Maqbool pe fida

And yet another obituary in the newspaper columns...
Except, this one flowed out of the boxes earmarked by
Prim and proper, politically-correct editors and
Oozed even to the front pages and editorials
Of so-called leading dailies and found guilt-ridden glory on
Breaking-news channels, and was discussed in prime-time talks...
M F Hussain died in London. He didn't want to, they say!
He became a Qatari - they say he bled when he did that.
Like all great men, he created ripples that grew into waves
So high that they engulfed the creator
And like Hemingway's old man he said,
"You can destroy me, but you can't defeat me."

It doesn't matter who was right, it doesn't matter now.
He may have been to some, this wily, scheming Mussalman
with scant respect for the goddesses of yore...
(And they didn't complain when possibly mleccha sculptors
Carved the nude curves on ageless stone and bronze temple images)
But, for me, the greatness to transcend the ordinary in artistic ways
To bring the land's work to the world's attention is
Worthy of fulsome praise, even if so often we cut open his life and work
And say "he could have" and "he should have"...

We know that
What Satyajit Ray did through his films
Maqbool Fida did in his paintings...
And like the former got the Bharat Ratna on death
We wait for government files to now move for him...
Hope he gets on death what we couldn't afford alive...

He has CONDEMNED us to the fate of the knowledge
That we won't (not cannot) change!

Militant atheism?

Who am I, to disturb the delicate balance of your universe?
Who am I, to say that I have lived it all and take high moral ground?
I have stood for multiple voices in empty stifling silences
and against bigotry for its holier-than-thou stance,
in politics, in religion, in spaces that seep into the mind...
How can I, with thorough conviction say,
that the grass is greener on this side?
I shall desist from my hegemony and not
become an Animal Farmian animal.
I apologize, I AM truly sorry...

Un-Spiderman!

I have grown up to believe that what distinguishes humans from other animals apart from the magical tool called language is a higher form of memory called nostalgia. This is not like the dog that salivates on remembering food or the predator recalling an effective way to trap prey. Nostalgia in the dictionary has to have an element of sadness at the fact that one is distant in time and place, but what the dictionary does not capture is the fact that this distance also endears one to people and events one wanted to forget in the past. Nostalgia has this divine effect that lets one forget cruelties and forgive trespasses. It lets one come to terms with one's past by providing a perspective that no one or nothing else can give. It lets one step back to a distant time and place and have a bird's-eye view, instead of the more common worm's-eye view. On one hand it lets one hold on to the innocent time when "the world hardly existed beyond the garden-gate" (Robert Lynd in "The Hum of Insects") and on the other it lets one realise that the mountains one made out of molehills were merely a result of emotional myopia!

I revel in nostalgia, whenever I can, and I unburden myself of the cobwebs in my system! Thanks to the people I met on my way...

'Flesh-traders'

How does she feel when he warms her
and inserts his flesh into her stoic welcome,
and under the garb of love intense,
robs her of her shame,
and drops into her a proud army of white soldiers -
marks of repression - all, in eleven minutes, and then,
gets up and leaves with no memory or guilt,
and wipes away the wetness - every sign of
his need - and holds his head high
as if it were an unseen dream? How poverty
often succumbs to hypocrites...

Caste

What did she feel when the bare-chested man
with legs apart on the arms of the chair
leaned back and gazed, at her bareness -
forced as a mark of her lowness,
piled on to her defiled existence?
Did she think why she couldn't be
in the chair herself, and why not the very man
with folded arms bow to her and cringe,
with the humiliation of appearing naked to her,
bereft of modesty, avoiding her lusty gaze, more painful
than the worst rape? How they rob you
of the language of dreams...

Phoren Indians

Recent months have witnessed a spate of attacks on Indians in Australia and this has led to various declarations (from people dealing with ideas) that Indians are generally filthy in their behaviour and presentation when they are outside the country. Indians are also infamous for their rude behaviour and the absolute lack of politeness. I condemn violence of all kinds in the strongest terms and violence based on prejudice is its worst form and is deplorable, but we need to think about life outside India (especially and life itself generally). Both of these problems stem from the premise that 'we' are superior and the 'other' is inferior.

Having lived for four years now outside India and having witnessed both types of Indians - those who are very particular about personal and global hygiene and those who care a damn - I understand that there is a problem we need to address. The tendency to 'emit' filth around our homes and the lack of importance we pay to personal hygiene are almost universal traits in us.

Another common problem with us is our unending appetite for rudeness. We don't need to be servile to anybody belonging to any culture, but can't we cultivate the practice of politeness while dealing with people? Why do we think like we think at home in India that the ruder we are, the easier the chances of getting work done our way?

One of my most respected lecturers at college used to tell us that the better patriot is the one who points out our flaws and shows us the way forward, not the one who shoves flaws under the carpet and becomes jingoistic. I agree with opinion makers who say that we need to make an effort to keep our outsides as clean as we tend to keep our insides (puja room, kitchen...) clean. Let me also add for good measure the suggestion that we imbibe politeness as a habit and try and wipe away rudeness from our interactions with people.

Well, hmm, I need a lesson or two to learn there!

Deepesh C

THE LEGEND THAT WAS MJ!
MJ is no more and this critical, scrutinizing world will never be the same any more!
Despite the headlines he made for wrong reasons, we all love Michael Jackson for many of his immortal songs, his dance skills and his genuine attempt to make the world "a better place for you and for me and the entire human race".
But going beyond his flaws and fame, we need to introspect about the way we look at celebrities and their lives. Are celebrities undeserving of privacy? Are they pawns at the hand of the prying public? Do we have the right to investigate into people's lives recklessly without heed to their personal choices, their sensitivities and preferences? Can we sit on judgement as if we are walking epitomes of moral perfection?
Questions abound and I suspect I will never find their answers. And the madness of the paparazzi shall rule roost.
Alas, the helpless multitudes feed on the hunted preys of the media-eagles!
May MJ throb in our hearts through the memorable songs he created for us!