Of Love and the Valentine

And I missed out on being with my loved ones again. I owe it to the not so sunny side of my job. I’m always on the move. Many such ‘days’ have come and gone. I’ve missed my date with my beloved on many occasions. I feel I’m beginning to get to the point when I must admit it is taking its toll on me. To be in the middle of it isn’t as sexy as it perhaps looks from the outer peripherals. My career discussion, however, is a conversation for another day. Today is the day to fall in love again with everyone you’re in love with. It is the Valentine’s Day!

As I was grappling with rather urbanized philosophies of ‘this day’ and ‘that day’ in my teens, my father would tell me all these were creations of the open market economy. I grew up gradually into that market and ended up becoming a resident consumer. That’s what I’m today. I’ve subscribed to ideas and concepts that once seemed funny to me. The very idea that you needed an officially declared day to celebrate the spirit of love never quite got into me. That was the rebellious me, I assume. With passage of time, I’ve succumbed to various populist ways of celebration of life. Whenever a day like this approaches, I get busy with ideas to do ‘something’; something crazy, creative or even funny. The purpose is noble: to make your loved ones happy. They’re the world for me. It’s true, these days are all about buying and selling. They sell, and we buy. They sell because that’s money for them. We buy because everyone else buys. It’s big business for them, and great fun for us.

If you’re a lover, you are a lover. Just because the Valentine’s Day comes only once a year doesn’t make you any less a lover on remaining days of the calendar. On the contrary, I’d say you’re a better and a bigger lover on all these ‘other’ days because you tend to be more spontaneous. You aren’t bound by the conventions of an official day when you must do something to ‘prove’ you love someone. Lovers are self-taught. If you have a heart big enough to accommodate another, you’d feel both of them beating together all seasons of the year. You wouldn’t need the world to remind you to bring in the xing. If you love someone who loves you as much, they won’t bother to know what it is you’re giving them. It could be a fragrant rose or a woolen cap or a diamond ring; to them it would be equally priceless.

What I do not like about this day is the commercial stereotyping it has become a victim of. I’ve noticed that the day is increasingly turning into one to think or talk about gifts given or received. What is even more dangerous is the evolving formula in our society where the intensity of your love is measured in a sense by what you give. To me, this day is a reminder to ourselves that despite our cruelly busy daily schedule, we must care for our loves ones, and find new ways and possibilities to be of love to them. It should really be a celebration of love, and nothing else. 

There is nothing called true love. Love must always be true. 

Bollywood music: then and now

In an interview many years back, Sonu Nigam had said that we’ll always love yesterday’s music more than today’s. He of course was referring to the gradual decline of soulful music in Bollywood films. He was so true! Last month, I was in my friend’s car who had a great collection of Kishore-Lata songs. As some of the songs were being played, he said, “My kids will never know about that generation of evergreen music. They’re growing up amidst a different genre of music.”

It’s interesting how emotional we still are with thousands of Bollywood songs from the golden era of the 60s, 70s and 80s. Yes, lot of us have childhood memories with many of these songs. We in a sense grew up listening to those great tracks. But is it only because of this that we keep saying ‘old is gold’ in the context of music? Or is it a natural human trait to romanticize yesteryears and downplay the current times?

I’ve never seen Rafi recording a song in a studio. But I’ve heard and read many people narrating those magical times when songs used to be recorded in one go. The ills of technology were not available to legendary composers like S D Burman or O P Nayyar. You had to have a great voice texture, mastery over vocal skills, and knowledge of classical music to excel. There was no device to cover up a singer’s weaknesses. Things have now changed. I had read an article in The Statesman, most probably around late 90s. It was about how technology was manipulating vocals and how different instruments recorded in various studios around the world could be ‘mixed’ to create a live illusion. The person listening to such a song would think it was recorded ‘live’. I had been bowled over by that article. While I felt excited about the technological advances, I mourned the potential degradation of the institution of music.

In the last ten years alone, hundreds of ‘reality shows’ have given a platform to thousands of budding talents to showcase their musical charisma. New voices have been recording a lot of the popular sound tracks. While the singers who’ve enjoyed longevity in the industry are becoming monetarily unaffordable, new youngsters are being approached by music companies. They may not have the classical background and the institutionalized training behind them, but they can sing what the audience wants to hear. Sadly, like a reality show, some of these singers are also seasonal flavors. You don’t hear many of the voices after a while, for whom singing at stage shows and live concerts becomes all the more important to earn a living.

The business of music on one hand has offered a platform to many youngsters to excel, and on the other, it has been instrumental in the slow poisoning of music composed for the heart. Today’s music is so much about bodily gyration, it seldom tickles the strings of our soul. But then, that is where all the moolah is. 

Will we listen to today’s music after 20 years? Maybe we will. And, maybe we’ll lament just as much, crying that the music of yesteryears was soulful! 

Media: the evil we love?

Media, much like money, has become a necessary evil. We love to hate it, yet can’t get enough of it. One of the remarkable social developments of the last twenty years or so in India has been the emergence of the media. Television news channels, newspapers, magazines all have mushroomed inorganically. From a state-controlled machinery to the coming of 24/7 watchdog, media has had an interesting run. The story of India in the last two decades has been exciting for good and for bad reasons. Media therefore hasn’t ever had a dull moment when they didn’t know what to cover. After all, so much around us has been happening all the time, there has never been a day less full than the previous day.

Yes, the media is crucified frequently for hungrily being after ‘sensation’ and not ‘news’ that matters. It’s often convicted of conducting legal, social, economic and political trial in the studios or in the press. Media has been in the eye of wrath many times for being the investigator, prosecutor and the judge all in itself. It’s also a fact that paid news does exist. Most of the media houses are owned by rich and influential people. It’s difficult to imagine them not having political affiliations, informal or otherwise. There will be bias, there will be patronage, as there also will be neutral coverage of important news.

Media has been an integral part of the evolving India in the twenty first century. It has furiously fought for transparency and accountability in public life. It has unearthed scams worth billions of dollars we wouldn’t have known happened. While it has often abused the concept of investigative journalism and equated that wholesomely to ‘sting operations’, it has also infused public office bearers with a sense of fear about wrongdoings.

India is a great country for journalists. It is the land of free speeches and right to expression. While we’re shamed by mass suicides by farmers, we’re also thrilled by the global success stories of our techies. We have millions living below the poverty line, and yet we boast of the number of billionaires making it to the Forbes list. Women chief ministers are ruling many of our states, yet we hear barbaric stories of female infanticide. It’s full of stark contrasts. Which is why media’s cup will always be filled to the brim.

My wish for the media is to keep up the good work they’re doing. They must however exercise more neutrality, and shun the culture of dodging the right questions under the debris of sensationalized twists. If they were to become the mouthpiece of something, let that be of the people of the country. Let them relentlessly report issues of people’s interest with as less pigment as possible. Let them appreciate that everyone’s private life is dear to them and that must be respected. For example, we’ll be better off knowing the actor in an actor rather than who someone is dating. That’s just not news; not even close! 

NEWS at the end of the day should remain as ‘North East West South’! 

The 7 Billion Relationship

I often wonder how, in a world population of over 7 billion, two people find each other, fall in love, and take the vow to live together for the rest of their life. It’s incredible, it’s mammoth. Think about it: until that moment of ‘discovery’, two people may not even know each other; one doesn’t know that the other exists; one only knows that someone somewhere is made for everyone. You could counter-argue saying we don’t meet with everyone on the planet and then decide who we feel is the best for us. We don’t even get to see everyone in a continent, or for that matter in our own country.  Does this then make it any less fascinating than it is?

Life is a strange journey. In a life span of 30 years, for example, how many people do you think you would have met? Few hundreds? Few thousands? Or even more than that? Could be. With the mobile life we have today, and with an increasingly shrinking world around us, we get to come in contact with more number of people than our ancestors used to. So, the people we meet are not limited to any particular place or religion or community or language. It’s vaster than that. No matter how good or how bad we are, we all find a soulmate. Is there a divine angle to it?

Or is it about less coincidence and more compromise? In an ideal ‘free-for-all’ world, we may want to fall for whoever we find good enough for us. One may want to spend the rest of their life with just about anyone they choose to. But that doesn’t happen and we know it won’t. We’re conditioned to accept certain rules and terms that influence most of the things we do in life, including choosing a life partner. We seek familiarity and convenience in our search. We usually don’t believe who we think could be our dream match is ‘gettable’. We therefor tread the path that offers more certainty and assurance. It’s not a one-way lane; there are two people who have to mutually like and love each other before they could commit. That moment of commitment in itself is such a magical point in time. Half of the world’s youth are of the opposite gender, and we choose just one out of those billion possibilities. That must be very, very special!

Two people unite as one body and one soul. Or they at least attempt to. People who are generally not blood related, who come from different families, and potentially from different cultures. It’s phenomenal how they realize what they’ve been chasing in the name of dream is actually the reality and they time and again fall in love with that real dream. The best dream is one that stems out of reality. They discover unknowns about each other; they like some and like to discard some. They accept imperfections, they smile at each other’s stark flaws. They realize life wasn’t meant to be all rosy, and yet they cling on to every moment of togetherness as if that was the grandest gift of all. The ultimate triumph of every relationship is the point of collective realization that in a transition from ‘me’ to ‘us’, there shall be patches of compromises, sacrifices, arguments and disagreements; yet that’s the celebration of love. Even if there was going to be life after death, we get only one life at a time. It’s too precious and too short to waste doing anything but love. 

Tiny moments of union add up to the making of an eternity of togetherness through this life, and possibly beyond. 

Memories of my Alma Mater...

The other day, I read on Facebook, the electrifying lyric of my school anthem, and was quick to travel down memory lane. There’s so much to be reminded of and so much to talk about. After all, those will always be the best days of my life.

Like any other kid, I too had moments of fear and jealousy. Fear because of the ruthless discipline enforced upon us by the school management, and jealousy because I had friends who went to other schools that seemed more tolerant than mine. The prayer meeting every morning at the ‘Sanskriti Bhavan’ (school assembly hall) was a frightening exercise. You had teachers who appeared hungry to penalize students who could be seen breaching discipline. It could be as silly as an imperfectly angled school badge on the shirt or a whisper to a friend while walking to the hall. The next thing you would be seen doing was standing outside the classroom holding your ears while the entire school sang the national anthem inside the hall. Many years on, when I look back at those mornings, all I can do is smile and thank my teachers for being as strict as they were.

The fear-factor was furthered by the breed of class monitors. They would be ‘agents’ planted by the teaching community in every classroom, and rewarded handsomely for spying on the class. If you had your name logged in the monitor’s book for any breach of discipline especially during the lazy time between two lectures, even god couldn’t save you from attracting heavy punishment. While some of the punishment would be insulting, some others could be physically challenging! As we grew up, we turned thick-skinned, and a sense of daredevilry in some of my friends was quite visible. On one occasion, a friend carried into the class a cute kitten wrapped in a bag. A boring lecture was going on when we could hear a faint animal cry. Soon, the kitten was let out. You had this scared poor thing who didn’t know where to go. It kept maneuvering in between our legs, and finally jumped out of the window.

I miss playing ‘football’ with wood cuttings at the Sanskriti Bhavan before the school hours commenced in the morning, except before exam seasons when the hall would be filled with benches in preparation for the tests. I miss playing real football in the plush green school ground. On days when the school would surprisingly set us free early, we would gang up and play cricket for hours at the nearby ‘Gandhi Ghaat’. I would occasionally go to the neighboring library and read story books and comics.

I’m proud I shared the bench with some of the brightest talents of my time who broke many records at the board exams, mathematics Olympiads, quiz shows, debates, and also other extra-curricular activities. I miss fighting for a pie of the table tennis facility and I miss those funny quotes by our teacher during the ‘physical education’ class. I’ve had the privilege to learn various subjects from some of the finest teachers. While some were truly boring and uninspiring, some others knew how to explain complex equations in lucid terms through real-life examples. They made learning real fun.

That was also the time when some of my friends started falling for girls they thought were beautiful. Musical greeting cards, flowers and letters – love was in the air. Everyone was equally naïve, and nobody knew what love was. But it was the ‘in thing’. After all, every Bollywood hero was busy wooing good looking girls! That was the time when to me, Madonna was in her prime, and Princess Diana was a living embodiment of grace. Since we had separate class sections for boys and girls, the leisure period was the only legally allowed time to search for our Madonnas and Dianas. I witnessed the birth and death of many poets, painters, singers, performers; all for the cause of celebration of love. The school canteen, though not quite aesthetically built, was a fun place to be in. Everything they sold was delicious. 

All my life, I shall remain a proud product of Netaji Subhash Vidyaniketan (NSV), the then best school in my state. When my mother used to tell me how she would love to go back to her school days, I wanted to grow up and get out of school as soon as I could. Now, I wish I could live those magical times and experience those priceless moments all over again. Only if I had a time machine! 

Origin of Bias

‘Neutral is a state of imagination’ is what my father had once told me. I was too young to understand the profoundness of these words. Not that I understand any better today; but I’ve come a long way along the journey of my life. I’m gradually realizing the truth in many things my father told me long back. What sounded like rhetoric those days feels like music to me now.

I’ve come to realize that bias is our inherent attribute. It influences our thoughts, beliefs, and dictates immensely as to who we emerge out to be. Each one of us is a representative of a certain school of thought. Everyone I know of represents some philosophy. What we say or want to hear may not always be directly affiliated to a familiar institution of ideas, but we all have subconscious subscriptions. We subscribe to ideas that are attractive, powerful and penetrative. Thanks to our upbringing and the circumstances around us, we learn to admire leaders, organizations, communities, religions, cultures, books, arts, theories and so on. We’re biased from the word ‘go’ of our life. We’re taught what is better and what is worse, what is black and white, what should and should not be. As we grow up, we start reflecting upon things that concern us or matter to us. It is through our responses that we exercise the intrinsic bias we’re made to live with.

The other day, my father and I exchanged our opinions on human rights. Through the discussion, I felt we both were reflections of ideologies we believe in and follow. While confrontations and arguments at times became unavoidable, I observed that we both in a subtle manner were attempting to propagate our individual agenda. On a second thought, was our agenda individual or independent? Not really! It was part of a larger scheme of things we’ve subscribed to. We spoke about television debates and newspaper articles and why nothing could be unbiased.

Is bias therefore a desirable part of life? Or can we remain neutral through the discourse of our daily life? We react to things happening around us, a lot of what is natural reaction. An example of that could be suddenly noticing a speeding car approaching us; that’s when our reflex dictates how we react. On the other hand, there are behavioral reactions where who we are plays a major role. An example of that could be when someone is told that the religion they follow is crap; the person could smile back or become furious. Remaining neutral on many occasions may amount to passivism. Staying neutral possibly could translate to inaction. Isn’t reacting to happenings and events a sign of life and being alive? 

We must take sides. Neutrality may lead to extinction! 

From the North-East to the rest of India

When a young man traveled to Bangalore many years back on a one-way ticket, he had dreams in his eyes and butterflies in his stomach. He was going to script his story in the Silicon Valley of India. Everything about the city – from the people to the climate to the flyovers to the roads to the malls – would amuse him. As he boarded the corporate bandwagon, he met new people, made new friends, and mingled with new cultures. But, every time he introduced himself to supposedly well-read and well-informed colleagues of his, he had to invest extra effort to educate them about his native place. He of course was me and I am from the North East India!

What has over the last decade not changed is I having to still explain where Agartala is. Questions like ‘is Tripura the capital of Nagaland’ and so on have made me laugh at times and have also sometimes made me angry. How can the so-called educated class of India be so dumb and ignorant about their own country? Surely, Tripura doesn’t even feature in the economic or political or social scheme of things of India. We send only two MPs to the parliament. Our state population can be dwarfed by that of even small cities. But that is no pardonable excuse to justify the ignorance. We’re as much part of the federal structure of India as any other state is, big or small. It’s sickening to know that some people think you may need a passport to tour north eastern states! That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long time. A lot of people from the region may look different, may wear different clothes, and may represent not so familiar cultures. But isn’t that the beauty of the Indian federalism? Isn’t our constitution built on the foundation of ‘unity in diversity’?

I wouldn't go by sporadic incidents of violence and force generalized conclusions. I cannot however deny that there is discriminatory attitude prevalent in the ‘mainstream’ Indian pulse. Lot of students from the ‘seven sisters’ face societal ridicule every day. They get stereotyped just because of the way they look, speak or conduct themselves in public. Some cultures in this region of India are ‘open’ in a sense of gender-equality. The unfortunate truth is that this gets misinterpreted in a rather obnoxious sexist way, and girls are usually typecast as seductive in a derogatory manner. This is regressive and deplorable. People living in these states grow up struggling with many adversities: some due to the geographic disadvantage of being almost cut-off from mainland India, and some others due to continued negligence by all central governments. There is hardly any industry or manufacturing unit. Railway services haven’t penetrated to even big towns partly because of challenging landscapes. Many of the state capitals don’t have an airport. There aren't enough jobs to attract the youth. Healthcare remains a big concern. Quality of education suffers not because of lack of academic talent but because of absence of investment and organized support. They have a life lot less rosy than most others born in more privileged parts of India. People from this region are going to be different!

Is there something people from the north east living in various parts of India can do to cure this ill? Yes, I think so. The ‘us and them’ syndrome is predominantly due to lack of awareness on both sides of the fence. I’d urge everyone to spread as much awareness as possible, about what this lovely chunk of India is all about, what its people are like, what their cultures are and so on. It’s not enough to recognize it as only a place of scenic beauty worth a holiday plan; it’s much more than that. It’s about unearthing the true beauty of India as a nation; it’s about learning more about our own siblings; it’s about exploring a great opportunity to embrace lesser known facets of the great union of India.  

If you've had friends who come from the north east, you’d know that they’re among the nicest people. Genuine, honest and hard-working as they are, they live a down-to-earth life with simple priorities, devoid of any popular notion of bias. They’re perhaps the greatest company to have! 

India as an Idea

Here is what I think of India as an idea today and tomorrow.

India is the identity that has been caught up in a historic dilemma. The dilemma is that of a transition from the old to the new. The old India that is rigid about its culture and its roots. The India that is unwilling to recognize the advent of tomorrow and believes in static energy. One that is averse to change, good or bad. It is reluctant to open up to the wind, fearing its core values may get polluted. It talks about independence, but is unsure of what freedom for the youth should mean. It is blindly in love with the old, and therefore, anything that is new is seen through the eyes of suspicion. It is so obsessed with philosophy that science does not seem important for human growth.

On the other hand is the new India that has seen the world and tasted the alternate, giving it courage to dream big. It wants to shred the age-old dogma of so-called good and bad. It wants to relieve itself of the burden of beliefs it thinks are no longer relevant. It dreams of crossing over to the other side of the horizon where bigger opportunities and possibilities await it. It is willing to fly across unknown layers of the stratosphere. It refuses to be bogged down by the legacy of colonial fear of failure. It is experimental, adventurous, and it loves to juggle with risks. Its aspirations are largely based on what is achievable rather than what has been achieved earlier. It wants to travel, go to new places, and embrace new cultures and lifestyles. It is happy to adopt and adapt. It believes amassing wealth is not bad, and spending on what it wants to have is a welcome trend. It is restless and loud.

Which is then the real India? Is there a case of identity crisis for the nation and for its youth? Does the older generation feel alienated from this dynamic pace of change? Are we trapped in the vicious arguments on what is right and what is wrong, between idealism and realism, between a glorified past and an uncertain future, between the more evil and the lesser evil? Is there a sense of grand confusion out there? Have we understood our problems and do we know which direction we’re headed to? Are we ready as a nation for the kind of change we’re envisioning? We don’t know. We’re still in the process of finding these out. These questions are as mobile as their answers today are.

I think why India, in its journey from where it is to where it wants to get to, has an edge over many other countries, is because it has a strong foundation built on the concept of family. One of our core social fabrics is how we even today value our family systems. True, families are falling apart and getting thinner as we speak. But this is an institution that sets us apart from many others. We hear a lot of western sociologists and economists strongly advocating the need for a strong family culture, in their books, publications and speeches. There has been a steady realization that despite tremendous progress in the fields of science, technology, human rights and so on, some of the developed countries have an increasingly weakening family structure. Happy families make happy people. It’s disheartening to see the concept of family in India loosening with time. Surely the composition of a family has gone through changes over many years, but the nucleus of happiness for us remains our family. Unless this is preserved and further enhanced, we’re destined to witness disparate growth. We’re headed for times when machines will be dearer to us than humans.

India has never been more perfectly positioned to take off. One of its core assets, its youth, has come of age in the last few decades, demanding larger acceptance in decision making and social mainstream. The youth has never been more mature and more prepared to take charge of its destiny. It has evolved from being a confused, lazy, unclear, passive, disruptive community to being more assertive, responsive, constructive and certainly more participative. We as a society must engage the youth in meaningful ways to contribute to their own future, through education, awareness and jobs. It’s not really old versus the new, it is old and the new! That perhaps would be a more inclusive approach towards a participative democratic structure, where we enable the new to take charge.

Through my discussions with people I come across and work with from different countries, I can tell you there is a lot of curiosity about India and what it means to the world. Gone are the days when it used to be a black box to the world, full of snake charmers and unknown magic. We’ve started shouldering them in universities of global repute, and in organizations people die to work in. We are today being taken seriously, our skills are valued, and we’ve offered enviable thought leadership. Probably for the first time in our history, we’re being listened to. Rapes, crimes against women, poverty and malnutrition of course are issues the world knows are about us. We’ve never said we didn’t have to put our own house to order. In fact, now is the best time we’ve ever had to do all that must be done! 

Yes, both the Indias are very different with respect to aspirations and priorities. But that’s exactly how it’s meant to be at this point in time, and perhaps for generations to come. My idea of India is one that is accommodative of the contrasts and diversities, as we collectively strive for something better to propel us to the next level. We all deserve a better deal, and we need each other through this transition. This is the most opportune moment for us, and we cannot let go of it. History will not judge us on the premise of why we couldn’t make a difference; it will hold us responsible for failing our future. 

In conversation with God

People think I’m Hindu. Why? Why not, I was born in a Hindu family. I therefore inherited Hinduism from my parents. I am because they are. Nobody ever asked me after I entered my adulthood if I was OK being called a Hindu, or if I wanted to take up any other religious identity. That was such a given. Ever since I was a kid, I used to wonder what religion was. Was it the various ways of praying to god? Then how different would that be from rituals? Would I really have to travel to a place of worship only to say something to god, and that too via priests? That was the journey of an inquisitive young mind going through an evolution of temporal understanding. My parents had contrasting religious ideologies despite both being Hindus, but I’d never seen them debate or openly disagree on their beliefs. That’s the mutual respect they had. Thanks to that, I was given the space a young mind needed to independently grasp things. I grew up amidst a blended culture of blind belief and logical reasoning that laid the foundation on which I could one day build my own belief system devoid of any born biases.

I’d often ask myself, where does god reside? Many learned people have likened god to our inner self. Then what do we see thousands of places of worship for? Why do we see millions of pilgrims every year traveling all over the world to go and pray at various ‘holy’ places? What is so sacred about those places that makes them more appealing than our inner self? I’ve often wondered whether it’s not severely undermining god’s omnipresence if we start believing we need to or can ‘capture’ god within the four walls of a man-made erection. None of the temples, mosques or churches are older than humans. We built them. At a time we had none of these installations in the world, where was god? And now that we have hundreds of thousands of them, have we actually been able to ‘contain’ god? I haven’t been able to come to terms with this comic paradox. We see temples being built on playgrounds; places where kids would play. As soon as we have a temple there, god (or gods) starts ‘living’ there? Has anyone ever heard anything funnier than that?

An innocent question I often ask believers is: why do you go to a temple or a church? My intention is never to challenge or question them or their belief. I ask to learn. Sadly, nobody has been able to give me an answer that could convince me. On rare occasions, I’ve been told, ‘I go there to thank god for creating me and keeping me alive and healthy.’ I don’t know how truthful such answers are, but this idea of feeling thankful to one’s creator seems fascinating. That’s humility. But does it stop there? Don’t we always have a list of demands to put forward to god? One of my lady friends gave an interesting answer to me on this. She said, ‘God to me is like my father and I’m like a child to him. He’s the one I can openly talk to. He’s the one who has created me and can influence my life the way he wants. There’s nothing wrong in me asking him to fulfill my wishes.’ How does one, however, explain the bribes we offer god, in the form of hair or other physical valuables? Why do I see commercial trade-offs in the form of attempts to strike deals with divine blessings in lieu of something earthly?

One of the evilest inventions by humans is institutionalized religion. Rituals are the icing on the cake. All religious books were written by wise people who were driven by an urge to help the masses understand various ways to comprehend god. The everlasting damage was caused by the most privileged classes of all societies across the board, who had access to education and therefore had an edge over others. They soon claimed custody of those scriptures. The common man and woman didn’t have the means to learn the languages in which these books had been written. They had to therefore go to the middlemen so their prayers could reach god. These priests and middlemen, for whom it had already become a way to earn a living, started misinterpreting the teachings of the scriptures. They cleverly devised the most efficient way to protect the monopoly of themselves in an unchallenged manner; that was to create fear. Fear is a universal conqueror wherever there is unknown and unseen. The common people historically have had a miserable life. All that has always mattered to them is how they can elevate to a better life. Religion soon became a vehicle of change for them. They were made to believe if they followed certain rituals, their sins would be lessened and they could hope for a better life when they would be reborn. Seriously?

Anything to do between god and humans is an extremely private affair. No books, no religions, no damn rituals have any business there. When you talk to your father, you don’t hire expert professionals to facilitate a dialogue. Then why do you need to be escorted by priests when you have to offer something to your own creator? Has god become so inaccessible? If yes, I’m better off without such an understanding of god. If he creates and then expects his creations to go through brokers for a simple prayer, I must question his method. Aren’t we told he creates everyone with a purpose? Then how can be become so oblivious of his own children? Sorry, I can’t accept someone who’s said to be omnipresent, to be so whimsical! These middlemen are self-proclaimed godmen who, we’ve believed for long, have special powers to get us closer to god. Some friends of mine who represent these ‘sects’ have told me it’s an art their predecessors have mastered, and hence prayers offered through them are more likely to reach god quicker in a more effective manner. This argument is not even funny! This is deplorable.

Despite not having any respect for institutionalized religion, I’ve gone to many temples and have spoken to people who believe in the power of these places of worship. Many have explained to me rather scientifically, how electro-magnetic energy and the positive vibe of all devotees collectively could make a welcome impact to people’s life. While scientific rendering of any phenomenon must be considered seriously, I’ve never found selfless devotion (‘bhakti’) anywhere. Most of us go to temples out of two reasons: fear and greed. Fear because I’ve been told by my parents and elders that there is a negative consequence of not doing the conventional, and by questioning the status quo you may anger god who in turn could curse you. As if devotees’ lives aren’t already cursed! Why else are you in a temple anyway? Greed is because god is perceived as someone who could give what you ask for. Great, so I can ask for good health, wealth, education for my children, promotion at the workplace. I can also ask for bad things to happen to people I don’t like. Come on, give god a break. Take charge of your life to the extent possible. Try and understand the laws of cause and effect. For your own god’s sake, please ask questions.

If you have a great life, but if you have never asked any questions to understand yourself and your surroundings better, do you think god would be proud of you? On the contrary, he must be embarrassed because of you; you’ve only asked things from him. What have you given in return? Have you ever told him you wanted to apply your brain in analyzing things around you? Have you ever told him you wished to ask questions so you could learn more about god, rather than be mystified by what you’ve been told by others? Have you ever told him you wanted to come out of the prejudices of fear and greed and wished to thank him unconditionally for everything he has or has not given you? God definitely deserves a better deal. I’m sure he doesn’t feel great about people he’s given intellect to, who choose to remain dumb! 

I have been branded differently by people who know my off-beat understanding of religion. With all humility, however, I can say I’m more religious than many of them. I preach less and practice more. I observe honesty and few more humanly virtues through my deeds. My methods could be different, but I’m certainly trying to do my bit to my creator by asking questions and getting closer to him. That’s the divinest journey we all are meant to cruise along!

English over Bengali?

My good friend recently questioned me for not writing in Bengali as often as I should. He’s been a constructive critic (I don’t know many of them!) of all the crap I write, and I know he’ll continue to support my insanity. Anyone who writes should have a friend like him. He brought up an important point when he noticed that I was ignoring Bengali as a medium of expression for my thoughts. It called for an introspection. Let me decipher.

I went to Netaji Subhash Vidyaniketan for my high school degree. It, in those days, perhaps was the best school in my state of Tripura. I would often as a school kid regret not studying in an English medium school. Some of my friends who I played with in the afternoon in our colony went to schools where they learnt history, geography, science and math in English. And here I was, reading and writing everything in Bengali! I would sometimes think my life could be glossier if I went to an English medium school. I must have been very young then! Gradually I understood my father’s point of view. While he was particular his children should go to Bengali medium schools to remain close to their ‘roots’ – mind you, Bengali schools back in the day were not as out of fashion as they today are – he would make exceptional arrangements at home to teach English vocabulary and grammar. He himself was an ardent lover of literature, and soon I realized I’d inherited that from him. He would teach me English for hours, give me homework in the form of ‘tense tables’ and ‘sentence making’. After a hard day at work he’d sit with me to go through my homework. In addition to my instinctive love for Bengali as well as English language, this trick by him worked wonders. I learned about the basics of English grammar at an age when my Bengali school mates would struggle with more elementary concepts of the language. I had a big English to Bengali dictionary that I was in love with. It was like an encyclopedia for me that knew everything!

That wouldn’t necessarily make me a good English speaker or writer. I would write poems, short stories, plays and even novels in Bengali. I loved doing that. Since I couldn’t practice English with anyone in school, I devised a mechanism to master the art of speaking. Nobody, not even my father, taught me this. It was my method to respond to the hunger in me to beat my surrounding odds to speak the language I loved so much. I’d pick up a topic of my interest, varying from ‘my school’ to ‘cricket’ to ‘books’, and start delivering a speech to an imaginary audience. I’d do it in bathroom, so I had to ensure I had the required buffer time for those speeches in addition to bathing. I’d speak for long minutes, pretending to be facing a crowd in my bathroom! While my Bengali poems and short stories were being published in some newspapers and magazines, the Shakespeare in me was still being conceived. I tried my hand at English poems; I thoroughly disappointed myself. I just couldn’t play with English words to get them to the rhyme or the rhythm I envisioned. I could however write essays and articles in English with reasonable flair. When I look back now, I understand how naïve I was.

My first big academic ecstasy with the language began after my class ten board exams when I started referring physics and mathematics books written in English. I was immensely thrilled to read Newton’s laws in English; I’d known the laws for long but hadn’t felt that moved. While I had great love and respect for Bengali, I could feel an emergence of crave for getting better with English in all its forms. I’d read newspapers (The Statesman was my father’s choice) and magazines (Frontline, India Today and so on). My father, who had battled a lot of adversities in his life starting from losing his father when he was in high school, had a two-pronged vision for my future. He wanted me to become either a professor of English language and earn a doctorate degree, or write the Indian Administrative Services (IAS) exam and become a government officer who could make a difference to the society through administrative reforms. I became none of the above; I chose to pursue a future in engineering.

That marked a huge turning point in my life as I got increasingly closer to English and naturally distanced from Bengali. I would still write poems in Bengali, for I didn’t know how to do that in English. But most part of my hobby reading would be consumed by English. I could talk to people, participate in discussions and debates; all in English. I’d be admired by friends for the way I wrote. Many would ask me to help them write project briefs, articles, and even love letters for them! Gradually my shelf space was replaced by English books.

Rabindranath Tagore still remains the most influential literary presence in my otherwise English life. His songs to me are still the most melodious music creation of all. But I find myself alienated today from my mother-tongue in many ways. I don’t remember the last Bengali book I read, I hardly watch Bengali films, I haven’t followed a Bengali news debate in years. Bengali has sadly been reduced to a language I use to speak to fellow Bengalis. English has penetrated so deep into my everyday life, it comes as the natural language of choice when I feel like writing to express something. It’s true that I can reach a larger spectrum of readership if I write in the international language, but that’s not why I hardly write in Bengali anymore. I don’t want to call it a state of natural dormancy, because I’m sure I’ve inflicted this upon myself to a good extent. 

It’s ironic I’m writing this post in English. Does it mean I’ll make conscious efforts to write more in my own language? I should. My mother taught me Bengali; how can any other language be dearer to me? It was through Bengali that I was introduced to this beautiful world of infinite possibilities. I could learn English because I knew Bengali! 

Am I a Pseudo Activist?

I often wonder if, as a writer, I at times reduce myself to a pseudo activist. Do I hide behind a mask and pretend to be genuinely concerned about what’s happening around us? Is this the most appropriate way for me to react to all positive and negative developments that impact me as a citizen of my country and a representative of humanity? Should I come out to the streets, participate in rallies and protest against wrongdoings by our political class? Am I searching for a safe zone in front of my laptop so I could insulate myself from the sun and the rain? Am I being just too convenient to contribute positively to my society? Finally, am I being true to my conscience, which is the most critical intellectual mass of my existence?

Here’s where I begin a monologue with myself. Well, everyone isn’t born with similar strengths and weaknesses, and everyone’s surrounding realities despite being part of the same socio-political environment aren’t necessarily the same. How we react to a social event of a reasonable impact is largely determined by our circumstantial realities, followed by means of manifestation we think we are good at. The highly charged political environment I was raised as a child in, meant an early proximity to protests, rallies and meetings. I could never stand injustice. But as a young boy, I didn’t know how to stream my protests. Not until I figured out I could write!

The pen indeed is mightier than the sword. While most forms of art excite me and I can consume them with reasonable levels of maturity as an audience, I’m not necessarily good at performing the same acts. I probably am marginally better when it comes to writing. My friends and family have been overwhelmingly kind with their criticism of my writing, be it poems, short stories, novels or articles. I owe it primarily to my father who I inherited it from, and also to friends who appreciated me even when I was certain I’d written a crap poem!

I believe I’ve done a good job if I’ve entertained someone in a dignified manner, tickled someone’s brain cells with a thought, highlighted an issue worth being aware of, offered my point of view on a matter of national importance, participated in a discussion concerning a positive change to our life, voiced my protest against ills of institutionalized religion, advocated a more scientific approach to understanding social stigmas, batted against the political anarchy in the country, questioned the collective conscience of groups or sects. All through my pen, in my tiny little way. 

In the end, if the narratives I script have made a positive impact to anyone’s life even for a moment, I’d consider myself privileged to have been of some use. I am an activist in my own right. If each one of us identified an area we are good at and utilized that to make a small difference, the output at the end of the chain would be worthwhile. There’s an activist in all of us; we must awaken that and see the flurry of possibilities. 

The story of a reluctant Smartphone user

For years, I’ve said ‘no’ to smartphones. My friends had given up on me, calling me ‘old school’. My wife kept trying to convince me and I kept convincing her on why I didn’t need a smartphone. I would tell everyone including myself that I was not fascinated by the idea of a phone that needed to get smarter than my old Nokia touchphone was! A phone, I thought, was but a phone which was meant to make and receive calls, write messages and play music. I hated phone cameras despite all the jazzy stuff they’d write about how great those snaps would come out to be; I knew a camera had to be a camera and not a phone. So, there I was, happy and content in my non-smart world.

My wife already had a Samsung Galaxy S3: sleek, sexy, and – yes, of course – smart! She was glued to it. She’d play games for hours, write emails, play cool music, surf the internet, and chat with friends. She, in short, had the world at her finger tip. I, on the other hand, would occasionally look at her phone and less occasionally play a game of Temple Run! Some of my friends had the ‘ultimate’ phone, the iPhone, but that too couldn’t arouse that attraction in me. That was me.

As fate would have it, my long-standing companion, my Nokia touchphone, started showing signs of ageing. It would occasionally freeze in the middle of important conversations, and I faced other performance-related issues as well. That’s when I started asking myself, ‘Looks like, I’m soon going to be done with her. Should I consider buying a smartphone?’ A follow-up thought was, ‘But is it worth it? I’m not going to use a lot of phone apps, I wouldn’t play games, and I certainly don’t want to be overly accessible on chat groups all over the place?’ I would use my SLR camera for quality photographs and I had a laptop, good enough for my internet necessity. After some serious pondering, a third question also came up, ‘Well, why not turn smart, now that I’ve decided to buy my next phone?’

Suddenly I forgot about the grey hair on my head and decided to adopt a welcome change. Gone were the days of rigidity and conservatism; I was a reformed man ready to explore the world of smartphones. Boy, didn’t I do some good research – reading reviews, discussing with friends and so on? Didn’t I spend time on Flipkart and Amazon? Didn’t I start learning about the phones even before I bought one? Most of my friends however didn’t know that I was researching for my own future phone. When I knew I had done it all and I figured out the phone I wanted to buy, I settled for Samsung Galaxy Grand Duos, a big phone with decent specifications. The only turn off about the phone was its inbuilt memory (or lack of it) and the screen resolution, which could have been better, but struggled at times trying to support the 5-inch screen. 

So, here I am today, an ardent smartphone lover for whom this isn’t a mere device. This is a living and breathing companion that follows me everywhere I go, including the loo! 

Saifai: an alternate angle

The recent Bollywood bash organized at Saifai by the Akhilesh Yadav government has drawn quite a flak from all quarters of the civil society and the media. People have questioned the brazen shamelessness with which the state administration scorched exchequer’s money to have some fun at a time when the Muzaffarnagar riot victims – still homeless and struggling to make a living in relief camps – were up against the terrible winter waves. Bollywood biggies like Salman Khan and Madhuri Dixit have come under aggressive scrutiny for not having shown the courage to pull out of this festival citing humanitarian concerns. Quite fittingly, Nero played the fiddle while Rome burnt! I want to, however, look at it from a different angle.

Let’s try to understand who the primary stakeholder in this festival this year was. It was the people. I’m told thousands of people flocked together to catch a glimpse of the performers from the tinsel town. Who are those people? Aren’t those the aam aadmi, who’ve lost their near and dear ones in the brutal Muzaffarnagar riots? Have they not been shattered looking at a Godhra happening in their backyard? Has their conscience not been challenged by the continued apathy of the Samajwadi Party government to the survivors? Did they not know that a huge number of children died in those relief camps where they were supposed to have been protected by the authorities? Did the Europe vacation by ministers and legislative assembly members funded by the common men and women not cause their eyebrows to frown? Did all the people who attended the carnival not have the moral obligation to show solidarity to their brothers and sisters who were languishing out there with rehabilitation eluding them even after so many days of the massacre? In other words, am I to believe that the Saifai festival was a celebration of the shameful demise of compassion for fellow humans?

I’m glad we’re targeting the state government for not calling off the event, and we’re up in arms against Bollywood. But who’ll question the collective failure of thousands of people who have shamed themselves by turning up? Could they not have boycotted the carnival? If they had, who would the performers entertain in the first place? Akhilesh Yadav could go ahead with this extravagant affair despite criticism by everyone because people of his state allowed him to.

It has become cool of late to bash up any form of organized institution in the country. While it’s a welcome change in the society to demand an increased level of transparency and sense in administration, we also need to look into the mirror. Our madness to challenge the status quo shouldn’t come at the cost of introspection. We have no moral right whatsoever to ask the authorities for explanation until we clean up our own act. 

I appeal to the people of Uttar Pradesh to unite against all wrongdoings by their state government and to realize that SP is a close cousin of BSP. They’re exactly like the Congress and the BJP on the national scale. Two different names, but the same ideology. 

Homosexuality and the Rainbow

At the outset, let me confess I don’t understand the psychology of homosexuality quite well, although I’ve been friends with men who many thought didn’t represent the conventional ‘straight’ sexual orientation clan. Those who were subject to some level of explicit or implicit ridicule by their friends, never asserted their sexual preferences to me. It wasn’t deemed necessary; it’s pretty much a private zone.

I agree, it’s unusual for a guy to indulge in a discussion with his female friends about what colors and shades of lipsticks have come up in the market, or why a particular brand of high heels was cooler than the other. What is saddening is that these guys get picked on such interactions by their friends and they often become a reason for an unwanted laugh. There are girls who from an early age of their life have had a liking for all things considered guyish, like not growing their hair, not wearing ethnic women’s wear, preferring to ride a motorcycle to a scooty and so on. While some get away with a ‘tom boy’ tag, some others fall prey to the conventional prism of their friends’ analysis.

As an onlooker, this stereotyping and subtle bullying by the heavier side of the same coin has disturbed me for long. Our minds – and brains in some instances – are pre-conditioned with definitions and concepts that are conveniently acceptable by the majority. The world has historically been harsh on the minority, on the lesser-privileged bracket in all walks of our life. It’s perceived as ‘one way, majority way!’ We often undermine the importance of a more inclusive societal structure that accommodates the conventional as well as the rebellious, the usual as well as the off-beat, the predictable as well as the unpredictable, the old and the new. Only a compassionate society can foster a progressive growth for all.

While our film industries have highlighted some realistic issues faced by the homosexual community, they have also unfairly popularized a stereotype of them being sexual predators and perpetually hungry. You look at any popular film that casts a gay person, and he’d be seen drooling over other guys all the time! While most of these are comedy movies, they perhaps should exercise a bit of sensitivity not to show a particular type of orientation in poor light. As is true of a person of conventional sexual preferences, I’m sure it is equally true that a person who has a different taste of preferences isn’t always looking for a physical outlet to stream his or her sexual identity.

There are learned men and women who have denounced this identity, and have called it unnatural and a disease that needs to be cured. I don’t know if this claim of theirs is or isn’t disputable, for I’ve not studied this psychology well enough to know if it’s a born attribute or an acquired trait. I therefore believe more than the bullying, what appears to be a wiser thing to do is to learn about this orientation with a pinch of science, history, and economics. 

The rainbow looks its best when all the seven colors are equally visible!  

Why do I cook?

I have of late been cooking a lot. I’ve prepared some delicious chicken items, some with shrimp and I haven’t spared vegetables either! I suddenly find a rush of adrenaline flowing into my veins to make a difference in the kitchen. And boy, haven’t I responded well?

Contrary to what some of my friends know, it’s not true I don’t know how to cook. I’ve just been lazy! The greatest kitchen discovery of my early life was my mom who could weave magic with an array of sumptuous dishes. She is, after all, a mom! I picked up some basics of cooking from her when I was in high school. Unfortunately, however, I’ve not lived in my Agartala home for years now and mom could do little whenever she visited me in Bangalore. Then came another exciting chef – my wife. She represented a partially different school of recipes that crossed over to the Chinese and European territories while still being accommodative of traditional Bengali delicacies. The obvious beneficiary, as you can see, was me. These ladies were cooking, and I kept eating!

But there was another in-between phase of my life when I lived with none of these chefs, which was an opportunity for me to delve into waters that had attracted me but I knew not much of. I plunged. I started preparing chicken not knowing the basics of how to do that, thanks to my parents not eating and mom not cooking chicken. The naïve me didn’t even know how to clean cut chicken pieces following the grammar book. I decided to set ablaze the cookbooks and launch my own recipes. I invented new ways to flirt with vegetables and spices. Oh, it was so much fun, not caring about what was the right or the wrong way to cook. I was cooking my way. If anyone asked me to name my dishes, I could tell them the ingredients and the procedure, but couldn’t attach any conventional name to the finished product. In fact, I didn’t want to discriminate! Things over a period of time changed and I became more conscious of the chemistry of the kitchen. I gradually realized there was a reason why there were cooking conventions that ought to have been respected.

That realization was further strengthened when I started observing my wife while she cooked amazing stuff for me. Since she too didn’t have a glorious past in the kitchen before marriage, she’d be rather obedient to the rule books and what her mom taught her; something the rebel in me wouldn’t want to comply with. In addition to the methodical approach, what worked in her favor was her love for good food – she herself was a big foodie – and keenness to learn how to prepare different cuisines. The gold medal was going to be hers with me suddenly disappearing from the kitchen; my job again was to eat! For a long time to come, she’d regret hearing great stories of my cooking credentials but not tasting any proof of that. For me, it was the case of the horse who gave up to a more illustrious horse in the race and said to himself, ‘I am proud coming second.’ Whenever I thought I’d cook, I feared being questioned by the lady on my disrespect for some of the rules of cooking, combination of oil and spices and what didn’t go well with what. As a result, it was the poor lady who was always cooking.

But here I am, finally with some sense of seriousness about the rules of the game. Believe me, it’s fun too! I still know my type of cooking consumes less time and yet delivers good taste-bud experience, but then following the convention isn’t bad either. With my wife not being around, I am in charge of my kitchen now and I’ve been humbled by my performances. I pledge to get better and offer her aromatic experiences to cherish. 

As for mom, I’m already a celebrity chef. Move over Sanjeev Kapoor!