The lost light

I did it day after day, almost out of habit – finding a ‘friendless’ spot in campus and watching the dusk lazily turning off its own self. Crimson, engulfing the sky, perhaps the sun reaching out its hand in the lone blue eternity sanguine that someone will rescue him from the darkness that was (and is) his fate.

Imagine the end of life, inching unhurriedly on its prey certain that none can escape its claws. And then the darkness, the end starts from right above you head, finding its path towards the golden sun that is giving out last of itself for the day. A dying man, pondering over his life in his last few days tries to carve out a niche for himself believing that the odyssey in after life shall then be much more tranquil and gratifying. Perhaps, ‘Ra’ harbors a similar unction gushing out all its energy in its dying mouthful of air.

And with its golden gloominess it takes away the jovial nature of life, every shade darkening until a perfect, blank black is achieved. Even the green that was till now swaying with every breath of wind, gets silent slowly but surely mourning its loss.

It was not always the perfect seen of loss, sometimes the clouds clouded my line of sight protecting me from the angst. Inconceivable silhouettes they fashion, heartrending over and above amusing, overriding the obscurity and the radiance that is beyond them. But none were as ingenious as human mind that unearths shapes even where there are none.

It was at one such time that I decided not to let the clouds parent me forever. For it was a low lying cloud, I felt that I could rise above it and as such embarked upwards on the hill behind the road that led to Gauchar. Silly mortal as I have always been, chased even the profound contemplation of melancholy. The top was an entirely new world rising above the pallid sea of clouds as if a bliss on itself. Numerous triangular, conical peaks rose all around extending themselves towards the heaven caging the sun beyond them slowly. The golden rays were still warm slowly losing their fleshy grip on the pinnacles of mountains. To look at the sun set from the top was a grief unfelt on the realm below. Perhaps, I had rose to stop it from getting anguished and the disappointment of perdition was so intense that I climbed down even before the sun decided to sink completely in the everlasting ashen sea of clouds.

The ascent of the mountain was my pursuit against time to capture the essence of the alchemy of the golden light. Known was the result, the failure and yet karma remains my solitary providence. For the destiny hung about unfulfilled, my desire to have the shadowy splendor smoldering, I chased the sun into the west.

Beyond the spiky bushes and barbed wires rose yet another mountain that veiled the final rays of setting sun. It was a mysterious path that I chose for my journey afar. I rose higher and higher as the sun galloped from over my head in the wake of the hill. The wind blew swiftly at the top, yet the time stood still as an endless succession of mounts lay beyond the one below my feet. The last of blood-red faded away slowly, folding unto itself, bloodier than ever. I sat down exhausted, agonized, to savor the flavor of distressed defeat, as the sun set yonder the seemingly endless sea of the peaks far away from my reach. The death of the sun that day left a lasting inkling on my vision, a gleaming reflection never to leave me even with my eyes closed. I had lost the light, but it was only in that darkness that I found the gospel of the destiny, of the sun’s and of my own.

Secular bombs

A couple of nights ago there occurred a blast in Goa which was claimed to be done by some Sanatan Sangathan (honestly, never heard of it). Apparently, it was not powerful enough because the news was reduced to meager single page (4”X2”)articles in newspapers and a 2-hour ‘breaking news’ run on the TV. However, it was sturdy enough to give wings to my imagination…

Imagine the members of this Sanatan Sangathan preparing the bomb, then putting it in the feet of Shiva asking for his blessings – Bhagwan! Make this bomb powerful and successful. With your blessings it’ll kill only the vidharmis and not touch the Hindus. If however, any Hindu might mistakenly come in its range, be benevolent to let him through the gates of heaven. And make us stronger still so that we can continue the good work of saving Hinduism.

I wonder if the Lashkar-e-toiba and Jaish-e-Mohammad guys would do same stuff before blasting a bomb - praying before Allah for the bomb to discriminate between Muslims and non-Muslims.

However, the underlying problem with both the bombs is its secular nature. Now when C-4 or RDX is developed, unfortunately the makers are incapable of imbibing it with religion specific nature, hence rendering it secular. And as such there is no guarantee of not killing the Muslims with a bomb planted by ‘Jehadi’ organizations or Hindus by a Hindu organization. Neither is there any recorded proof of any incident when a Muslim dying of a Jehadi bomb shall be sent to Jannat or so in case of Hindus. However, there are visible proofs that the very idea for which people fight and plant these bombs affects their ‘own’ people the most.

Hindus have always been killed by Hindus for wealth, power, women etc. Afghani and Paki terrorists have been killing a lot of Pakis and Afghanis (all Muslims for a Muslim cause); Stalin killed more communists than capitalists ever did and the real reason for the American mortality rate lies in its political interference in other countries’ affairs.

Amongst the entire hullabaloo, the RDX, C-4, Beretta, AK -47, weapons grade plutonium and even Hydrogen bomb have retained their secular nature. I salute them all!!!

Deepawali @ Government

On the eve of Deepawali, the congress HQ was full of government officials and some insignificant, negligible party-workers intruded the spaces left untenanted still. The major lot of them preferred to stay away from main stream of power-tails and cocktails but as always is the case the journey to pinnacle starts from the basement, not lofty echelons.

Keeping the general principles of success in mind, a couple of aspiring workers strayed from their conduit on the footsteps of those who were seemingly close to the ‘high command’. There stands the finance minister; isn’t he the secretary to the defense minister; look, look – here comes ‘Yuvraaj’ himself, they whispered wandering lone in the crowd, clutching each other’s hand like toddlers in an old-age home alien like, afraid of losing themselves.

“Abbe oye, where the heck are you going? Come here”, a voice rang obstructing their path with a force invisible. He was a major player, frequently seen tagging behind the CM of Delhi, almost one of them. “Don’t go there, not yet! Don’t you see they are busy, what good will you do there?” He carted his junior contender by heels; none rises ahead of me – the general yet unspoken law of progress in India.

It seemed that he had made a new party for himself, almost a fan following. Some 10 people gathered around him, all glaring at the new comers with fierce, burning hatred in eyes asking if they were better than others to try and barge into the senior circle before them. One of them coughed and the ‘circle-centered talks’ resumed.

“Bhaiyaji, aajkal aap dikhte nahin? Kahan busy ho? Kahin bhauji to nahin dhoond li humaare liye?” one of the shorter guys played, followed by laughter nearly mechanical.

“Arre nahin re, aajkal zara busy hain hum. CM madam ne Commonwealth Games ka saara zimma humein hi de diya hai na, issiliye.”

“And where were you two going? The way to higher orders goes through bhaiyaji’s feet, samjhe!” The latest in the group were suddenly attacked –again. A smile broke on the questioner’s face, so wide as if he had been asked to fill in for PM himself, his question had stepped him higher in party classes.

“Haan, haan, ask if you have any doubts. Bhaiyaji will clear them all” another tagged along on the express to success in party cadres. The youngsters with their minds numb went askew as to what would be the appropriate question. “Bhaiyaji, what is the best way to celebrate deepawali?” one of them asked, surprised at his own question.

Everyone laughed, veiling their disarmed self by the question mark. Only the ‘senior’ seemed serious (although artificially) which made everyone else quite.

“This is a good question.”

So says everyone who doesn’t know the answer. But somehow, he managed to say to it, more than that.

“The best way to celebrate deepawali”, he said, “is to make sure that our Ram aka Manmohan Singhji is worshipped everywhere along with Sita Maiyya roopi Soniaji and Lakshmanji roopi Chidambaram Saab; that we become as brave as Hanumanji (Pranab da) and continue to defeat the BJP’s Ravan, along with Left’s Kumbhkarn and Shiv Sena’s Meghnaad. The deepawali would be better if we manage to kills Mayawati roopi Shurpanakha. Also we have a duty to ensure smooth succession of our prince Rahul to throne just like Luv-Kush. Only then would Ram-rajya (congress-rule) would be established perfectly throughout the country (in all the states as well) and Deepawali will get a true meaning.”

Everyone clapped - the juniors, the not-so juniors and the latecomers while I was left thinking if I had been celebrating the true spirit of Deepawali all these 20 years.

Letter to Gandhi

Dear Bapu,

Happy Birthday!

I hope you are fine in your abode. With all the things that you have done on earth, I am sure the Gods must be taking special care of you.

I no longer sing patriotic songs and speak of your contribution to country (or debate it) today, as I am no longer in school. Sometimes I feel that this sentiment of jingoism is draining out of me with age, but I do not lament it because it makes me feel more customary with everyone else.

However, to celebrate your birthday and my flavor I’ll be baking a cake today in your memory. It’ll be, of course, a part of my Pre-Marriage Training (PMT, as my mom calls it) and Papa specially insists on making delicious deserts so that I keep my spouse happy (not that I am marrying soon). This is one difference in our ages, Bapu. You got married at a very early age while I’ll wait for some more time. Some will call this progress, some deterioration; for me it is change – evolution. But then, a lot of changes have taken place since your departure.

I asked Papa if we could use cream made out of a goat’s milk, but he said that it would be a gigantic task to get goat’s milk. So I am using the usual buffalo one, but I hope you are getting goat’s milk wherever you are. By the way, did someone warn you against the synthetic milk – it is adulterated, so please don’t use it. You’ll be wondering, obviously, why people are selling adulterated milk. The answer lies in their voracity, their hastened attempt to escape paucity. The mammoth task of salvaging millions of Indians from hunger and dearth is still unaccomplished.

If you are wondering what your successors in congress (and elsewhere) did in last 60 years, let me tell you, it was not easy for them to do all the hard work while there were paintings of you to be hung in office across the nation. I mean, how could they do all the work themselves, after all there were statues of you to be inaugurated, roads to be named after you and yes, the most important – printing you on every note in country’s economy. But you must not feel let down, there’s work going on in the offices – lots of money with you splashed on it changes lots of hands in offices right under your paintings. Some people showed a lot of vision – started institutions, organizations which is earning us good name and fame. But it is only in power that they can afford to accomplish their vision for the country, so most of their time is spent in exchanging blows for this power.

Have you heard the term commercialization? I wonder if it was coined when you were here. Oh, I remember suddenly, you were all for something(s) called socialism, equality, right? Well, now days we scarcely hear about equality and socialism has paved way for communism. Equality is now restricted in textbooks of mathematics and perhaps to some paragraphs in constitution. The balance is uneven now between the rich and poor and completely tilted socially. Those who were backward and ‘your harijans’ once, are now given special preferences for various educational and job opportunities. But this is perhaps our own fault – if we had gone to vote all these years, perhaps these leaders might worry about us too. But, you see, this is where the commercialization part comes into act. Over years, they have used ‘Mahatma Gandhi’ so much in their speeches, debates and manifestos (more for their own use, than anything else) that I wonder if you are still a Mahatma for them or just a figure of speech. You must be worth trillions of dollars (not rupee, because its values is less) because just your name has earned these politicians lots of money.

Perhaps, this is the reason why we cry your jai-jaikar three times for every one time that we shout for Shastriji’s, even though he was born on the same day. It was because of your sellable name that congress decided to portray you as the father of the nation even though there is no constitutional provision for anyone of such stature, and that is why I am addressing this letter to you and not to Shastriji.

Please convey my apologies to Shastriji for not writing him a separate letter, I won’t be able to bake the cake if were to write two letters. And yes, I’ll be writing his name on the cake as well – Happy Birthday Bapu & Shastriji! I hope you don’t mind sharing your cake with him. Shastriji, if I remember my textbooks clearly, is remembered for two main things – his being the second prime minister of the country, and his slogan – Jai Jawan, Jai Kisaan!

Both of them are in pretty bad shape, committing suicides under surmounting pressure. Neither gets the deserved return for their uphill struggle; however, the government keeps making promises for them in every election and every budget. Recently, a waiver of multi-thousand crores was given to farmers which left the nation wondering if our government really had such huge amounts of money in surplus. But we all know that this money gets raised by the different set of taxes and licenses that the government imposes which includes arms and liquor licenses as well. But don’t you worry Bapu, constitutionally, the state is still directed by your principles – Gandhian principles (Directive Principles of State Policy).

Neither for a moment you should worry about your quantum of popularity being constrained to politics only. There have been a lot of movies based on you or around you in Indian Film Industry as well. The most popular (and commercially successful) of them in fact, started an entire debate based on you and your principles throughout the nation. Everyone expressed their view about your philosophy, made up a new term – Gandhigiri combining you with our age hooliganism and then went their way. But you must be proud of the fact that the fanfare went on for months. Otherwise, in a billion strong nation with around 30 news channels issues get lost even before transmission. And then there are politically motivated writers (who are politicians themselves sometimes) who use your name to drag their titles into quagmire of controversy and thus, gain recognition. All in all, you still become headline of some national daily every other day.

Some of us may not be satisfied by you and your ways (which includes me as well), because they sometimes lead us to great losses – after all we can’t face terrorists with ahimsa! But the fact remains that you are remembered fondly all over – India and beyond. So please don’t lose faith in us, we may not be all truthful, sincere and ahimsawadi like you but we are not that courageous either. The freedom that you won for us was just the launch of an expedition, a foray into ourselves of the greatness that we had achieved and the duties that are strapped to us now.
I sincerely hope (for ourselves) that we’ll not let you down.

Arpit Bharat Gupta

P.S. : No courier service can take the cake to where you are, so I won’t be able to send you a piece of your own birthday cake. But I promise that I will savor every bite of it and shall make you one if they let me in to where you are, when I die.

Ravan(s) that Ram should kill

Tauji was unanimously voted as the treasurer to the Ram-leela committee this year which gave us a new topic for the table top discussion this season. Why do we need to stage the saga of Ramayan year after year and with an increased budget? Not that people don’t know already what the story is like, neither can we add twists and turns to it. Is it a meager reminder to us as to what our society and life stand for, and the values that should govern our lives?

Tauji made a simple answer, that even though a lot of city dwellers may find the staging obsolete, a lot of people from the rural areas still like to see the story staged on a magnanimous scale. Additionally, every year a new genre and generation is added to us, our ‘duty’ being to instill the set of values in our youngsters, that includes me, he laughed.

And do we succeed, in establishing the so called Ram-rajya, I countered.

And every elder thus told me that one of the values that Ramayana instills is of patience and the duties towards the society, which is precisely what they are doing. But one thing that I made them agree upon with me was the changing forms of Ravan and thus the need of flexibility to defy them.

During the discussion, I was told one more astonishing fact by Tauji that more money was spent on Ravan then Ram during the course of act. It is quite understandable owing to the fact that Ravan was a king at the time of his death while Ram was wandering in jungles having abandoned his kingdom on his father’s wish. However, the thing to note is that Ravan despite being villainous in character was applauded more by the audience then Ram himself. This anomaly is explained in Ramcharitmanas by Tulsidasji in which he has accorded Ravan with more opulent dialogues than Ram so as to portray Ram as serene, sagacious yet powerful king, while Ravan is more arrogant and self-righteous.

This self-righteousness or pride is one of the inherent features of Ravan as well as the desperados all over. Not that it comes naturally to them; it has to be nourished with external sustenance especially with the pride of those at levels higher than them. In his case, Ravan prayed to Lord Brahma and forfeited his head 10 times to Lord Shiva, accentuating their smugness – gaining favors. With his death a life may have ended but the idea of ‘Ravanism’ certainly did not. His 10 heads have evolved over time into forces much more appalling than his own, sometimes like Hydra – two heads growing at the place where one is cut.

Just like Ravan, the pride of iniquity is kept animated by asserting the righteousness of those a cut above. This systematic infestation allows freedom of wrong-doing at every echelon. The immoral is no longer confined to black; it has matured and trespassed its limits into gray. Fraudulence, sleaze, gluttony are steadily resolving themselves as the underlying prerequisites for survival.

These are the Ravans that Ram should kill not on a stage melodrama but on realms beyond it. The values that have been preserved in our culture for eons should not fall prey to this predator, for in their absence no staging of Ramayana alone could save us.