Wedding Woes

A certain street:
a) is just broad enough for two cars to cross each other (and this includes the space that would have been available had there been no vehicles parked on the street)
b) is a bus route
and
c) is obstructed by a marriage procession that is occupying more than half the width of the street, is louder than an aircraft engine and is moving slowly enough to put to shame the slowest of snails.
There the groom is, comfortably seated on top of the mare, with brass band members blowing trumpets into scooter riders’ ears, and family members swinging their arms and spinning around on the street. Two vehicles try to squeeze through the remaining space and get stuck. The procession extends further with vehicles lining up behind the dancing people. The cacophony becomes louder as these vehicles chip in with their honking. And thus, another attempt at making it The Great Indian Wedding translates into The Great Indian Traffic Jam. Wait, I almost forgot the firecrackers.

Marriages, we believe, are made in Heaven… but they certainly make the life on the streets hellish (as if it wasn’t otherwise). Incredible India it is.

It refuses to heal

It's 2200 hours and I trudge along a lonely street
The cold, chilling winter wind freezes my lungs as I breathe
My mind prepares to explore, to take flight
as I stroll, head hanging low, on a November night
Searching for something to fortify me,
I could do with a bit of strength
so that I can look straight ahead even after
my spine was left broken and bent...

Everything started falling apart
I could see but could not believe
A dagger pierced into my heart
and the wound refuses to heal

It was all so unreal, such a vicious attack
and it's time to contemplate ways to get back on track
I walk along all by myself, there's not a soul in sight
Even my shadow has deserted me on this path with distant dim lights
As this darkness engulfs me,
I wish it blackened out the reality...
But the rain of truth lashes me in torrents
and I go back to that fateful moment when
Everything started falling apart
I could see but could not believe
A dagger pierced through my heart
and the wound refuses to heal

Divided we stand?

Wow… that was one EXPENSIVE roti…it cost them Rs. 15000 and also led to a dog’s conversion into an untouchable (Times of India, Sept. 24th 2010). This decision (the cash fine and the conversion) was taken by a village panchayat after a ‘Rajput’ household complained of their pet dog being fed by a ‘Dalit’ family. ‘Honour(?!) killings’ are also decisions apparently made by village panchayats, though they have denied that they order killing someone. Whatever might be the case, it defies simple logic to comprehend how such killings can ‘safeguard’ someone’s honour. And our education system defines ‘panchayat’ as a group of five elderly, educated and wise persons who can guide people properly and make decisions for their welfare. Some guidance and welfare we’re witnessing here…

'Jats' threaten scattering bovine barricades (cattle, in simple words) all over Delhi on the day of the ‘Wealth Games inauguration, to press for reservation under the OBC category (Times of India, 24th September 2010). 'Gurjars' uproot railway tracks in Rajasthan, demanding reservation in the SC category (May 2008). Tyres etc. burned all over Maharashtra to protest the murder of four members of a ‘Dalit’ family (2006).

Government approves caste census (August-September 2010) in which the populations of different castes will be determined. Differences in caste are really a serious menace, and the netas have come up with a fantastic way of dealing with it. Hats off to them.

Where is the awareness? Yes, people are raising their voices against caste-based atrocities, but why are they not reaching the ears of the concerned people? Paperwork? Headphones with latest Bollywood hit songs ("Sarkar badnaam hui neta tere liye...") playing at full volume? A ‘Light le’ attitude? A lack of understanding of equality? There are solutions other than reservations and factors other than caste which can make it possible to provide the right kind of help to the needy. And considering the praise lavished on India’s education and education system (where they teach concepts like ‘Unity in diversity’ and ‘equality’ since class 4th), this shouldn’t be too difficult to comprehend…

Playing Games

'There was a person with so much money that he decided to build a bridge out of it. One day, he wanted some money. So, he took some money from the bridge and it collapsed.'

Yeah, we approach the beginning of the 'Wealth Games. An approach ridden with procrastination, security issues, epidemics, child labour issues and what not. Not to mention a few crore bucks going poof somewhere along the way. They tried to build Rome, er... Delhi in a day. It didn't work.

Thankfully, I have no recent memory of news items related to the hydrolysis of the Capital (Sometimes, ignorance is bliss, isn't it?)...

Betrayal

You put your faith in them without too many a query
And everything’s going smooth and merry
You get extremely inclined towards them
You strongly opine in favour of them
But then they come back to hit you
And then proceed to slit your throat
And as the ground crumbles below your feet,
You notice the dark shadow lurking beneath…

Betrayal… it can transform you from master to slave…
Betrayal… it can get you to dig your own grave…

Be it hatred, greed, miscommunication or lust
Some things stain unity with patches of rust
Imitation forms an impermeable crust,
Which then ruptures to reveal a total lack of trust
Everything becomes desolate
It’s you whom they want to immolate
When the time comes, they shed their masquerade
And the last strands of your faith become frayed…

Betrayal… it can transform you from master to slave…
Betrayal… it can get you to dig your own grave…

Promises, promises

I open my Facebook account and find links to contenders' manifestos dominant among the updates. The printed versions of one or two such manifestos are lying around somewhere on the floor in my room. As I check out some other updates, someone knocks on my door. I open it to find half a dozen people who slip another paper into my hand. The contender steps forward and starts off. "Hello, I am so-and-so standing for the post of so-and-so. My manifesto isn't too long(Yeah, I can see that). I will do this, do that, arrange for an alternative and more efficient system for something, make these provisions available..........last year I held this post, I did this, I did that, I was actively involved in this...............so please vote for me and tell your friends as well." Shakes hands.

The campus is under the grip of election fever. Elections. That occasion when the only thing in a contender's mind is that the way to securing a person's vote is through his/her heart (in one particular sense). Yeah, you come up with a huge list of what you intend to do and people in the campus are feeling the necessity of a number of things among those mentioned. If that catches people's eyes and you do end up winning, then you have to make it a point to ensure that it turns out to be more than just another 'plus point' for another election campaign. If it is possible to devote time and effort (and money) in performing research on the people in campus, identifying vote banks and coming up with all sorts of ways for attracting them, then it is definitely worth a try to put in some of that effort into doing something productive.

Election Day coming soon. Time will tell how our 'netas' fare.

P.S. The hostels are littered with manifestos, half of which mention an intention to make the campus litter-free.

Miss Emma

She had a group of really close friends. Seven months back, a new member had joined her group. Miss Emma was now an integral part of their group. She was especially fond of Emma, and ever since their first introduction, they had become inseparable. Emma had always been there for her during all the bad times that she had faced in the last seven months. Emma always made her feel good, and she couldn’t imagine life without Emma.

Shortly after Emma’s introduction, the friends joined a business venture. Their choice paid dividends quite quickly. The business was running smoothly, customers weren’t much of a problem and the bucks kept rolling in. Being an indispensable part of the business, Emma deserved a fair share of this income. However, they had run into trouble now. Hostile elements were on the prowl. The stakes were high. Emma wasn’t looking too helpful either, but the group thought of Emma as being too important to do without. She, especially, shuddered at the mere thought of their separation.

The bad times had begun. She was getting affected. She had become thinner, would have regular hallucinations and would often wake up in the middle of the night, soaked with sweat. Then she started having problems with breathing. She was going through painful times, and the hostile elements were also always around. When two of her group fell into the hands of the hostile elements, their business collapsed. She desperately tried to take control, but was unable to do so. She couldn’t take it any longer. The dream was over. But she knew that Emma was there for her.

The next day, the police found her dead, with revolting syringe marks on her arm and a bottle of Emma, or morphine, solution. Miss Emma. Her best friend, till the very end.

Throbs and Beats

My heart’s pumping more than just blood through my body and brain
Thoughts drench me from within, like cascading rain
Something so overpowering, it leaves everything else slain…
Just how much more of this can I take, can I sustain?

Long way to go to stop all this, it’s causing internal outrage
It’s pounding with the mighty beats of a drum against my ribcage

It throbs and beats, it throbs and beats…
Pushes my progress into hasty retreat

I feel an urge to rewind in time, a craving to go back
to go and do something I wanted to but didn’t, or fetch something I lack…
I feel like I’m losing cohesion, like I’m going slack
Asking myself questions that make me lose track

Long way to go to stop all this, it’s causing internal outrage
It throbs and beats with the mighty beats of a drum against my ribcage

I want to stop madly rejoicing every speck of light for the fear that I’m going blind
I’m trying to harden myself against the weird wanderings of my mind
I slowly recover, gain my consciousness…
The real world drives out my self-created emptiness…

I glance through the book of my life, find reams of empty sheets
and gradually continue filling them up while it throbs and beats.

Shards

I took off my shoes and flung them away
Over a distance of several yards
And overconfidently sprinted halfway down
A path embedded with crystal shards.

Their blinding glint would make it easier
For disaster to bushwhack me,
To add to my feet getting pierced
And causing agony.

I think about the aftermath,
Then about the thick, firm sole each shoe hath…
They wouldn’t yield to even the most gruesome wrath,
And could vanquish the zillion crystal shards on the path.

I tread back to the shoes,
Cautiously, but with newborn zeal,
Fetch them and strengthen myself
As my wounded feet heal…

I return to the path of the splinters of glass,
Big and small, forever ready to harass…
Now armed with all the resistance that I did amass,
Cent percent ready to show my true class…

The Jungle

Hundreds of thousands of insects were making hundreds of thousands of noises. They all combined into a single noise that can be called as ‘the voice of the jungle’. The birds chirped away. A large herd of spotted deer was grazing near the lake. The adult females formed a protective circle around the young ones, while the adult males kept watch. Accompanying the deer was a small herd of nilgai. The monkeys were upto their usual jumping around on the trees. A typical day in a typical Indian forest.
Then a monkey screeched loudly. The whole world seemed to come to a standstill. The nilgai and spotted deer stood at rapt attention, a dozen pairs of eyes looking in a dozen different directions, while the young ones continued grazing. The monkey screeched once more. This time, many others followed suit. The treetops were now filled with screeching and screaming noises. The deer sniffed the air around them. There was danger lurking somewhere.
The tiger had crept up to a stretch of tall, drying grass near the lake. His dark yellow coat and the black stripes on it blended perfectly with the colour of the dry grass and the shrubs. He moved his eyes over the entire herd, searching for the easiest possible prey. Having failed to knock down a wild boar in his last attempt and not having eaten since two days, he had to think carefully and decide. He singled one out. Now all he had to do was to create panic among the grazing animals and isolate his target.
He waited. Patiently, he waited for the right time to strike. Then he made a dash for it, his sturdy legs carrying his bulky body at a really good speed (although this speed can be maintained only for short distances). The daunting sight of the King himself charging with a look of hunger in his eye threw the entire herd into disarray. The animals ran helter-skelter, trying to stay together and keep the fawns safe. However, the nilgai that the tiger had singled out was not able to keep up and got separated from the herd. The rest of the herd could only watch helplessly as the young tiger grabbed the nilgai with his sharp claws and dug his teeth into his neck.
When you see a tiger crush its prey’s spine with its four-inch long canines, or see a leopard bite into the snout of a galloping gazelle, you can almost feel the gruesome power these beasts possess. No wonder the big cats are such a dominating presence and the bigger ones among them are called the kings of the jungle. But merely wearing their skin won’t give you the qualities that they possess, the qualities because of which they are feared. The most fearsome thing at present is that soon there will be no such thing left to be afraid of. And since fear is the key to survival on a number of occasions, it is about time that we understand this to be one of those occasions. It is time to put in some more effort to save these fascinating felines. There are just around 1400 tigers left, and the countdown continues…

The Spark

He gently pushed the door with his sinewy arm. The hinges creaked, trying unsuccessfully to offer some resistance. He slowly entered his room. The curtains were drawn. The fading light of evening made the room even darker. The darkness in his room was merely a shadow of the darkness that had been tormenting him since the last few years. He wasn’t blind, he had 20/20 vision. But it was the things on his wall that numbed his mind...
A photograph of him and his schoolmates proudly displaying the gold medals they’d won in the national interschool hockey tournament...a photograph of his parents proudly embracing him after the achievement...and then a date he had carved into the wall. He ran his fingers over the engraving and looked down at his wheelchair. A storm of sorrow and pain raged in his mind. That fateful day...his brand new suit...the small velvet-coated box in his hand...his widowed mother looking forward to happy times...the torrential rains... the failed brakes...the broken barrier of the railroad crossing...opening his eyes in a hospital bed surrounded by his college buddies...they seemed to be etched into his mind just like the deep carving in his wall. He remembered her accompanying him to his parents’ graves, her hand on his shoulder...
Her...he remembered her...her presence seemed to inject fresh hope into him...she was there right beside him at that very moment, wearing his ring on her finger, her hand on his shoulder...
He turned around slowly, his wheelchair wheels squeaking a bit, and looked into her eyes. She was the spark that ignited the cold, black coals of gloom and despair surrounding him and provided a fire...a fire that gave him warmth...a fire that gave him light. This fire breathed life into him, and she was the one who he lived for...

Two Minutes

I got back on my feet after falling on being elbowed in the face. Pleased with the advantage that the situation had provided, I hardly worried about the nosebleed. The position was perfect...it was within what I describe as 'my freekick territory'. I took my position and looked at the goal, the 4-man wall and the keeper. The clock was ticking away...only two more minutes to go. It was now or never...

A strong wind started blowing across the goal. I waited for a moment and worked out how and where to hit the ball to make the most of the strong gust of wind. I started my run-up, swung my boot at it, and it bulged the net while the keeper stared helplessly. We had taken the lead.

The referee blew his whistle, they kicked off again. Half a minute to go. Their winger tore down the left flank at top speed and crossed the ball in. I climbed above their forward and headed it to safety. My teammate took possession. Our fullback took the ball and ran forward, looking for someone to play it to. I called for it and got it. I did a quick 360 past their central midfielder and accelerated into the yards of open space that lay beyond.

As I saw their huge centreback rush at me with a look of desperation in his eyes, I realized that for that instant, I didn’t care about losing possession…what my mind was fixed on was getting out of the way of the pair of solid legs flying at me with unimaginable recklessness. I jumped, but a little too late. Both his legs caught me full and square below my knee, the solid plastic studs digging into the soft flesh at the sides of my calf muscle. Just one moment of madness.

I collapsed...the pain was excruciating. Not even as much as a whisper emerged from my mouth, let alone a loud scream of pain and agony. As I lay there motionless, surrounded by my teammates, I mustered enough courage to have a look at my leg. At once I wished I hadn't. The same foot with which I had dealt a killer blow to the opposition moments ago, was now in shambles...completely destroyed...

The medical staff stretchered me off the field. My vision became hazy. I saw a red object shining in the referee’s hand. Their centreback was sent off, but the damage was done. The fourth official showed the added time. Play continued, but I had no idea of what was happening on the field. The blurred figures of players running around on the field slowly disappeared into darkness...

My velocipede

My bicycle, to put it in easier words. It's something that I'm addicted to, something that's beneficial for health, something that's quite inexpensive and something they wouldn't think of having rehab centres for. Poor thing's probably thinking when I would give up on it. I won't. Going out for a bicycle ride is something I really enjoy. Here's an account of one of my trips.

I started off around 6 PM, sometime in winter. Not quite the best time for cycling, especially when the route goes through some really crowded areas. I reached a park near my house. The lane going along it looked to be a good place to practice for one of those rough-terrain racing competitions. Then I reached one of the city's busiest, and equally, if not more, undisciplined intersections. It took me quite some time to get through the mayhem. My route took me to another equally chaotic intersection, but this one had traffic signals (and yes, they worked and surprisingly enough, were obeyed).

An autorickshaw driver created space out of nowhere by virtue of his 'driving skill' which was seen in the form of his vehicle's diagonal movement across the street. Quite used to these sights, I waited for the signal to turn green. I then proceeded towards the bus stop in the market area, where a bus was getting loaded. It occupied more than half the available space on the street. I squeezed through whatever was left of the remaining space and sped through the clear stretch till the railway underbridge. As I manoeuvred my way through the traffic, I was momentarily caught in the wrong position on the road, with a bus to my left, and this prompted patient honking from the car behind me. I made my way out and turned left. A few yards on, the vegetable market made its presence known to my nose. I rushed past, pedalling fiercely through the crowd. I reached an intersection where a flyover had been under construction since times immemorial. I turned right, and carefully negotiating the traffic at a Y-intersection, took the right-hand fork. I rode along the long, straight avenue, occasionally looking at the numerous hotels and commercial establishments that thronged either side of the street. After a relatively uneventful stretch, I was crossing a garden and that is where all the trouble began.

A cool gust of wind gave me a fresh feel as it hit my face, but it brought along a fair amount of chilly powder (and something else) from a nearby roadside stall. Only a few seconds passed by before high-velocity bursts started emerging from my nostrils at regular intervals. My eyes became watery and I could sense my skin becoming hot. I used up all the water in my water-bottle to wash my face. I called a cycle-rickshaw puller for help. Some onlookers had a few minutes of entertainment as they watched us experiment with various positions to load both me and my bicycle into the rickshaw. We finally did it, and as we set off, I closed my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them, I saw that we were approaching the lake. I soon got down and we unloaded my bicycle. I bought some water and washed my face once more before setting off again.

I soon realised that I would soon be approaching the familiar stench of the vegetable market, and that it would be hard on my nose. So, I pedalled into a network of lanes in the opposite direction, dodging my way through bovine barricades and emerged somewhere near the bus stand. A peach of a bottleneck. As the buses used their size to get their right of way, I waited for the congestion to clear and moved on.

As I crossed an abandoned railway track, I felt raindrops. Damn...this wasn't the time for it to start raining. I checked my watch... at least 15 minutes to get home from here. Thankfully, the rain hardly intensified and it stopped raining quite soon. Moments later, I saw a bus charge at a crowd that was going perpendicularly across the street through a divider break. It worked without causing any kind of damage. Ironical that this should take place at a spot only a two-minute walk away from a crematorium. Then I crossed another railway underbridge, made my way through a very familiar network of lanes and reached the traffic signal in front of my house. Just a few feet to go, but not before being yelled at by an autorickshaw driver for stopping at the red signal. Unbothered, I stayed there and equally unbothered, he rushed through the approaching traffic. Moments later, the signal turned green and I reached home intact after yet another outing.

As the smoke-billowing traffic continues to rise and the level of their source of power continues to fall with equal intensity, it may once more come down to human and animal power. It seems more of a question of 'when' rather than 'if' if you think of increasing domination of bicycles, bullock carts (and maybe even horses... I'd certainly love that). Sadly for my poor, battered bicycle, it isn't over as yet...