¬¬Beginning of a new era of Hope
“I don’t like to be called a Bihari. I don’t like to be called not- a- Bihari as well. When someone says to me that you are an exception because of your unBiharian ways, since you don’t drink, never indulge in petty politics in the hostel in the name of caste, region and religion, don’t use abusive language after every other word, or ogle at girls while walking down the road and so on and so forth, I want to resist this reductionist fixing of identity with a set of characteristics strongly and debunk this myth of Biharian ways. Two years ago, these remarks sounded highly pleasant to my ears and I felt myself absolved of the burden of representation. I am painfully aware of the local accent that I have, and some semblance of rusticity that I have been trying to dispense with for quite some time now because this will not be acceptable to the affluent Delhi elites, who often remind me what it means when you are pinned down to a certain negative identity. From identity and representation I can recall one instance of literary representation from Jhumpa Lahiri’s Namesake where, Mr Ashok Ganguli is afraid of the robbers lurking in Bihar..."
This diary entry, which I made a couple of weeks ago, needs either to be deleted or rethought in the light of two important experiences that I underwent recently. The first one concerns my reading of Orhan Pamuk’s Snow in which a Turkish character named Blue shares his experience of spending some years in Germany as an exile with the poet called Ka. In Germany, wherever Blue happens to be walking, he feels a ubiquitous presence of a German, who always stood as an object of fascination for him. The interesting thing is that Blue does not think of that German but he imagines what he might be thinking of him, of his appearance, his clothes, his history, his nation. It makes him feel terrible and degraded, and then, he realises how his countrymen must be feeling. After undergoing this experience, he comes up with a prophetic proclamation: “Most of the time it’s not the Europeans who belittle us. What happens when we look at them is that we belittle ourselves.”
I was struck by the universal applicability of Blue’s statement, especially when measured in the light of the anxiety of disclosing or hiding one’s identity by Biharis, for example, in conversation like this: “Yes, I’m from Bihar. But I’ve done my schooling outside the state...” or “I’ve hardly spent any time in Bihar...”, and a sense of pride involved in it. Self- gaze makes one more vulnerable and perpetuates one’s sense of inferiority more than any form of discrimination at any level. We need to get rid of this self gaze and the tendency of reading other’s mind more than anything else in order to stop this self-belittling inclination. The same tension I could read on the face of a Delhi University PhD student from Baramula in Kashmir, who while disclosing his place of origin, was trying to observe the changing expression on my face.
The second experience I was referring to regards the biggest ever victory of Nitish Kumar government in the legislative assembly election in Bihar, where it is said that people do not cast their votes but vote for their caste. This outcome is historic not only for Bihar but also for India in the sense that people of Bihar have unanimously rejected the casteist politics of Lalu Prasad’s RJD and have shown that there is no substitute for development. It will inarguably restore the faith of the electorates in democracy and politics of development, and bring the wind of optimism. Today, one of India’s most socio-economically backward states feels proud in declaring that it is led by a man of integrity and honesty, who will steer Bihar against all the odds and sustain the process of economic and social development, which has already been initiated. Congratulations to Nitish Kumar and best of luck to Mr Ashok Ganguli for his next trip to Bihar!
Friday, November 26, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
TEAR LOVE
You never told
The wet ends of your eyes
Made by love charred heart’s smoke
The cracks and the peeping
Unfulfilled hopes
And that sobbing laughter’s
That makes the illusion of intoxication
Story.
From the depth of separation
Your cries
In poetic-mansion they put in decoration
And say how special is
Your teary love.
(Translation of a self written Hindi poem “ashru prem”.)
The wet ends of your eyes
Made by love charred heart’s smoke
The cracks and the peeping
Unfulfilled hopes
And that sobbing laughter’s
That makes the illusion of intoxication
Story.
From the depth of separation
Your cries
In poetic-mansion they put in decoration
And say how special is
Your teary love.
(Translation of a self written Hindi poem “ashru prem”.)
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Eyes
Eyes or are they rings of fire
Desire at the fringes reddens and rakes
Swollen like a pregnant belly
Reproduce a cry, when the water breaks
Oft they will hallucinate
And abnegate what present be
Cobwebs will form on the palpebras
Rewinding and playing memories
The broken mirror of things past
Where sunshine brims the brow with sweat
Reflects a sorry soul who will
Drown in nostalgia and regret
The insidious glance of Used-to-be
Might wound some dreams with jabbing darts
Those eyes that must casualties see
Will also truly purge the heart
Anon in forgetfulness they will smile
Bounce back the moon as they once did
A rising tide from the shore draws back
Soft pressing of palms on the lids
Desire at the fringes reddens and rakes
Swollen like a pregnant belly
Reproduce a cry, when the water breaks
Oft they will hallucinate
And abnegate what present be
Cobwebs will form on the palpebras
Rewinding and playing memories
The broken mirror of things past
Where sunshine brims the brow with sweat
Reflects a sorry soul who will
Drown in nostalgia and regret
The insidious glance of Used-to-be
Might wound some dreams with jabbing darts
Those eyes that must casualties see
Will also truly purge the heart
Anon in forgetfulness they will smile
Bounce back the moon as they once did
A rising tide from the shore draws back
Soft pressing of palms on the lids
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Unheard weeping
“i could not burn”
At the moment of last farewell
You said
Returning my loveletters
“ i will burn...”
Hearing my thses words
You sobbed
“ yes, you must do likewise
But never tell me
on which deathbank did this cremation
of my first unborn expectation...”
since then i am praiyng
whenever youe womb bears fruit
same your first unborn hope
everytime bloom in that
because telling truth
could not ash even i
your that unmarried hope
in those self written loveletters
often serch my own face
and my whole poem
is that your unborn hope’s
unheard weeping.
(translated from malchand tiwari’s rajasthani poem “ ansuni rulaee” in its hindi translation.)
“i could not burn”
At the moment of last farewell
You said
Returning my loveletters
“ i will burn...”
Hearing my thses words
You sobbed
“ yes, you must do likewise
But never tell me
on which deathbank did this cremation
of my first unborn expectation...”
since then i am praiyng
whenever youe womb bears fruit
same your first unborn hope
everytime bloom in that
because telling truth
could not ash even i
your that unmarried hope
in those self written loveletters
often serch my own face
and my whole poem
is that your unborn hope’s
unheard weeping.
(translated from malchand tiwari’s rajasthani poem “ ansuni rulaee” in its hindi translation.)
camera
Before the camera
Any date
Like 20 june 1989
I took your picture
Of laughter
Laughter such was that
As fallen from hands
A bronze plate
Do you remember
The thing
I had said
To make you laugh?
You must be laughing still
Because i have been saying the same
Sitting forgotten
The flowing teary garlands
Listen
Do see once more
On that very day’s pattern
Before this camera.
(translated from the hindi translation of Malchand Tiwari’s Rajasthani poem “ camera ke saamne”.)
Any date
Like 20 june 1989
I took your picture
Of laughter
Laughter such was that
As fallen from hands
A bronze plate
Do you remember
The thing
I had said
To make you laugh?
You must be laughing still
Because i have been saying the same
Sitting forgotten
The flowing teary garlands
Listen
Do see once more
On that very day’s pattern
Before this camera.
(translated from the hindi translation of Malchand Tiwari’s Rajasthani poem “ camera ke saamne”.)
confabulation
Trishanku in Alps
Holding the half-ashed cigarette between his lips, he appeared at the door of the classroom. Probably mocking the wooden face of that “no smoking” board that hung there for no apparent effect. Suddenly a deadness of discipline engulfed the whole class that was enlivened by the gay chirping of youthful flock. Corridor was our most usual loitering space during the class intervals that we had enough as very few teachers troubled us with punctuality. There was another board that told, “Loitering in the corridor is prohibited”. We laughed on the deadness of those words but sometimes it made me to reflect. I remembered a school day story of a demon who had a big garden and it had perpetual springtime. Children from the neighborhood used to sneak into and play in his garden. One day he saw them. He drove them away, made a big boundary wall round the garden and put a big notice “transgressing the boundary is a big offence and offenders will be prosecuted”. Every time I thought who might be the demon here. My paranoia was just momentary and then I used to think what if those demons crept out from the closed world of fairytales. Anyway, the cigarette was burnt till its butt and he released it from the crab clutch of his fingers. Smoke was rushing out through his nostrils and he gave cool eye to the class. The last flame was extinguished with the shining tip of his right shoe and he entered the class with a solitude around his face. We found it quite befitting for a person who was to teach us Wordsworth. “Who are you?” the whole class was perplexed with this sudden throw. No one knew who was to catch. After floating for a while around the heads it started descending down the benches. Suddenly our smart teacher gave it a fresh blow into air. “ you don’t need giving your name or some other thing like the same. Just tell what gives you the sense of ‘ I’.” equally confusing. Or even worse for many for us. Now I understood why wordsworth was so much fond of mountains. Such deep questions could be solved only under some kind of transportation. Transported into a state of intoxication, affected by the beauty of nature or some opium. But here was none. Logical consequence: question remained unanswered. Attempts were made. “I am what I think I am.” This was the best answer I thought a student of literature could make. This is what art should offer. Unlike science that gives either right or wrong, art revels in the world of deferred judgments. And the answer was exactly that. but it was considered inadequate on the philosophical scale and he waited for some surprise package. When no answer surprised him, finally he surprised himself on the absence of some good answer. We gave a gratifying grin and he gave it a somber acknowledgement by offering us some enlightening views on self. Passing through some gentle obscurities of philosophy, we reached a sublimated level of wisdom that could be plainly termed as defamiliarization of the familiar. We had a sudden realization of the profundity that our body encompasses. If “self” could be an hour-long thing then body must be something of many times bigger importance. However, philosophy did not let it be. Personally, I felt the body of commonsense being mutilated by the cold knives of philosophy. Suddenly Descartes appeared before me, flying upon his wings and performing magical antics like in some popular belief geese do with a mixture of milk and water. separating the two apparently inseparable things. After straying for a while in the wild wisdom of some nature myths suddenly my imagination descended down into the world of reality and I found it absurdly incomprehensible. What strange creatures we humans have become that we can’t buy a single simple thing without creating a hard laboured web of wisdom around it! It took me some moments to realize the import of those words for the examination purpose and I also realized the importance of master’s degree as a career building block. Very next moment I was a most attentive student like any body else, my eyes glued on his face and my ears tuned to his lips. I was so absorbed that I forgot to open my notebook and taking any note. The incessant flow of words seemed making an unobstructed passage into my mind and occupying my soul. A sudden loud tone broke my attention and started. Dear teacher was moving in his evenly smooth tone. Probably I had fallen asleep. My friend later confirmed my guess. I was totally blank on whatever was discussed in the class and whatever I got was merely an illusion of my self. Now I had begun to understand what self clould mean. The only thing that troubled me was that even though I knew what self could be, I could not assert it without risking another fall into a mere illusion. It was after several afterthoughts that I came to conclusion that self is something for self realization, strictly not for explanation. The harder you try to crack into its core the worse it gets for your intellect to track its circumference. And then you are also vulnerable to the traps of false enlightenment. It just reminded me the case of a recently married friend. He has an average built and an average appearance. After their first night of consummation( among maithil brahmins it happens on the fourth night after the mariage) I went to meet him with some other friends. He was at his in-laws’ place as customarily the groom has to stay there till the chaturthi( the four days period of familiarization and abstinance). We went with fishes as the sagun. We found him in a room, surrounded with his sisters-in-law. They were just pulling his legs. Poor chap felt great relief when he saw us. He immediately greeted us and a stormy rush of our friendly jokes drove away the in-laws. He even called them to stay but they did not. He laughed loudly to mark his ultimate finish of the episode. We had some hearty chat and our friend was often blushing. Well, cutting a long story short, he sent our rest two frinds out on some pretext. I expected some spicy thing to come, personally for me. I must tell you, my ears were burning like anything. But a sudden wet voice cooled it like the thing you might guess. “I don’t know for sure. In fact it is slightly embarassing but I think it ok to share it with you. Well this is something I felt…” I was looking at his face unblinkingly. “ I think she was faking at night.” He spoke in a hurry as if the words were burning his tongue and he spitted it out. I dared not to ask him to repeat them. Just silent for next few moments. Quite unlike me who loves being called a chattering box. I tried my level best to fake the troubled look on his face. Honestly it was oppressive. Just to break the silnce I said, “ oye don’t bother yaar! Arre you enjoyed na?” “ well…yaa…I enjoyed. I enjoyed but you know I just felt that she was faking.” I felt his voice drowning somewhere. Pitiable, lamentable, laughable, and above all it was unresolvable. “ see bro. you enjoyed and she also did. Forget if she was faking or not. The game had a happy course. Now forget all this crap.” Supposedly my best logical consolation failed misrably. He gave me a hurt kind of look. “ how can you even talk like this man? It’s no game but a relation. Leave it, you wont understand.” I took a long breathe and repeated with a pretentious mischeviousness, “yaa. How could I understand? I am telling you man just take some gulps down and she wont be faking anymore.” I put special emphasis on the last five words and got a tired kinda smile on his face. Fish was reaaly delicious and it was a most welcome break for all of us. The taste watered my palate as we sat there waiting for our tea which abdul bhai was yet to bring. Wisdom of the day:
doubt and seriousness make a really deadly combination and it must be used with care.
Anti dotes if badly inflicted: yet to be invented.
Immunity: eat, drink, be happy.
What If it turns chronic: turn to philosophy and make the maximum of it.
Diagnosis: when you fail to answer your own questions upto your satisfaction and then try to convince others with your arguments.
What if uncared: well, that is a case study still under way. You can also contribute some data.
Holding the half-ashed cigarette between his lips, he appeared at the door of the classroom. Probably mocking the wooden face of that “no smoking” board that hung there for no apparent effect. Suddenly a deadness of discipline engulfed the whole class that was enlivened by the gay chirping of youthful flock. Corridor was our most usual loitering space during the class intervals that we had enough as very few teachers troubled us with punctuality. There was another board that told, “Loitering in the corridor is prohibited”. We laughed on the deadness of those words but sometimes it made me to reflect. I remembered a school day story of a demon who had a big garden and it had perpetual springtime. Children from the neighborhood used to sneak into and play in his garden. One day he saw them. He drove them away, made a big boundary wall round the garden and put a big notice “transgressing the boundary is a big offence and offenders will be prosecuted”. Every time I thought who might be the demon here. My paranoia was just momentary and then I used to think what if those demons crept out from the closed world of fairytales. Anyway, the cigarette was burnt till its butt and he released it from the crab clutch of his fingers. Smoke was rushing out through his nostrils and he gave cool eye to the class. The last flame was extinguished with the shining tip of his right shoe and he entered the class with a solitude around his face. We found it quite befitting for a person who was to teach us Wordsworth. “Who are you?” the whole class was perplexed with this sudden throw. No one knew who was to catch. After floating for a while around the heads it started descending down the benches. Suddenly our smart teacher gave it a fresh blow into air. “ you don’t need giving your name or some other thing like the same. Just tell what gives you the sense of ‘ I’.” equally confusing. Or even worse for many for us. Now I understood why wordsworth was so much fond of mountains. Such deep questions could be solved only under some kind of transportation. Transported into a state of intoxication, affected by the beauty of nature or some opium. But here was none. Logical consequence: question remained unanswered. Attempts were made. “I am what I think I am.” This was the best answer I thought a student of literature could make. This is what art should offer. Unlike science that gives either right or wrong, art revels in the world of deferred judgments. And the answer was exactly that. but it was considered inadequate on the philosophical scale and he waited for some surprise package. When no answer surprised him, finally he surprised himself on the absence of some good answer. We gave a gratifying grin and he gave it a somber acknowledgement by offering us some enlightening views on self. Passing through some gentle obscurities of philosophy, we reached a sublimated level of wisdom that could be plainly termed as defamiliarization of the familiar. We had a sudden realization of the profundity that our body encompasses. If “self” could be an hour-long thing then body must be something of many times bigger importance. However, philosophy did not let it be. Personally, I felt the body of commonsense being mutilated by the cold knives of philosophy. Suddenly Descartes appeared before me, flying upon his wings and performing magical antics like in some popular belief geese do with a mixture of milk and water. separating the two apparently inseparable things. After straying for a while in the wild wisdom of some nature myths suddenly my imagination descended down into the world of reality and I found it absurdly incomprehensible. What strange creatures we humans have become that we can’t buy a single simple thing without creating a hard laboured web of wisdom around it! It took me some moments to realize the import of those words for the examination purpose and I also realized the importance of master’s degree as a career building block. Very next moment I was a most attentive student like any body else, my eyes glued on his face and my ears tuned to his lips. I was so absorbed that I forgot to open my notebook and taking any note. The incessant flow of words seemed making an unobstructed passage into my mind and occupying my soul. A sudden loud tone broke my attention and started. Dear teacher was moving in his evenly smooth tone. Probably I had fallen asleep. My friend later confirmed my guess. I was totally blank on whatever was discussed in the class and whatever I got was merely an illusion of my self. Now I had begun to understand what self clould mean. The only thing that troubled me was that even though I knew what self could be, I could not assert it without risking another fall into a mere illusion. It was after several afterthoughts that I came to conclusion that self is something for self realization, strictly not for explanation. The harder you try to crack into its core the worse it gets for your intellect to track its circumference. And then you are also vulnerable to the traps of false enlightenment. It just reminded me the case of a recently married friend. He has an average built and an average appearance. After their first night of consummation( among maithil brahmins it happens on the fourth night after the mariage) I went to meet him with some other friends. He was at his in-laws’ place as customarily the groom has to stay there till the chaturthi( the four days period of familiarization and abstinance). We went with fishes as the sagun. We found him in a room, surrounded with his sisters-in-law. They were just pulling his legs. Poor chap felt great relief when he saw us. He immediately greeted us and a stormy rush of our friendly jokes drove away the in-laws. He even called them to stay but they did not. He laughed loudly to mark his ultimate finish of the episode. We had some hearty chat and our friend was often blushing. Well, cutting a long story short, he sent our rest two frinds out on some pretext. I expected some spicy thing to come, personally for me. I must tell you, my ears were burning like anything. But a sudden wet voice cooled it like the thing you might guess. “I don’t know for sure. In fact it is slightly embarassing but I think it ok to share it with you. Well this is something I felt…” I was looking at his face unblinkingly. “ I think she was faking at night.” He spoke in a hurry as if the words were burning his tongue and he spitted it out. I dared not to ask him to repeat them. Just silent for next few moments. Quite unlike me who loves being called a chattering box. I tried my level best to fake the troubled look on his face. Honestly it was oppressive. Just to break the silnce I said, “ oye don’t bother yaar! Arre you enjoyed na?” “ well…yaa…I enjoyed. I enjoyed but you know I just felt that she was faking.” I felt his voice drowning somewhere. Pitiable, lamentable, laughable, and above all it was unresolvable. “ see bro. you enjoyed and she also did. Forget if she was faking or not. The game had a happy course. Now forget all this crap.” Supposedly my best logical consolation failed misrably. He gave me a hurt kind of look. “ how can you even talk like this man? It’s no game but a relation. Leave it, you wont understand.” I took a long breathe and repeated with a pretentious mischeviousness, “yaa. How could I understand? I am telling you man just take some gulps down and she wont be faking anymore.” I put special emphasis on the last five words and got a tired kinda smile on his face. Fish was reaaly delicious and it was a most welcome break for all of us. The taste watered my palate as we sat there waiting for our tea which abdul bhai was yet to bring. Wisdom of the day:
doubt and seriousness make a really deadly combination and it must be used with care.
Anti dotes if badly inflicted: yet to be invented.
Immunity: eat, drink, be happy.
What If it turns chronic: turn to philosophy and make the maximum of it.
Diagnosis: when you fail to answer your own questions upto your satisfaction and then try to convince others with your arguments.
What if uncared: well, that is a case study still under way. You can also contribute some data.
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