Wednesday, May 19, 2010

THE MAHAL'S STORY

It was a may day – hot and sultry- and I was just out of routine. Theory and history have taken a toll on my sense of real and practical – ‘ities’. I was home and it had just rained the previous day. Thunder showers are a reprieve, some say but it has to rain heavily in order to entirely realize the respite. It rained. The night was dark, power-less as well as mosquito-less. However, the next morning was hot and sultry, un-respite-fully.

We went to a betrothal - My Uncle’s. He was a chemist in the Arab emirates. He was a guy who went the hard way up. The Mahal wore a festive look. There were songs in the air. The spicy chicken masala’s sailed past our noses. Noices, cries, whispers and confusion. Everything happened except the betrothal. For they were waiting … actually… were made to wait.

The bride-to-be was nowhere to be seen. The man-to-be was anxious. Actually the ambience made him act that way. There were allegations and the tones that rose, arose to create only problems. However, nothing deterred the would-be couple. They acted the way they ought to. Then the unexpected happened.

The power went off. The Mahal was filled with exhaled heat and mouthed clatters. It was de-silenced. If the Mahal had a story to tell, would it distinguish between the many functions it witnessed? How many festivities? – Grand and casual; People of different castes and classes; regions and religions; cultures and ethnicities. The Mahal knew none. However, it could have recognized a pattern in all the proceedings; A dramatic outline in the revelry. And it is performance that drives the social-real in. The Mahal of course has stories and it must be a million tales of a particular version. If its walls had had ears and its fans eyes; the versions we could have known might have been disturbing.

Ah the bride arrives… along with the noises/voices.
Lenny.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

SHADOW-S

Loose baggy pants, yellowish white shirt, unkempt receding hair, head stooped down, dull eyes that looked over the spectacles, a bag on the shoulders - a shadow of depression, of unknown hatred and of uncertain confusion.

The shadow cycled the roads, everyday. The house to the school and back, to tuition centers, to special classes, to church, to Sunday school, to hospital … the shadow was diseased. Tied and fettered. It thought nothing was free; that everything had an investment, an amount to be paid – one liked it or not. Actually, it never thought. It was made to think. It was always shown an ideal to look up to. Whatever it did was practiced. It had lost its ability to create and think for itself. The shadow literally lost its source of existence and creativity. It became what it was projected – a shadow.

But the shadow had a dream, a hope. The more it was subjected unto, the more it dreamt of freeing itself from the projection. One day the shadow unfettered itself. It moved away, without any reason it escaped. It went in search of its identity – its self but it had lost it, forever.

The shadow had dreamt of fleeing free into the skies. Now it is captured in the maze of words inside four walls, stuck between a chair and a desk, in front of a screen – glued, its fingers danced according to many tunes. And it thought it dreamt freely.

The shadow now thinks it has realized its dream. It has actually learnt how to transform into many shadows. Shadows for different surroundings, for very many reasons. It had lost its source forever. Perhaps, the source itself was just a shadow!

The shadow became what it is.

BE PRE-CAUTIOUS!

BE PRE-CAUTIOUS!

We take pre-cautions: A lot of them just to escape danger. We plan our life just to avoid danger, don’t we? We walk on pavements, exactly paved for us. Doing this ensures as well as conforms. It ensures safety from disaster as it conforms to an existing pattern of normality.

Anything chaotic is abnormal and dangerous as it disturbs the existing pattern. The pattern has been paved for a larger purpose. This purpose is something the commoners cannot understand. We are just made to follow it. One may protest yet ONE HAS TO OBEY.

Fear, my friend, works through notions of safety and normality: What if something goes wrong? What if someone dies? What if one is the cause for a disturbance? Everything now is fine, right? Then why disturb? Why do you anyway think of something that disturbs the existing pattern? - Why? What if? How could one?

These seeds are planted through a wonderful discourse of fear. Safety rules, anti-viruses, insurances, university degrees – all these institute a larger plan that ensures a feeling of safety and execute conformity. One eventually feels happy to accomplish these pre-cautions since it successfully evades us from danger.

Now, who really is the cause of danger? In accurate terms, who constructs this fear of danger and why?

For instance, I installed an anti-virus, last month. I spent a lump sum amount. I feared therefore I did: ensure and conform. This fear is caused by someone – a fear of being affected by a virus. This constructed fear comes with a hope of an antidote: an anti-virus. Apparently, fear and hope are two sides of the same coin. One cannot work without the other. One has to fear in order to see hope. Hence both fear and hope are constructed by the same person for a larger purpose – actually their purpose.

‘Trust me… Thou shall not fear, if you fear ME!’