mindspume

a dreamer...

2011-11-13T16:50:00.000-08:00

I was born a dreamer,

And I thought it was easy to love…

I didn’t know the game, I didn’t know to frame

I was pure and clear to let a reflection turn me on

Oh I was born

To be a dreamer…

And I thought it was so easy to love.

But every game has its rule, has its stage

And the pawns that slowly crawl…

Eats up the space to make you fall

And you learn to play it back.

And on the rack

I let my trophies stand,

And in night’s depth I hold them on my hand

And I wish, O I dearly wish

The reflection…

Would emerge now, and tell me how

Games are so petty for a dreamer.

And I fly, I still do fly

With toes on ground that drag and hurt

And wings that flutter high.

But the rules of game passes on,

Intoxicating in complication

And the dreamer as I was born

Has walked and dived, flown and ran

I have no time to watch you now

And I laugh to discover how

A dreamer has learnt to play the game.

And I thought it was easy to be in love.

Do not judge a brand by its logo, do not judge a book by its font

2011-07-15T07:47:00.000-07:00

If SBI logo was not circular but squarish instead, not blue but green will you still deposit you money in that bank? My mom said, ‘huh! ofcourse!’ Everybody I knew from a non-design background said, “why not.”

I do not like the new airtel logo. The number of times I see it in the hoarding while passing by the street I twitch my nose in disgust. I do not know if that is the reason ‘sub-consciously’ but I have left using airtel since then. When I talked to other designer friends of mine, they told me similar stories based on their response. Its like you don’t connect with that brand anymore. You don’t feel you belong to something so aesthetically bad.

When I pointed the same to my non-designer friends, it hardly mattered. The irony, my friends, is hence clear.

Who are we designing for? If it is the non-designer clients, they only need a ‘face’, leave aside your colour, composition, balance, sub-conscious connection, philosophy and connotation and your endless debate over 0.1543 point difference to reach your aesthetic perfection.

Its like the random sign chosen to stand for election. One group chooses rose, the other a hen and the other a bicycle or a motor-car. The idea only is to DISTINGUISH one from the other. At the second level, as people became more intelligent they introduced ASSOCIATION. Cow would be better than a hen to symbolize patriotism. Lotus would be better than a rose as it is more Indian.

To the third level comes AESTHETIC ASSOCIATION. A beautifully photographed or drawn lotus would appeal more than an ugly one. Now the question is what is beauty? Is beauty general? What is it that appeals someone? In this limitless ground where does one stop? And at this point, design which is problem-solving climbs its highway of art.

I feel the genuine reason to symbolize a brand or a group or any organization is only upto the first two points ‘distinguishing’ and ‘association’. After it travels a little farther into ‘aesthetic association’ it starts being neutral to the mass. That is when it needs a different group for its appreciation and that is when it becomes art.

After that all the extra brain-cells that go into deciding the ‘look and feel’ according to the target group and the service provided and the provider is spending your money and effort on something which at the end hardly matters or actually should not matter. Even if it matters to you as a designer and fetches you artistic mental satisfaction, it doesn’t matter to the people you want it to matter. And even if it matters to them ‘sub-consciously’ as we would like to force it upon, I would like to bring them back to that old proverb and guide them in the right direction saying, “Don’t judge a book, by its cover.” Because I feel after that point the symbols used to ‘represent’ should start losing importance and the ‘represented’ should now stand for itself to battle with its own genuine qualities.

There is a refrigerator in our house purchased the same year I was born. Then as our need and space grew, we purchased another one from one of the modern brands. My birth-year refrigerator stood proud with its head held high all the way long and the modern one, dandy and cool, went again and again for repair.

Isn’t this a shame for the progressing generation? And I thought technology was getting better and better!

The same money and brain that is invested into deciding how the logo should be… pink or orange, or a blend of turquoise green with a lighter shade of marine blue, tilting slightly left or a little more than left … could have actually been used in modifying the product itself. Resources spent not to decide how ‘life is good’ should be said or presented to have maximum effect on the customer’s ‘sub-conscious mind’ but actually and consciously in making life good for them by reducing the hazards of repair and making the products better. That is when you are a ‘brand of word’ and not only visual. That is when you are definitely distinguished for your better products and not only by your aesthetic appeal that does not take you long.

I was once passing by a book shop. The huge poster outside the shop said “99% discount on every book”! My steps slowed down. 99% discount? Doesn’t that mean almost free? Why would any shop do that?

I went closer to the shop being pulled by curiosity. Then I looked at the poster closely. It said, “1% to 99% discount on every book.” The “1% to” was typed in a font size almost negligible to the naked eye. “99%” was blown up to fill the entire poster. I entered the shop and asked where the section with 99% discount was. The salesman smiled shyly and after searching a lot from the bundle came up with one lean and thin booklet that they were ready to give at almost no cost. Rest all the books in that shop were being sold at 1% to 10% discount. Very few at the maximum went upto 20%.

Now, is this good Graphic Design?

If Graphic Design’s purpose is to convey the right information clearly then it fails miserably with its deliberately being naughty with the font size. If Graphic Design’s purpose is to seduce the viewer by any trick into the shop, even if that means attempting to convey the wrong information, then it definitely is victorious.

But I think the question still remains. Graphic Design may mean manipulation but what is ‘good graphic design’?

After I left the shop I thought to myself, “For ardh-satya or half-truth if Yuddhishthir had to visit the hell, dear Graphic Designer, for your small font size attempting to hide the truth, you too would have to visit one."

Well, so I often do think, where should Graphic Design stop, because when it is allowed to go too far it either becomes evil and misleads rather than leading or becomes useless costing a bundle of effort and money that bothers none.

Avoiding red texts on green background is design. Spacing the text well and placing them correct to increase readability and legibility is design. Associating the appropriate image with that text for better communication is design. But choosing a font which would give more Monsoon-feel on a poster made for Monsoon is art. Placing the texts and images in a way that they give you impression of Monsoon is art and spending hours over which particular CMYK combination is more monsoon-like and which stroke thickness is more like rain is art.

When a very sensitive ‘rain-harvest’ poster is finally created balancing the texts and images it completes its journey as art. When that same poster is able to actually contribute to that cause filling up that missing link on the journey from problem to solution, it is design.

Now, the debate is, am I aiming to be an artist or a designer? If I am an artist I would go on, cross all limits of strokes and colours and create something so close to Monsoon with my highly skilled aesthetic senses that it can be put up in a gallery for applause and pleasure. It is like rendition of raag Malhar, with no earthly purpose but to lead to a joy limitless both to the artist and viewer, with no claim to make sense to the mass.

But if I am a designer, I need to know where to stop. My target group or the mass definitely needs to react. My loop as a designer starts with ‘stimulation’ and ends only with desired ‘reaction’. My limit therefore is sharp and defined. A very beautiful Monsoon poster with beautifully placed message may not be the solution to my rain-harvest movement or say a save-water campaign I am to work on. The stroke thickness decision I took over one hour, or the confusion over two fonts if took my night’s sleep, and doesn’t make any sense to my target group would therefore be counted as ‘wastage’ or ‘failure’. If my poster fitted in the right context, to the right group in the right place, putting the right effort in the right direction saves a life in a dry land or few drops of water, I am a successful designer, else I am either a bad designer or a wonderful artist creating poetry or overdoing things to claim false attention in the wrong profession!

PS:

@ designers: Forgive if I sounded over-smart. I am only a fresh graduate with the obvious confusions on my own journey towards solution.

@ non-designers: Forget whatever you have read above. A logo will increase your sale because it ‘sub-consciously’ affects the mind of the viewers. Hence keep visiting us. And make sure you have money, because whether it is ‘art’ or ‘design’ both are enormous hard work!

...from THE BOOK OF LIFE...

2011-04-19T04:45:00.000-07:00

1. Any two extremes are similar. The extreme low class and the extreme high class would have many of their lifestyles and views common. In the same way, the person extremely hated and the person extremely loved both share similarities with ownself. When we recognize the similarity we probably love, when we refuse to accept we hate...

2. I love meeting people in a one-to-one conversation... male or female, rich or poor, ugly or pretty, anyone!... and while talking I observe, mark the expressions, and make my own notes in my mind. And I often think, what has made this particular person so pretty, handsome or ugly. And the answer I found through my general survey is, "Anyone who is free is beautiful. Anyone who is suppressed is ugly."

3. When one loves oneself, love becomes independent. It is no more bound to gender, not to an object nor a subject of this world. It then hits a spiritual note in the mind independent of all petty conditions. A homosexual friend of mine once said, "Any relationship at the end anyway becomes heterosexual." I thought upon it and then defined, "yes! thats how purush and prakriti concepts came... and yin and yang!... male and female are concepts independent of genders!"

4. I was traveling with my cousin. We were going through a marketplace in the morning in Kolkata. I suddenly saw a very young girl of may be 14 being pushed, thrown and laughed at by a crowd of young men. She was crying and sniffing trying to argue about something that to others seemed insane. I was horrified and asked, "What happened?" The others with me were curious too. On being inquired, the answer that came was, "Oh you move on. She is a prostitute you see" and the others with me laughed. The driver laughed too and moved on. I sat frozen and numb. Was still trying to collect what in that information was sufficient to convince someone that it is okay to beat and ridicule a human or say a woman...

5. I always get amused by my sense of time, or even distance or speed since its all related under one structure. I can never estimate how much 5 minutes is or say one hour. If asked by someone, how much time does it take for you to reach office from home, my most innocent answer would be, "If I am recalling the sweet conversation I had last night over dinner then before I have finished reciting even the first two sentences in my mind, I unfortunately reach. So, it takes me 5 minutes or else sometimes takes me an hour."

6. I am a talkative female by my nature and a poor listener. Realizing that sometimes I make conscious effort to improve my ears. The best occasion for that is if a female friend is confused in love. She would say one sentence a hundred times, and narrate even the twitch in his eye-brow and slight move of his palm before she even comes close to the point... and yah at the end you get trained as a patient listener.

On that training, I marked one common confusion. "If he doesn't love me why would he get troubled when I talk to others..."

My assumed conclusion for this is, to a female love and possession is much related. She first loves and then acquires possession. To a male possession is a part of his ego, may or may not belong to a feeling of love... though it may germinate later.

7. I think broadly there are 2 categories of people: People who like SOLVING mystery and so, love 'maths' and people who like CELEBRATING mystery and so, love 'art'. Maths-lovers never get the point of staying mystified when there is a solution. Art-lovers never get the point of solving it wen remaining in mystery is so much mysterious.

8. In my new PG in Bangalore the room next to mine had a pair of caged birds that screeched continuously. I told myself, "Don't get disturbed. Don't you like birds? Do you complain when birds sing in forest?" And then it occurred to me why this is disturbing and that is soothing. One is 'cry for joy' other is 'plead for freedom'. One is beckoning me to rejoice, other is pointing me as guilty. I visited the next room. "Nice birds." I said. She smiled, "Thanks. I love birds" I replied, "Me too". Then returned to my room smiling how diverse the concept of love can be!

to be contd...

My Experience and Experiments in Chennai

2010-08-17T02:33:00.000-07:00

I always grew up considering people who live by the sea-shores lucky. I kind of could never digest that the waves I dream to visit in my vacations having to travel so far from my home and return with moist eyes with the pain of separation, there are people who actually live by those haunting sands. I envied them and it was a desire deep soaked in my heart to live by the sea at least once to grab a bit of that luck they all shared.

My four months project in Chennai fulfilled that grave craving in me or should I say my choice of project that led to Chennai could have been subconsciously tricked by the inner mermaid in me that drives me impatiently and illogically hydrophilic from time to time.

The very first day I landed in Chennai I visited the Marina beach just a little away from the place I lived. Women in gajras, men in munds sat here and there occupying the entire stretch of sand, it was active and chirpy. Colorful balloons, kites, and clothes added to the pallet of that brown sand that led to the water. The waves growled ferociously and would angrily hold your legs and pull once you step in. I dared not go deep.

As more days passed by I grew fascinated by the flowers that would be sold in every corner of the street. Every woman had her long hair decorated with flowers, the buses I traveled in would be scented by the jasmines that the women dangled from their hair. They are pious, courteous and peaceful.

The nose rings occupying the sides of both nostrils in many women disturbed me curiously. My not accustomed eyes again and again hovered around that nose that increased so much weight sideways to the face and my eyes would be oscillating there while I spoke. Well…not spoke made actions.

I enacted everything I uttered and the live mime show kept me amused in this new land. As a speaker I acted, as a listener I smiled. I smiled to hide my surprise that in an entire long sentence just spoken to me not even one word could I grab, picking the thread of which I could at least make a related intelligent response.

I feel at every interval in life one should definitely visit a place that is so different culturally and most importantly linguistically. It so much makes the mind alert and so much surprises with all that things we take for granted every day and move on. It refreshes with new outlook adding a new dimension to the acceptance of difference and admiring the varieties that developed.

And while I was completely depended on gestures, if the gestures too misled it was a disaster. The auto driver being mentioned a place would swing his head sideways and when you just crossed him by he would hail you back! That “No” perhaps meant a “Yes”.

However the language problem had one big advantage I figured. While you walk by the street and you are passed a comment by a passer by, it would leave you completely neutral. In fact that would make you think, “Huh, what a fool this guy was, said something in Tamil and probably wanted to tease but poor fellow, I didn’t even understand.”

In my personal quest about the language, I finally figured out the “extra-H mystery” to the names. Why a mysterious ‘h’ was always added in my name without fail making it Aparajitha, a Bindu-BindHu, Kavita-KavitHa, Gayatri-GayatHri and Pratima-PratHima. I still am curious to find out the mystery of double ‘P’s and double ‘K’s in the names of places that almost acted like a tongue twister and made your tongue trip inside the cavity of the mouth.

Another amusing discovery was a “Chumma-Party” that made me stretch my imagination far and then land with a painful thud knowing it is party just like that, without a definite cause. Chumma meaning “just like that” which surely is a misleading term.

Well, and I am now dying to play the role of a peace-maker to fulfill a communication gap that might have kept the people of North and South so far from each other for so long. Before I visited Chennai the feedback I got from every North-Indian was, “They generally hate us and would not even utter a word in Hindi even if they knew it all.” And the amusing part is that the same sentence was repeated by them there, “The North Indians hate us and would deliberately speak with us in Hindi even though they knew English and knew Hindi was not spoken here.” Wow, and taking the side of both parties I could clearly see where the problem exactly was. The yearlong hostility between this North-South was just a simple misunderstanding that needed a two minutes of open thought.

It so tempted me to play the role of the mistress of the play-group bringing the hands of both children together, compelling them to say sorry to each other and initiate the first game in between and leave them to patch there.

For the people in North, well, most of them do understand a bit of Hindi due to the TV channels and movies that are released there but they would not speak because they are not accustomed to it and never did try and moreover, did not need to try either. It is definitely not because they want to punish by speaking an alien language and torture the visitors.

And to the people of South, well, they don’t speak Hindi to torture you either. It is just that they find it so obvious that in entire India Hindi is a language that is common and would be surprised that it does not apply the same way for South.
So, hoping for the North-South alliance here. Jai Hind!

About the places around Chennai, I was deeply fascinated by Auroville and was thrilled to learn about the concept of a place that holds no nationality and belongs to anyone whose inner built is for good deeds and service. As I strolled in those muddy lanes that slithered between the woods I filled my lungs with air so fresh... and by night I lay for hours looking upwards admiring the vast sky that did not slightly get hindered by a sky-touching pile of bricks that threatened the stars so high.

And how could I not mention my visit to matri-mandir there. As I approached that golden dome, the free moving air and the fresh green vast space did seep into my soul smoothening every ripple of thought preparing me for a silent journey inward. As I sat by the rippling pool that ran in concentric circles towards a clear crystal, I was overtaken, overwhelmed and absorbed. The definition of calm and serenity seemed to have revealed itself in its maximum depth there. Every second there was a step ahead to purification.

Air passed through the dome freely making a sweeping sound that almost would wipe your soul, the ripples replicated the disturbance of thoughts and it gurgled so smoothly as it traveled down to the centre. The concentric circles that held the ripples represented the zones of consciousness that so clearly are touched in meditations. And then as you cross every zone and leave past your ripples far, there you reach the pure crystal so untouched, so aloof and so deep from the upheavals around and everywhere…

The entire journey of meditation was so thoughtfully replicated and imitated there and those moments I spent that evening were as golden as that dome that shone with the last rays of the setting sun.

Well, and all I knew was I have discovered a spot in this world that will keep haunting me again and again to get back there and would beckon me often when life in its brisk ripples and waves captures my mind and engulfs.

Three and half hours to Auroville and matri-mandir, three and half days to Andaman in ship from Chennai…I would be tempted again and again to near you throughout my life. To ride across these three and halves, I will again visit thee. The biryani houses that occupied every nook and corner and relieved me of tamarind in every dish, the cake cutting ceremony in Brahmin marriages that almost made me sing happy birthday unconsciously, even a grown up bearded man being referred to as “Maa” that made me check him well up and down slyly, the paratha in a traditional Tamil restaurant that was served in crumbles in a bowl to my deadly shock, the dumb-sharad I mastered every day and sometimes left helplessly to the Universal language of God. The 'ai-aiyoo's and 'aa-cho-cho's being tossed in the air, and of course the maddening fragrance of jasmine in a woman’s hair, With and over every difference and similarity O Chennai, I will miss thee.

The story of my girlhood...

2009-12-12T00:53:00.000-08:00

When we were young and out for a cause my parents called us and warned, ‘Come back home before it is dark.’ We hurried and returned sighing in silence when we shall grow up. But amazingly, its only my brother who has grown up after that, may be his prayer was stronger, my sister and I still remained kids, warned and protected and still reminded, ‘Come back home before it is dark.’

I do not know how others react, but it torments and tatters my ego violently. It keeps ringing and ringing in my ears scorning and mocking my individuality. So many times I replied, ‘You need not worry Ma, I am a better judge of my life,’ and the phone went abruptly cut, my mother hurt hearing such an answer. And so it was time to think who am I annoyed of.

As we grow up, nature gives us enough strength to take things for granted and we eventually end up happy and satisfied with whatever is around us. But for every individual it leaves a gap somewhere to make that person realize probably that how artfully it has covered rest of the part. For Newton, say, falling an apple from the tree couldn’t be digested…something as obvious as ever. Why do people grow old and sick…is that even a question to ask…but went over Siddhartha’s head and he had to struggle to unwrap.

I often feel my problem point is somewhere hovering around women and the darkness-warning has been building it like a furnace right from the time I was young. A simple eve-teasing was so simply taken by my sister always, but I always had to 'act smart' and ‘create scene’ as she often referred to it later.

And I tried all sorts of experiments to deal with it to find out which of these calms me down faster. ‘Ignoring is the best thing in such situation’ women who have seen more summers than I often answered, ‘Dogs can bite you, but you can’t bite the dog,’ that was the core logic this theory was based on.

When I tried this it was a disaster. That one minute of silence ripped me off with so many words later, written angrily across my diary-pages that I had to decide, something better must be done.

I still remember the day I was returning with my mom from the market buying a new pair of shoes packed in the box. I was in my early teens and sill unaware of the rules of this world. And it was a young lad following me through every lane and every turn. And then when the crowd got thinner and I could spot him for his good, I slung my hand with the shoe-box hanging in the polythene and struck him across his face right there.

That was my first time and the very first step towards experimentation.

But that was a beginning with a Beginner’s luck.

After that I never found it that easy to spontaneously raise my hand. Then the intermediates I worked on... how powerful could one be with words? Those days as I was still to see the world, I first tried with good words. How foolish was that day when to my coaching centre a man followed from the bus and pleaded me to be with him for sometime and assured me with safety and secret. I behaved like a fool and politely kept refusing his offer. He said he would still wait for the answer. I learnt nothing in the class that day. My exam was near. My legs shook everyday while I took another route, another bus and another long way planning my every action with caution…

And then as destiny took me to Delhi where nature is at its best to teach people to take things easy, I grew up. I learnt slowly the art of creating a recycling bin in my head where some things should directly be dumped off, people treated in the way they deserve…a fight won or lost should be forgotten about and counted as a step towards better solution. I learnt that this petty problem with girlhood isn’t all that big when I met women betrayed, fooled, tortured and still mastering the art of ignoring it all.

Being in Ahmedabad now, has almost made me forget that deep within me I was a warrior. Suddenly today my swords poked, my shields clamored as I walked along the road and a man in bike spoke near my ears and whizzed past. What could a word do? How after all could a glance or a chuckle harm? But as I had earlier mentioned, that’s where is my raw nerve…a slight poke there brings down all my anguish rattling in despair.

The invisible chain I have been building with all women in all state and form suddenly gets shaken up and swings to and fro like a pendulum. And in that hazy motion I see the woman in our neighborhood turned mad now with strict rules of not stepping out. At her tender young age she suffers a weak heart and amusingly blames her shampoo for all the cause. Everyday she tries new shampoo, new brand but her fate fails to coordinate with her.

An aunt of mine fondly showed her jewellery her husband had got, whenever we stepped to see her. Every week he got precious necklace and she would open the cases all around her, scatter the stones like the richest wife on earth and then sit back to share the grief of her husband’s extra affairs.

My teacher’s daughter whom they threw acid on, my friend’s aunt who died with abortion after abortion, my childhood friend whose outdoor games oneday suddenly stopped, as her parents said she has now 'grown-up'…I have each one of you in my mind glowing clear…I have you held as part of my identity somehow, as my own shame, my own guilt, my own anguish, agony and despair.

Believe me, I don’t mind shedding a tear or two to console your heart, I don’t mind if the strength allotted to my life is spent to bandage my wounded nerve. The mad woman who kept wondering the whole village with a rug was raped by her husband’s brothers. She had claimed her share in her husband’s wealth after he expired… I have unwillingly started breathing your breath and now everyday it gets warmer…

Emotions and Fools!

2009-10-27T02:15:00.000-07:00

Emotions don’t always kill the practical being in us but rather adds more reasons to one’s being. I often wonder if the choice of making the word ‘emotional’ opposite of ‘practical’ is fully correct because being emotional can be practical too. And if there is one selected thing I would have to thank God for, I would any day thank Him for setting this special radiometer in my heart. The world I see, I see it through this filter, turning pink and yellow, red and brown and all shades and tints to add value to life. And if there is anyone who feels emotions are foolish, I pity you for you have not explored that line where being foolish and intellectual has so little importance before the colours of life.

I like myself for this super-sensitive nature in me. My ride across life has always been a thrill because I chose this horse of mine to be my favorite one. A turn in the air can make me sad, a swirl in the woods can cause to be happy. Who says discard emotions to practically succeed in life? If accomplishing goals after goals being steady as a rock is what is the fruit of being practical, let me tell you my life is so much more musical with notes going ups and downs that I would discard being steady any day.

There was a photographer who shot a hungry lean child, the child died in lack of food before his eyes but his photograph was famous and it killed him day by day. He could have probably saved him leaving his camera aside…but it has always been a question if art is to change the reality or capture it.

In photography, we are dipping our nails in and a worse crime I did once. I was out with my camera during my photography course and saw a dead log lying aside. At a little distance grew a seedling young and new. I imagined a photograph shot with the theme of life and death and that every death links the chain to a new life and so carefully uprooted the baby plant and placed in the log. ‘Staging’ was the first crime I did and the worst one was while planting it back I damaged the roots. There lay a dead child with young foliage murdered by me and believe me, the pain was as bitter as chopping a hen or any living soul in that matter.
(Ermm, I am losing track again thinking why veggies are so ‘pure’ and others brutal)

Sit for an argument why love at first sight is stupid and am sure the person speaking for the motion would be laughed at. Reasons and intellect are like the motor boats making lot of noise and hovering within the confined body of water, emotions rather are like the gliding birds. They speak the same language probably as long as the bird is flying above the water but when it crosses and moves to next land the boat has only the option to make noise, hover and scorn.

It was only the first time I met him and we smiled. The cupid dragged us back again and as we shook hands the world went farther. The universal language lay its weave and through the silence emerged a conversation so long that it crossed the boundary of life. And though the entire situation shocks you with a volt of some million watts, what you realize is whether you learnt this language or not it is inbuilt by God, you never knew you knew it. And as you speak with this strange words you perfectly know that he knows it and as he replies, you clearly perceive with every comma and semi colon what he means…
God, what a wonder! If being practical I were to miss this I would rather remain a fool forever.

The lesson I learnt about this Universal language helped me further probably in music too. What I knew of raags and vistar? A hall-full of old people shaking their grey heads in classical concert was probably a good opportunity for me to observe and laugh. And then was a concert by Prabhaji, I first fell silent, then still and then danced. I danced through eternity it seemed, my every nerve turned into string and being plucked madly sent vibrations that traveled through my spine and shook my head like mad. Was I swaying my head too…there was little time for being conscious. My heart was so much dominant that day than the head above that if it wanted it could turn and twist it in any way it wants.

There was a painting that always very strangely swirled my heart. After I have grown up a little now, I searched for it in many places, typed on google with various keywords but it just seems lost. It was in a corner in the room of my fine arts teacher. Each time I went there I made it a point to stare at it and feel sad. It was a portrait of a middle-aged man with beard and long hair. His eyes were magical. So pained and quiet. One eye had a little tear about to cross the boundary and spill off but it remained held like the pain he kept held in his heart for years. And his lips quivered. I, many times observed those lips trying to know how a still image conveyed that quiver, it was just so live and powerful to transfer that unknown emotion.

I must have been foolish to have never asked about it to my teacher, but now I often think, unconsciously a wise thing was done. A piece of art if too much asked of may exceed the tag of art. May be it was just a poor farmer who was pained to have lost his land, portrayed carelessly by a painter in his leisure hour. But since I was ignorant, thankfully, I have some endless rays of bliss stored in heart. When I read about Christ I recalled that man, when I read of Chaitanya he came back too.

How would have been the expression of Buddha while he embraced the hurt swan? And who knows if Krishna ever went to woods to spill a tear in silent after he so heroically governed right and wrong…

Art is what is left over after you've defined everything. Rationalize everything and then surrender to art…a place of emotions. Being so practical, life does become smooth probably and balanced people do enjoy all rides. But what a pity for a soul who knows not art. What a pity for that heart who never looked at a thundering sky with a feeling that if death even occurs its worth dying under a marvel like that…

I had read somewhere, that life is simple enough with two options to lead it…easy and hard and the only advantage of an easy life is that it is easy enough. If being emotional is foolish and hence life hard…I would make the wisest decision any day of choosing to be a fool and learn to talk to God.

"I am what I am."

2009-10-13T13:22:00.001-07:00

‘Nobody is perfect’ is perhaps an imperfect statement on its own. The question is perfect for whose eyes… as each eye sets different standard for perfection. And amazing is throughout life we are up to equating things. If there is a chirpy one, we struggle to bring him down, if there is a silent one, we keep pushing, ‘cheer up!’ Its not that nobody is perfect, its just that we are too imperfect to accept people’s perfection.

We don’t even leave children out in that matter. A naughty child is scolded to rest and a quiet one always poked and punched to jump. Anyway, what becomes clear is that the general traits are more or less decided prior to birth. If genetic make up or prior traits don’t matter much, then why do children of the same parents growing together at the same time behave so different? And what is true is that they continue behaving the same way despite of all the pressures put upon them by parents, neighbors, relatives, friends and lovers.

My sister used to cry when hurt, I used to shout back and my brother broke things when we were young. And we have grown up so much now but with little change. She still falls silent and tears drop down, I keep awake at nights to frame the perfect sentence to hurt the person back and my brother bangs chairs and tables to be heard. Its useless to ask us for a change.

I can probably explain this in Photoshop term. A hue is fixed for each trait in a person and throughout life if changes happen, is in its saturation and in the lightness of it. If a person is violent with too much energy, that’s his hue and its useless to try to change it, the solution is to choose the right image where that particular hue would be required. Many say if Bhagat Singh was not a freedom fighter, he would have been a terrorist. His right hue was selected for the right image and so the name changed!

When Rishi Valmiki was hurt seeing the bird killed by the hunter, he would have gone into depression due to his over-sensitive nature, but right thing to do in life is not condemning one’s own nature or anyone’s in that matter but picking the right image to be painted with right colour. And as he chose the right medium, the famous shloka was born.

Why all poets, painters and musicians are mad is not because art makes them so but because they were mad, and hence chose these fields to disguise their madness. Madness in this context is ‘not being balanced’. They either think too much beyond the necessary need in a normal person or they feel too much beyond control. And this immense disturbance in their personality does require them to find extra ways to reveal their expression and hence poetry, painting or music had to be made.

A perfect person what we generally tend to point to is perhaps that persons whose all parameters are exactly balanced. He neither talks much, nor talks less. He is neither too much a thinker nor too much a dreamer. He is neither too active nor too dull, neither a devil nor a saint. What is good about this is that the input energy is almost equal to the output energy in him. So all the little disturbances or requirements his personality evokes inside, is easily quietened by the normal ways of being… like in talking and laughing everyday, to regain the energy from outer world.

When he sees a bird die, since he is a balanced being, he would neither be a heartless to not to care, nor a madman to ponder over it for months. And hence no poetry will be formed.

And is a world perfect without art? Oh no, not to forget the greatest artist, the God, the maddest one, who for some unknown disturbance had to create this immense world. Hence, for the sake of a perfect world, different people having different imperfections are crucial.

A person with too much of rebel…don’t explain why he is bad urge him towards ‘social cause’ before he starts breaking the wall, a person with too much obedience, lets not tell him ‘how inert’ rather let him be in army perhaps where argument could prove fatal! To be perfect is to discover that position in life where the least pretence is required…where the river of life can easily lift one and take for the maximum ride across the wonderful creation in this little span of time.

A cunning thief would make a wonderful detective. A pickpocket is perhaps a magician in wrong profession.

All we got to do is understand our colours and figure out a painting that would be best made with these. If someone says, ‘Oh you lack green…and you ought to make trees in your canvas.’ Tell them, ‘I paint deserts better,’ or mix the blues and yellows in your palette perhaps or rather paint a maple forest with blushing red leaves that the greens around are envious. Tell them, ‘Life is too precious to go looking for lost tubes under a table and lose time…a true artist is eager to paint with what he has.’

And no quality is good or bad. Red, the colour of crime when milded down into baby pink is perhaps the most innocent one. May be that’s what made Ratnakar into valmiki. May be that’s what turned Ashoka into a monk. The wonder of the world shows that softest springs flow through the heart of hardest rock, that the darkest it is just below a lamp.

Spirituality Vs Materialism

2009-09-05T15:22:00.000-07:00

There was a hymn we used to sing in our school,

“If I were a butterfly,
I would thank you Lord for my good wings,
and if I were a robbin in the tree,
I would thank you Lord, that I could sing…

…but I just thank you Father,
FOR MAKING ME, ME.”

And as I am growing up I am realizing that’s the summery of life. To be happy and content where we are. To be thankful for this wonderful existence and amidst this wondrous mystery for making me, ME.

We all have a certain way of looking at things, and life with the events each second changes and modifies…the richer is one’s perception, the deeper is one’s own company to oneself…and the deeper you can company ‘you’, the richer the life. Everything then is a meditation…everything then is a secret package with its bag-full of realizations. And one realization is worth a million knowledge. One knowledge is worth a million information. Its hence rightly said, “God goes further with debates”…words have come much later, the language of God is intuitive and primitive. One spark…and you could see God stand right next, and you could laugh out realizing…he was always there.

I have been living my life in a reverse format. People start with being materialistic and end up with spirituality…I had been extremely spiritual and now deviating to materials. Well, perhaps its too early to talk of the summery so far…but I am so glad to God for ‘making me, me’…for making me travel in both paths without which I could have never been ‘Me’.

The beauty of life is doubled, and tripled and tetra-pled when a journey is made and one comes back to the origin with a realization…whatever it may be. Ashoka going through the entire cycle of butchery to finally realize ahimsa…I am sure made him more compassionate than the compassionate who was always that way. Siddharth living his life in ultimate luxury when realized life’s got to be much more, I am sure realized it much deeper than a person born hermit, with always a portion of mind thinking ‘is luxury better?’

A story by Kahlil Gibran spoke of a curious ant. It was on the ground, saw something moving and climbed it, it was curious still and climbed further…it went over the shoulder, across the neck and when the ambition took him higher and higher, the hand of the person’s body it was climbing caught it and dropped to the ground. …The origin it started from?

The other way to explain the same is in ‘The Alchemist’. The best part of the book is the fact that the treasure the boy was looking for was in the spot he began his journey from. Then all that trouble he took to travel and come back…was that a waste? Oh no, its never the destination but the journey that is important in life. Because only a journey can spark realization!

My childhood was too influenced by my father, and all that he read and thought. Perhaps that was the time of his life he had began to question things seriously, woke up late at night suddenly for a meditation and scared me with his ‘Oms’, listened to songs of Tagore and spilled his eyes with tears, was fond of Vivekanand and needed a person to discuss… and got hold of poor me. And all these too soon made me a grandma in my eighties.

The induction was so strong it drove me towards spirituality like a magnet… amazed by the questions he put across my head, tattered by the metaphors through which Tagore narrated the same, I questioned and questioned the meaning of life. I wanted to know desperately and cried through nights. I was a believer in the beginning, I was suspicious too soon, I was an atheist then and argued every now and then, and then was the state of desperate madness…of wanting to know and no way to go. I sat up at nights for meditations and every meditation held my hand and took a little further but only to a point of darkness…towards the unknown, the unheard, the unseen.

My ‘dharana’ state was built by my questions, focusing on the pursuit for answers, a state much logical and argumentative, when this got intense I entered meditations…now the answers to my questions no more were in words, in that state I could receive in a language much different, its like you walk through a dark tunnel, knock here and there, some doors suddenly open and there are streaks of light and you automatically know what the room contains. But very few doors opened always and keeps trying your patience. Sometimes you wonder in the dark tunnel helplessly…and get so lost, so absorbed and detached that you return to cry in pain. It’s a maddening experience. The deeper the pain, the more the pleasure…something similar to love.

“What way of meditation do you follow” has always been the dreadful question for me. Well, for improving health through yoga there can be a fixed path, for developing concentrations there can be exercises given, but who would structurize a way to know God and dare to give that path a name? Patanjali has only classified, never shown the way. When dharana is done, what would build the link to dhyan and if dhyan is the state, will God show up for sure?

Its like asking a person who lost his keys, “Which way do you look for keys?” When you lose, and you know the worth of the object you lost, when you know you have to find, and know the worth of the object you have to find …you need not know a way. To know God, its not the ‘way’, but the knowledge of the worth of the ‘truth’ one has to find is what drives and the intensity of the urge will instinctively decide where, when and which ‘way’.

Well, and I am in a funny stage now. Now, I never engage myself in a spiritual argument, never go into a discussion that I loved so much earler. For this state of mine is though not a state of ‘I know it all’ but neither a state where I am lost. If I was asked earlier…‘Do you believe in God’, I would have had an answer, either an yes or a no. If I am asked now…I tend to start wondering…have a feel of the stretch across the entire space tied by one consciousness…so bounty, so huge, so enormous…the consciousness that stretches through every grain of sand, every planet, every galaxy, every soul and Me. And its always this mini-meditation that is evoked by this question and I tend to come back trying to measure the depth of it being speechless in wonder.

And a question like, “Do you believe in God…”?
‘Well, what else are we left to believe in?’

Forgive my courage if I say, I no more look for God. My meditations now would never be to find Him but to feel that enormousness and be lost. Its never that confused path…it’s an ever-known path now, calm and quiet…filled with wonder that leaves me speechless at the slight feel of its mystery. I know, if you are a seeker too, you must be laughing aloud, that the very beginning of the path, I have assumed to be the end. But well, through the little journey that I have made through the stages, this is most beautiful. And I am a dreamer…let me be. You may be a true traveler, all the while seeking for the ocean when you see it in front, you can take your boat and begin the sail to see its end. I would rather wait here, watch the waves splash, seagulls plunge, sun rise and set at the sight of this eternity.

Oh yes, and I am no more in my eighties, rather, growing younger day by day. I am no more the nerd denying all pleasures and seeking principles tying me in boundary. Life is so joyful in every state of it. All the different stages so beautifully assigned and crafted, all the emotions that rip my heart, all the mistakes I make and lessons I learn, all the little realizations, God, you send down upon me. And what a wonder that ‘I’ am ‘I’…that you made ‘me’, Me.

Materialism on its own must be a mad pursuit for pleasure, without a hold, tiring you soon, but when you traveled spirituality and adorn the material aspect with it, its an ever-pleasing journey…filled with awe, filled with glee. That’s the beauty of a journey…any journey. It may drop you to the same point you started from but never the same person you started as.

And let me love this life with my new vision…laugh at every silly thing, adorn my body--the gift this life has given me, dance and sing to every rustle in the leaf, awaken my senses to every whisper that the wind carries…well I would rather be a monk now who would soon buy a Ferrari.

Haunting Tagore...enchanting songs

2009-08-24T10:37:00.000-07:00

Paint and brush on paper, 10/04/09

I always get shocked how for every special emotion or awe there is always a rabindrasangeet that speaks the best. Just when you are confused trying to gather the exact words that suit it the best, unconsciously you will start humming a line and yes that’s what exactly you mean. I often feel I am being haunted. The old man with white beard and hair with a black long dress moves about all around me. And just when you are too surprised, lost, happy or sad and too dumbstruck to utter a word, he stands quietly in some corner and moves his wrinkled hand to spell out the magic verse…and well that is it, after that the day is not in your hand. The magician takes over.

He makes me pack my bags and call it a day, the reason being celebrating my emotion… I am alive for that in fact! And as the music is being played and you sing out with it enacting with every possible gesture or sit as quiet as a rock, you could feel, that was the moment, to live which you were made. That was the orgasm of your entire being and conscience. Those exact words with that exact tune were all that you needed since the time you took the first breath.

I grew up in a Rabindranath-haunted environment where seeing my father’s eyes swelled with tears and drip down with these tunes was something I resonated with without ever questioning. He made us a vagabond questioning again and again the worth of life and he saved us again with his mystical answers and brought us back to track. If I am told he was a poet who died much earlier even before I was born and a person I never met, I would actually be surprised. How can such a distant person know me so closely and well, that he steals my awes to frame the exact words I would otherwise speak out any moment?

In so many confused conversations I overheard, ‘You Bengalis have one Rabindranath…and you put him everywhere.’ I smile and think, ‘I wish you knew why.’ I am told so many times, ‘It puts me off to sleep’. I smile and think, ‘Must be the yog-nidra then.’ ‘Well, the tune needs to be changed to suit modernity’--And I can’t help a laughter. I laugh so much in my mind hearing this that sometimes I get choked in my heart.

There had been sleepless nights I lived with these tunes. It carried me to the space and universe, it triggered a conversation with God. I met Him, sat by Him, looked at Him and was lost. “Anonto ei deshokaale, agonno ei diptoloke, tumi achho more chahi, ami chahi toma paane…” What could more appropriately express?

I remember reading in Shesher kavita, a novel by Tagore where the hero, Amit is against Tagore himself and says, ‘As long as old poets like him keep holding poetry…what role would youngsters play…’. And I feel the reason why he is still holding the scepter is because he has done the absolute. He has managed to transform the inexpressible-emotional-state into the word-state with the least dissipation of energy during the transformation.

Through rabindrasangeet I lived the Monsoon, I flew up to the dark clouds and heard its thunder, I lived the Spring, singing in the swing made with flowers, I traveled the forest, dived in sea, explored the planets and lived in stars. I walked the land of something to the space of nothingness.

When I was too young I called him to guide me in my meditations. Disturbed, I walked towards him as he sat meditating in a silent mountain. His eyes so wide and closed, his beard and hair swayed recklessly in the wind. He then slowly opened his eyes and I sat at his feet. He and I together then traveled, in the world of mystery and poems, metaphors and similes…where the blue lotus attracts all beings, where the dark skinned woman calls silently for death, where the golden dear beckons and we run and where the boat of life again and again sails.

I have now grown up a little and visit him less but a ghost once called doesn’t go with ease. As, I work, get busy, imprison spirituality in the shelves with books and live life ignoring all that I ever read, he stands on my way some days, makes me put my work aside on a rainy day or forces me to listen to him again and again withdrawing my senses from reality. I lose my time to work and complain, I suffer later for the waste of time and regret but he drags me away for a lazy walk to his ‘path of red clay’ to a land far far away..."Doore kothae doore doore, je poth shokol desh paraye, udash hoye jae haraye, je poth beye kangal poran jete chae kon ochin poore…doore kothae, doore doore………..

Why is Gujjuland great…

2009-08-12T05:40:00.000-07:00

Flower market, Ahmedabad, 27/07/09

Except for some tailors and autowalas you can trust anyone here. Some autos are airbuses and wouldn’t buzz for a place here and there. Some tailors believe they are accurate enough without a tape and can cut your clothes just half. And worse is the murmur, ‘How could I do this’, while you are perspiring with anger.

After you have traveled to a place like Delhi if you land here in Gujjuland you are sure to sit down and think, ‘What is wrong here.’ While other places experience violent rapes and vulgarity on a new year night, people here in Gujjuland come out on the CG road with strange toy like whistles and blow from time to time. Men and women together walk in crowd…they don’t touch, they don’t comment. They blow into their toys ignoring the rest of the world! Wow!

Our tongue is probably a direct extension of the brain which scientists may much later discover. And may be that is why languages and behaviours are connected so much. All bhais and bens as addressed here are may be seriously treated as siblings somehow…otherwise who would imagine a bus where everyone is quiet and confined to their places, who can ever visualize that a place like Sunday-market may experience bag looting but never an indecent act?

While rest of the world is madly battling with their libido and deciding what to do and what not, Gujjuland is happy and glad seeing women in chania-choli dancing to the beat of garba once a year, may be giggling a little, ogling at some, joining the circle to dance with her and later build it into a love story or a story good enough to be shared at an evening with friends, bhajia and chai.

People are simple, sweet and un-ambitiously satisfied. Once when my ATM card wasn’t operating and the guard came to help and I hesitated, he told me, ‘I am a happy man with the dal and roti I earn. A dishonest act with lot of money may not be something I am looking for.’ A realization worth million dollars! And almost everyone in this land has reached a level to think like that.

A location asked to the strangers here is taken like a maths problem given to Einstein. They would be disappointed and puzzled to think that a place like that is in vicinity and yet not known to them, they would walk extra steps, scratch their heads and ask others, discuss and come back with a victorious solution.

You can travel alone late night and the auto driver would proudly remind you that this is possible only here. They take credit of being honest, decent and simple! A quality almost extinct in other parts of India or world where if you have cheated someone, a pride-story is built and people tag you as ‘smart’.

Men with reddish brown hair that shine under the sun, with may be an orange shirt with million tags and a tight brown trouser…women with shiny dupattas, crisscrossed blouses, and numerous rings at toes and ears…Minaben, Shantiben, Harishbhai or Dineshbhai…they are fashionable in their own happy ways. Never cunning, never shrewd, never a diplomat. The common people of Gujarat are highly satisfied wherever they are. And the entire place has that light soul cherishing the simplicity of life.

A simple street vendor has a heart big enough to show fault in his goods and say, ‘Come after two days, when I have better ones’, even when you had just decided to buy it not noticing the defect! Seeing corrupted people in this corrupted world when your own eyes get corrupted and consider corruption very normal, this is a place which makes you question again and again, ‘what is wrong here’ or rather ‘what is so right’.

And when the secrets have been researched upon and found, can’t these be applied to the places suffering every now and then? What makes the difference in the attitude of the people in a place that somewhere an indecent act is rather supported by the public and celebrated shamelessly and somewhere a person with less education and income even takes pride that he is sane?

Every place has a soul holding the collective vibe of the people. The people make the city and also the city makes the people. And the aura that Gujarat holds is great. When the world has run its rat race after money, name and fame and fatigued cheating, beating and competing and yet not gained, if the soul of Gujarat is yet not lost, it would definitely have a lot to teach and teach the rest to rest. Even the most educated, famous and rich after all, has a lot to learn from a person who can dare to laugh and say, ‘I am a happy man with the dal and roti I earn.’

We have perhaps complicated life just too much. A Saturday evening here and all the restaurants, parks and movies are full with celebration. And the air across the city here is free and light. If you lean against one of the bridges in those evenings over the Sabarmati, under the rows of yellow lights flooding the water and road partially, you would hear the air speak a simple language too. It whispers repeatedly like a mantra, and haunts every heart here and says… 'Khavanu pivanu majjani life.’

Gujjuland ni Jay! Anne Amdavad ni jay!

My Guruji-Ustad Fahimuddin Dagar

2009-07-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

Guruji's House, 26/10/08

I often felt that the Universe is eager to be revealed of its secrets and always waits for a ‘dedicated’ through whom the wonders can be poured. May it be anything…music, yoga or painting, but when the entire soul is devoted enough to shock the supreme soul, the differences slowly melt and the passage of conscience dilutes to be ‘one’ and the state attained is ‘samadhi’.

"Ek sadhe, sab saadhe,
Sab saadhe, sab jaye… "
-As my Guru, Ustad Fahimuddin Dagarji often repeats.

And I am a lucky girl to have witnessed such a person, his aura, his be-ing, his way of life that is so filled with love, trance and blessings. I always felt an urge to run to get him water or medicine throughout the day, for after these small favours, he would lift up his hands heavy with blessings and when they come upon my bent head, I always felt that the enlightenment of my soul lies in these hands and each time they land they liberate my blocked energy that kept me held from God.

My whole day in his house passed emerged in music, the morning with riyaz, then the lessons begin…mixed with vigorous practice and his demonstrations, sometimes he went on to explain the depth and vastness of Indian Classical Music and philosophy... and the metaphors and parables and examples he used kept us almost swallowing every word he spoke. ‘Impossible is nothing, but possibility too is not easy’- this is often mentioned by guruji, not to discourage but to prepare his students with enough patience and will to toil and understand, for what they have chosen to dive in is not a mere puddle but an endless ocean which demands its divers to know all strokes to admire its every wave and splash.

Well, the property of love is never specific. A person in love with his beloved ends up being in love with the winds, clouds and moon too. And imagine a person who have loved music so much that he dedicated his entire life and breath to allow these waves through his soul and have become like a fountain that oozes with love every second.

The tone in which he speaks, the way in which he teaches, the gestures with which he corrects and the frown with which he scolds are all somehow so mingled with love.

Sometimes, in the evening when the gardener came and watered the plants outside and our lessons are still going on…when the water seeps into the dry soil to feed the plants and the wet smell of the soil filled the room, I saw my guruji close his eyes and fill his lungs with that smell and a smile of divine peace lightens up his face slowly.

And the stray cat that was deprived of love in its entire harsh world, with ugly feet, black patch and beaten back with sore, must also be wondering everyday what makes him so important to this man who raises his eyebrows, looking at him so lovingly and calls out…‘Kalooo…where have you been so long?’

‘Dhrupad is not just bandish, but the entire system’ says he, ‘…starting from how to pronounce each swar, how should it be presented, how much of softness should it bear and how much strength does it require, Dhrupad is the entire science of the voice-culture and impartation of musical knowledge taking care of every stage and step, even keeping in account how one should sit and what one should wear.’

All those people who with pride announces their religion and tingling a bell, or bowing five times think they have now mastered the God…meet this man. Here is a follower of Allah safeguarding the treasures to reach Bhagwan and is of course the best person to ask how much they differ and may his life and knowledge put us all in shame cheering at a blast in a Hindu space or chuckling to see a mosque ablaze.

Once while singing a bandish dedicated to Devi Durga he explained…‘This is not easy. One has to understand the entire personality of the god or goddess to present or dedicate the song. One has to allow that god to flow in so that the music as a medium can carve its way.’ Sometimes in the evening he would go on singing ceaselessly and his eyes seemed so lost and hazy, his palms held together in prayer and as water filled his eyes and rolled down I could feel his body lose touch from this world and his soul now one with that of the Universe. And I often told myself, ‘God, what have I done so good in my life that you brought me to this great man?’

Well, he sleeps very late, and once as I woke up at mid night and came out of my room to drink water, I had a glance at his way of praying. A dim, yellow light glowing at the corner of his room and guruji’s white hair and white clothes adding to that purity, almost spreading rays from his aura. He held his hands flat, joined them to touch his forehead and mumbled. In that golden light, his shadow fell huge on the wall, partly merging with the darkness of the room. His watery eyes shimmered in the dark.

Is he a Hindu or a Muslim? But I have surely seen God next to him. His open palms joined together in prayer and opened up again in devotion. His voice with equal devotion recites for Bramha and Allah. He is beyond the boundary of religion, beyond the taboos, beyond any separation that keeps humans divided.
He is a sage, music is his medium…

Different days experienced different moods in that house, sometimes devotion took over and all the disciples sat serious trying to measure the depth, sometimes maaji’s tea would set the air fluid and her motherliness softened it all. A joke, a taunt, a sip in the tea and a hearty laughter…a scolded student sad with his failure being consoled by maaji to restore his vigour. The evening slowly turned feminine with her participation.

Behind every man’s success is a woman. The word ‘behind’ has always prevented our eyes from noticing that great contribution.

And as love binds every soul in and around, starting from the students to the plants and ants and the stray black cat, music is not taught but made to have experienced of. And we, the students are at our attempt to get it right waiting when those hands heavy with blessings would empty them on us and a fraction of the depth he has penetrated would be transferred to enlighten us…may be not the privilege to bathe in that ocean yet, but God, give us the eye to perceive the depth through him, at least to reach a state to hear the ocean roar, to feel the force with which it hits the bank, to be emerged with pride of the heritage our ancestors have left for us. God, give us patience, give us respect, give us trust to surrender it all.

My perception of LOVE

2009-03-29T08:08:00.000-07:00

Poster colour and brush, 26/3/09

Being an apprentice designer, I have lot of scope to allow my emotions to flow through me, to sit down and dig into my heart and analyze and realize and come up with my own theories and look at the world in a much wiser outlook everyday.

I have recently been illustrating poems on love. I was hence, reliving all the impulses that have once traveled through me, some which bounced, some which I turned away wisely, some which I longed for and allowed dreams to take over and some which trickled unknowingly to make its own beautiful story.

Well, and that makes me feel so bouncy today and thought must use this opportunity to fill my emotional container or this blog.

I yet do not know how infatuations, love and lust are distinctly separate. For me it has always been a difference in time. Yesterday’s love that allowed me to talk to winds, and whisper to rivers does seem a silly infatuation today. But that moment was true, so is this and its not really a justice to evaluate a moment with yesterday’s mind re-judging with this.

And like everyone feels, they are very unique than others, I too like to flatter myself with this hypothesis. I was fond of Sharat Chandra’s novels at an early age and perhaps that soft influence acting together with my being very emotional and at the same time having a knack to analyze everything bit by bit to its finest form, caused me to have developed different rapport with this emotion.

I live more within my world than this and that gives me so much scope to analyze things better and at the end of the day laugh out loud realizing ‘When you know yourself, you know the world.’

Falling in love too many times gains you the bad name of being a pervert and not falling in love at all frustrates so much that you look for alternatives and cling to it so hard that you tend to lose the softer aspects in life.

Well, I had my self-crafted way to deal with this emotion very diplomatically. I never needed a man. To know that I am loved by the one I wanted to be in love was just enough. All I needed was a voice to say, ‘dance’. And I danced. I danced with my perceptions increased high, I walked on the same path noticing every spec of dust assuming they have a secret message embedded and sometimes even forgotten which path I traveled in. I looked at the sky and admired its colours, I shivered even plucking a leaf thinking even they love me. My entire surrounding turned poetic resonating with a mysterious rhythm...and my interaction with the world kept me so busy that I never really felt the need of interacting with the man who caused it.

To let things happen practically, I like to be passive. It’s the Universe’s conspiracy to get hearts together. All I can do is open the door wide, keep it swinging partially or keep it closed till more trust thrusts in… to CAUSE anything is not my job anyway. But in any of these conditions I was at gain. Whether I opened the door to him or not I unhesitantly, opened it to my perceptions. I opened it wide enough to allow all the light to enter in bundles and get me bathed. I danced with new colours, new auras, new ‘urjas' bringing me closer and closer to the Universe every time. And the secret messages from the celestial world kept being whispered into my ears constantly making me so one with it.

All the poems that speak of trees turning greener and sky turning bluer when one is in love, I can undoubtedly agree to and not only appreciate as a poet’s hyperbole. I can so closely associate my experiences with the conversation in ‘Shesher Kobita’ by Tagore where Amit says to Labanya, ‘So far I had only known that birds sing, today I am realizing it.’

I have closely observed that the dual mind talked of in mediation becomes so prominent when in love. One part of the mind which observes and the other part which keeps wandering restlessly take different roles in love. One part engages in the daily activities trying to be very practical, discarding and suppressing the colour the new love has painted all over, and the other part is constantly painting. It splashes new colours over the large canvas of heart again and again and scribbles wildly with the large brush thick with paint and sometimes it drips out of the pallet and forms the glow that never lets one hide the secret of love.

And love for me is more of self-love. He has very little role otherwise except for donating his eyes. Eyes that so passionately looked at me even for a second, pupils dilated…though focused but lost, beyond the worries of outcome and clever tricks of love…outside the barrier of one’s self protecting ego and so strangely surrendered. So fixed, so haunting, so silent yet demanding! They can look through your own eyes, travel inside and break all the desire pots you thought you would never disclose.

I fix those eyes around me to inform my own eyes of all that things it can not see. It’s a new self discovery possessing the power to see oneself assuming as though being seen through an extra eye. And people in love if combs their hair in new ways everyday, adds colours to their outfit and watches the poetry in their steps are definitely not people seeking for more attention but catering to those silent eyes that they already carry with them.

I have never quite understood men’s way of love but I can confidently claim that a woman’s way of love consists a large part of the love for self. And perhaps that is why foreplay is more important to her where she can be flattered by the EXRESSING of love than simply MAKING it. And I often hear men assume so profoundly that the way a woman dresses is to excite a man. Not to generalize anything in this world full of varieties but I confidently believe all women carry a pair of the silent, extra eyes that make them so artful. A male’s assumptions to think himself as the target all the time and to claim sometimes that she provoked and so I forced seems so baseless. It could be that you assumed her extra eyes to have been yours but alas for her you never even existed in the game.

Floating market

2008-12-05T21:43:00.000-08:00

Bangkok, 11/11/08

Whoooshhh!!!

2008-12-04T23:02:00.000-08:00

Bangkok, 8/11/08

Celebrating dusk

2008-09-17T02:24:00.000-07:00

NID, Ahmedabad, 17/09/08

Duality

2008-09-16T12:33:00.000-07:00

Parimal Garden, Ahmedabad, 16/09/08

Pearl

2008-09-16T11:09:00.000-07:00

Law Garden, Ahmedabad, 16/09/08

A peep

2008-09-14T00:15:00.000-07:00

Amphitheatre, NID, 15/08/08

Slogging slug

2008-09-14T00:08:00.000-07:00

Near Main gate, NID, 15/08/08

Milestone

2008-09-13T23:58:00.000-07:00

Backfield, NID, Ahmedabad, 15/08/08

Maithun

2008-09-13T23:53:00.000-07:00

Backfield, NID, Ahmedabad, 15/08/08

Women are Mothers!

2008-06-29T04:14:00.000-07:00

Bangladesh, 18/05/08

Jesus Christ when crucified said about his betrayers, ‘Lord, forgive them; for they know not what they have done.’ And I often imagined how big a heart one is to acquire to reach a state to say that. And mothers do have that for her child.

‘Respect a woman for she can give birth.’ Mother or a potential to be mother is what is meant and this is very commonly heard. Nothing wrong in it and perhaps the people who utter, do utter with due respect for their mothers comparing that quality in every woman.

But a woman is an individual, a woman is an existing soul, a woman is a normal human with her dreams, goals and aspiration. And if this 3-D model is understood then I think respect if is in a heart would flow equally for a man and a woman to respect that individual. A special quota of respect reserved only for women because she can give birth would not be required…for she is not only a fellow-human but most appropriately a human.

And being mother is the greatest joy and fulfillment for a woman’s being no doubt but focusing only on this aspect might be ignoring the other aspects she has. And may be that is the cause a girl’s dream to become an officer is easily pushed aside when the household work is in upfront.

But yes, when talking about mothers, arguments are not the right way to do justice. A mother is beyond all rationalizing nitty-gritty. Her one warm hug can give the solutions to all those problems even intellectual, recurring, brain-slogging meetings would not. She can look into your eyes and tell all the turmoil you have been through, she can enter your soul to feel exactly how you undergo the state. A mother is just a blessing from God.

And though it is said, ‘A mother too is born with the child’ but I still feel that motherliness is a quality all women naturally have. Sacrificing, forgiving, nurturing all easily come through a woman. Even an elder sister seeing three apples and four people can easily announce she cares not for one.

Women are compassionate until situations mutate them into another. And her natural qualities were too much taken advantage of. And the fact that she sacrificed for her joy turned into rules that stung her. Women should eat the least and last in the house, women should never ask for her own needs. A good woman is that woman who is like water and flows naturally, shapelessly into her husband’s opinion. Well, even the opinion about killing that child!

And now she is mutating. And before that mutation takes over completely it is time to think that a quality if is good is better adopted by all beings rather not prizing her for her sacrifice and keep expecting thoroughly. And its not men who are always raw beings with no heart! But if he is the one sacrificing, would be probably scorned being a feminine man. A woman if teased as being manly is perhaps being referred to as being brave but if a man is teased being feminine, is indeed a great insult. Time is greatly changing though and we are slowly breaking the stereotype wall, but caring and sacrificing should be left free without its tag.

And if then comes the question of respecting women, rather respect the qualities you mean to refer and might as well adopt. And if a woman has to be respected, the respect should again refer to the fact she is human. And as far as respecting women as mothers come, we better think before the mutation takes over, as time is changing and if those qualities we can no more restore in both father and mother, a nation might arise with child-bearer and alas no mother!

Dive!

2008-05-23T09:31:00.000-07:00

Bangladesh, 21/05/08

Women and their stories

2008-05-18T04:31:00.001-07:00

Bangladesh, 18/05/08

I came across many interesting women during my recent field visit in Bangladesh to study ‘Nakshi- kantha’. Not that Bangladesh is somewhere an exception and so the women should be mentioned but that I never had the chance to talk to these struggling, working women so far, as this was my first field work that gave me the way.

I don’t want to write about the enormous effort these women are putting to combat the hindering forces inside and outside, neither do I want to write about the great changes these NGOs are bringing to the lives of thousand women…but about a slight contrast I noticed during my stay. It was a contrast between few women- educated and uneducated. It set me to think that the common words we utter everyday, that education makes one free is so incomplete. A bird with large wings but eyes fixed to ground would never know a flight but the one who knows the sky and can feel the passing winds, though may have small wings would surely fly.

I spoke to Putul Akhtar in the NGO- a girl of nineteen and the oldest kantha worker in the NGO I visited. She and her friend Rina, took the first order the founder had placed to initiate the system. They were paid 400 Tk per month and were promised to increase by 100 Tk per year. A young girl moving outdoor to work filled the neighborhood with astonishment. “Koto betachhele okhane”- so many men are there, was the main objection. Putul, then a girl of fifteen, convinced them saying that, men are everywhere. Men can come to their house even. Where can they hide away from men? Moreover if she worked she would provide for herself.
A simple logic, a simple way of thinking by a simple girl of Bangladesh. It was not a rebel, not a law-breaking pride, not a false, well-framed speech on self-dependence by an educated. That was what she purely thought, and that thought was so pure that no Quran came in way- no culture, no hijaab, no shame, no guilt, no fear.
She mentioned that working there changed her attitude. She could provide for herself and felt very good when she could get her younger brothers the things they asked. “I had the ability then, in fact the guts to buy them the things they desired’, was what she mentioned.

Another interesting woman is Naila Akhtar. If I didn’t meet her I wouldn’t have believed a person of this type could exist in this world. She wakes up, eats, sleeps, then wakes up, eats and sleeps. Any other things apart are hardly permitted to her. No need to move out, others might see her, no need to work inside, servant is fixed for that, no need to use phone much, wrong numbers might influence her...
She has completed her masters in Political Science, a well educated woman from a well off family married to a well off husband. He works in Italy and would soon take her there after he is a little settled. However, his settling is taking pretty long but husbandship and governing is perfectly maintained overseas.
He has such good control that his wife for many years has not seen an ungrilled sky –his fear being his only pretty wife of this world, might be seen by others (even through the complete packaging of burkha). Her every going up and down through staircase must be mentioned and asked for approval. These permissions or drafts are usually granted or objected through sms. One such sms was ‘I went to the shop downstairs to recharge just now as others in the house were busy’ The telephone rang from Italy and the master shouted as the draft was placed after action.
Statement is not what he wants! That doesn’t make him a master. He wants petitions with a question mark whose full stop would be authorized by His highness.

Another woman is Julekha Begam. Seven months after her marriage her husband left her and went. She was helpless in that house, so, returned. Without any issue or quarrel their marriage broke. The reason was his disagreement with her brother for which he took revenge on her. He had come back later wanting to take her back again. But Julekha, since was not an educated and didn’t waste time doing masters for nothing, was more liberal at taking a stand perhaps. She refused to return. “A man who could leave his wife within seven months can never again be trusted” is what she said. Ten years have passed after that. She trained herself in kantha-making and is now working in the NGO for five years. She lives in her brother’s house contributing her share in the family and calls herself a happy person. When I asked her whether she thought of a second marriage, she said, “I have experienced both being married and unmarried and so can judge. This is better.”
Bhishma when decided never to marry, flowers showered upon him from heaven. A woman struggling everyday all alone- not a wife, not a mother, but an individual who through life have discovered ‘individuality’ go unnoticed.

A wife next door, had served cutlet to her husband when he returned home. He had bitten his tongue while eating and screamed and shouted at her saying, the fault must be in her cooking which caused him to bite his tongue.
A girl called Sweety had won the National award in Bangla adhunik music. She left music completely after her marriage as her husband explained it was ‘haraam’ to sing.
He was dying to marry her for her good voice.

Most successful marriages run on the formula, ’Ignorance is bliss’. The wives remain completely ignored that married status can be any better. They see women around her to compare- some get beaten, others are burnt. At the end of the day they calculate…’hence, I am happy.’
Others who have a little more sense are trapped. First year she loved, second year she tried to love, third year she forced to love, then started every permutation combination with changes in her and husband. When all the probability factors of happiness are scribbled and scratched, she decides to leave- but her child by then becomes another variable to be included in her re-calculation.

Women in this NGO come at nine in the morning. They sit together with their work and soon the room is filled with giggle and laughter- they joke, tease and talk…tears spilling to wet a corner of kantha sometimes while sharing the darkest moments. Sometimes, the stitches a little crooked, stand as witness to a hearty laughter.
All of these women have their own stories to tell, to all of them life is a great teacher.

Nakshi kantha for ages have witnessed the changing tales of women, her changing fate, her changing emotions, her change from ‘fear to lose’ to ‘nothing to lose’ state. Her change from a woman to individual. Her change from running away in fear to flying away in liberty...in a state where fear has been submerged by pain.

Female sexuality and transition

2008-04-27T06:32:00.000-07:00

Pattan, 3/05/08

The history of women suffered an interesting outlook being considered either ‘devi’ or ‘chudail’.

Either a woman was so much cherished that she herself was ashamed to behave naturally being burdened by titles as ‘Mother’, ‘Sister’ or ‘Devi’- all of relations not to be related to sex.

Or she was considered a witch who had the power to divert men and influence. Hence they were evil spirits trapping and weakening men sexually.

Our distant past, recent past, passing present and very present are all great proofs of how weak a man’s psychology is and how weak their control.

These poor people had tried, have tried, have been trying and trying still, millions of means to hide their helplessness over sex.

He is aware that if a woman wants can change his entire existence with quite an ease. She can dismiss his individuality and his life may completely be wrecked.

Therefore something must be done! And the solution was to blind her to her own strength. Hence a society was formed as an instrument.

This was a good plan indeed and women had to be controlled as they began misusing their strength recklessly.

We know of stories when great yogis meditated- storms and thunders didn’t affect their cause, ghosts and spirits couldn’t move them, snakes, insects, floods or any natural hazards failed against their will. Then comes a lady swinging her graceful limbs, a simple strip-tease done and years of efforts crumble and melt.

However, women have thus harmed a lot, distracted many kings from their duties, diverted saints from being saintly, played tricks to have wealth and ruled over lives mercilessly.

And whether you call it God or Nature the beam balance of creation when was heavy with ‘misuse’ on one pan dropped them down with weight and men formed society in their favour for existence.

This worked! Women were made shy of sex and men encouraged. They wrote poems to praise, told stories of religion, talked of sin to scare and crippled them.

This however brought a balance initially. Society made life smooth and balanced, with work divided, commitments made decreasing sexual chaos. It was less a fight of strength, more on understanding and care.

But seeing women under control men soon became tricky.

He convinced her to drop her sword to hold his hands for a walk together and when she gave her hands with trust, he tied them up cleverly.

And marriage is a system in society assumed by a woman as a ‘walk together’ whereas a man sees a captive in chain being dragged behind making him a master- the same enacted around the fire giving seven good chances to guess but women being emotional fools are still so deceived.

Betrayal, torture, slavery, murder, rape- what didn’t follow after that?

And now is the transition period.

If life is a journey and all people alive at same time like batch mates, then we must realize we are in an eventful batch witnessing an exciting phase of creation. Its that phase when the pan is heavy again quivering to drop. Its that exiting moment when the heavy pan drops a little, rises again, shivers, quivers and dances keeping you in guess what’s to happen next.

And its an interesting time. Exploring sex has began greatly with the coming of contraceptive pills and women are again realizing their strength with every coming day. Increase in divorce rate indicates their discovery of chain behind the illusion of ‘romantic walk together’. Rupture of hymen is no more a terror before the arrival of a married tyrant. Women who were shown the authorized permission from God and beaten up every day now asked for equal share in wealth in Bangladesh though not mentioned in Quran.

Women all over the world have been waking up at their own proportion. Its Party time! And the beam balance is dancing with thrill releasing years of stored potential energy into kinetic.

And all the thoughtful people who are worried at this phase...hold on! The highest energy involvement happens at the change and hence the chaos. Sit back and watch till the transition is over. Be patient till every molecule settles down to form a new compound. Women being more creative and emotional, more nurturing and soft would definitely do things better than nuclear war.

And its my prayer that same mistake is not repeated again- sex not used as power but a meditation together to communicate to God often- to involve Him to bring the pans at same plane and end this dirty struggle for strength. And equality if ever happens would happen at the will of women because men who think with reason would never find this rational. Its easy for a woman to forgive, come low, sacrifice, hold hands and walk together without any thought of betrayal. She doesn’t think with logic. She loves and aimlessly loves. She wouldn’t need a reason to make you equal, she wouldn’t proudly walk having a captive in chain behind. She would perhaps place you higher because you are the reason to love. She would perhaps be grateful and want to give you more and more as through you she learnt to love. Love could be her only reason- her reason behind reason to love or reason behind life to live.

Hence a good time is arriving for sure! A lot of chaos though in transition, a good hope lies beneath.

Earth is expecting a good cause to live.

Earth is pregnant with potential to peace.

Want

2008-04-05T12:19:00.000-07:00

Champaner, 5/10/07

Its Fishy!

2008-03-17T09:01:00.000-07:00

Daman, 15/12/07

My experience with kundalini....

2008-01-26T23:00:00.000-08:00

It was 7th august, 2004-- a day in my life worth mentioning. I was in 11th standard then. Rewriting the experience of 3 years back may lose its originality now. So I would rather leave the lines undisturbed that I had written in my diary that evening while I was drenched in tears.....

7/ 08/ 04, New Delhi
Today is the most successful day in my life till now. As long as I live I'll cherish this day with my whole heart. And I am thankful to God that He has made me the owner of this marvelous experience.
I have no exact word to describe that moment because the emotions that rose in my mind was a mixture-It was a feeling I never felt before.
It was around 5 o' clock in the evening. I was in my room of my hostel in Delhi and had just laid down to rest after studying. I looked around and saw both my room-mates asleep and rose up to utilize this opportunity.
I put on my walkman playing 'Music for meditation' by Vanraj Bhatia and closed my eyes to meditate. I wasn't very serious that day. My mood didn't claim any philosophical arguments. My main aim that evening was only to relax, use the opportunity of being alone, and get my mind more calm and focused in my studies.
I usually love to meditate through arguments, starting from the origin of everything...trying to rationalize the presence of soul, my being, the universe and God. And as I went on there came moments without answer, like unsolved puzzles filling me with an unbearable frustration to go beyond-- and I often howled and cried, looked around in surprise unable to establish the relation between the surrounding and me. That was the peak point of my meditations after which I joined my hands and ended before the 'chidakash' praying ' O the darkness, give me enough knowledge and purity to see through.'
Well, this was not how I went on that day. I wanted it lighter.
So I began my meditation imagining I was on a busy road like an invisible being. I saw cars and vehicles whizzing by, people walking briskly--A noisy, busy, crowded place and I tried to meditate. As I meditated I imagined myself being lighter and lighter and imagined rising up slowly. The vision of the street below me was now similar to the view from an aeroplane that just left the ground. I could see the cars moving like small busy rectangular toys and people like thoughtful ants.
After I was higher I saw only the tree tops. Then I could see the rivers like thin threads. Then the entire topography was like the palate of an artist mixing brown, green and blue. As I rose higher I could make out the curve of the earth and then the whole sphere with land and water. It turned smaller and smaller and in motion around the Sun. The other planets went on too.
Then the many systems around the different stars appeared like a busy pool. All in brisk movement in the dark.
Then I rose higher….. Many particles glittering in dark. Then a moment came when nothing was seen. I concentrated on my chidakash- the endless darkness before me. It was calm, wide and still. Here I searched my God with His being spread throughout- within each energy and mass. I tried to feel his continuity in whole of space. I tried to feel the relation between that continuous trail and me. I tried to feel I was a part of that continuity.
With that I ended my meditation for that day and slowly opened my eyes.
Just then I felt a chill in my backbone. It was as though a spinning wheel of electricity was stuck within my spine somewhere and it sent its sparks of force all around. I was so surprised that I gazed blankly unable to decide what should be done. Then fearing I would lose the trail of this strange feeling I closed my eyes again.
The wheel kept spinning and rose from my coccygeal region. However it did not travel the full length and stopped in the mid-way sending brisk impulse with a vibration spread throughout my body. I oscillated like a pendulum front and back with a rhythmic motion amplitude of which got shorter and brisk. I concentrated on the wheezing wheel. Its exact location could be sharply demarcated. It stopped there and spinned spreading the sparks of energy around my mid vertebral region. How long it lasted I do not know.
The vibrations kept spreading in circular path like the ripples in a pool or the seismic waves of an earthquake often shown.
After reaching a point the increasing vibration began to slow down at mild pace. My oscillating body began to calm down and slowly the vibrations submerged still keeping a slight motion somewhere within the spine for quite long. I waited for it to cease completely. Then I opened my eyes once gain astonished and amazed. I gazed blankly for a long time trying to recollect and gather what had just happened. I sat motionless and stunned trying to investigate the truth in it. Streams of tears spilled through my eyes. I cried like mad not knowing how I could best react.

To all those traveling in the same path...

[I called up my father that day to consult. He was my guide, guru and co-traveler. He seeked advise from his guru and I was told not to play with and that I should continue under good guidance. So I halted. But my excitement drove me to sit for another meditation after a day in which without much effort I got the result. Similar situation followed. However the vibration that day to my amazement didn’t start from the base as I expected but exactly the spot in the mid-region where it had spreaded the day before. It rose up and spreaded similarly near my neck setting me to oscillate again.
Well, after this I didn’t dare. My head was the next region in length I felt and I was afraid of any nervous damage. I recalled reading in a book somewhere that a body has to be carefully trained to hold energy. Energy sent beyond the capacity is not wise and could destroy. A guru-shishya tradition therefore prevailed so that a disciple’s capacity could be carefully judged by an experienced and dealt with accordingly. And this is logical no doubt.
However, I have sent numerous mails to different meditation centres and asked anyone I met with any knowledge of meditation and was more and more confused. Whom should I ask and rely on is a problem now. Some said, kundalini is your mother, it would never harm. Others said, never proceed until you are guided. I have stopped meditating for 3 years now and have already began to loose the ease with which I could proceed. Any visitor in my blog with a suggestion or similar experience mentioning the way you have handled or know how to be handled or knowing someone who knows how to handle could be of great great help really.]

Rapes...strength and beauty

2008-01-06T06:37:00.000-08:00

In my room, NID, 13/01/08

I don’t read newspapers. I have tried a lot though to put on the habit but its not the BJP or Congress that catches my eyes though marked in bold. A small group of words trying to fit itself at a corner somewhere… many times after being headlines now tired of showing its same old status…of a schoolgirl molested by teacher or a careless girl raped by a mob with so small font-size and so little space makes me a pessimist for the whole day. And women committing suicide for dowry if told to a kid as a bedtime story every night would also complain of being nagged.
So lets talk of something fresh. Of Mumbai girls being molested on new year? That’s old too. Celebration means fun of course! And don’t girls know god makes sun rise and set to mark them in and out? Then why move out at night?

Well, I was not afraid of the world I had entered on puberty…not when I slowly found men in light stood in perspective, in dark they seem alike… as I felt empathized by Taslima when each time I faced a situation I had earlier dealt in her book. She was my teenage hero, my courage and inspiration. She was another side of my life which often fought with Vivekanand saying, “Vairagya? That’s a man’s business…poetic carelessness is a man’s fashion. We have other battles to fight beforehand!”
And she was beaten up!
A news of the day I didn’t dare to read.
She was threatened, beaten and perhaps would be killed very soon.
People ahead of time are not given their space. Space-Time-equation is one dimensional that way.

Well, I have joined a karate class recently… not hoping I could neutralize some acid poured on my face someday or avoid the sudden wish of a happy new year…but thinking I have a body so am responsible for its strength and was shocked to see no girls there. Physical strength is so much a man’s attribute! And the funny thing is most of the attacks are made keeping your groin in protection which we too follow, though a girl might need some other standing posture which might protect her better. A fighting technique has also developed keeping men as attacker in mind. Nobody has thought of a girl being a fighter beacuse a weak, meek and sick girl is called beautiful. She would be measured with tape and handed over a crown, and for her protection somebody else would go to gym and be called manly.
And I feel the entire concept of dominant and dominated have a common thread here, of subconsciously being aware of the high contrast in physical strength. Its quite natural that a bigger dog would want to bark at a feeble one and lets not fool ourselves anymore thinking we are far from beasts. And the hardest truth is --the weaker pays. At least among beasts they are clear with the concept of strength but so many years have gone by with so many civilizations and we either went round and round with colorful frocks to be showered with coins, either mastered the art of glance to lure a man for immemorial verse or dangled around a pole like a fool and felt overjoyed.
A man can be so much easily harassed than a woman. One kick can bring the sun, moon and stars together crumbling on earth. Then why is it only women who are harassed everywhere?

Well, enough of blaming the men, enough of blaming the law, enough of troubling the mathematicians who calculated the rape rates and made curvy graphs every year! And above all enough of meek and sick love poems cherishing weaknesses as the attributes of women. We will define our own beauty...purely curved out of strength…yes, mental, spiritual and Physical!

And let the crimes be worth dealing after all! A man attacked by many women or a woman attacked by many men on a lonely lane one night…for this let the police toil for days…let the detectives think for nights and let the newspapers be brightened with good story.
But a girl with a body but no strength...confronted by a normal man with normal body oneday, who smiled and whistled and finally pulled her scarf and she was scared and screamed...and cried and ran as mad....
Come on! Let’s not insult anymore!!!

Aspiring Fisherman...

2007-12-19T06:17:00.000-08:00

Daman, 15/12/07

A beachy life...

2007-12-19T06:11:00.000-08:00

Daman, 15/15/07

Enough for the day...

2007-12-19T06:03:00.000-08:00

Daman, 15/12/07

What would this world be like,

If all knew where to stop.

Thirst & need knew every limit,

And quenched in time with one last drop.

A lion doesn't hunt for later

Once he gets his recent meal,

A man alas too wise & prudent,

Sets forth restless to make next deal.

And barter peace for wisdom

And run through life & leap & hop-

When alas a day would come

To cry, "Its enough! O here I stop."

How would sky with clouds appear-

How would dew slide grass that day-

How would necter drip the flower,

With the bees at sudden bay-

If a night ends with no trail,

Each day began with new ray-

How joyous life would be to know,

We have enough for the day.

Zanjirein

2007-12-06T02:39:00.000-08:00

NID, Ahmedabad, 02/09/07

It's all about a limit to cross.
Leave aside war where both are booned to die,
But the farmers in the no man's land?
Like a bird hopping to collect the grains
When reaches too far from nest
Is banged by fire to death!
Well, poor sense of Geography can cost you life.

'Ita-bouchi' was a game we played,
Each group had a land to mark.
And the other when crossed own mark
Was brutally attacked by all.

But 'patriotism' is a heavy word!
it's just that Ita-bouchi goes on and on-
But a farmer who once crosses the mark
Is not given a chance to be 'dane'.

Warm range...

2007-12-05T07:21:00.000-08:00

Annapurna Range, Nepal, 12/11/07

Study-time

2007-11-23T13:36:00.000-08:00

Nepal, 12/11/07

Bell-bottom?

2007-11-23T13:25:00.000-08:00

Nepal, 10/11/07

Coiled...

2007-10-09T05:03:00.000-07:00

Ahmedabad, 30/09/07

A foggy evening...

2007-10-06T04:16:00.000-07:00

Ahmedabad, 27/09/07

The Dead Christ Supported by Angels

2007-10-05T08:15:00.000-07:00

Tried to replicate an oil painting by Paolo Veronese in pencil colour....

Revolution!!!

2007-08-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

With candle in my room, NID 08/08/07

It’s a side view of palm…. yes a hand raised up. Look again.
It’s the bust of a man with his hand raised above the shoulder…
Yes a freedom fighter.

I often wonder what made them so different from us…
That the love of soil overpowered the fear of death!
Well there is a Flintstone in us,
And there is a hand of time that holds the other--
Out of our usual way, just near the bend--
Very willingly holding out to collide…
But a child when learns to draw the first line on a sheet
Also learns to draw the must track of his life.
And as he grows he trails…follows and walks.
While time holds its hand out just away from track,
Eagerly waiting to bang.

A passer by once passed that way, shy , timid and calm,
And it was time that quarreled for power--
As they fought their sweat did fall on track,
And washed the trail alas!
The walker stopped, looked and sat;
Howled,---- screamed as mad!
Rushed here, rushed there---
a--n--d bumped!!!
And yes he did burn.
Enlightened was the dark….!
And voices said from far….
"Is there a soul to spark?"
Our tracks are lost in sand--
“Here I am”
Said the fiery man.
He stood across the mighty path
And held out his hand.

Raindrops

2007-08-08T06:28:00.000-07:00

Pigeon path, NID 08/08/07

Triplet

2007-08-08T06:16:00.000-07:00

LD Museum, Ahmedabad 07/08/07

Just bathed...

2007-08-08T06:09:00.000-07:00

NID, Ahmedabad 08/08/07

Reflection...

2007-08-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

NID, Ahmedabad 08/08/07

Paradise

2007-08-02T14:06:00.000-07:00

NID lawn, 04/07/07

Shortcut to Moksha....?

2007-08-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

Kutch, Gujarat 27/07/07

Block printing

2007-08-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

Kutch, Gujarat 27/07/07

A lonely snail under streetlight...

2007-08-02T10:18:00.000-07:00

Pigeon path, NID 24/07/07

Hurry up! How slow you are!
---"I hear the life's beat."
Poor thing you are lonely here!
---"My cling to earth is deep."
But the stars are up! The world is off to sleep!
---"I seek not rest, my pace gives steady grip."

I laughed at it and rushed through life's lane--
Seeking friends and rest and best of every plane...
While life passed by and I passed life's race--

Drenched in sweat I laughed at my good pace.

Satisfaction....

2007-07-23T00:57:00.000-07:00

Ahmedabad 21/07/07

Going Across

2007-07-19T06:37:00.000-07:00

Bengal 05/05/07

As I journeyed through life o God,
Your sky did amaze with stars,
As I looked towards the horizon,
To the misty land afar...
I drenched in tears to feel yout width,
How far art thou, how far!

My oar is short, my boat is small
My eyes race beyond the fog,
With madness I wake up in awe
To pull down my log.
And I stirred the water
To push my boat,
To have your world a peep...
And my oar slides down
To search my soul...
How deep art thou, How deep!

Peace be still...

2007-07-17T04:52:00.000-07:00

Garden at home 22/05/07

Summer drift

2007-07-16T12:34:00.000-07:00

Garden at home 22/05/07

Passion

2007-07-16T11:58:00.000-07:00

Diu 10/12/06

Its only love that has this unique feature…its beauty revealed in union or separation. Shringara bhava- the bhava of love gets priority in both sambhoga and viyoga. There are dark fences built in mind to protect, support or avoid like the dark trees that guard the horizon. But alas love breaks through it not….not noisy or demanding leaving a scope to rebuild or check. It arises rather from beyond the fence, from a region of mind we check not…it creeps in, seeps in and embeds. The only hint if you see is the gentle brightness that glows you with warmth each day…as it conquers the heart and slowly rises to proclaim its arrival…changing you, changing the world. The sky may turn red with passion…the winds may carry secrets of love. With awe you realize the aspects of joy. How happy it is to bear a sorrow like a sweet thorn traveling in blood calling for Sambhoga or union over the world.

Viyoga or separation on the lower side of horizon seeps even more deep to heart…collects in droplets, trickles down and forms a vast stretch of water making the heart saggy in weight...but it roars not. Its presence you will notice not…but the tender gentle wind that pass may touch often and kiss the drops, caress and pass….the ripples then go deeper and deeper to dig the charm…to set to awe how quiet and noisy, restless and calm...

Freedom....

2007-07-16T11:47:00.000-07:00

Udaipur 20/02/07

E' shomaj chhere bohu dure,
Jetha dikbala miloner sure baraechhe haat,
Ami shei haat dhoribo bokhhe--
Tai choliachhi bohujoog dhore
Furale rojoni.....Dakile probhat--
________________________________________
Far away from this world,
Where the horizon holds its hand out
To be held close to heart---
I would hold that hand to unite as one...
With that aim I move on for lives
Crossing thousand nights
Towards morning's call....

Corn Harvest

2007-07-16T11:42:00.000-07:00

Bengal 30/05/07

A Lonely Dusk...

2007-07-16T11:33:00.000-07:00

Bengal 05/05/07

You n I... in this beautiful world....

2007-07-16T11:28:00.000-07:00

Udaipur 20/02/07

Heralding Monsoon.....

2007-07-16T11:17:00.000-07:00

NID, Ahmedabad 22/06/07

Touched by Midas....

2007-07-16T10:56:00.000-07:00

Diu 10/12/06

Veiled... ( Obogunthhan)

2007-07-13T14:16:00.000-07:00

Garden at home 25/05/07

The charm of love resembles this flower I guess
A little to be said
A little to be understood
A little to reveal
A little to ignore….
That’s what makes a moon covered a part
more appealing infact…
And a bud of rose with a few petals opened so beautiful.
Its all about a hidden balance somewhere,
The right amount placed here
And a few more to the other pan
when just brings them in a plane--
A mystical code is broken to the chaste of eternity,
And that’s when its a trifle....
To drink hemlock for a truth,
To leave throne to achieve ‘Nothing’--
To die happy for and on soil…
To be torn apart in pain
And yet............
Madly live in love.

To Reach The Horizon

2007-07-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

Bengal 05/05/07

Je din dholia jae,
Phire ki ashe ta hae,
Protikhon chole jae chholi--
Kheyali tori e' hae,
Ke jane kothe jae choli--
Hetha chhonde chhonde phote phool,
Aha monde monde bohe baye,
Chhuti jonmo ashia chapi dhore,
Pher moron chharaye loye jae.
Aj dibosh phurale anmone,
Bhabi michhe chhinu mor grihokone,
Pher torikhani udashin tane,
More kotha loy kei ba ta jane.
Tar nahi shesh, nahi shesh
Ghuchibe shokol resh,
Shudhu robe ghurnir ghurnota--
Biday shondha hobe
Bela sheshe mone hobe
Opurne purner purnota.
____________________________________________

The day that passes by,
Will it ever return by chance--
The moments that illusion our mind!

Oh its a sail by waves at chance,
On its will to make its dance....

Here the flowers bloom in rhythm,
Here the winds blow at beat,
Here life hugs with passion,
And death makes the leave.
And when the day is gone,
My boat goes on and on--
Through swirls and whirls at call--
Pausing at life's bent.
Through endless waves,---
Through endless being,---
Towards the endless
to end the end.

A Smile

2007-07-10T13:59:00.000-07:00

Udaipur 18/02/07

I have learnt to smile in categories,
suiting people, place and occasion.
I have learnt to be happy and sad,
suiting time, crowd and passion.
Yet I'd visit laughter clubs....
attempting truly to achieve one--
A joy for a joy's sake.....
A smile beyond reason.

Confronting Endless

2007-07-10T13:06:00.000-07:00

NID, Ahmedabad 16/06/07

What I never knew was
there is a dove in my heart.
Growing each day--
Clinging to the walls of my vessels,
Like many forgotten dreams--
Waking....struggling....and quarrelling
To be known.
And forgotten atlast--
Like the shells drifted to the shore by chance,
That slowly decays to sand.
But there is a dove in my heart--
Often flattering its wings
Wanting to fly!
Soaring above the daily heaps
Of right and wrong,
Learnt unlearnt,
Sorrows and joy---
Like the first man who looked at sky,
Like the first bird that learned to fly.
With awful wings that were never barred.
But I knew it not---
There is a dove--
A dove in my heart!

LEISURE

2007-07-03T01:52:00.000-07:00

Udaipur 19/02/07

When all my work is done,
When my urge no more cries....
No more raids--
No more lashes me to race--
From the cradle to the grave,
A leisure do I crave--
To fly so high
To gladly cry,
I Live I Live I Live!!!

Wo-men....

2007-07-01T22:38:00.000-07:00

Bhujodi, Gujarat 29/07/07

I often wonder what makes the flesh and skin of a woman so special that has to be either cautiously wrapped from head to toe because ---it is so special, or exposed to draw million eyes because--- it is so special.
Whether a fully covered Savitri next door or a Mallika on stage they both highlight the ‘speciality’ of a female body either covered or exposed. They both lead female to the same status of pleasure commodity…through different names, used-unused.
Its being said prostitution should be popularised to stop rape. Some more Mallikas added to the other pan to keep the pan of Savitris intact, so that a male has no inadequacy picking one for pleasure and the other for marriage.
And its the females shifting at this beam balance for ages, for a male is a static being. They are widely accepted and granted in their fixed status forever, despite their age, knowledge, wealth and education that rarely bring a change.
A girl is well fed from her teen with the advice, ‘he is a guy he will do so, you are a girl, its you to protect.’ So keeping the ever accepted hunter and the hunted concept in mind a good girl needs to be careful with her existence not to excite a man, lest if she is raped the world may say…‘Poor fellow, he is a man! You ought to have been disguised instead.’ Burkhas, ghunghats, dupattas all dragged and pinned by a girl to help these poor fellows help themselves and yet a little girl in her nappies fail to escape.
Its only female flesh and skin that matter perhaps.
A man can roam with his shirt open and nobody questions against comfort, they can urinate most proudly with their birth-rights approved in every street with an exposure more casual than taking breath and none has a word to oppose.
But a girl of course has to be packaged well.
And I however see only two solutions to this. One by law other by nature. One preventing rape and other accepting it. One in which a rapist can be beaten in public till his scotrum peel off and testes drop to ground and other in which females would also commit rape. The concept of rape will then be diluted and balanced if a time is fetched when a man has to wrap and pin a pleated cloth carefully around his waist in the fear of being sexually harassed by a female. Well, may be this would start the march towards un-civilization by the females too to reach the males.
So what? What good has civilization done to us anyway?

ANTICIPATION

2007-05-22T05:31:00.000-07:00

Diu 12/11/2006

--As though as a journey inward...the world needs to meditate its being too. As the mind observes the restlessness to calm and die down....a silent crane by sea asks the waves, ‘will you dance for me?’ And the waves swirl and sway to froth all day.... till the eve.
--when the crane is just too lost to speak....
.....and the waves just too shy to hear...

Religion

2007-04-30T12:25:00.000-07:00

Religion is one of the major causes of bloodshed all over the world even today. Its a pity that the meaning of religion is interpreted through customs and not ideas. And its amazing and amusing really that an idea should be hereditary. Seeing so much of bloodshed there are people who come to the conclusion that religion itself should disappear from the world and claim themselves as atheists. But an idea can never be killed but followed, denied, modified or generated. And religion should be treated in similar manner.
The birth of any religion is mystery. The curious mind keeps looking for answers regarding our being and surrounding that compels him to think and come up with answers regarding his origin, life, livelihood and existence. But a few people who were thoughtful enough and had the capacity to go beyond questions gained regard from the people around who listened, thought, agreed and followed the same. Thus was a Master created, followers formed, and a religion made.
But what is illogical is that the children of these followers should also follow the same. Thus a child before knowing why he or she is Brahmin and a Hindu, Shia and a Muslim, Catholic and a Christian already is decided by the society what his or her ideas should be. And its even worse to think that religion needs to change in case of inter-religion marriage for a woman.
The base of every religion is philosophy or the ideas about creation, creator, life, death, morals and conducts. And philosophy needs to be questioned and thought, understood and realized. To the periphery comes the customs and cults, food-habit and rituals though these are sometimes very much interlinked with the core. But what a pity that being religious means to blindly bow down and to be ignorant means to be atheist, and to be atheist means arrogant and proud.
And hence religion is hereditary because though ideas can not be inherited customs ofcourse can. Hence a Hindu child knows he is superior than the rest, a Muslim child knows he is pure. And the same follows all over the world where people can fight and die, live and kill for a reason they really know not.
When a society would be built where a person has the right to choose his religion just like choosing his political parties then would religion truly exist.
Rather than having religion pre-decided if a person had to know the core ideas of various religions in order to choose which he inclines to most, neither would have babri masjid been destroyed nor jihads been called to slaughter.
And religion would then truly succeed to restrain and comfort, to free and confine...to teach and preach tolerance and sacrifice and thus play a role to change a human----
for we are human and humane only when we know WHAT WE ARE, moreover, WHY WE ARE.

Childhood Lost

2007-03-29T03:09:00.000-07:00

Bhujodi 29/07/07

I have seen an urchin,
ruminating past the riverside--
He gazed at stones,
Touched the pebbles,
Slapped the mud
And kicked the water.

He hopped and jumped,
Splashed and swamped,
Muttered and uttered alien verse.

And as though in curse,
He glared at clouds and endless sky,
And hurled a stone
To aim so high.

And I killed him there and then.

I threw the log
He held on shoulder--
To drag along or push a boulder,
And replaced a brand new school goin bag,
With books for knowledge
His brains can drag.

And told him,
'Look the water there--
Not a toy, indeed unfair!
H2O as chemists call,
Here's the list
Do learn them all.'

Oh yes, I killed him there and then,
Ne'er saw him idling around again.
If you see an empty field,
Abandoned streetside,
An urchin killed--
Do not wish a street-side game,
I tore it apart when its embroyos came.
'Cause I killed him there and then.
Smothered and slaughtered
In education's name.

Ocean's Beckon

2007-03-29T01:56:00.000-07:00

Diu 10/12/06

The snow occupying the highest peak of the world
asked God, 'Why am I not happy?'
God answered,'Its not height that gives you peace.'
So the snow melted and fell as stream,
not happy still---
God answered,'You are too noisy.'
It became a river now grave and deep,
passing through the woods and shrubs--
'Answer God, what's that now bars?'
God said,'You are not in service'.
The river entered countryside,
Thousands cherished the fertile bank.
It said to God,'I am happy now,
But I dont get peace--
Someone calls me all the time!'
God smiled and merged in sky.

The river meandered here and there,
Looking for the one who calls--
Bent through marsh, through fields, through moors.
And finally found the ocean aside.
The river now calm and quiet--
Slaggish by the greatest pain,
Dived into ocean replying its call.
God said 'You are complete now--
YOU GET THE WHOLE
WHEN YOU GIVE YOUR ALL.'
8thAug,2004

The Origin of Creation And Who Am I

2007-02-27T21:52:00.000-08:00

Paint and brush on textured paper, 26/11/08

Let us imagine there was nothing at all....that was the begining of the universe. Light wasnt there so it was dark, matter didnt exist so it was vaccant. But everything that exists today had the potential of their existance in that dark. That potential had an AHAM or I-awareness. There was a feeling of existance spread throughout. If that potential was an energy, there were possibilities that it could transform to matter as well, as energy and matter are transformable.

Then was the first particle formed out of the AHAM that existed. Born as the first child out of eternity it called itself 'I' and felt it was the only living being in the vast ocean of space unaware that its 'I' was a part of the bigger AHAM. From it took birth another particle or may be some other emerged from the womb of AHAM. Now the other forms of energy as being a part of the potential reacted and arose. Love was then first felt in the heart and history of creation.

The particles pulled each other closer with the strong desire to merge. But each one had developed its I awareness from the supreme aham. And I awareness means the desire to retain individuality and continue to exist resisting all the force that make things one. So the love they had demanded them to merge but the aham they had wanted to remain individual. The struggle made one go round and round to resist the force of attraction. Lets say that was the first electron that spinned around the proton. If not sound is defined as all that humans can hear, if not sound is defined as all that needs to disturb the air...then the first sound that reached and pleased the mother aham was this spinning humming sound or the adi sound OM.

One electron thought I am I. One proton thought I am I. One neutron thought I am I. And together the group developed another 'I' called atom. Atom thought it was a separate individual born and electron, proton and neutron belonged to it as organs to make it servive, just like we call the cells of our body as ours though they have separate individuality and life of their own yet not hesitating to believe they servive just to make us servive.

There were many atoms then emerging, each having separate individuality and desire to retain it. One atom now loved the other. The history of love was being repeated at a different plane. They lost, they gained, they shared to come closer. Hydrogen loved oxygen to form water. Molecule that was formed thought it was a separate being and had an 'I' and considered the atoms as its organs existing just to make it thrive. Similarly compounds formed having another 'I', cells developed having their own 'I', we developed calling ourselves 'I'. The layers of 'I' at different levels and planes kept going on and on to make creation sustain in its amazing mysterious plan.

When I eat, my food is consumed by the cells. I eat not but feed them thinking they are mine, as my assumption of I-awareness depends on their desire to servive. The earth holds us firmly to its bossom, the moment she lives we will scatter in the space around. But she holds still thinking we belong to her and are her organs to servive. The solar system with some planets around calls itself 'I'. The spinning at this macrolevel combines with the spinning of microlevel adding to the sound of OM. The entire universe dances with this sound in the madness of creation and joy of be-ing.

We are all serviving at a particular plane of assumption. And such is our ignorance that we neglect the other planes of 'I' from the plane we exist it. This is what is called MAYA perhaps. Such fake is our assumption. And this entire universe is running on the basis of this fakeness which has arisen the desire to servive or retain each 'I' and made the entire creation interdepended and connected by this invisible network.

Like a vast ocean where tiny bubbles come up to the surface for a while, each bubble calling itself an individual but are the parts of the same ocean and emerging and bursting developing the fake individuality and losing it again.

However, many such systems like solar system together called the galaxy thought it was another individual and the individual systems are but its parts. Similarly many galaxies and cosmos formed millions and millions of 'I' at another plane. When all these bodies together along with the space called itself 'I' it found it was the same I as the mother AHAM prior to all.
Samadhi is the stage of meditation when one realises the fakeness of ones individuality and loses the aham or 'I' to merge with the greater 'I'. That is the time one realises everything is one-- we are God-the AHAM. That is the time the sages after beginning their meditation with the question'WHO AM I' opens his eyes to declare 'I AM HIM--SOHAM SOHAM'.