"bacchoN kii haNstii aaNkhoN ke jo aaiine chaknaa-chuur hu’e ab un ke sitaaroN kii lau se is shah’r kii raateN raushan haiN aur ruKhshaaN hai arz-e-Lebanon"
The moon on the 11th of July rose in Mumbai. A full beautiful moon among clouds, softly lighting the blood stained tracks, caressing the charred unclaimed fragments of flesh and breathing over wounded souls. Agonized, distraught, confused and numbed souls of those who were wounded in the flesh and those who were wounded in the spirit.
The night saw those who sank, those who fought the nasty wave terror inflicted on them, those ashore who helped others and those who watched silently, helplessly, impotently….like me, who watched their TV sets, trying to contain a tide of tears that rose with the rising death toll.
The next morning saw the media applauding our ‘resilience’- the equanimity of a broken and shattered lot! Applauding the people who took the same trains to work. Applauding parents who sent their children to schools and offices for their near 100% attendance.
The settling day saw politicians saluting us for our bravery and the way we pick ourselves up. And it saw those who thought Mumbai was targeted because we (the same saluted, resilient Mumbaikars) with our laissez-faire attitude did not react adequately and forcefully to adversities; who accused us of shrugging off grave tragedies likes specs of dust on clothes and moving on with our lives; who indicted that we didn’t care enough for those who died, to be jolted even for a day.
These three days that followed have seen a need to ventilate in most of us. People want to talk about it again and again. They want to talk the fear, the impotence and the frustration out of their system. And each who talks has an explanation for the blast, how it could have been avoided, a potential blameworthy faculty (attitude of people, terrorist groups, political interests, economic destabilization of India by Pakistan), an advice for the government (pulling back on the peace process with Pakistan, using the nuclear weapons), a plan of action for the future (increasing railway security, increasing individual vigilance, contributing economically and emotionally to see that people around us are less frustrated) and so on.
I have largely held my silence for the past three days, providing no subjective perceptions or understanding, no opinions and merely counter-arguing a couple of remarks made by others, because I didn’t have anything to say. I have not been able to collect my thoughts adequately and without that I do not want to form an opinion for I do not want to believe what I find convenient to believe. But I have this to say to all those minds that have been collected enough to form an opinion about Mumbai:
Most of us, who got back to work the following day, live in the complete understanding that we missed being the immediate victims simply by a matter of chance. Potential victims we all are and that awareness we lull to a deep sleep on the cot farthest from our conscious mind for we do not want to share a frightful co-existence with it. We are those who live and function through testing moments and maintain our sang-froid, not because we are unfeeling but because stoicism is our primary defense. We are not an imperturbable, impassive, non-feeling lot but we acknowledge the futility of mourning. We have at some level become immune to insults against our lives and families and refuse to respond beyond a point (which can be seen as apathy or bravery whatever one chooses). We pick up our pieces quickly for we know there is no one else to do so.
For a decade and more we have seen communal tensions and we have seen reactions in their aftermath and the results. We are an experienced lot who have become judicious over years.
We have our own little individual disaster management in place…finally.
Friday, July 07, 2006
A PASSing thought
With Nathula Pass opening up, its Hindi-Cheeni bhai-bhai time again. The old Silk Route disentangles leaving us in a SILKtuation where all ROUTEna manana is over and trade is expected to flourish.
It is much to my delight when physical boundaries diminish and the hope that the stronger boundaries that we guard so protectively in our minds will someday diminish too, strengthens.
Just a couple of months back I was there! Yes, right there basking in the glory of seeing China on the other side of the barbed wire, going blue in the -5 degrees (or so we were informed) chill, gleefully gazing at Chinese snow and freaking out about being right on the border. We were surrounded by snow through most of the way to Nathula around mid-April but the photograph in the newspaper today was almost unrecognizable. Not a speck of snow!!!! I’m just so glad I went when I did, for as a resident of the urban grey, my tryst with white purity is limited. Here are the two photographs for comparison.
And here is the video shot on the way to Nathula.
More pics on Nathula here. (Click on the "more" button to the left under the photostream)
I had recently been to parts of W.Bengal and Sikkim for a two-week, backpacking, on-the-feet kind of vacation. It’s been a week since my return but the images don’t seem to fade. Some few days into my trip and I was certain I would be writing about it on return. However what I wasn’t certain of was the extent to which I’d need to write about it. To address all the places in a single shot would be to akin to fitting a once in a lifetime sale ad in a ten word space or trying to be content with a plateful in a buffet layout of a hundred dishes. Hence here is a glimpse into one part of the tour: The Doars Forests W.Bengal or one could say 'Doars to a brighter world'.
The base destinations for almost all the places covered is Siliguri and the nearest airport Bagdogra, with reasonably fared flights between Calcutta and Bagdogra. (Bagdogra-Siliguri=13 kms)
Siliguri to Jaldapara- the first destination- is a run of around 3-4 hours by road. Arriving at the Jaldapara Forest Lodge at night (as the more scenically located Hollong lodge wasn’t available for accommodation) was like a journey from the world of dark illusions into a jungle of illuminated realities. Since this lodge, as other forest lodges in this area, is an undertaking of the government, needless to say it isn’t kept very well. Settling to the new room, if taken in the right spirit, was like watching a discovery channel take on “our insect world”. Yes, they were there..in-sects and cults. I mean, what the heck, the government takes trouble to educate us regarding the miniscule (and the not so lesser) denizens of the forest, giving us “the complete jungle experience” as a package and we mock and scorn! How unfair. In any case these tiny sweethearts of the class insecta were gnawing at my peace before they could get a go at my clothes, which made me get up at 3 a.m. mid-sleep to shift my bags from near wood- paneled walls of the room to its centre, giving the bags the position of attention and esteem. No... I wasn’t worried about my clothes just about me in them on the days that were to follow. And my concerns weren’t entirely baseless either for on my heavy-lidded, droopy-eyed, 3.a.m. scrutiny of between wood panels, what seemed to transpire among our crawly friends, was something on the lines of my kindergarten game of“Fire In The Mountain….Run Run Run”.
Anyways, they got me crawling away from the subject, insects that they are! So this was the night impression by en large laced with the not-so-well- cooked- but-well-received- by-hungry-stomachs Bengali meal.
As they say, no gains without pains, or there is light at the end of the tunnel or whatever it is that they say, the morning arrived with a relief that not only swept over the discomforts of the night but overcompensated them to such an extent that I was ready to make friends with those bug-gers on the following night.
It was a beautiful dawn, of a colour that would put jealousy to shame. The morning started with an early morning elephant back safari, and amid much squeals of delight, to which I’m certain the elephant objected, did everyone manage to get seated; and the elephant with a damn-these-squealing-idiots gesture of the head got on his way. The ride was spectacular, once we got used to his (elephant’s) dish-tik tush--dish-tik-tush (with an emphasis on dish) and our respective head-waist-butt--head-waist-butt (with an emphasis on head) rhythm of movement. See what we were ‘dish’ed out. Utterly butt-erly delicious.
As a background score soft-Bengali banter did the honors ( as we were accompanied by some others on the back of this irritable animal), of which we could not make out much except few highish decibel screeches like “ peacock” or “deer”. Then we saw something that made us squeal too: a rhino. And so becoming a party to the bonhomie and verbalizations we too contributed our two bits by saying “ hey! rhino”. Well I still can’t fathom what’s the idea of doing a “Hey! Rhino” on encountering one, when neither we nor the rhino is in doubt of its existence. Well never mind this is one of those existential queries that never get sorted out.
This rhinos butt and tail were hurt and as such matters interest me most (and I don’t mean anal-matters, but animal health matters.. well it does 'matter' now, doesn’t it?), I enquired about the animal’s health, on which I learnt that the wound was a byproduct of two of these guys playing fighter-fighter. I also got a between the lines tip from the mahout that in case one desired to mess with rhinos, the ones with a hurt behind wouldn’t be the best choice. Something about their aching derrieres makes them prone to charging with their head. What shit-head logic!
Anyways after much acknowledgements of the rhino’s presence and reminding him gaily and loudly of ours, the party proceeded to a clearing where the suns rays seemed to filter through the clouds, giving a grayish-yellow tinge to the tall-grass blades and emitting an‘oh-my-god-how-lovely’ from me, which again I admit was unnecessary. But its one of those things one says for one has to say something.
We concluded our safari and alighted from our elo-fellow’s back who seemed to appear a shade more benign now that we were off him. He even allowed people to touch his trunk after which I got a feeling he didn’t want them to test his tolerance any longer.
We exited the forest and ate a lunch similar to last night's dinner, which now didn’t seem as bad. I had probably risen above food and acquired an appetite for better things. We moved on to another destination, another story.........
Gujrat, our most limelight loving state, now not even second to Bihar, is lovingly clinging to what it is most exercised by: Controversy ( with a capital c). Aamir who certainly appears to be more exercised by dumb (or not so dumb) belles, happens to be standing at the center of this one. What results is a plethora of interviews, radical views, cross explanations, justifications, and what not.
I was watching 'The Big Fight’ on NDTV the other day, and here is what I gathered from what they all said….Aamir said what he had to…these guys said what they had to.. .. then he said that they were reacting not to what he said but what they thought he said… then they said they reacted not to what he said but what he implied by having said it….. it ended by some sensible soul saying “so what’s the issue”… if Aamir dint say what they thought he said and he was ready to explain to them what he actually said then they could as well say that the issue having been said aloud was now resolved. Certainly a said state of affairs, I said.
But having laughed and mocked at all of this, a certain discomfort lingers within me. Is it a question of only Gujrat’s pride that Aamir hurt? In my opinion (and I am opinionated), the picture is lot larger than the canvas on which it is being painted. Is it not the pride of a free nation that is hurt when its citizens reflect interests so narrow and are moved by matters of such poor significance as banning a movie would involve.
The question raises its distressing hood once again…. Democracy’s (the mock race is) on?????
P.S. : I saw Fanaa the other day and it was an absolutely silly movie, with Aamir, a supposed terrorist, reciting poetry all over the first half. The interviews on news channels were certainly more entertaining in every respect.
Monday, May 29, 2006
"Thought is a bird of space..... That in a cage of words, may indeed unfold its wings.... But cannot fly......"
-Kahlil Gibran
Much as the bird in me desires the thrills of flight, so does she fear losing the secure familiarity of her cage....
This blog is so that, she may atleast unfold her wings.......
The base destinations for almost all the places covered is Siliguri and the nearest airport Bagdogra, with reasonably fared flights between 
like watching a discovery channel take on “our insect world”. Yes, they were there..in-sects and cults. I mean, what the heck, the government takes trouble to educate us regarding the miniscule (and the not so lesser) denizens of the forest, giving us “the complete jungle experience” as a package and we mock and scorn! How unfair. In any case these tiny sweethearts of the class insecta were gnawing at my peace before they could get a go at my clothes, which made me get up at 
among our crawly friends, was something on the lines of my kindergarten game of
This rhinos butt and tail were hurt and as such matters interest me most (and I don’t mean anal-matters, but animal health matters.. well it does 'matter' now, doesn’t it?), I enquired about the animal’s health, on which I learnt that the wound was a byproduct of two of these guys playing fighter-fighter. I also got a between the lines tip from the mahout that in case one desired to mess with rhinos, the ones with a hurt behind wouldn’t be the best choice. Something about their aching derrieres makes them prone to charging with their head. What shit-head logic!
proceeded to a clearing where the suns rays seemed to filter through the clouds, giving a grayish-yellow tinge to the tall-grass blades and emitting an