Unparalleled bliss visits me twice a year, when my father comes back home. Among the premeditated celebrations I try to fit in those two weeks, one of the most enjoyable is the lavish get-together that we hold. It’s essentially a small gathering attended by friends from our colony and is generally held on our sprawling terrace under a moonlit sky and a makeshift bulb.
Preparations begin in the morning of the D-day with all the families arranging for their culinary contributions. We, being the host, get the terrace cleaned and organize the event to the last detail, giving equal weightage to the snacks bought as well as the music equipments arranged. The party usually begins at eight in the evening with some inevitable latecomers sneaking in till 9’o’Clock with a ritualistic excuse of “Sorry, had some work to do.” or “Oh ! Was it 8 p.m?”
We sit on large mats and improvised bedcovers, munching on chips and sipping cold drinks. While the parents sit together with their alcohol, casual Sunday wear and conversations that push behind the materialistic pursuits they engage in everyday, people of our age group together to discuss the latest movie or criticize the current scandal in the locality. Music plays on in the background which suffers a constant threat of being reprimanded by the elders for invading their territory. Soon, dinner is served in neat melamine plates and we break into an innocent fight to have the lion’s share of food on them.
The party is followed by some light discussion gradually veering towards philosophy (With the stars twinkling, a light breeze blowing, full stomach and heavy eyes, I would not blame the theme of our discourse). The gathering comes to an end with guests leaving with filled stomachs and fulfilled souls and the resonance of the party lingering on for days.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
The Emergency emerges from the dusty files...
The Emergency emerges from the dusty files…
The voice of the voiceless, the immense discomfort and the gurgling rage gets restricted in the silent stutter of the constrained souls. They grunt, they gripe, their eyeballs almost pop out of their sockets in a lame attempt to get their voice heard. But there is vacuum everywhere. They cannot listen to their own shrieks; they can only look at their throbbing veins and the futile tears leaving an evaporating coolness-the only consolation-the possession of personal tragedy. For centuries, people, to whom injustice has been meted out, have been concealing this self of theirs. They come out in sudden snatches of idiosyncrasies when they question their own existence…what is the purpose of this life? Why has it happened?
The Indian Emergency [25th June 1975–21st March 1977] was a 21-month period, when President Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed, upon advice by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, declared a state of emergency under Article 352 of the Constitution of India, effectively bestowing on her the power to rule by decree, suspending elections and civil liberties. This is one of the most controversial periods of Indian history. The opponents, mainly the Janata Dal, under the leadership of Jaiprakash narayan, rubbished the Congress victory of the 1971 elections,as being won by fraudulent practices. Jaiprakash Narayan started an agitation in Bihar protesting against the Central government through satyagrahas. Under his initiative, people ceased to cooperate with the government directives and revolted against the government. This minor agitation was attempted to be quelled by the iron grip of the emergency period, so as not to take the shape of a nationwide movement.
Emma Tarlo’s “Narratives of Emergency” spotlights on the long lost and the blood smeared history of the period as she steals a look behind the rusty cupboards where the unheard and uncared for voices are dugged in dusty files.They haver been silenced by long years of negligence and concealment by the authorities. The unsettling memories can be comprehended once the accounts are read through. The book is a document of the terrible insecurity of the victims of the emergency, muted and blinded by the Government who tried and succeded in shoving the incidents under the realm of insignificance. The actual scene was not projected to the world. The state ensured the regulation of the public memory and many a witnesses were gagged and strangled by the fear of worse consequences.
The book holds up the true picture of the injustice and the wickedness of pseudo-democracy prevailing in that period. The government tried its best to underplay and pass off the incidents as brief “moments of madness”.
Under the veneer of a grand 20-point plan which had its share of discrepancies, attrocities were rampant. Ms. Gandhi started dislocation and relocation of slums in order to “beautify” the capital. Under the sword of her mother’s dictatorship, Sanjay gandhi also started compulsory vasectomy against the will of the people. Those who revolted were mercilessly beaten up.Terror ruled everywhere. Women were raped, shops were looted.All these mayhem caused much discomfort and disturbance to the common people who were shaken beyond their belief. Violence took the shape of a necessary ritual and upheld the alibi of its cause to move forward a society. This shattered the image of India being an essentially non-violent country.The much propagated “clean up” drive was more aimed at sweeping the poor to the outskirts of the capital so as to “beautify” it. This enforced localisation was a serious constraint for the people.
The state took a backseat during the procedings.. Corruption was rampant ; bribery and red-tapism prevailed everywhere. It is alleged the Indian “Hitler” even put the corrupt officials to high posts.Emma Tarlo, as an anthropologist, pierces through the documents as “evidences” and not mere “paper truths”. She stumbles upon the recorded monstrosity of facts from where emanates the soft silent sad music of human existence and thread between the individuals who share the common sentiments of pain. Emma records how the resettlement colony of “Welcome” soon turned into a den of criminals and all sorts of unsocial activities began to take place following the lack of adequate attention.The dearth of human kindness was felt everywhere.
Indira Gandhi, in her public speech, sounded artificially grandiose in stating that she was arresting people for the betterment of the country.and termed it as “necessary”. She pledged to reprimand the groups wedded to terror and murder. Press censorship was implemented and it invited the ire of journalists and eminent thinkers all over. It sent waves of protest as the press was gagged from voicing out any anti-government opinions. Journalists were jailed and seriously threatened. There are records of journalists killed during the emergency. The police was perceived everywhere as the mafia of the country, chucking tear gas shells everywhere and beating up protestors mercilessly. When asked, the uniformed figures had only one thing to say- they were only following orders.
Thus, the period of Emergency is a serious blot on India’s democratic record. The government fed on the carcasses of innocent thousands to maintain power and dominance. The story of people’s suffering is brought forward poignantly by the book and it opens the dam of the sorrow and lays bare the inhuman treatment by the government and the irreparable damages made to the people. Emma Tarlo embarks on a nostalgic journey to the past and discovers a whole new space of suffering souls, till now silenced by oppression and negligence. The book opens up a tunnel of soulless existence and portrays the picture of a helpless present looking back at a terrible past and staring at a bleak future.
The voice of the voiceless, the immense discomfort and the gurgling rage gets restricted in the silent stutter of the constrained souls. They grunt, they gripe, their eyeballs almost pop out of their sockets in a lame attempt to get their voice heard. But there is vacuum everywhere. They cannot listen to their own shrieks; they can only look at their throbbing veins and the futile tears leaving an evaporating coolness-the only consolation-the possession of personal tragedy. For centuries, people, to whom injustice has been meted out, have been concealing this self of theirs. They come out in sudden snatches of idiosyncrasies when they question their own existence…what is the purpose of this life? Why has it happened?
The Indian Emergency [25th June 1975–21st March 1977] was a 21-month period, when President Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed, upon advice by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, declared a state of emergency under Article 352 of the Constitution of India, effectively bestowing on her the power to rule by decree, suspending elections and civil liberties. This is one of the most controversial periods of Indian history. The opponents, mainly the Janata Dal, under the leadership of Jaiprakash narayan, rubbished the Congress victory of the 1971 elections,as being won by fraudulent practices. Jaiprakash Narayan started an agitation in Bihar protesting against the Central government through satyagrahas. Under his initiative, people ceased to cooperate with the government directives and revolted against the government. This minor agitation was attempted to be quelled by the iron grip of the emergency period, so as not to take the shape of a nationwide movement.
Emma Tarlo’s “Narratives of Emergency” spotlights on the long lost and the blood smeared history of the period as she steals a look behind the rusty cupboards where the unheard and uncared for voices are dugged in dusty files.They haver been silenced by long years of negligence and concealment by the authorities. The unsettling memories can be comprehended once the accounts are read through. The book is a document of the terrible insecurity of the victims of the emergency, muted and blinded by the Government who tried and succeded in shoving the incidents under the realm of insignificance. The actual scene was not projected to the world. The state ensured the regulation of the public memory and many a witnesses were gagged and strangled by the fear of worse consequences.
The book holds up the true picture of the injustice and the wickedness of pseudo-democracy prevailing in that period. The government tried its best to underplay and pass off the incidents as brief “moments of madness”.
Under the veneer of a grand 20-point plan which had its share of discrepancies, attrocities were rampant. Ms. Gandhi started dislocation and relocation of slums in order to “beautify” the capital. Under the sword of her mother’s dictatorship, Sanjay gandhi also started compulsory vasectomy against the will of the people. Those who revolted were mercilessly beaten up.Terror ruled everywhere. Women were raped, shops were looted.All these mayhem caused much discomfort and disturbance to the common people who were shaken beyond their belief. Violence took the shape of a necessary ritual and upheld the alibi of its cause to move forward a society. This shattered the image of India being an essentially non-violent country.The much propagated “clean up” drive was more aimed at sweeping the poor to the outskirts of the capital so as to “beautify” it. This enforced localisation was a serious constraint for the people.
The state took a backseat during the procedings.. Corruption was rampant ; bribery and red-tapism prevailed everywhere. It is alleged the Indian “Hitler” even put the corrupt officials to high posts.Emma Tarlo, as an anthropologist, pierces through the documents as “evidences” and not mere “paper truths”. She stumbles upon the recorded monstrosity of facts from where emanates the soft silent sad music of human existence and thread between the individuals who share the common sentiments of pain. Emma records how the resettlement colony of “Welcome” soon turned into a den of criminals and all sorts of unsocial activities began to take place following the lack of adequate attention.The dearth of human kindness was felt everywhere.
Indira Gandhi, in her public speech, sounded artificially grandiose in stating that she was arresting people for the betterment of the country.and termed it as “necessary”. She pledged to reprimand the groups wedded to terror and murder. Press censorship was implemented and it invited the ire of journalists and eminent thinkers all over. It sent waves of protest as the press was gagged from voicing out any anti-government opinions. Journalists were jailed and seriously threatened. There are records of journalists killed during the emergency. The police was perceived everywhere as the mafia of the country, chucking tear gas shells everywhere and beating up protestors mercilessly. When asked, the uniformed figures had only one thing to say- they were only following orders.
Thus, the period of Emergency is a serious blot on India’s democratic record. The government fed on the carcasses of innocent thousands to maintain power and dominance. The story of people’s suffering is brought forward poignantly by the book and it opens the dam of the sorrow and lays bare the inhuman treatment by the government and the irreparable damages made to the people. Emma Tarlo embarks on a nostalgic journey to the past and discovers a whole new space of suffering souls, till now silenced by oppression and negligence. The book opens up a tunnel of soulless existence and portrays the picture of a helpless present looking back at a terrible past and staring at a bleak future.
Rambling in rain
Its raining...
and its cold too.cold that injects my weakly guarded strong soul. cold that spears down to the core of sensitivity and tickles the cartilage of the destitute lonely that wanders through unchartered streets.
The streets are dry. the wind is hollow and the destiny of that empty street is designed by the pattern of surging sameness found in the dry crumpled leaves of an existence that has ceased to breathe fresh.
The pain jabs and the throat becomes parch.it sends shivers which culminates in goosebumps. the ears buzz and the vision blurs...
what am i? where am i? how am l? ahen am i? who am i?
who is i...
Monday, July 14, 2008
The pitter patter in my dreams.
Blogging will be a luxury now. Its a new city, a new episode, a new beginning with the roots becoming stronger and the music turning fainter (I am making an effort though)
"Steady" will be buzz word these 10 months or so.
...And there's no place like Kolkata on this planet.
I dont miss nothing....
"Steady" will be buzz word these 10 months or so.
...And there's no place like Kolkata on this planet.
I dont miss nothing....
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Stay with my Loved ones...
A new place to settle for a year...new friends to meet...new pressures to cope up with...new deadlines to meet...new emotions (or the lack of it)...new newness...old oldness...people...bottled up in my heart... difficult time is approaching and people say I gotta be strong.
Yes I will be strong when I miss my Mom,a twitch of someone's brow will bring back memories, when some soft strains of distant music will wrench apart my heart and dry tears will stab my heart with a saline choking feeling. I will be strong when I get up in the morning and call aloud my mother and then realize that She must be sitting in the Lobby and asking me drink up the sherbet soaked overnight. I will be strong in the evenings...at nights...when it rains..when the cool breeze would brush against my face,when some distant memory would come back to haunt me in silent shapes and formiddable(sp?) forms. I will be strong in front of malls,when I will walk in a lane,during auto rides,when will I pray,when I will wait for a friend,when I will write in my blog,when I will live,exist,smile,gumble,when I will breathe,when I will stay alive...
Music,dont come near me and movies,go away for a year. golden sunshine ! stay with my loved ones, messages,be nice to me, wet roads and the divine fragrance ! take care of them...
I will be strong
I will come back soon....
Bless.
Yes I will be strong when I miss my Mom,a twitch of someone's brow will bring back memories, when some soft strains of distant music will wrench apart my heart and dry tears will stab my heart with a saline choking feeling. I will be strong when I get up in the morning and call aloud my mother and then realize that She must be sitting in the Lobby and asking me drink up the sherbet soaked overnight. I will be strong in the evenings...at nights...when it rains..when the cool breeze would brush against my face,when some distant memory would come back to haunt me in silent shapes and formiddable(sp?) forms. I will be strong in front of malls,when I will walk in a lane,during auto rides,when will I pray,when I will wait for a friend,when I will write in my blog,when I will live,exist,smile,gumble,when I will breathe,when I will stay alive...
Music,dont come near me and movies,go away for a year. golden sunshine ! stay with my loved ones, messages,be nice to me, wet roads and the divine fragrance ! take care of them...
I will be strong
I will come back soon....
Bless.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Dhoni - Dude or Dud?
The Big Bazaar ads are some of the most horrible ads that I have seen. I mean come on gimme a break.He may be a youth icon but he cannot be possibly a style icon ! The middle class consumers can look up to John or even Akshay for that matter. and if thats too hard on the pocket,then let me say that I dont believe that Dhoni is too much of a big heart to charge less in his endorsements !
Whatever crap he blurts - "aukaad kapdo se pata chalta hai" - is that his aukaad ? that muck of a t-shirt (the black striped one) and whatever else he wears (dont wanna recall them too). Bhai,aukaad to logo ke chalne se bhi pata chalta hai. why do u walk in that manner in the ad,mahi bhaiyya?
I guess Dhoni does a good job in the parle milk shakti and brylcreem ads. while in doodh ka power he is in his natural self (the one with dadi darling is humorous), its more of the extra characters that weave magic (or "gels" with the audience) in the latter.
Dhoni may be cool on field but he has a long way to go on television and on the ramp too.
He is not expected to be classy and perfect to the T too. come on after all he is good in whatever he does best-cricket and I do respect that. Its just the ad makers and the product heads who sort of push guys from a different field to endorse a brand.(remember monster.com?)some click some does not. Sreesanth ,for instance ads panache and his goofy antics wins our hearts in the parachute and pepsi ads.but look at Sachin I dont remember that he was outstanding in any of the ads that he has done till now. after all our cricket stars are not models and thus they are not expected to have their characteristics in them.now every one cannot do an Irrfan khan,can they?
Note : A good ad maker can even pull off an ad and make it the best in the country with even a Ramesh Powar.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Amma,ille,chinna,poro....Bhai maaf koro !!
Its funny actually. 6 days back I was sitting in my home in Kolkata at this very hour and thinking about what will I be doing 6 days after. well here I am in the land of idli-dosa, sambhar-vada,of Karunanidhi-Jaya amma, of Kamal Haasan's Dasaavthaaram, of the Rajni mania and the Vijay craze, of cholamandalam bank and kaanjiverum sarees, of womwn who do not wash their hair everyday and tie a rajnigandha mala on in their hair instead [Sunsilk GOGs,what about the campaigning down south?], of marina beach and mamallapuram beach, of girls who are astoundingly fair as regards to south,of guys who consider it as their birthrght to sport moustaches,of shops where people help u with a smile in their face[sometimes over does it and creates trouble for us] and where almost everybody can manage the English language....Chennai has been a neat,proper and hassle free city for me.
Just as back in Good ol'Cal we address people as dada,here its baaabuuuu.tee hee.
I am staying in a lovely place called Kilpauk. Its a bit like Salt lake meets kankurgachi thing. The by lanes are neat and peaceful and the main road is bustling with activities.
The climate is quite pleasant as it rained heavily a couple of days back.But one cannot ignore the warm air that blows once in a while.
Its a politically demonstrative area with posters of a bald guy in black glasses and a yellow shawl [wink wink] stuck all over the city and the letters of the slogan doin their routine rotundum exercise[if u understand what I mean]. Their are two beautiful memorials built in the memory of MGR and Anna,political leaders. Ega and Sangam theatres have caught my eye and citycentre and spencer's plaza is good to look at from outside. The beach is a lovely view and the highways are smooth.
It was a surprising sight [my mistake to feel surprised] to see hindi movie posters in some parts of the city. So much for mere baap pehle aap and sarkar raj and one solitary bhoothnath.
I am boarding the train tomorrow night and I hope that this time the co passengers are easy to talk with.
Its been 3 days and I am already homesick.
I am coming home....Maaiiind it !
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