Valentines fiasco

I call it a fiasco cause the chaos stirred by this occasion brings memories from my past. Perhaps its a mere coincidence but my experiences have not been very pleasant as I managed to pick up arguments with many of my girlfriends invariably on the 14th of Feb.

I found it hard to digest the fact that on certain years I was treated to a very satisfying experience too but somehow its always been about the treatment meted out to the opposite sex. Its like the one day when we tell the opposite sex that they are in fact the better sex and the indulgence and insistence seems to be a mutual one. It surprised me a great deal when my mother told me its significance and relevance abroad which she herself realised cause my uncle then pursuing his MS in US of A, sent a valentines card for his beloved and then alive father. An amazing relationship my grandfather shared with his children who are all crazed writers to some extent. They all write letters, exchange letters, buy cards and the works for any occasion where one can express love and belongingness. Having witnessed first hand such love and affection for each other I could never relate to the pomp and fervour associated with some foolish men trying to impress on some vanity fair.

In fact the comedy actually came to the forefront when I entered my teens and a whole range of bullshit Hindi romantic movies hit the theatres. Here we were living in a country which just released star movies and the rest of the cable channels, and we were yet absorbed by this form of entertainment called watching Hindi movies which had one major subject called couples romance around which the story line revolves. Guys forget not the fact that we are the only generation which has viewed star uncensored. Those were the good old days. One fine day as I entered school I was welcomed by a frenzied checking which by todays aviation standards will also stand taller still. As my curious eyes gazed over the concerned principal and teachers I found out these guys were actually paranoid about gifts and cards confiscated from the teen school kids. Suddenly what seemed like a cultural offence to some on investigation was noted that the reasons were far more economic than otherwise.

I grew up in a city which quite shamelessly on your face makes you realise when you are a kid that the world is clearly about the haves and have not's. It is this magnanimous city of Bombay that has space for everyone that once infamously put up hoardings of a theme park screaming “Your daddy takes you to the zoo whereas my daddy takes me to the essel world” It will obviously be natural for some of our parents to have taken offence on being referred to as the cattle class. perhaps what passed me as mere amusement and a comedy of errors when as a direct result of the on screen romance spilled over to the streets of bombay, it slowly dawned over everyone that Archie's retail was reaping massive benefits over fuming parents who could not afford for their sons to spend on a decent cup of coffee and sandwich for their chosen special friend from the opposite sex. It came to be seen as a Gujarati fancy to be related anywhere close to such an indulgence. Of course I regard them as the original proponents of lets try anything and everything. This is quite clearly a community which considers anything remotely western to be tried of course. We brothers have the cool is some slogan that even the elders in their family practice. Guajarati's are perhaps the only breed who recognized the need for young kids to have an occasion for themselves and consider it as something rather harmless.

In stark contrast other conservatives seeing their reaction decided upon themselves that if the Guajarati's are not stopping their kids then we conclude there is definitely something wrong in this whole thing called valentines. First of all that Archie's fellow is a Guajarati. The fellows buying cards are Gujarati, people going to dance, men and women alike, till the wee hours, during the dandia season are again Guajarati's. These are money making machines who off course spoil their children was a typical response that kind of triggered the infamous campaign against Valentines day in the name of Hinduism. The whole idea of imagining the next level for our kids to stoop down was a bit silly according to me cause already quite a bit was going on as usual life behind their backs to which parents had absolutely no idea to. Only to what today can pass as normal those were quite clearly days of coping with change. A change that perhaps was to happen with a few slaps witnessed by many of my compatriots for holding hands or for being seen on a date. For a country which is as conservative as ours which enforces segregation of sexes as a common practice in all schools we suddenly went on to having an occasion to go to the beach party.

Too much alcohol too fast and the car goes zoommmm! well I never got enough of the self obsessed loser's who invariably boasted of a so called romantic experience while in the company of the woman who's main agenda was to make him spend by the way. Common gosh these were just boys talking about their bouts of tryst with their manly hood. It required a couple or more women to make someone worthy of recognition. What a man…. what a talent was the thing to be known for. He goes on a date….. wow!

As compared to all such camaraderie that man making conversation involves I certainly respect my own community more than others. I believe Bongs are one creed who will retain all yet absorb the fun around. I do have eyes for many of my female friends as they too shower their attention on me and I certainly wish to give them my observations on why we can have more valentines more often.

Always believed enough is never enough! long live the fiasco!

Don't know if it’s respect or fear?

I don't need no education! I don't need no thought control!

Well these words are true as uttered and understood aren't they. Like that, the most valuable lessons in life are self taught and not preached by others. Just as the moment of truth requires some time to sink in, its also invariably the case with our ability to overcome.

It is usually seen that once, we experience triumph, the endurance of its process overwhelms us and so does the fear of adversity when we begin enduring it. Its a very Zen philosophical sort of style to convert fear into respect and I actually see it a lot in the Japanese way. As a culture they are known to be obnoxiously up nose in self comparison with others. But their demeanour is quite the opposite. Closely observing them one realises that they wish to fall in love with you. But that is in fact like their version of the Stockholm syndrome. Its their version of sleeping with the enemy. Drawing examples from the Mahabharat it will basically mean repeating that episode where Krishna advises Arjuna to nurture fear in his heart cause fear is in fact good. It helps you to assess your enemy and you end up respecting yourself. The bottom line being respect to others is respect to your own character. It makes lot of sense as its just speaking of general calmness and civility in the face of a not so welcome anticipation of our immediate future. Also phrased as consequences of our actions. (In this case concentrating on negative action, so as to grip our conscience, otherwise there is no need for conscience.. really!)

For example lets look at men. There are different kinds of men but they all give that look because they have to look. Its in their character when they see a good looking lass… its like a natural instinctive reaction screaming selection of the perfect for breeding the next supposedly near perfect outcome. I meant the child and not the orgasm silly, whatever! but looking at these encounters of the close kinds also, we see men who follow the Zen philosophy and carry on doing what they have to do but they don't feel the need to wear their instinct up on their sleeve. These guys are actually comfortable in their skin and thereby giving respect knowing the immediate reaction. Why should the reaction have to be negative is what you must be thinking… no I did not mean that but its an acknowledgement of the carnal to call it the least. What it means is what it means but in this instance no one had to make an all out effort to express.

Well at times I see a temperament in people who quite clearly divide their conversations in zones. There is peace time and there is war time. In a war time situation, some of them perhaps feel the need to go out on an all out war of words. Quite interestingly it happens in the corporate world very often. Here the only way to diffuse a confrontation is to comply even if you don't want to, but keep looking the other way or just deny your compliance and see it as an act of god. But when individuals who on non compliance to their wishes resort to arguments I have seldom seen people stick to their ground. This is perhaps because individuals at the receiving end are in fact scared to loose their own cool. But not only in recent times but as always, in any argument where I am sure of carrying a certain conviction, it has certainly not been easy for my adversaries.

The beauty of all such encounters is that if someone at the other end continues with their calm insistence it does tick off some crazy response. The toughest of samurai killers did practice the crudest of activities in their calm. In todays world where we choose to give up the way of the muscle to a higher cause we must also realise that not raising ones voice also delivers effective results in the most cornered of situations.

Earlier speaking about temptations of the otherwise getting the better of us, whenever I see the movie Gandhi it keeps reiterating when Baa says that he had in fact failed to give up celibacy thrice, in his own quest of some kind. So even the most powerful fail but its in fact our resilience which is culpable of swinging both ways and it decides if our character ultimately is embraced as popular or fallen from grace.

My resilience certainly swings both ways, yet I choose to acknowledge, to do the least! And yes I too have fallen from grace many a times and I learn from my fears, while I respect from my conviction.

Har eak pain zaroori hota hai

Even though I haven't believed much in star signs and zodiac, reading has pretty much given an indulgence into the characteristics of each zodiac. Mine being Cancer I quite liked the qualities of being a home lover and someone who dislikes change. It is exactly these two qualities which have been attributed as my most definitive personality traits, as observations made by all those who know me. Entertaining my family has been a personal endeavour and an agenda which has got me occupied for the better part of my life. By family I would also wish to include my friends and colleagues who have all felt the compulsive nature of entertaining indulgence that I have. Even as life cannot be seen as a clear case of black and white or right or wrong, I would still strive to add as much of good memories for everyone as possible. It is as if this compulsive indulgence has been so important and inspiring for handling relationships that I speak of it now with such deep reverence.

Some people though close to my sustenance and wellbeing have found time and again a change in attitude from within me, when I shift gears to seclusion doing a selective self removal from all social occurring's available for savouring. Reasons best know to me and sometimes leaving people curious or eager to know more but nevertheless are left high and dry. Through all the difficulties and the wondrous maze of confusing decision making what I make of it is almost like braving the sigh seas living delicately to the moment than to be thinking about the past or to be dreaming about the future. But like all rough sea thinking it also crosses my mind that tomorrow in case I survive I will have a laugh about it. The laugh in the future is so important that I am willing to forgo the past and save the best of conclusions for a good laugh in the future. When it comes to our bad situations nothing will ever be close to the happiness experienced while recounting the past in a time where we are more willing to accept, feel less embarrassed and not pissed off or something.

Whenever thinking about any baggage from the past I firmly believe that we all succumb to human error of judgement at times, but it is in fact our being confident of our judgements on others that hurts us the most. It is common fare and a practice that I have developed over a period of time due to which I tend to award profane adjectives to people and get over with their shortcomings. Assuming its not too different with all of us surviving the great saga of follies contributed by all of us again, I take this leap of faith- that this process is for certain a win win for my emotional recourse. Well this assumption is broken as soon as it almost seems fool proof. It is only till such time till we realize that such a practice is actually unbearable for us to do so on a certain section of people whom we love. For instance my comfort zone in calling people names and getting on with my life stands broken now as I fail to reconcile with the fact that I could ever think so coldly about this certain person. There is always the first time and hoping it is also the last, it is this very practice that seems to have incited unbearable pain from within. Holding myself and my voice by the collar I take a hard look and fist closed for a punch to the stomach thinking how on earth can I ever fathom such a thought. Life gives us issues whereby we are unable to live with ourselves angry at something or someone. It has happened to everyone with someone but the most interesting observation I can make is for the parental audience hovering over our lives.

At times I felt it as if it were the holy ghost in human form and what will I ever do without them. At times parental scrutiny and unsurpassable presence also felt like strangulation, remember the Eddy Murphy stand up line when he goes mad with his mother, requesting god to strike her down with the narrative delivered/ recited in capital letters. But somehow I always go numb thinking how easy it is for us to call people names. The same human character is in question when this peculiar audience of parents experience similar anger for their kin, and for certain they feel extremely unhappy to think like that in the first place. Bad reactionary side effects could at times for unlucky families result in questions of parental upbringing and expectations mores ever for parents themselves than their children.

Without experiencing such pain and emotional upheaval it would have almost certainly left me incapacitated in understanding the inner violence that most parents go through and deal with. It is thus concluded that “har eak pain Zaroori hota hai”, taa na na na naaa na na na na na naaa tana na na na na na na naaa naa!! and pain as always followed by hope always instils a certain idealism of desire that I wish for my family. Still as the ever lasting drive on this highway of humanity continues I sometimes remember that dialogue going like “all happy families resemble each other but the unhappy ones are unhappy in their own way” So it goes and I am hopeful that when I steer clear of a majority of racers in this sea of humanity and so long as I enjoy the drive rather than race in it my will for happiness shall prevail.

cultural hygiene

 

As the advert on tv goes with the old grand ma telling a foreign couple- “In India yeating with handd and washing also with handd”. Did I hear it right- eating and washing both with the hand… actually she meant washing clothes with a soap bar, with knees bent and washing while uncomfortably squatting on the floor and water all over you. So much so as to give your feet wrinkles and cracks when the ordeal is over, but still people would prefer the same nevertheless. Never mind the washing machine generation, my mom.. I think is still washing clothes sensitive to the machine all by herself. umm!

Coming back to that advert, it is a temple setting where the food is served on banana leaf spread on the floor. Let us walk through the sequence once again- Banana leaf (obviously not treated with a washing soap), a temple floor (where mother earth keeps her favourite germs) and lastly our bare hands to scoop the food and send it forward into our hungry mouth. Sweat dripping while you persist with the exercise and possibly the wind blowing in some dust. Also we are to ignore the process through which the final product has arrived as all mass cooking can only guarantee a breach of hygiene to a certain extent. In stark contrast to the high levels of tolerance all Indians have developed to such common fare, one must also observe the other side of this culture.

My mom insists and before her, her mom too insists and before my grand mother, generations of grandmothers have insisted that we not cook our meals without taking a bath. Close your eyes and imagine holy mother Ganges pouring on your sins. I have known obnoxious washing freaks who at a regular intervals take great pleasure in keeping their hand under flowing water to feel a sense of cleanliness at least if not actually achieving it in reality. Some of my family would be shocked to listen to some of the despicable horrors that take place in my friends house as they would I am sure shall choose to describe such a phenomenon- A half naked boy first prepared beef in the house to feed the dog first and then himself served a generous helping of rice on his plate and sat on the bed where he sleeps of all the places to rid his hunger while watching tv.

Saliva of the dog drips on the floor and the familiar smell of the dog surrounds the house which the owner naturally doesn't get hassled by choice. I have seen people being very particular about their kitchen so much as to making the kitchen spick and span was not enough but to give you a love making scene like temptation. Yeahhhh why not make out in the kitchen man. Sex on the kitchen floor can be quite romantic. Being a chaste Hindu myself I have been witness to several banters that people in these parts follow and make others follow too like a carefully orchestrated drill. But after coming to the south of this country I realised a different style which raises no eyebrows at all, that my breed would be extremely critical of. I was witness to a phenomenon of fisting your morsel of rice and not feasting. One has to hold the morsel in the fist and try to squash and attempt to aim it into your mouth. It actually requires talent for achieving such an aim. In stark contrast I was advised to keep my morsel of rice restricted to my fingers instead. So much for a united country.

But we certainly take pride in the oneness of our criticism of other cultures. We can also choose to look at it as our superiority complex. All Indians have a subtle superiority complex which they don't express but deep down we all know that their ways don't stand a chance in comparison to ours. We eat with our hands you know. We are sala connected to the earth and the physical sensation of feeding naturally gives us a high. Eating with spoon… naahh that's artificial. You have sex with your thing rite and not with a spoon then eat with hand sala why use the spoon.

Not trying to be graphic but these are the arguments I have heard when people defend their Indian-ness. I am just happy that they feel like putting up a fight. Never go down without a fight. Even more the reason why I feel about this eating habits subject is because of a recent experience. Having ordered pizzas worth three thousand freaking rupees which is a lot of pizzas I had literally filled the floor with students and young people walking all around with pizzas in their hand.

Double bus pizza the dominos dame told me and I took it to realize later that it actually has a thick coating of cheese inside and as you bite off the chunks of pizza that you hold the bloody thing drips mann. People kept on eating and the cheese kept on dripping. No inhibition at all and all these years what my mom taught me about  eating habits went for a six. There was vigorous biting and chewing and dripping with facial expressions I had never seen before while people ate. I mean the guys bowling rice morsels in sarvana bhavan in salem were decent people.. now as I imagined the floor turning into a 10000 BC set where the wild hordes have brought down a woolly mammoth and are feasting on the flesh. What am I seeing now… one tribal actually took a vessel kind of a equipment and drank blood to his satisfaction! wowww what is happening here and snappp I am out of it. The fellow just grabbed his coke and drank with an un believable expression.

Never to think of situations critically when you don't quite agree to it. I have a sense of humour possibly that makes it comical rather. The pizza incident ultimately gave me a laugh as I told these fellows not to imitate jughead. I can only imagine eating like that in a very western sense of looking at the situation and imitating jughead. No matter what culture, I am quite content with my ways. Shall probably evolve in embracing some new habits that would surprise my close ones you are never too sure know you as well as yourself. One never knows with future prosperity what's in store. Like my fathers factory owner did, I might too someday take all the fruits and newspapers from the star hotels where I may stay in. Never know??

Religions calling

 

Had a profound experience some time back as I wandered in my thoughts in Goa while my friends newly born son underwent his baptism in the company of all family friends and relatives.

I was actually dumbfound to see the baby so much in peace at the church where the ceremony was being conducted in all its glory. Otherwise don't we know how newly born kids are to react and in stark contrast this guy seemed to enjoy every bit of it including when his noisy family raised a toast in the afternoon for lunch.

Sumptuous it was and we were already pickled in beer as my best mate describes the phenomenon. I was incidentally on of the last ones to crawl towards the tasty lunch after being drowned in all the unique sounds of laughter only men are capable of making. I mean I have never heard women laugh like that and no one can think of imitating a wild wolf pack as ours. Slowly though as fast as the house was filled with guests the desertion took place to complete the party's full cycle. I was by then walking towards the next door Panjim church to catch up with the Christian wedding that was being held.

I had just attended a program a few days back on Rabindranath Tagore's anniversary celebration showcasing his works and inspiration from the Scottish country music and from composers like Burns and so on and so forth. The church was beaming hymns which I suppose was in the Portuguese language, but more than a language it was a beautiful resonance from inside of the church which pulled me towards it. I possibly had the same experience which Tagore had too when he was a kid. I went straight ahead in front of the main entrance of the church as the chorus hymns grew more enchanting to my ears. I closed my eyes and even though wanted to badly do a sashtang pranam, I did its playback in my head rather than physically enacting it. I experienced wet eyes. I don't know why but in silence if we utter a prayer for whatever may be the cause the whole attention seems solely on the party being petitioned to and this case it is god.

In stark contrast my temple experience is that of chaos. The idea itself is chaos. One has to prepare oneself for the moment of truth and it does not naturally come to you. You hustle and wrestle with fellow wretched beings. We realise as we inch closer to the experience that we are indeed wretched and the hands that have carved the structure to house the divine energy must be getting a ticket to heaven whereas we are merely coming here to drop a petition and possibly bribe in cash too. But when I get my deity in my sight somehow like how they show in the movies if one has witnessed and heard, all sound from the background vanishes or is muted. I think every Hindu devotee who has been trained to concentrate with an idol in presence has experienced this. It is a profound experience where you don't just focus on god but actually experience only you and divinity alone. The chaos around you actually helps you to get out all your thoughts on the prayer or the petition whichever way you want to look at it, beforehand. It is an experience whereby you feel the divine presence so fucking overwhelming that you are silenced and humbled with hands folded and eyes shutting automatically not to utter a thought also for some seconds.

When you come out of the trance you feel the sense organs coming back to normal, silence fading and noises increasing and like as though someone has gently brushed the top of your head like affection to a kid.

Is there any religious experience which people claim as beautiful indeed, and when I actually use that adjectives I am myself amazed that my senses are capable of such a divine intoxication.

Not bad…. sometimes I impress myself too.

Sadness is popular here

 

I remember one of my cousins visiting us in Bombay and showing us his newly acquired taste buds, particularly his love for the then popular English pop bands.

I was about 13 then was not used to anything other than cricket and Hindi movies. It was a good experience listening to all the Phil Collins and George Michael that my mom and cousin fed me with. In addition to all such music I have also grown up on a healthy diet of Rabindra Sangeet. A characteristic heart breaking tune followed by some haunting way of doing the vocals- that was Rabindra Sangeet for me as I did not understand one word of what those howlers meant. It was somewhat like the French Opera for me and went like OOaaaaahhhhh eeeeeeeaaaaaooo. God knows what it means and how it had this ability to make listeners sway gently with wet eyes.

Any ways coming back to my cousin- he had a particular liking for Sad Songs sung by Kishore. Listening to those from morning to day certainly drove me out of the house. As if the existing sadness of financial difficulties in my spaceless Bombay flat wasn't less and here I am being fed with sad songs of kishore. I went with mom to buy a new album released by Pet Shop Boys and to generally check out the best in English Music scene. The only shop that time was a small 30 sqft shop inside a shopping centre outside Borivili railway station. After me and mom reached the shop I bumped into a crowd frenzy going through all the cassette volumes from old hindi movie singers and boy o boy it was selling like hot cakes. I asked the gujarati shop owner which is the best selling Item and he poured heaps over us all cassette volumes of all the sad songs of mukesh, sad songs of kishore and sad songs of rafi.

The frantic music lovers scrambled all the volumes of these cassettes and even enquired about some sad songs which were not featured. I wondered while watching their sadness enticed stupor, how can these people remember so many sad numbers belted out by the singers. Songs on moments that are commentary on sad emotions, socio economics, broken hearts, friendship, life being a bitch and so on and so forth. Movies and literature in this country flourish on sadness. Sadness is a hit here and I am trying very hard not to remain sad in life. Like in the movie Transporter the French inspector says that all Russians are lovers of sad literature quoting Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Gogol and more. Similarly I realise the Indian literary scene is induced by sadness. Scores of Bengali novels read out to me have a terrible tragedy to narrate.

Pather Panchali- A movie trilogy inspired from the works of Vibhuti Bhushan Bandopadhya, speaks of a family effected by famine and hunger. Sharat Chandra Chattopadhya made a drunk character famous by killing this character in the end. Similarly there are scores of literary works available in this land that speak of terrible sadness. I wonder where this sort of appreciation of sadness comes from. Some of my favourite sad songs include only hindi numbers. My favourites include kishores koi hota jisko apna hum apna kehe lete yaroo, then the famous amar prem song- kuch to log kahenge, logo ka kaam hai kehena. The song though a commentary on the sad nature invariably brings a smile on my face. The song twists and turns as you go through the painting of the lyrics. It goes- Tu kaun hai tera naam hai kya, Sita bhi yahaan Badnaam hui meaning who are you bye the way to ponder so much on society, as such this wretched society had not spared none other than mother SITA.

The movie Anand and all of its songs remain my favourite despite churning up emotions of sadness and hope every time I watch it. Appreciate all the works which give me goose bumps and make the Indianans inside me more profound as thanks to all their works I am at least able to identify with the Indian flavour of sadness. Essentially all such works are in either Hindi or Bengali but none in English.

So much so for all of us embracing the English, I thing all of us must not loose touch with our mainstream. One thing for sure, crying thoughts are always in Bangla for me.

Characters in class

 

Browsing through my friends list I realise that most of my male friends are last benchers in class or either the notorious noted ones. I remember my schooldays and generally fail to hide the smile of acknowledgement while running through the chapters.

I had a Gujarati friend who used to join me on my way to school and my duty was to get him downstairs on time to catch the Bombay BEST bus to school. School however was a good 15 minutes walk from the closest bus stop. My friend invariably used to start doing his collar and tie when he used to see the bus pass by and bus after bus I watched him do that slowly till we reached late every single day. Fellow used to make me wait in his house till he got his Brahmin precision puja right, doing his bell and hymns ritual to go on to the daily missing the bus routine. Though irritating for my punctual British inspired Bengali instincts, I thoroughly enjoyed my morning conversations with him which were more or less concentrated on to the sex scandals that we were aware off. It was quite a scene for anyone to imagine that we both used to be the only boys walking up to school on the usual path whereas most other kids used to invariably take the deviation to the temple during our exams. We were extremely amused to see ourselves on the road less travelled during the exams and the crowd did recognize us as the twosome who not care for god.

One other character who accompanied me to Marathi tuitions was a well known goon who had origins from Rajasthan and had a reputation to fail in class after class and I finally came to his class. To my delight he turned out be quite protective of me and I had the privileged of flaunting him as my Bodyguard. We both used to sit on the floor of the flat where the stern teacher used to tutor us hopeless souls and we used to patiently wait till the girl comes to give tea and due to the force of the fan her frock used to fly like a Marlyn Munroo scene from posters. Day after day we chuckled and quietly watched by. I started cycling to school by then and one day on my way back I was caught unawares when I saw a mob approaching towards me. As I saw the frenzy come closer and closer fear gripped me and all of a sudden the entire crowd took a turn to the temple next to me. My friend laughed till I frowned as I seemed to be the only one not aware of the miracle that lord Ganesha was drinking milk. I discussed with my friend what if we go in and feed a little whiskey… um um just for the kicks but we dropped the idea.

The guy who sat next to me in class was really a class act as day after day he came closer to being banished out of school and then his house. He ecstatically showed me his tooth of gold and said- no problemo mann…… in case I am shunned also I can buy time for I am going to sell my golden tooth. The maverick that he was I too joined him once in a while to give him company outside of class. He will scare me out of my wits as he would start doing mimicry of a Dev Anand dance and I would watch him in amazement till such time that the teacher could take it no more.     

I wonder how those boys would fare in today's world that I am used too. That was a very different world and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Come rain, come shine my smile was constant with the mischief that my classmates made me witness to.

My bygone classmates!