice and simple food for lunch at 'Sita Rasoi'. </p><p>As I moved to the site of 'Ram Lalla', it was natural to have a great sense of expectation build up, simply due to sheer amount of press, politics and power associated with this spot. Well, my first impression was that was of an army camp or a security fortress. There were so many layers of security and it was so rigorous that it was difficult to feel spiritual or religious at that time. It was not the crowds; that any average Indian is used to at famous temples and pilgrimage sites. The security at every check-point were alert, they did their job fastidiously and at some point we had to even deposit our wallet! This was serious now: since in most temples, you may not be allowed belts, leather watches but the priests always allowed the wallets and purses. You know why. </p><p>Anyway, I made my way through, touched one after another bulky, brusque and smelly security personnel. I could count upto five of them and after that I was like "okay, whatever". I finally neared the sacred spot and no sooner had a chance to look at the idol, I was whisked away. Again, this is not new to an Indian, pilgrim who stands in long, serpentine lines to catch a glimpse of his beloved and revered diety. The wait, the anticipation, all add to the uniqueness and divineness of the moment he comes face to face with the Lord. He often sings, chants, concentrates during his wait, so that the wait and then the<i> "darshan" </i>are all a part of unbroken experience that he will cherish. It was difficult to do that here. With so many interruptions by the security and more importantly with your attention being more focussed on the site, the controversy, the socio-political and religious tension about the whole matter, it was difficult to concentrate on the Lord himself in the <i>"sanctum sanctorum" </i>of one's heart. I wrapped up my visit with some wonderful samosas, chai and other snacks before heading back to my hotel in Lucknow. </p><p>I have often wondered ever since, would it not have been better if all the money that has been spent so far in litigations, propaganda, campaigns and all the money that will be spent in future on temple or mosque, would have been better spent on a large charitable hospital or school where people and children of all faith could come and benefit from the services of health and/or education. Lord Ram or Allah would not have been happier? But such arguments and logics have always been brushed aside by more serious sounding arguments in favour of defence spendings, building large statues, renaming roads, cities etc. "They are not the same thing" or worse "this is of national importance" is the retort one gets. As if affordable education and health are not. But who cares about such softer, non-populist and non-newsworthy initiatives/projects. So, my thoughts remained with me. </p><p>Few years later, I travelled to the beautiful town of Orchha in the Bundelkhand region, where the Lord is not worshipped as much as God as the ruler of the place - Raja Ram. The government, the law and order and rules are all in the name of Lord - Raja Ram Sarkar ! A simple village woman sitting next to me on a beautiful evening while we were watching the sun go down between the black Chhatris (cenotaph) remarked "Sat nahin rehto bhaisaab, Ram kahan rahen", (there is no truth, where would Lord be!) when I asked if any of these small temples had the idol of Ram in it. I can not forget the truth in her eyes and words. I spent the rest of the evening in a beautiful aarti at the Raja Ram temple. </p><p>The Supreme Court's final judgement on the matter came in 2019 and everyone said we will welcome the court's judgement. Frankly, what other option anyone had! The temple will be built by Government of India at the contested site of Ram Janmbhoomi by and an alternative site will be given to Sunni Waqf board for mosque. How this judgement completely abrogates the judgement of Allahabad high court, which in 2010 ordered the disputed site to be shared equally in three parts with 1/3rd each going to Ram Lalla represented by Hindu Mahasabha, the Waqf board and Nirmohi Amhara within a matter of nine years and in light of what new facts, evidence and witness and how new party i.e. the government of India comes into the picture, is something more learned and legally-well-versed friends would know. But the writing is on the wall - probably a wall built by bricks of some other wall which was brought down. </p><p>Now, Supreme Court could decide upon things such as who had the land rights, who had the "papers", whether the Babri masjid was build upon a 'indigenous structure', whether the temple was built upon something else etc. But, it only went as far as calling the demolition of Babri masjid in 1992 "a violation of law". A ghastly incident which in it's aftermath claimed around 2000 lives at different locations in the country; both Muslims and Hindus. Should those who were responsible for the act that instigated so much communal violence and hatred not be brought to justice? Should there not be a closure to that indisputable act with this judgement? </p><p>It is not as if there has not been enquiries into that aspect. There was Justice Liberian commission who found around 68 people clearly complicit including the senior most leaders of the BJP. The commission took 16 years and around 400 sittings to come to a report! How many more years are going to take for any action to be taken? Many of those were and some are still presiding over serious matters of our state - home affairs, defence, education etc. Isn't the absurdity obvious. </p><p>Seems so far away from Ram or Ram Lalla isn't it. Who was Ram? The inimitable Kabir talks about four kinds of Ram: </p><p><i>"ek Ram Dasrath ka beta, ek Ram ghat ghat mein baitha, </i></p><p><i>Teeje Ram ka sakal pasara, chautha Ram sab se nyaara!"</i> </p><p>There is a Ram that we all know as son of king Dasarath, the husband of Sita, the brother of Lakshaman, father of Lav-Kush. Would he want this piece of Land? He who did not think even twice before leaving his entire kingdom (this very Ayodhya), crown, comforts of palace and love of his citizen before venturing into the jungle to live a life of austerity and simplicity. Who travelled all through this land (all over India) you have places like Chitrakoot, Panchavati etc. with stories of Sita rasoi, sita-kund etc. and finally conquered the ten-headed Ravana with help of monkey-soilders. Raja Ram, who as king was so concerned about the apprehensions of a common citizen like a dhobi (washerman), even about someone as close and powerful as the Queen Mother Sita, that he ensured that his concerns are addressed. Would he have approved of getting any land like this? Much less something in his name? </p><p>The second Ram, says Kabir is residing in every corner, every heart, every life. He is all-pervading, omnipresent and is not bound by the constraints of time and space. Someone like that could not be bothered with a particular piece of land, a temple or any architecture for that matter. What different does it make to him? </p><p>The third Ram is the energy, is the light behind all living and non-living beings. From him come all, and he is at the atomic, sub-atomic level same with all things and all beings. He is present in all things at all time, changing, transforming from one form of energy to another. Even death or life, destruction or creation have no significance for him. Surely not for him. </p><p>The fourth Ram, Kabir says, is different and special to everything else. He is beyond the experience of what we know thorough our ten senses, he is beyond the reach of words, poetry and imagination, he is inscrutable by intellect and rituals. So, I won't delve more into that as even the great Kabir simply leaves as " sabse nyaara", how do you describe a realisation to someone who don't have any comparable experiences to understand the same. This Ram would need a particular piece of land? Someone who is neither born, nor dead; who was there and who will be there always. What significant does a particular avatara's so called birth place have for him?</p><p>Okay, then comes the classic response. "Not for God. We stand for him. In his name! In his followers name". Now, I don't have to repeat how many millions of lives have been lost to countless wars and bloodbath we have seen in this world in the name of [ xx something YY]. So, I do not want to listen this was in my name - as a Hindu, as a devotee of Ram. I was not asked what I wanted. I rest my case. </p>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-50996202554270218382020-04-20T09:20:00.003+05:302020-04-20T09:20:56.607+05:30The template of the morningI witness it every day<br />
this beautiful template of yours<br />
of morning.<br />
<br />
This spread-out canvas of sky,<br />
you use so well.<br />
With colours from the sun<br />
the mountains, the sea and the flowers. <br />
Wide, bold stokes of clouds<br />
created by the brush of lush trees<br />
which sway from one end to the other<br />
as you use them.<br />
And your favourite part of the sky,<br />
the horizon!<br />
How it changes its colour to match<br />
the mountains, the sea and the flowers.<br />
<br />
Your template has music too,<br />
noise and rhythm,<br />
of the birds chirping, singing<br />
and taking to each other.<br />
They have so much to say,<br />
as they hop from one tree to the other<br />
or sit on the branches and look intently<br />
as if trying to follow the tune of their<br />
other band members.<br />
What do they sing O Lord!<br />
Must be discussing matters of the day<br />
sorting out issues, raising concerns,<br />
shouting out friends, professing love<br />
With their chirping, singing<br />
and taking to each other.<br />
<br />
The bright stars of the night<br />
have come down to the earth<br />
as fresh dewdrops<br />
and lie scattered like lovely pearls<br />
on the blades of grass<br />
and on petals of flowers.<br />
Finding them within its reach,<br />
the soothing morning breeze<br />
caresses the dew drops,<br />
and plays with them<br />
as they run down shyly<br />
on the surface of the<br />
blades of grass and<br />
the petals of flowers.<br />
<br />
I witness it all<br />
in the silence of my mind and soul<br />
and wonder.<br />
How do you create every day so different,<br />
so beautiful, <br />
with the same elements,<br />
the same template of the morning.<br />
I guess you are trying to tell us<br />
ever so subtly and silently<br />
to make our days and lives<br />
different and yet beautiful<br />
with the same elements,<br />
the same template of the morning.Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-15582245894293951552020-03-29T20:48:00.002+05:302020-03-29T21:01:54.084+05:30A visit to Kohima war cemetery <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sabhi ka khoon hai shaamil yahan ki mitti mein,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kisi ke baap ka ye Hindustaan thode hai !</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dr. Rahat Indori</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These lines have found resonance with certain sections of our population in the light of some of the recent political developments, especially around identity - NRC, CAA, NPR and whatever one may choose to call it. Who is the "original" citizen and who "came from outside"?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The question is very simple with respect to international travel and a necessary document called Passport would give simple answers to that question and Immigration and VISA offices across the world will take note and either welcome, detain or deport. But, when this question is asked of people living in a particular landmass, say a village, town, city or state, there could be some complications.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first being, "Why?". Okay, the government has the right to ask. So, let's move on. We will revisit this in a bit. Second, is of "When?", of the timeline. The history of mankind is a history of movement. Of people moving physically, moving their cattle, possessions, language, food, clothes and ways of living with them. So, everyone came from somewhere or is going somewhere. In all likelihood, except the tribal population who have continued to live in and around the same place where their forefathers, the very first of them lived. Even, among them, the nomads and pastoral community move quite a bit and have a very different lifestyle. So, you or your parents or grandparents might be living in this place for a hundred years or two hundred, what about say 500 or 800 or 1500 years back, would you know? Where did that person come from? What language he spoke, what was his religion? His food habits? His culture? Also, if you are living here (could be any city, state) today, where would your children and grandchildren be? Can you bet they would not move to another city, state or country ? Oh, they would go formally, through proper channels! Immigrants all the same. Useful to remember another beautiful quote by a great statesman Franklin D. Roosevelt comes to mind in such troubling times. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Remember, remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially, are descended from immigrants and revolutionists.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, I had a very interesting reflection on these topics on a bright, sunny, February morning at Kohima while I was taking a walk at the War Cemetery. Here, at the heart of this beautiful state capital of Nagaland, lies this beautiful and serene War Cemetery. The cemetery is at t</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">he location where a decisive battle was won by the Allied Forces during the Second World War, forcing the Japanese army to retreat. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reaching Kohima during April 1944, the Japanese 15th Army occupied a strategic location on Garrison Hill and continually attacked a small contingent of the Commonwealth forces, which successfully held their ground until reinforcements were brought in. In the battle at the tennis ground (now marked by white concrete lines) of the Deputy Commissioner's bungalow (which was destroyed during the war), which also involved hand-to-hand fighting between the opposing forces, the Commonwealth forces prevailed over the Japanese forces and forced them to retreat in defeat. There were heavy casualties on both sides. (but) This battle was the turning point for the Allied forces. (Source: Wikipedia)</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While the road outside is busy, there is a calmness and serenity of air once you step in and start looking at the well-manicured grass lawns, the winding, stony pathways and the flower plants, mostly red roses. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">According to the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC), which maintains this cemetery among many others in the world, there are 1,420 Commonwealth burials of the Second World War at this cemetery, and a memorial to an additional 917 Hindu and Sikh s</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">oldiers who were cremated in accordance with their faith. The memorials are in the form of stone markers embedded with bronze plaques carrying the name of each Commonwealth soldier who died on the Kohima battlefield. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is when you start looking at the seemingly uniform epitaphs that you enter a different metaphysical world. You may start from anywhere and initially these may seem quite uniform, military-style and you may be capturing the names of regiment, persons and symbols along with the messages and words written on them. Some of them are deeply personal, touching and one is bound to be moved by the sincerity of them - often by a father, a wife, a sister, family member or friends. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While the plaques are uniform in nature, the messages and their variety will create vivid pictures in your mind and keep you engaged. These memorials truly reflect the Commonwealth or the British Raj of those times. The soldiers who laid down their lives were from Britain, Scotland, India (all of India), Sri Lanka belonging to different faiths.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was Gyan Bahdur Limbu, 7th Gurkha Rifles, age twenty-two. I repeat twenty-two. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Corporal Fletcher, Manchester Regiment, age twenty-six. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Captain Mitchel, of Rajput Regiment with a beautiful message "We have fought the good fight. Grant to us, eternal rest, O Lord!"</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was a Mr. Mathew, there was Muhammad Sakhi and many more. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some of the other messages were </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"When you go home tell them of us and say for your tomorrow we gave our today"</span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-da13572d-7fff-0dcc-8f6d-498fda451832"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yet, there were many that did not have names or their religion could not have been established. They were simply named 'A soldier of the 1939-45 War. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Known to God</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">' </span></span><br />
<span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-d8dc9f8d-7fff-952e-3dad-1e85da67dbd6"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, this land, this country, belongs to all of them. They have lost their lives, fed this earth with their bones and blood. Their children, grandchildren, their neighbours, friends are all here. With or without papers or documents. A nation is not a paper or a few letters written down on a passport. It is far more. It is an idea, shared ideal rather for which people are willing to travel thousands of miles to risk it all and lay down their lives. Fight shoulder to shoulder, as soldiers, as brothers, in life and in death, without any other thought than that of valour and victory. A nation is that what unites, binds us together. </span></span></div>
Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-48508871325496600842020-02-24T16:20:00.001+05:302020-02-24T16:20:32.416+05:30badi takleef hoti hai<div>Wo log jo apne haq ke liye </div><div>Sadak par utar aye hain..</div><div>Kya wo nahin samajhte </div><div>Kitna time waste hota hai </div><div>Hum busy logon ka </div><div>Traffic jam pe phas kar</div><div>Economic productivity bhi affect hoti hai</div><div>Isi ke karan to slowdown ho raha hai </div><div>Warna 'sab theek hai' </div><div>'Achhe din bhi hain' </div><div>Bas ye kuch gumrah log, students </div><div>aur anti-nationals ka propaganda dekhkar </div><div>Badi takleef hoti hai .</div><div><br></div><div>Badi takleef hoti hai sachhi..</div><div>Illegal immigrants jab desh ka GDP </div><div>Kum kar dete hain na, kha jate hain. </div><div>Wo nahin hote to humare bank accounts mein </div><div>15 lakh or Indian National bonus mil jaata </div><div>Wo humaare gharon mein kaam karte hain</div><div>Wo humari taxi aur gadiyan chalaate hain</div><div>Humari factories mein labour bante hai </div><div>'Poha' khaate hain aur khilaate hain </div><div>Par wo ghuspaithiye hain na! </div><div>Tabhi badi takleef hoti hai. </div><div><br></div><div>Inko bahar bhejna hoga </div><div>Chahe jo bhi keemat ho </div><div>Chukana hoga </div><div>Ek hi ghar ke logon ko baantna ho</div><div>To bhi baantenge </div><div>Khudko Indian saabit karne ko kagaz dikhaana ho</div><div>To dikhayenge </div><div>Farzi banwane pade </div><div>To banwayenge</div><div>Gharon se nikaal kar logon ko </div><div>Detention centre mein rakhna pade </div><div>To rakhenge. </div><div>Rozi roti cheen kar unki </div><div>Agar zillat ki zindagi bitaane pe majboor karna pade </div><div>To karenge.</div><div>Kyunki badi takleef hoti hai. </div><div>Aisa hume bola gaya hai! </div>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-8672147205842956232020-01-29T23:33:00.001+05:302020-01-29T23:33:35.453+05:30democracy and public institutions and processThat the levels of public discourse and language have stooped to hooliganism, outright abuse and unacceptable civic behaviour and manner is not so much of a shock. After all, many of them are simply put criminals or of criminal backgrounds (proven or otherwise) and more certainly of criminal mindsets. What is of a bigger concern is the absolute dysfunction, neutralizing and debasement of public and constitutional institutions. To make matters worse, some of them are often engaged in a bid to outdo each other in phsychopancy and becoming an instrument in the hands of the powers of the day - the government and even the ruling party.<div><br></div><div>"Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely" someone said long before and we have had many instances across different ages, times, geographies and nation states where we witnessed macabre forms of abuse of power. The sinister designs and demands of such fascist, totalitarian and authoritarian regimes are such. We need to simple look back a few years or look around to see evidence of how such designs were implemented. They will look to manipulate public opinion, control means and resources for few, decimate opposition of any kind whether in parliaments, streets or media (these days, social media as well) and yes all of it in your name (race, religion, country, whatever works wherever). "If you oppose us you are anti-national" "go to another country if this doesn't suit you" "annihilate the opposition and the ones that do not fall in line". You can see the pattern if you want to. </div><div><br></div><div><div><div>However, it is to safeguard against such planned and wilful misuse of powers, that the constitution has set up mechanisms and institutions which act as guardians of the very fabric of democracy.</div></div><div>Institutions such as the Election Commission, the Judiciary, the CBI, the Police, the Information Commission and others. Some of them have been set up by governments by acts of legislation. </div><div><br></div><div>I agree, institutions, process and systems have not been the best selling products of the India brand, but they have been there, and more often than not , their doggedness, sticky-ness, cumbersome-ness and the sheer number of them, have been written and discussed about in abundance. I for one, belong to a bunch called consultants who talk and even earn out of the poor state of governance, systems and processes. But, we have also had traditions and patches of excellence in all such institutions. </div><div><br></div><div>Election Commission under TN Sheshan had teeth and used to bite when required; the judiciary had the righteousness and courage to call the election of a member of Parliament, none other than Prime Minister of the country - a certain Indira Gandhi illegal; the CBI has often successfully convicted and put the seemingly insurmountable and all-resourceful behind bars; the simple RTI query gave the common powerless man a right to ask a pertinent question and expect an answer from a high and mighty officer.</div><div><br></div><div>A strong and large democracy needs strong and well functioning institutions. Institutions that are independent, unbiased and can outlive a particular exceptional leader. Institutions that have values (yes they do), visions and missions that guide them; processes that are so well-defined that they do not lend to arbitrary misuse and yet allow flexibility and agility; where leadership and accountability is distributed; systems that are stable and yet respond and change with needs of time. Idealistic? Well, democracy is idealistic. </div><div><br></div><div>Ideals are what we must strive for and hence they are enshrined upon the preamble of our constitution. No matter, where we are on the continuum, our trajectory is determined - excellence, ideals and fundamental principles. In a large, diverse and growing democracy there will be violations, excesses and mistakes but there must be processes and institutions to spot such deviations, call them out and have a recourse for correction. These actions must be definitive, time taken must be adequate and yet not delayed, the actors incorruptible and protected from influence. These institutions are hence the watch-dogs, the robin-hoods, the justice-makers, the equalisers and in some cases the healers. </div><div><br></div><div>Unfortunately, this the government and the resourceful also know. Hence, the moment they get an opportunity they systematically try to reduce the institutions to puppets in their hands and use them to rather their advantage. The CBI, the enforcement directorate, the election commission and police are prime and straightforward examples of that. This must be prevented and yes this must start by people who are at the helm of affairs at such institutions. As was famously determined at the Nuremberg trials (and I was enlightened by an article by Prof. Prabhat Patnaik recently), the plea of 'simply following orders' doesn't work. Every individual can and does operate from his/her own agency of willpower and judgement and that must be the cornerstone of that individual's actions. I will leave this article at that thought. <br></div><div><br></div></div>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-9331973505382685112020-01-19T14:21:00.001+05:302020-01-19T14:21:37.344+05:30the history of statistics - NPR, NCR and other registersWe all know counting was important and probably that contributed to the evolution and further work on mathematics but what necessitated the troubled, much-maligned, less-understood, selectively-fancied world of statistics? What brought words such as 'population', 'sample', 'mean', 'normal', 'probability', 'chance' and other more technical 'standard deviation', 'variance', 't-test', 'chi-square' etc. into popular and not so-popular (only the thick, be-spectacled nerdy professors and their students okay!) use.<br />
Thanks to a wonderful book (I don't have statistics to prove it but I loved it!) called 'Statistics - A graphic guide' by Eileen Magnello (author) and Borin Van loon (illustrator), I spent my weekend on, I had very interesting and unexpected answers to some of the questions above and some other's which capture the headlines of our newspapers. So, here we go.<br />
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"The word "statistics" is derived from Latin status further Italian <i>statista</i> - referring to a <i>statista</i> or statesman - someone concerned with matters of the state. Early statistics were quantitative systems for describing matters of state". So, you see, not just the PhD Scholar who has to submit her dissertation, her professor submitting a paper for a double, blind-peer reviewed journal of repute, the economists aspiring for a nobel prize or highly paid data scientists (we all know by now, what that means and how much that pays!), but everyone who is concerned with matters of the state is a <b>statistic and could be interested in statistics. </b><br />
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The philosophy behind statistics is actually <b>determinism</b>. "Determinism means that there is meaning and order in the universe." Thus there has to be somethings which confirms to a particular thought, size, shape and then there are things that do not or those that 'vary'. The earliest application of this was in the field of evolutionary biology (Darwin et al) and the concept of <b>species</b>. So, there has to be an ideal type (usually the average or common) which typologists and taxonomists would classify as a particular special of say moths or insects and then any variation (depending on how much) would confirm as a different species. So, good old Darwin was the first to see evolution as a purely statistically process. This is important. Because, in later times, we the humans tend to define common features as build narratives around the same. We look like this so we are 'whites' or 'blacks' or 'brown' or 'yellow'; we all speak the French language so we are French; we all are 'Aryan' races; we are pure; and yes those who do not fit into 'us and our' definition are 'others'. Statisticians only call them as outliers or call them a different species. But how do we deal with the 'others'?<br />
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Now, it is natural that counting <b>people</b> or undertaking <b>census</b> was one of the oldest uses and application of statistics. People in Babylon, Egypt and China all collected statistical information about there people. But the <b>purpose</b> is important - to collect taxes and determine number of people/men who could be enlisted in military. The word Census is derived from Roman Censors - people whose duty was to count people. The censors maintained a register of Roman citizens and their property. Scandinavian countries did this is 17th century, US in 1790 for conducting election. Then there were Parish registers. The church has always played a pivotal role in birth and death of people. It was natural a register of the same be maintained and became a part of the duties of the clergy. Yet again, it is useful to note <b>who were included and who were excluded</b>. Those who belonged to the faith were included and those who were not of the same faith or did not practice it and (again importantly) "<b>could not afford to pay the fee</b> for ecclesiastical registration" were summarily excluded. It is almost obvious. The maintenance of any such register is bound to take effort, time and expenses. Who pays of it? Those who are included. Those who are not included due to reasons of being not a part of the average or mean definition (by faith, by birth, by occupation, by language or by nationaliy) did not pay or were not a part of such registers. It also means that conversely, by simply your ability of not being able to pay for maintenance of register (i.e. the very poor) you will not be a part of the register. It should not be too difficult to draw parallels to the current planned exercises in the country and see where is this all heading. Someone said emphatically, 'those who do not take lessons from history, are bound to face it again and again' or something like that.<br />
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Some mathematicians, scientists and statistics, wanted to find the total population of nations and world. Again the purpose was noble. They wanted to understand if it was increasing or decreasing or about the same. Malthus, the economist argued that the <b>unchecked human population would always exceed the means of subsistence</b> (food supply) and human improvement will depend on the limits of reproduction as opposed to means of trying to improve food supply. Darwin said the same in other words and implied that since means are limited only the fittest would survive. The fittest has come to mean different things - from being the mightiest, most powerful to most intelligent to most affluent. Thus the science of population or<b> demography became the study of poverty</b>. "The first census in UK, around 1851 included age, sex, occupation and birthplace and counted the blind and deaf". There was more details on death and diseases, and also pointed to appalling sanitary conditions in towns. Overcrowding of towns and impact on sewers or the lack of it and associated health risks are understandable. Thus statistics helped in undertaking some of the first planned sanitary reforms.<br />
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Florence Nightangle, the<b> 'lady with the lamp' </b>was another famous user of statistics. She was appalled at the state of record-keeping in military hospitals and war-time casualties. She put together some data around the Crimean Wars and others and presented in beautiful visualisations the number of deaths, overall mortality and reasons to show what all should know very well intuitively - that wars destroy lives. But, as with some of the modern statistics and data, measurement and visualisations may not lead to any action. Wars continued then as they do now. Another beautiful visualisation graph was that by Minard of <b>Napoleon's troops </b>and their ill-fated adventure to Russia in 1812. I have personally used that to teach/train on data visualisations to tell a story. Yet again, the purpose or the outcome was not just depiction of figures but the fact that the futility of wars, the impact on human lives was brilliantly portrayed to tell a story to those that cared to listen.<br />
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The modern comparisons of statistics to mini-skirts or bikinis are well known and they too point to the fact that what is the purpose that you are trying to achieve, what is the story you are trying to tell.<br />
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It is here that this massive exercise of NPR, NRC, CAA and the ilk fail me and many others. What is this trying to achieve? For who? Who said so? Who asked for it? Why? In whose name?<br />
This exercise is not an announcement by new free or rental plan on Jio, it is not Amazon's sale week, it is not a erection of a statue, or change of a name of a road or city. This is massive, will involve more than a billion people, considerable amount of time, effort and money. Estimates put the expenditure anywhere around 60,000 Cr+; I do not want to comment to timelines and effectiveness - we all know what happened to Aadhaar and demonetisation. There are still people who believe both were great achievements but I am equally entitled to my views that both were bogus, unnecessary, ill-planned and ill-implemented things which did not achieve anything for the common man. There were electoral gains made in UP due to demonetisation and surely some people benefited, not the economy, not the country at large for sure. NPR, NRC and other names that will come up, will be garangutan state exercises which apart from the time, expenses and resources will <b>divert attention</b> of the government, private sector, NGOs and other <i>statistics</i> from things far <b>more important and urgent</b>.<br />
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Should the government, policy makers, private sector players, innovators, media people, activists be rather not working on <b>poverty, education, health, social welfare and jobs</b>? Or we also believe like some of our leaders, victrolas and media that 'all is well' and <b>'achhe din' </b>are here and all these are imaginary problems that only the opposition parties, classes, liberals, nobel laureates, urban naxals, students and biased media can see. Inflation doesn't exist, if we don't eat onions. If we don't publish the right data and hush the messengers, then there is no job crisis (the worst in decades). Farmers do not commit suicides, some or the other party (depending who is in power) is making an issue of it for poll gains. No one killed people on mere suspicion of eating beef - they died because they did not drink cow urine. Gauri Lankesh and Kaluburgi were not killed by anyone, especially not by bigoted, extremists. The attacks on students at campuses and protestors on streets across the country was done by the Pakistan army or ISI, the Indian/Delhi police were merely protecting the law and order. Our education system is in excellent condition because my and your children are speaking English better than english kids (in British accent learnt via youtube), can count Peppa Pigs and are even taking German and French classes. Who goes and cares about children going to government schools. Our health system is world class today - there are cafe's and play areas that would resemble a mall. We don't know what the government hospitals and health centres are upto. Who cares.<br />
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There are real problems. There are dire situations that a large number of our fellows brothers and sisters face. The <i>statistas</i> - I repeat those who care about matters of the state, need to know how many and who.<br />
We need statistics for that. There is census. There are records of child birth, at anganwadis, at our schools, at our colleges. We need to know how many are stunted? How many are malnourished?<br />
We need to know how many of our children are dropping out of schools? How many are not learning? How many mothers die at childbirth? How many infants do not make it to age 5? How many are affected by curable diseases?<br />
How many of our graduating students do not have skills to get them jobs? How many people of working age are not working? What are they doing? What do they need to do to get jobs?<br />
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More importantly, all of us need to do something about one or few of these questions, challenges and real issues. Only then will things improve. Data, science, mathematics and statistics has mostly been about that. Knowing and knowing with a purpose and then acting upon it. The purpose can only be development and well-being of all.<br />
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"Sarve bhavantu sukhinah...sarve santo niramaya". I repeat "Sarve". All. Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-5521901688195581762020-01-10T14:34:00.001+05:302020-01-10T14:34:33.916+05:30On my citizenship <div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="6hcnv" data-offset-key="8j0av-0-0" style="caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); color: #1c1e21; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="8j0av-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Har ek baat pe kehte ho, ki tu kya hai? Tumhi kaho ye andaaz-e-guftagu kya hai ! </span></div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="at1d9-0-0" style="caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="at1d9-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">The sense of belongingness doesn't come easily. Ask that to the millions of people who are homeless, seeking refugee in foreign lands, forced to leave their homes due to prolonged conflicts and living in makeshift-camps/places. It is a matter of who we are, where do we come from, what do we believe in and who we consider as our brothers and sisters. No one likes being questioned about these things. </span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="at1d9-0-0" style="caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="at1d9-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Belonging to a country, being a citizen, is not just a matter of having a passport, a birth certificate, a voter ID, a particular number (Aadhar or social security), a PAN card or any set of documents. It is a matter of belonging to a collective identity, a culture, a set of beliefs, a world-view and a sense of togetherness developed, formed and articulated over many centuries and for a country like India over a thousands of years. It is not only difficult and dangerous but almost impossible to define this identity in any one particular way simply because of millions of influences and practices that shape this over such a long span of time. For a diverse and plural society that is India, it can not be language, region, appearance, colour, occupation or religion. Pluralism was not just something that we humans (Indians in this case) created and fostered over hundreds of years, it was in the air, land, climate and geography of the region. There are sands of Rajasthan for every chinar leaf of Kashmir, there are rains of Meghalaya for the snowfall of Himachal and Uttarakhand, there are flood plains of Ganges and there are the dry white sands of Kutch, there are backwaters of Kerala and the lofty Himalayan mountains of Ladakh, there are forests of Chhattisgarh and Jharkhand and there are ancient-modern town-cities such as Kashi, Delhi and others. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="at1d9-0-0" style="caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); color: #1c1e21; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was imperative that this plurality is protected, this diversity be encouraged and this spirit be understood. Hence, </span><span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">the founding fathers of the modern nation-state of republic of India tried to do just that by articulating the same unmistakably in the document was to govern the way we carried out our lives as countrymen - the Constitution of India. Again, as if to protect it against misuse, dilution and change (subtle and stark both) in the years that were to come, they made these principles, values integral to the very basic nature of the Constitution and as a part of the preamble. This constitution is then studied by children in schools, practiced by executive and legislative arms of </span></span><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">the union </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">and protected by the judiciary. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Any question or attack on the Constitution is then not just a questioning of a document, it is an attack on the very idea of this </span></span><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">country, on each and every citizen and vice-versa. Let us try to put it the other way - any questioning of the ordinary Indian, or citizen especially about his/her existence, about his/her definition of country, is an attack on these very basic principles and values and a direct attack on the Constitution. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is fundamentally problematic and hence, despite the claims of technical complexities, chronological anomalies, misleading narratives, this is very easily understood by most Indians and summarily rejected by a large number of them. The outbursts, the protests, the anger on streets or otherwise is a testament to that. To term this a misled, leaderless, opposition-conspired, liberal and intellectual futile expression is missing the point completely or simply being an </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ostrich. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My idea of this country is mine, it is not based on my religion, it is not based on the language I speak, it is not based on how I look, the colour of my skin or what I do. I am not obliged to tell it to any one if I do not choose to or shout at rooftops if I so feel like it as long as I do not I do it peacefully without breaking the law and order. I am not obliged to answer any of such questions. That answer was given for all of us, all of us Indians who could express and who could not express themselves, the majority and the minority, the rich and the poor - in the Constitution. That answer was that, "we the People of India.... will secure for all citizens (no qualifiers here!)</span> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #e8e6d7; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">JUSTICE, social, economic and political;</span></div>
<span style="background-color: #e8e6d7; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">LIBERTY of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship;</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: #e8e6d7; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">EQUALITY of status and of opportunity;</span></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); color: #1c1e21; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And, in the years following the independence and adoption of the Constitution, the debate and discussion, the disagreements and agreements were on the modalities of achieving these ideals. The 'hows'. Whether, socialism was the way or capitalism and market, whether a vibrant and independent media was the better option or a one that was controlled by the state, whether empowered institutions such as the Election Commission, CBI, Lokpal others were important for functioning of state, in simpler terms left, right or centre? But, rarely has there been a question on 'who' and trying to assert that Justice, Liberty and Equality will be for some and not be for some basis a set of documents. This is not acceptable. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Firstly, I have a say. The constitution was adopted and enacted by me or my father or my grandfather or grandmother on my behalf along with millions together when we became a republic. I also decided that there are certain provisions and principles that won't be changed or played with in future simply because people in executive and legislation think so. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Second, the idea of my citizenship and my link to this country can't be questioned. More so on the basis of my belief, my faith, my thoughts and my expression. I would not profess to any one or two or three sets of ideas or beliefs or any and I can't be forced. I am free and this right is guaranteed to me by me or my forefathers. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thirdly, whether I have a set of documents or not, whether I have the capacity to even understand these documents or not, whether I have used these documents to vote, elect governments, pay taxes, travel abroad or not, I am an Indian and I do not need to prove that. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally, what's the need? What are we trying to do here? Why? Even if it assures me (no idea how?) of more economic prosperity, more social acceptability or political voice, I reject it as nothing can come at the cost of my existence. Stop asking me and attacking me for who I am. I reject this language, tone and this manner of conversation. </span></span></div>
Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-85776319584683316982018-07-01T15:34:00.002+05:302018-07-01T15:34:57.927+05:30Lightining in the abode of the clouds - Meghalaya
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the moment when Sanjeev’s head hit the hard concrete
ground and blood oozed out of his head and mouth, he caught a glimpse of the St.
Edmund’s School at the centre of the hill town. His son was a student of Class XI of the same school, having secured his position by his brilliant performance in Class X.
Sanjeev was very proud of the fact that his son has got admission into the
higher secondary classes of this prestigious school. ‘The No. 1 school in Shillong and North-East’ he claimed with enthusiasm. For several years, he was the driver of
the Principal’s car before he decided to set up his own business of taxi
services.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he was quick to point out,
‘no recommendation works here in this school, its only merit’. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His grandfather who moved to this state as a worker – later
become a contractor – had built parts of building of this school among many other
buildings of the city. They were a group of migrant workers with exceptional
skills of construction, had less demands, finished work on time and were ready
to work for cheaper rates. That worked very well for the aspiring entrepreneurs and businessmen
who along with the continuous growth of the city and increasing missionary activities ensured that there was always something new to
be built in Shillong and the workers were never out of work. When his grandfather died, it was hard to make out if a
Hindu or Christian had passed away. There were so many representatives from the
all communities whose houses he had built or repaired in his time as a contractor. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sanjeev’s father was born in Meghalaya. He went on to become
a technician and worked in the government department of telecom. Some of the
first telephone lines for the population of the town were set up by him. He was
very proud of this fact and always looked the ‘mobile phenomena’ with
suspicion. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sanjeev spoke the local language and some dialects as good
as any local youth would do and knew every custom, tradition and festival well.
He never felt any difference between him and his friends – except for some
delicacies which were exchanged happily between families. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Things were not the same at all the times though. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some political elements have been fuelling the whole ‘son of
the soil’ fire and demanding that the outsiders go back. Some of it has been
triggered by the recent speed of development and prosperity, a larger share of
which had gone to the outsiders. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Attacks on malls, shops and business entities owned by
‘outsiders’ has been going on for a while. But, Sanjeev never understood why
there would be anger against petty entrepreneurs and workers like him. They
were all poor like the locals. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This winter, skirmish continued on the streets – and one day Sanjeev too
was caught in this when the rubble-rousers attached the taxi stand and attacked
Bihari drivers. The helpless drivers were beaten black and blue and were not
even able to communicate with the locals that they would go away to never
return. Sanjeev who spoke the local language fluently, intervened and argued
with the locals. They were even willing to let him go, but he tried to protect
and argue for all outsiders. That is when they decided to attack him as well. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was angry and upset and wanted to curse the local people
but a thought crystallised his mind that he belonged more to this place than these boys who would flee
to the big metros of Delhi and Mumbai at the first opportunity presented. He
knew this was not what most of the people of Shillong stood for or wanted. He decided to
fight back and all of a sudden took out a can of petrol and rushed towards the school and
church. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He kept shouting loudly and wildly <span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Look here! These churches, schools are also created by outsiders – burn them,
break them. Let's burn the hospitals also’ </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The mob was distracted from whatever they were doing not just by the loud cries of Sanjeev but the heat and light of the first few things set to fire by Sanjeev. They rushed to control him and within a few minutes he was under control, the can taken away from him and he pinned down to the ground. The other boys were quick to drowse the fire. Someone had called police and most of the mob fled the scene. The police rounded up the few who were there including Sanjeev. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">'Who started the fire?' the police asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">'We don't know. It must be the mob'</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">'There is no mob' </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">'Then there is no fire'</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The police and the young men exchanged glances. The police knew they would not get anything and no one would turn anyone in. They never did in this town - outsiders or not. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The men looked at each other after the police went away and hugged Sanjeev tightly. Sajeev was happy that this lighting had gone away without much damage. </span></div>
Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-6331674574293137322017-02-16T05:41:00.002+05:302017-02-16T05:41:22.952+05:30The gone farmer!<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">No, he did not fall there by chance. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">A farmer knows his fields better than </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">The back of his hands. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Every piece of soil, every blade of grass</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Touched, caressed and felt. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Every crack, hole, stone examined </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">By the mature, dry eyes. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Every corner, trod upon, </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">By worn and often tired feet. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">He could not have killed himself</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Not like this, in his own field </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Inside a hole, barely large to hold him</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">He would have been suffocated,</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">He disliked closed spaces, you see </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Used to sleeping and chatting in the open </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Under the roof of sky. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">He could have been killed though</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">And dumped there </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">In this hole</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">There is no blood visible </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">But the colour is hard to miss </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">There are no visible marks </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">But the grip of hands one can feel, </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Who? you ask? </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">All. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">He might have been working, </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Digging a hole,</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">In hope of water, </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Or god knows what </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Spurned by all. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">But who else did he have </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Where else could he go,</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">He might have simply perished </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Exhausted and thirsty. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">In the heat </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">That has claimed </span></div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Even the last drop of water. </span></div>
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Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-50634559777872407462015-07-06T10:50:00.003+05:302015-07-18T23:14:31.529+05:30Rain in Greece<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four Drops of Rain - Dimitri </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">based on our visit to Greece</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dimitri had just parked his bike in the stand of Monasteraki overlooking the majestic Acropolis and was picking up his daily dose of black coffee from the cafe en route to his souvenir shops in the busy flea street of Athens. The sky was dark, grey and ominous but the Parthenon’s yellow-sepia colour contrasted with the colour of the sky rather well and it looked like a jewel in bosom of goddess Athena (patron goddess of Athens) herself. Dimitri felt sombre, silent and spiritual to the extent that he almost knelt down to say a prayer. He was not much of a believer, but he was not much of a disbeliever as well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The first drop fell on the plastic covering of his cup making a sound akin to the first touch of the drum stick on the leather. More drops came down from the clouds making a variety of sounds - from the [ XXX roof extensions of cafe’s ], from the leaves and branches of trees, from the black road and pavements, from the hurriedly opened umbrellas of tourists. Somehow the tourists seemed to be better prepared for the weather changes! The different noises combined to form an orchestra of percussion instruments, very similar to the one played out in the open space in front of the old roman church by a motley group of hippies and enthusiasts who gather every evening with their instruments and try to play in unison. They would start instrument by instrument, player by player and slowly pick up the pace rising to a crescendo and then start all over again with a different beat. But the rhythm of the rain drops was going one way and after a while it became so thick and fast that it was difficult to see one side of the road from the other. Dimitri was standing by a local souvlaki and had exchanged smiles with a rich businessman and his fourth wife who had finished at least two packets of cigarettes between them while waiting for their order to come in. This man was a friend of his father and was known for his meticulousness and propriety in matters of business and public life. He has had three marriages and three divorces, all of them ugly and messy. The last one had registered a complaint of physical violence and rape against him and almost cost him half of his estates in some of the picturesque Greek islands. Dimitri had often wondered how such a successful and sincere man in public life could not manage not one but three marriages, all of which were of his choice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dimitri looked at his ring and was reminded of his wife, Angela, whom he had met at a shop in Santorini. She was a poor salesgirl who lived in one of the villages near the Kamari beach and was very shy, unlike the other gregarious sales girls in the commercial Fira town of Santorini. Dimitri married her within a year and they moved to Athens where Dimitri’s father had a thriving but small business of antique bronze work. Dimitri had expanded that business to three shops and a full range of souvenirs and traditional greek products. He sold cheap and relied on volumes and large number of customer-friends to make living for his family and of several of his sales people. He actually liked to meet new people and strike a conversation with them. His employees also loved him for his good-natured mischievous ways. He was always kind to them. In many ways he was quite successful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dimitri’s father had a good Arab customer-friend who visited Athen’s many times and would come over to the shops and sometimes picked up some things for his wife and family, but he came more to meet Dimitri as he remained him of his deceased friend. He once told Dimitri, without his asking </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘ you know, Allah gave us two eyes, not one..to create balance’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘ what kind of balance’ asked Dimitri </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘ balance in life, in marriage’ the old man continued ‘ you know when things good, are in balance, you see all your wife’s good qualities with one eye and all your bad qualities in the other eye’ </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘ hmmm…’ Dimitri was struck by the simple statement </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘ and when things are not in balance, you see, you always see evil qualities of your wife in one eye and all your good qualities in the other eye’ the old man said this in a manner one would say to a friend and not preach to a younger generation. Then he added</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘ you are lucky, have to keep the balance for one wife. i have to do the same for three!’ and gave out a hearty laugh which Dimitri joined in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He was reminded of the old Arab gentleman today, then his thoughts ran to his father and then to his wife. They had a difficult morning, the kids made it so. They did not want to go to school with a possible rainy day lurking ahead. Angela wanted some help from Dimitri in getting them ready, Dimitri was not in a mood to be hurried in the morning. He hated being hurried in the mornings, Angela always had a lot to do and a lot to say. Dimitri realised it even when he was raising his voice over and over again before the kids that he was not sensitive and was overreacting. He thought of taking flowers and some baklavas back home for her. He started to walk to his shop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He was fully drenched but noticed the smiles of his staff, his employees. He was greeted with broader and more meaningful smiles today and as he was asking them the reason for the same, he saw a thin frame behind a wet curtain hung for sale. It was his wife. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘ I came to give you a surprise and buy a few things for home’ she said with a tourists accent. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‘ Yes madam, what can we give you today. the weather is terrible today, it had never rained like this in Athens in four or five years. If you like something we make very good price for you, we sell cheap, you know, we want to give this things away, they should be in your house, not my shop. If you like just tell us, else, you can just sit here and have have coffee with me, no problem’ Dimitri replied in his usual style while talking to his customer-friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She was laughing and Dimitri looked at her wet hair and face and was reminded once again of the old man and his talisman. </span></div>
Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-14213068816172597192014-11-17T22:12:00.001+05:302014-11-17T22:12:45.459+05:30Ek aisa rishta<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0EdCG-ohmfODd10LMztd5hJyllsbnS-gEXZxdgc8X2SqaioGV_nTAXBeNhM2pCu4z-ZtHuXEdNQAO3PMcot-pl3JNns6UrbP8heFAjiMjvwGYKL6YEXBpuzT_lSwAwgCKIxFBGCi0dY/s640/blogger-image--1323507332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0EdCG-ohmfODd10LMztd5hJyllsbnS-gEXZxdgc8X2SqaioGV_nTAXBeNhM2pCu4z-ZtHuXEdNQAO3PMcot-pl3JNns6UrbP8heFAjiMjvwGYKL6YEXBpuzT_lSwAwgCKIxFBGCi0dY/s640/blogger-image--1323507332.jpg"></a></div>Is rishte ka rishta hona </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Bas tere masoom aitbaar </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Aur bina shikvon ke </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Intezaar ke badaulaat hai. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Hum to bezaar the,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Kabhi berukhi to</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Kabhi bewafai ki.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Jab mila to saut ki </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Zulfon ki itr ki khosboo </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Apne jism mein bhar kar mila. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Aur Jab bichhda to </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Zald lautne ka jhootha</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Waada bhi nahin kiya.</span></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Purane shehar ki,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Ghumavdaar galiyon si</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Tumhari baahon se </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Baar baar guzra.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Tumhari saason ko </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Hukke ke dhuyen ke saath,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Apne seene mein sameta,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Aur tumhari aansuon ka bhar</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Kar jaam, ghoont ghoont gale </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Se utaara. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Pardon ki tarah,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Tumhara ghoonghat uthaya to</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Kucch jhurriyon ko aur gehra paya.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Labon ko sukha,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Aur hatheliyon ko sakht. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Tumhara libaas utaara,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">To waqt ke beraham </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Haathon ke nishaan paye.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Kucch nishaan mere bhi the,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Jinhe tumne sambhale the ab tak. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Har baar lekin tumhari </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Aankhon me chamak,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Aur pyaar wohi tha. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Milne par wo apnapan, </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Aur khushi ka izhaar bhi wahi. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Jo majboor karta hai,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Ke baar baar laut ta hun,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Is shehar main. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Par main ye jaanta Hun</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Ke is rishte ka rishta hona </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Bas tere masoom aitbaar </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Aur bina shikvon ke </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Intezaar ke badaulaat hai. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">On my third visit to Udaipur. </div>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-65282323354987281602014-08-30T23:19:00.001+05:302014-08-30T23:21:09.371+05:30Sweat<p dir="ltr">Mohan had been working all day and night for the launch of the new product from his new company. This was his first major assignment and he wanted everything to be as close as to perfect. He would think back on every argument in the meeting room in the days leading to the launch and irrespective of the fact that he may have fiercely opposed the argument from his detractors, if there was any merit in them, he would include them into his plan. He had two stations - meeting room at office and his study at home. He had put on weight, which he was aware of and some arrogance, which he was not. The launch was more or less on expected lines. Even the encomiums showered were expected and so were the cautious prophesies of sooth sayers. Mohan was usually level headed but the calmness this time around surprised even him. There was a lightness of course. He looked forward to the break to which he kept on adding 'much-needed' without really meaning it. The break was also coming to an end without any break for Mohan from the strange sense of being an emotionless witness to events of his own life. On the last day, he ventured out early morning for a walk. The sun was quite bright even at that hour of the day and Mohan had no particular route in mind, the city was new. He did not mind though, he was feeling better. He saw a bunch of school kids chasing one another perilously close to the road, an old man cycling and muttering something to himself, an old lady grabbing the arm and looking with gratitude to another young lady, three middle age women in purple, pink and aqua with i-pods tucked into their ears walking towards a park, a school bus honking and speeding past the tender-coconut hawker, a young boy catching the news paper which bounced off the 2nd floor balcony on his first throw, a road-side tea seller haggling with the milk vendor over change money and a group of old men with sticks in hands coming out of a park after their morning routine of exercise. Mohan jogged back home and was exhausted by the time he reached. He showered and then sat down to read newspaper with a cup of coffee. He was sweating when he entered the shower and the stint at kitchen did not help. He was wiping the sweat of his forehead with the news paper till he finished his coffee. He changed his position a few times over to come closer to the fan in the drawing room. He switched on the TV, flipped through channels, pages of newspaper, scrolled down the contact list of his phone and switched off the TV. He called up his friend who was settled in another country now and an uncle who was moving in to the town. He opened his laptop and after a while shut it down without figuring it out why he opened it in the first place. He arranged and then rearranged his book shelf and picked up a book. It was well past noon when he had his lunch and the heat was rising. He kept wiping his brow with a towel and washing his face but the sweat returned. He read another book and talked to his family. He checked his e-mails and replied to few of them. He got up around evening from his unkempt bed and poured himself a glass of wine. He was still sweating and the towel and his shirt were wet. He did not switch on the AC or go to his study. It was his purging. He felt alive, as if life was trickling through his pores after his interaction and acknowledgement of the world outside this morning and a different routine at home. He felt many emotions which may not have a simple name or classification. He felt deja vu but could not figure out for what. He felt sad but did not understand why. He stood at his balcony for a long time watching the sky which was looking like a movie screen just before the light is beamed into it from projector room. It started to rain slowly and a cool breeze was touching his face. He did not know how long he stood there or if the droplets on his back were sweat or rain. </p>
Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-16566502242946094392014-08-06T20:21:00.001+05:302014-08-20T22:59:17.073+05:30The river as big as the sea<p dir="ltr">It is hard to say<br>
What has become what. <br>
And who is flowing into whom. <br>
The mighty river <br>
Has become as big as the sea. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The calmness of the sea <br>
Is there in the river now. <br>
Like a glowing sheet of silver <br>
It lays along the green banks of villages, <br>
Brown roads of the city<br>
And black rocks of the hills. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The sea it seems has become restless <br>
As the river.<br>
Years of mingling, <br>
Of listening to the grief and joys <br>
Brought along from the hills and<br>
The plateaus and plains <br>
Have finally affected the unmoved <br>
And usually restrained sea. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The sky has seen it all <br>
And is expressing its anger <br>
Through the redness spread all over <br>
Its face, and the river and the sea. <br>
The flow has reversed, <br>
The giver has become the receiver <br>
The holy has become ominous. </p>
<p dir="ltr">This year the floods have been really bad. </p>
Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-8278346337996776592014-06-25T08:05:00.001+05:302014-06-25T08:05:54.827+05:30Flies<div class="MsoNormal">
Manu picked up his phone in the middle of an afternoon
meeting at work and was surprised to see several unanswered calls from Radha.
They had just moved to a new house, he was worried. He stepped out and called
back to find an extremely agitated but helpless Radha. She had spotted a swarm
of flies around the kitchen who did not relent even after she had tried a few
good measures suggested by her mother over phone. Manu did what he could over a
phone and got back to the meeting. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Radha had no comfort from time or the flies till Manu
returned just before dusk. Whether Radha was sulking more because of the flies
or because of Manu’s indifference to them was hard to tell. Manu started off
where he left at office and was lost in his laptop and work after a cup of
evening tea. Then a joyous cry from Radha forced him to get up to the kitchen
where Radha was very happy to see one or two of the last flies who were
hovering there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Flies can’t see in the night’ said Manu, trying to sound
wise and comforting Radha. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Really?’ Radha was happy to see the flies disappear
regardless of the weird logic of Manu. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest of the evening and dinner was rather uneventful and
both were quite happy about the serenity of their new neighbourhood and their
own judgement. Manu did not realise when he slept off while watching the TV.
Radha was asleep in another room. He was awakened by a noisy din of something which
he was not sure was a part of his dream or present at their new house. He woke
up to find a swarm of flies fluttering intently over him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Disgusted, he went to the bathroom, waving vigorously with a
cushion at the flies who seem to have scattered again. He almost gave out a cry
when he opened the bathroom door. Another bunch of flies were almost waiting to
pounce upon him. He somehow managed to get past them and get back to their
bedroom where Radha was fast asleep. He slowly got on to the bed and assured
that there were no visible things around the room, closed his eyes and tried to
get back to sleep. He could not. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He lifted one of his eyelids slowly to see if they had come
back from somewhere. Nothing. Then, he started to think – flies are generally
attracted to dirty things or exposed food items with strong odour, but the military
vigilance of Radha ensured there was nothing matching that description that
ever lay unattended, especially after moving into this new house. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then an image of a dark old man with tattered clothes sitting
outside the general ward of a big city hospital with an exposed pink wound, waiting
for nurses to attend to him, came to his mind. He could remember that there
were several flies hovering around his wound and this man was waving with his
trembling hands at them switching between the two arms with great difficultly
as one arm was resting on the ground supporting his body. Manu could not still
be sure if he was racking his memory or this was another of the real life-like
dreams we have. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he opened his eyes again to check, there were flies, large
in number but silent and they were almost suspended in the air. As if they were
already sitting on some wound. Whose wounds? And if there were any wounds either
of them were carrying, how did the flies know about them? These wounds are
certainly not visible. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-24759027808177428372014-05-09T14:07:00.003+05:302014-09-03T22:30:40.598+05:30Before the ice-cream melts<p dir="ltr">Rohan knew that something had to be done; a simple sorry won't do. He often wondered how is it that often we rely on words, often spoken with same manner, to clarify and make up for a damage done by words. He preferred writing; at least some space is there for someone to think. But this was a time to act! <br>
He thought over a few options but rejected most as were either too banal or too melodramatic. Then he thought of an ice-cream. She was generally very happy to get some savory (usually hot and spicy) as a gift. He would usually get her samosas with flowers, vada pav or pav bhaji with perfumes, chhole bhatures with a new Saree,  gulab jamuns with a wall-painting. But then he thought, would that be too easy or what if she did not like the particular flavor. He went up to the stall, still unsure and chose one particular flavor. He thought about changing that one and did too, much to the chagrin of the young boy at the counter. Rohan gave him the look which said 'you won't know yet my son', although the boy was only a few years younger. He thanked the boy and headed back. It was an afternoon of May and sun was still blazing. He suddenly realized that he has to walk back and the ice-cream will certainly melt to quite an extent. He remembered what she had told him at a marriage dinner 'its never the same once it starts to melt', in reaction to a piece of ice cream he got her and had been intercepted mid-way by an elderly aunt for quick chat. <br>
He started to walk fast and that was quite an challenge considering the bustle of the market and the distance to their home. He almost ran half the distance, jogged a quarter and walked to catch a breath for the other quarter. Since it was all sealed he had no way of knowing if the ice cream had melted. He climbed up the stairs, two at a time and almost twisted his ankle on the last few stairs reaching his flat. He pressed the bell and eagerly waited to see the look on her face. This was one thing he could never guess despite the time they had known each other. It was not as bad and she asked where had he stepped out and why. He simply thruster the wrapped ice-cream to her and started to remove his shoes. She opened the polythene and started to have the ice-cream completely oblivious to his presence. She slowly turned back and went into the bedroom and finished the ice-cream. Rohan stood there by the door watching her. She lifted her head up and there was a child like smile that lit up the dimly lit bedroom of theirs. <br>
'Why are you standing there, go and change your clothes' she said and went into the kitchen. <br>
Rohan went into his study to do as asked smiling and shaking his head. Normalcy has been restored. </p>
Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361215938101003912.post-60234358608798737772014-02-21T09:22:00.001+05:302014-02-21T09:22:59.344+05:30Untitled<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I will not judge you</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">By the colour of your skin,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Or by the structure of your face, </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">The kind of clothes you wear, </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Or by the language you speak.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Not on what you do or do not,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Where you live or have been to. </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />Whom you know,<br />And who know you,<br />Will not matter to me.<br /><br />I will take you as you are<br />And treat you as you.</span>Parthajeet Dashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17971082891133210844noreply@blogger.com0