Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Bringing down the Gods!

How many times have you heard something like ‘Mata-Pita Bhagwan ka roop hote hain’, ‘Guru Bhagwan ka roop hote hain’, ‘Pati Parmeshwar’, ‘Bade-buzurg Bhagwan ka roop’, etc? Chances are, if you are an Indian, you can’t even begin to imagine the count. In fact, you are so used to these that you have never paused to think about them. Heck! You share posts on Facebook, twitter etc that go ‘God can’t be everywhere so he created Mothers’. Don’t get me wrong. I love my Mother more than I love anyone on this planet.

But it is amazing how many Gods we have created on this Earth. Convenient, right? For a society such as ours, where Individuality, loving yourself, thinking about your welfare is nothing short of a crime, this practice of Godifying (not sure if that’s a word) Authority figures is so convenient. You can defy a fellow human but how do you defy God? Aren’t you scared of rotting in hell?

Defy your parents? Sin (or Paap)! Defy your Guru? Sin! Keeping things short, dare to defy anyone older than you by a decade and connected to your family, no matter how distantly, and you will have earned yourself a jackpot of screwed up Karma.

And since the SOCIETY that you always hear about, that Satan lurking in the shadows, is almost entirely made up of these Gods (paradox intended) you find yourself committing a sin almost every second if you have not already given up all hopes of being your own person and living your own life. Sigh! Godification and Fear Mongering go hand in hand.

Now, the above may read as a bit of a rant against the Gods. Its not. It is a rant against the Godification of humans. Here’s a shocker- Your parents, teachers, elders, the wise old spiritual Guru are all humans like you, not Gods.

And really, no one is doing any one a favor by making a God out of them. Take a look at the Gods around you, the Parents, the Gurus, so scared of being wrong that they stick to age old traditions and norms in hopes that what was right then will be right now and will, therefore, spare them the embarrassment of being wrong. What if they let you marry that non-brahmin Boy? And what if that is a wrong decision? Oh Horror! Gods can’t be wrong. They have to be right always, and for one to be right the other has to be wrong and so you and all your horrid newfangled ideas end up being SO wrong. This God complex, therefore, also manifests in severe Control issues. The Gods, since they know the best, get to control the lives of foolish mortals. And oh! Just try wrestling the control of your lives away from the Gods in your society. All hell will break loose.

This pressure to be God makes our elders so rigid to change and to evolving that they end up distancing themselves from us instead of moving with the times and accepting that the young may occasionally be right and may be trusted to take charge of their lives.

After all, Gods with complete control and knowledge may be revered, often feared as well as loved but you won't laugh with them, you won't tell them a secret and you definitely won’t go bungee with them. They can’t be your friends. And I suspect, my parents may prefer being my friend than my God.

Its about time that we tear down those pedestals and bring down the Gods. Being human is so much more fun. Our Gods deserve it too.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

The Writer’s Block

Fan whirring, phone buzzing,
Water in the pan boiling away.
Pen chewed out beyond recognition,
yet inspiration keeps me at bay.

Racking my drugged brain for a spark,
my eyes wander around the den.
The cupboard, the table, the lamp and the book,
all seem to say, 'penny for your thoughts?'

Head in my hands,
pen still in my mouth,
I pray for Divine Intervention.
Writing used to be my release.
Did I lose touch with my emotions?
Is this a block?
I must find a way.
Or maybe just put the pen down?
Today is not my day.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Thomas, the cat and the hero!!

When you think of the most inspiring personality of all times, who pops up in your head? Mother Teresa? Or Martin Luther King? Subhash Chandra Bose or Vivekananda or may be Abraham Lincoln? Well, let me tell you who pops up in my head.

Its 'Thomas' the cat (yes, you got it right.. the Tom & Jerry 'Tom' :P) for his tireless efforts towards making a club sandwitch out of 'Jerry' the mouse. In the 170 odd episodes of 'Tom & Jerry', Tom made at least a million unsuccessful attempts at capturing Jerry. In the process,

he got run over by a lawn mower, got blown up into a giant balloon, got trampled by Jerry's elephantine friends, got fired by cannons and sometimes fried by them too and the best of the lot, got split into halves and often fourths and eighths and more but he did not give up. In spite of being outwitted by Jerry every-time, Tom would never cease coming up with brilliant new ideas for his mission ranging from the ordinary mouse-traps to hi-tech robots and rockets. (probably the funding came from the Dairy companies who wished to protect their cheese from Jerry :P).

For your 'never-back-down' spirit, for your focus, for your creativity and intelligence and for your effective implementation of even the most wackiest plans (tips for all aspiring managers here :P) I salute thee Thomas cat.

If Hanna-Barbera had created even one more Tom & Jerry episode I am sure you would have succeeded in bringing down the Goliath , I mean Jerry :P

Till the episode is created, rest easy (or chase other mice, your wish really) knowing that you continue to inspire millions worldwide.

=> Tribute from an ati-vella-infoscion :D
(originally written on 14th May, 2013)

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Behind closed doors

That's me in the mirror, I see myself.
I seem to have come a long-long way.
I hide no longer, I cry no longer.
I still dream, though the dreams have changed.

I smile at myself, like I smile at the rest of the world.
Then I walk away, I get on with the day.
I have plans, I am busy.
There's life, there's work, there's people I love.

The day passes by, as if in a dream.
I am never still, not for a single moment.
I cannot take that chance, cannot let them out of those doors.
They nudge me every second of every day,
I just about manage to keep them at bay.

And so ends another day.
I lie down congratulating myself, a victory at last.
As I lay down the guards, in that moment of stillness, the defences are breached.
Everything comes rushing back.
I lose the war, yet again.


Thursday, January 24, 2013


I have been thinking about writing this for quite some time, but now I must, else this beautiful memory would slip out of my mind like the sand that slips through your fingers.

I am sure all of us have felt completely lost at some point in our lives. You are at crossroads and you are stuck because you just can’t decide which path to take. You don’t trust your judgment at all and you don’t trust anyone else to make the right judgment for you either. It’s like searching for light in complete darkness. Either you find that light or you end up losing all hope. And then the biggest challenge is to make yourself hope again. You are so desperate for that bit of hope that the smallest thing could push you in the pit or rescue you from it.

And I was desperate. I know it would seem like the heights of exaggeration if I were to say that an Italian I met for an hour and 15 minutes on a flight rescued me from the pits but he came close.

On the 24th of November, 2012 I was to board the Air India flight from Mumbai to Bangalore at 3:30 pm. I hate window seats by the way, they make me dizzy, so when the guy at the check-in counter told me that he'd given me a window seat, I immediately requested for an aisle seat instead. Once the security check was done I was doing my usual roaming-in-the-bookstalls thing, going through every bundle of pages to find something readable. Shortly I realized that Air India had proven me right and was admirably LATE yet again. Much as I hated the thought of getting back to Bangalore, I hated being stuck at the Mumbai airport even more. The airport is always so much more cheery when you are going home rather than when you are going back.

Anyways, so my bookstall haunting came to an end around 5 pm when the boarding to the flight finally began. The flights back to Bangalore are usually sad and dreadfully boring but this time was especially bad and I just couldn’t take it. The thought of coming back was weighing me down so badly that just before I entered the flight I actually prayed to God “please don’t let this be a boring flight, please don’t give my head time to dwell, please….”

I boarded the flight and I was slipping into the familiar monotony when Air India shook me out of it with their carelessness. I realized that my seat was still a window seat. That made my already low spirits hit rock bottom but there wasn’t anything I could do about it except request my co-passenger for a seat exchange. So I sat and waited for the seats next to me to fill up. The aisle seat was taken by a rather senior and formidable looking guy. Looking at him, I felt that sleeping through the flight would probably be a better idea than asking him for exchanging seats with me. The middle seat was still vacant.

And then came Marco. He took the middle seat and extended a hand to me to say hi. I was a bit taken aback by the sudden gesture and also the unexpected friendliness. The flight took off.

I used to believe that finding an Indian who talks more than me is next to impossible but I realized that day that I had definitely found an Italian who could talk much more than I did. He had so much to say and so many experiences to share and the strange part was that he was so open to sharing them with a complete stranger.

15 minutes into the flight and I came to know that Marco and the formidable Indian (his name was Jagdish by the way) were friends and then I was introduced to a new breed of humans. This breed is called the CHEMISTS. Honestly, for me the world seems to be made up of business analysts and software developers. To meet someone who was not one of these was refreshing. So Jagdish imports tiles from Italy and provides it to customers after customizing them according to their needs. The tiles are customized using some chemical formulae. This is where Marco comes in. Interesting, right?

But we didn’t just talk about tiles. Marco was coming from Mumbai. So I asked him what he thought of the place and the people and then we got talking about Marathi food. I told him that I loved Marathi food and that poha was my favourite breakfast. He, on the other hand, didn’t like poha at all and he tried to explain the reason to me in his imperfect and beautiful Italian English. I didn’t get it at all. So he tried further and what he said next is something that makes me remember him everytime I eat poha. He asked me a question “What would you do if you are about to enter a room and find that it is jam packed with people and there is no breathing space?” I replied that if there was no compulsion I would not enter the room and walk away from outside. So he says “That’s exactly what I feel when I see poha. It has too much humanity”.  I am sure none of us have ever thought of poha like that.

We talked about food, we talked about how Indian wines are simply ethanol and we talked about my favourite topic as well.. Travel. He showed me his passport. I wish my passport would look like that 10 years from now. He’d been to Turkey, Peru, Brazil, Columbia, Russia, Czech Republic, Dubai and even to Pakistan. He told me that Istanbul has great architecture, Ecuador has terrible food, Russians drink too much vodka and Dubai is a lavish concrete jungle. He told me how Dubai was the only place where he successfully managed to convince his wife to go to. But when in Dubai she cried all the time about getting back to her country and her children. “What am I doing in a strange country without my children?” is how he mimicked her. Not much difference in Indian and Italian mothers then, don’t you think?

The two of us could have gone on talking for hours but for the first time I felt that the flight was too short.  Very soon we were landing on the Bangalore Airport. There was a third guy with Marco and Jagdish. He was sitting in another row and was much younger. His name was Pratap and Marco was simply dying to set me up with him. Imagine an Italian match-making for two Indians, I died laughing.

We stepped out of the airport and the first words out of my mouth were, “Damn!! I’m back” whereas Marco was so happy to be in Bangalore. He said “Why do you say that? It’s such a beautiful place..” and he went on again. He set me thinking. This guy is thousands of miles away from friends and family, from his beautiful Italian wine and he is still so happy and enthusiastic about everything.  And here I am, I am still in my own country, my best friends are with me, my family is just two hours of flight away, I have just had an amazing time.. and somehow I have managed to overlook all that. Why can’t I be like him?  Yes, I can. I just have to remind myself of all the good things that I have been blessed with. What I lost was probably not mine anyways.

For the first time in a long time I felt a little positivity inside of me, like finding a tiny light in complete darkness.

Marco was to stay in Bangalore another three days. I knew I wouldn’t see him again. But I was so glad to have met him.

He wasn’t refreshing or interesting because he was a chemist or because he loved food and travel or because he was a great conversationalist. He inspired me coz he came across as a guy who was so completely in love with everything life has to offer. He loved his job. He loved the people he was working with. He loved travelling. He loved food, except for poha and being an Italian, he absolutely loved wine. He adored his wife even though he was constantly complaining about how she hated travelling.

May be he was one of those lucky few who got what they loved or maybe he was capable of loving all that he got. Whatever it was, that love made him happy and his happiness was infectious. I don’t know his last name and I have no way of contacting him but if, by some seriously crazy coincidence, I were to meet him again I would definitely thank him for this memory.

Note: Originally written on 14th December, 2012.

Our true colours

Ever noticed if the person next to you is blue or green or may be red? No.. I am not talking about the colours of their clothes. For some unfathomable reason I have begun to associate people with their colours. Thats how I see them. Wierd!! I know!!

Like a rich earthy brown is warm and comfortable. It makes you feel safe and secure, like you are home. Its a source of strength like the earth it represents. My mother, therefore, is a brown (even if she doesnt like it much). My mother and one other person.

And my best friend, well.. she is a yellow and she doesnt like it either. But still, she is a bright, sunny yellow. She dispels the darkness around her just like the sun's rays. She walks in and the world lights up.

Who is a red? Well, you are red..Boss!! A red is charismatic, inspiring, determined and a leader and, therefore, not part of the crowd. Its so you.

And I know someone who is a purple too. She is funny, sometimes insane, strong, understanding and unknown, a bit of a mystery. Yes, she is a purple.

Who is a light blue? Well, he is infinite, vast and right in front of you like the sky and still you would never understand what it exactly is?

Then there are the dark greens. Reliable, dependable, real people. They are good friends, much like the browns, since they represnt nature.

Oh.. then we have the oranges and the fluorescents. The oranges are lively but stubborn. And the fluoroscents are those whose mere presence disrupts the harmony of your mind.

Did I forget the whites? I associate white with wisdom and peace. So, white for me is the colour of a mentor, a guide. His mere presence calms you and gives you hope.

I am yet to meet a black though. A black is someone who has built walls around themselves that cannot be broken, making it impossible to understand them. You mistrust them based on some inner instinct, not any good reason. But I am sure most of us know the greys. They are attractive, enchanting, rebellious free-thinkers with absolutely no concern for the conventions of the society. Of course, the majority out there are pretend greys, but it doesn't take long before they show their true colours (pun intended :P).

The range of human nature is infinite. The types and varieties you come across is endless, and so are the colours.

Funny thing is.. I am yet to figure out mine.

Note: Originally written on 30th November, 2012.

The Surfer

I see it coming,
bigger than any I have seen before.
Can I do this?
Will it engulf me?
I should walk away.
There will be more after all.

And then I feel it,
their eyes- watching and waiting.
Waiting for me to fail,
waiting so they can gloat,
waiting to say 'knew she didn't have it in her'.

There is no going back.
Those eyes would haunt me forever.
There's only one way- the way into the sea.

The waves are my friends,
ready to take me to new heights.
I just have to rise up to them.

And I can.

Note: Originally written on 27th November, 2012