വിദ്യാഭ്യാസവും സംസ്കാരവും (Education and Culture)

അറിവാണ് മനുഷ്യനെ മുൻപനും പിൻപനും ആക്കുന്നത്. ഡിഗ്രി ഉള്ളവന് അതില്ലാത്തവനെ പുച്ഛം നിറഞ്ഞ നോട്ടം നോക്കാൻ ഉള്ള അവകാശം ഉണ്ടോ? വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം ഇല്ലാത്തവൻ അതുള്ളവനെ  ബഹുമാനിക്കുന്നത് ഗതികേട് കൊണ്ടല്ല, മറിച്ച് സ്വന്തം മഹത്വം കൊണ്ടാണ്. അത് മനസിലാക്കാൻ കഴിവില്ലാത്ത, സ്വയം അറിവുണ്ട് എന്ന് അഹങ്കരിക്കുന്ന വിവരദോഷികൾ സ്വന്തം ഡിഗ്രികൾ കൊണ്ട് കോർത്ത കയറിൽ തൂങ്ങി ചാവുന്നതാണ് നല്ലത്. ഹല്ല പിന്നെ!

വയലിൽ പണി എടുക്കുന്ന കർഷകൻ അനുഭവങ്ങൾ കൊണ്ട് മെടഞ്ഞ് മേഞ്ഞെടുക്കുന്ന വിവേകം ഡിഗ്രികൾ കൊണ്ട് നേടിയെടുക്കാൻ പറ്റില്ല. വിവേകിയായ കർഷകൻ സർക്കാരിന്‍റെ ഗ്രാന്റ് വാങ്ങാൻ ക്യൂവിൽ നിൽക്കുമ്പോൾ കൌണ്ടരിന്‍റെ അപ്പുറത്തിരിക്കുന്ന അഭ്യസ്തവിദ്യർ സമ്മാനിക്കുന്ന പുച്ഛം നിറഞ്ഞ ചിരി സൂചിപ്പിക്കുന്നത് അഭ്യസ്തവിദ്യർ എന്ന് അഹങ്കരിക്കുന്ന എല്ലാ വിവരദോഷികളുടെയും സംസ്കാരം ആകുന്നു. ഒരിക്കലും സംസ്കാരം വിദ്യാഭ്യാസത്തിന്റെ കൂടെ സൗജന്യം ആയി കിട്ടില്ല. സംസ്കാരം ഉണ്ടാക്കി എടുക്കണം. അത് വീട്ടുകാരുടെയും, നാട്ടുകാരുടെയും കടമ ആകുന്നു. സംസ്കാരം ഇല്ലാത്ത തലമുറയെ പടച്ചു വിട്ടതുകൊണ്ടാണ് അഞ്ചു വയസായ പെണ്ണിനുപോലും നമ്മടെ നാട്ടില്‍ ധൈര്യമായി ഒറ്റയ്ക്ക് വഴിനടക്കാൻ പറ്റാത്തത്. വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം കൂടി പോയ മാന്യ പുരുഷന്മാരും പൊങ്ങച്ചക്കാരികളും കൂടി ചെയ്യുന്നത്ര ദോഷം വേറെ ആരും ഈ സമൂഹത്തിനു ചെയ്യുന്നില്ല. അതുകൊണ്ട് അഹങ്കാരികളായ ഏതെങ്കിലും അഭ്യസ്തവിദ്യർ ഈ പോസ്റ്റ്‌ വായിക്കുന്നുണ്ടെങ്കിൽ ദയവായി ഒരു നിമിഷം ചിന്തിക്കുക. വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം നേടിയതുകൊണ്ട്‌ സംസ്കാരം ഉണ്ടായി എന്ന് അഹങ്കരിക്കരുത്. യഥാർഥ സംസ്കാരം പ്രവൃത്തിയിൽ കാണണം. ഇല്ലെങ്കിൽ നല്ലത് ഡിഗ്രികൾ കോർത്ത കയറിൽ കെട്ടിത്തൂങ്ങുന്നതാണ്!

 NB: ചില ആപ്പീസുകളിൽ മുണ്ടും തോർത്തും അല്ലെങ്കിൽ മുണ്ടും ബ്ലൗസും ധരിച്ചുവരുന്ന, പ്രായമായ ചിലരെ പരിഗണിക്കുന്ന രീതി കണ്ട് ആത്മനൊമ്പരം പൂണ്ടാണ്‌ ഇത് എഴുതുന്നത്. ആരെയും മുഷിപ്പിക്കാൻ ഉദ്ദേശിച്ചിട്ടില്ല.

Great Thoughts from Paulo

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He put down his coffee, lit a cigarette, and looked at the ceiling for a long time. Then he turned to me. “It’s a very simple sentence,” he said. “I love you” –p26

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To love is to lose control. –p37

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Why do we always do this? Why do we notice the speck in our eye but not the mountains, the fields, the olive groves? -p48

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I was there because suddenly life presented me with Life. I felt no guilt, no fear, no embarrassment. As I listened to what he was saying – and felt myself growing closer to him- I was more and more convinced that he was right: there are moments when you have to take a risk, to do crazy things. - P29, 

From 'By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept' (Paulo Coelho)

Worries about Monkeys and a Home

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Like every other morning, this one too had a lazy blanket pulled over me when my alarm rang for the fifth time after 7 am. This time, the ring of the alarm was annoying. But then i realized that it was not an alarm- it was the phone ringing! And guess who... Yes. You guessed it. I couldn't miss that call.

I was at home. In my quarters. Its a good home. I have a home. It's a pleasant thought- I have a home.

After brushing and bathing, i realized that drinking water is over. So i got ready fast and was trying to go to the office.

I opened the door and found three monkeys sitting on the corridor, silently picking at each others fluffy hairs. Cute- I thought. So I locked the door and walked towards the stair case. Suddenly, one of the monkeys ran towards me screeching. My heart skipped a beat or two. Adrenalin. Death. Run, escape. But i had locked the room- I can't enter my room. If the monkey runs on to me, i will have nowhere to go. Behind me is the end of the corridor, on the third floor. I cant jump off third floor!

But- god be blessed- the monkey went back and kept on picking on its companion. I went back slowly without provoking the monkeys and opened my room. I was thirsty; but there is no water. Now i was suddenly hungry. I need to go to the office. Gathering courage, i got out of my room and walked again to the stair case. But this time, all on a sudden, a BIG monkey appeared from the staircase and came jumping on to me. I am a dead man. But when it saw that i was frightened, it went back proudly. And i went back frightened. Once inside the room, I called a few friends. Mr. Sreekanth Reddy offered me help. But at that moment, he realized that he lost his bike keys. Excellent. I was never happier!

I lost hope in life. I locked myself inside the room. I only have a packet of biscuit- a small one. Death, come with thy cold hands and welcome me into thy kingdom. Alone in my home, I will fall prey to death under seige!

After half an hour, i opened the room and looked at the corridor using a mirror. Monkeys are still there. Death is closer. A few steps closer. Trapped.

My phone rings again. Sreekanth sir. He will be late.

Trap gets closer. I can feel the clenches. Am I sweating? May be this is how death by tension and fear is! May be...

Phone rings again. Sreekanth sir is here. The rescue team is here. Finally. Death is not that close. May be, they can save me from predators.

They came with sticks. And courage. The rescue team. But there were no monkeys. What! No monkeys? What happened to them? Where are they? Why was I caught?

They replied with a smile, “what sir? There are no monkeys here... why are you so frightened?” I blushed... partly ashamed... and looked around. ya. No monkeys. NOW there are no monkeys!

Thanks to the rescue team. I am saved. 
Now, that I am free, I can reflect on what happened and how much courage I have and why monkeys don't have a home and why they come to my home and what we do to other living beings and why we do what we do and so on... Quite some time is needed... because monkeys do deserve a home... like i deserve a quarters... Now I worry. I have a home which stands exactly where their home used to stand... Worries about monkeys and a home... 

Yes. Worries about monkeys and a home!

The loss of a Bottle!

It was late in the evening when I boarded bus to IIIT-RK Valley. I was looking forward to my new job and its novelties with childlike wonder. It was nothing like earlier. Life was changing day by day. I had to be on my own. And being on my own was a beautiful experience- to begin with. If I wanted to eat, I had to earn. Though a frightening fact for a person of my background, it soon turned out to be an easy task with all the divine blessings focused on whatever I was doing. So as I was sitting in the bus, thoughts of fulfilment and eagerness filled me. ‘Hmm… good’ I thought. 

At around 11 pm, the bus started moving out of the hushed din and buzzle of the never-asleep streets of Hyderabad. Slowly, I crept into my tiredness and disappeared from the world of silly chores. The clumsily decorated background of the sleep world welcomed me as usual with open arms of protection and cheer. The dream had deep, open tubewells that I usually fell into, long snakes with dark and bright spots that usually ate me and hundreds of mountains with thousands of cliffs that I usually fell off from. There were also bright spots where white fairies fluttered their wings and flew around singing some strange song in unusually high pitch. There was a tall old man sitting among them with long white beard and a hallow around his head. The woman who sat next to him was nursing a child, and was beautiful like I have never seen. I loved this world of the sleep. It was alluring and repulsive. Honest and deceptive. Trustable and treacherous. Very human indeed!

But soon, I was shaken out of this beautiful but treacherous world. The bus stopped at some lonely place. The driver was yelling something out over the phone. From what I could make out, someone had missed the bus. So we had to wait. I liked it! In fact, I was waiting for an opportunity to get out of the bus. I had taken a couple of extra sips of water. I had to do it. It was high time. See, blessings come in all forms. I ran out of the bus, and did the needful standing behind a bush, away from the bus. Happy! As soon as I sat in the bus, it started again. I returned to my world again. Into the world of paradoxes.

When light broke, I found the bus cruising among arid mountain ranges fringed with numerous bushes and scary rocks posed dangerously close to ‘falling off’. It was warm. The rocky hill ranges were already fighting with the sun in rage. Between my long yawns, small villages rushed past the bus behind a veil of dust. It was 6.30 am. My neighbour alighted at a comparatively bigger village. Now I had two seats, all to myself. So I kept my water bottle on the empty seat and went back to sleep. 

I was awake again after a while when the driver started shouting Vempalli Vempalli… ‘So it it close to the campus’ thought I. Somehow I dozed off again and again.  After a few minutes, I got up and reached for my water bottle. It was gone! My water bottle is gone. I couldn’t believe my eyes. So I checked if my bags and pockets also lost something. But no. everything is its place. Only the bottle is gone.

Out of all things I carried, why this water bottle? I have a costly camera, hard disk, shoe, certificates, books, clothes, … Why the bottle? It was my dear bottle. 750 ml bottle. Cute and small. I loved it. It was Satish who gave me that bottle. I had carried that bottle around for the last three months across three states, and over 4500 kilometres. And now it is gone.

I was upset. I reached the campus at 7.30 am. There nobody knew how to process a new lecturer. So I had to wait upto 10 am to brush my teeth. I had my bath in the office of the Director! I was assigned an apartment, but no one knew where my flat mate was or what his phone number was. I was homeless and BOTTLELESS! 

Then again, god sent me some of my friends. They took care of me. J Life moves on with blessings scattered among ill feelings and disappointments and lost bottles, like the arid mountains fringed by bushes- fighting with the sun’s fury. 

Now it is three days on campus. I have learned that things do not come easily to anyone here. The system stands tall like a capitalist. And the beneficiaries stick around like bonded labourers  masking insecurity and unhappiness. Still there are genuine smiles among IIIT’ians. Still there are hopes woven into the garment of disappointment. Life goes on without a bottle as well… and I have started liking it already- like my treacherously paradoxical world of sleep.

Bra Burners-2012 edition

Any reader of feminist history must have come across the term “bra burners” and the related assumptions and myths. All of us know that nothing was burnt, and the iconic title of the protest is a reference to the onset of feminist proclamation of freedom at the 1968 Miss America beauty pageant. Though mistaken and misinterpreted, the issue remained in the history of human memory as a strong demonstration of feminist assertion.

But the other day, I had to witness another kind of bra-burning here in the city of Hyderabad. The modern burners were not photographed and nobody talked about them. They burned bras behind the shadows of the night, so that no one could see them. Probably, even if it was done in bright daylight, they wouldn’t be seen or heard by us and those around- us!

You can have a look at what and how they burned.

Done by some miscreants at Himayatnagar, Hyderabad

I see these burnt advertisements on my morning walks to Husain Sagar, Hyderabad. I kept thinking of the degree of intolerance and perversion represented by these burned images. It was a week ago that I decided to click pictures of this burning and write something on it. I wanted to protest. I wanted to protest the attitude behind this burning. I didn’t feel it was funny. Neither did I feel any joy in looking at these burnt images.
 

There is something more grave than the obvious, that works behind this burning. It is not one person’s momentary craze that inspired this action. It is a reflection of age-old prejudices and contempt towards feminine body- a masculine attempt to de-divinize the physical form of the opposite sex. Therefore I wanted to register my protest. I don’t know if this would be interpreted in ways I haven’t imagined. It doesn’t matter.

My anger overtakes me, whenever I begin to write on this, and my wit goes for a toss! Ah! But I have to write. And thus writes Sajit. 

There was this jealous, incompetent, patriarchal notion that the feminine is the weaker of the two genders, from the beginning of times (I guess). And to compensate the obviously negative connotation, the ‘strong’ gender added that the weak gender was also ‘gentle and fairer’. Very funny. But jealousy did not stop there. It takes different forms. The ‘gentle ones’ are kept at home to be rotten, uneducated, and unequal. They were not given enough (and equal) opportunities to grow and were not treated well during the day, and ill-treated during the night. The last in the list is a difficult logic, but easy to understand. It is the way gender jealousy works.

Drunk or mad?

Women have stronger immunity systems, faster reflex and deeper intuitions. Very natural, eloquent, and graceful. Jealousy goes a step higher on the ladder. If both the genders were given equal opportunities in a neutral world, on a competitive basis, the results for sure would have been quite different. Therefore, the muscled gender found ways, concocted reasons, invented traditions, and established taboos to prove that the non-muscled and gentle gender ought to be kept under powerful masculine control! Not finished- these notions are institutionalized with the help religion, culture and politics. Wonderful, isn't it?

Now, to keep things under control, more customs, stranger traditions, etc. are bought in. But what if thing go out of control? Ah, there are ways to manage this. Modern bra burning is one such. Mock. Laugh at. Look down upon. Let contempt come from within the enemy. Let destruction be complete. If these measures do not work, there are more in the list. Insult, rape, torture, molestation, blackmail, murder, honour killing, public stripping and beatings, etc. are just a few.

Therefore WE continue to burn. And the rest of US continue to witness in silence. They say our traditions are god-given and therefore eternal, and therefore holy! If we don't change our mindset, we will be remembered as the land where cows roam legally protected while women are brutally objectified and eliminated. If we decide to turn away from such images, we will remain blinded. All of us will!

The Cling Cling way to a Young Plant’s Birth

Cling. Cling cling! My browser window calls my attention. It is around 11 pm. I wonder who it will be. Cling. Cling cling!

Oh wow! It’s a friend whom I adore. An artist. A free thinker. One who is not afraid of following his dreams. Reckless non-conformist. Ready to try anything. Handsome and young. I am surprised.

‘Hi’ said he.

‘Hi’ said I.

‘What news’

‘Nothing great. How about you?’

‘Nothing great either. Where are you? And how do you feel after all this turmoil? Are you settled and happy?’

I reply these… I like replying to him. I feel a pint of concern and genuine love in the ‘cling cling’ chat that comes up my browser. It is a human conversation.

Somewhere among these questions and answers, I feel a little seed breaking its shell and poking its first leaf out to breath. It is the first sprout of a friendship. And I love it.

I chirp on in my own way and he listens- that too in my own way!

Its 12 am. A new day is born. 


He says, ‘oh, its time to rest. This is my number' (cling cling). 'Leave me your number. I will call you sometime tomorrow.'

Smiles.

Good night.

The sprout is already a young plant. Green leaves and tender sap. A beautiful young plant. 

Good night.

A Pessimistic reflection

And again a 27th of May has come and is almost gone. What was special? A few more phone calls, few one liners on my social networking pages, more sms to be replied to, and of course a chicken biriyani that I bought myself as a gift. 


What reflection do I have apart from all these superfluous? I'm getting older. I have gone a year ahead. I am closer to the end by another year. Someone asked me today, what special did you do today? Honestly, I didn't do anything. Afterall, what could be special when you are alone in a city of one million busy people? I tried to read the novel I was reading- Silas Marner. Read a little. Slept a little. Now, thinking a little. 

Someone else told me that I didn't tell anyone about what happened to me recently. True. Very true- I didn't tell everyone. I wasn't asked either. Life and its sacred secrets are not to be trumpeted to 'curious' listeners. They only want to satisfy their curiosity. Why is noone able to see the pain that lies around me in broken bits? Why is it that we all turn self righteous when a friend suddenly becomes 'the other'? But I did tell those who needed to know, I believe. And as always, I don't go to mend damages done. If it had to be, it had to be. And if little things can affect greater things, BE IT SO. Life is teaching me lessons teachers didn't. 


In  the end, I take refuge in reflections of the other. Lyrics of MJ's 'You are not alone' goes this way- 

"Another day has gone

I'm still all alone
How could this be
You're not here with me
You never said goodbye
Someone tell me why
Did you have to go
And leave my world so cold

Everyday I sit and ask myself
How did love slip away
Something whispers in my ear and says
That you are not alone
I am here with you
Though you're far away
I am here to stay

But you are not alone
I am here with you
Though we're far apart
You're always in my heart
But you are not alone"


Which part of it is a message for me? I wonder. 


And I keep wondering. Till this day is gone and takes its place among the pigeon holed array of memory stack room. Pessimistic I know. But certainly realistic!

That which is unsaid...

I watched a popular Hindi film, Bodyguard.

I was touched by the way something can touch human hearts. Looking at the movie objectively, I can understand why it was such a big hit at the box office. Though Siddhique has no new theme than love in the movie, he has seen love in a different light. He has hit the bulls eye. Love is the most common, but the most valuable emotion that's around. Its been around since the beginning of human-ness. Therefore, when we look at or hear about or feel it, we are take off into a world of our own. We are transported to a place thats very personal, very 'our own'. In that space, we feel love as it is. In a world of pretensions and imitations, one is not able to express and feel love at its purest form. Though this is a very absurd thought, sometimes I feel this is indeed true. When we are alone with ourselves and love, bliss descends upon us. And thats holy place. Presence of God is felt there. I don't care if Bodyguard is a commercial movie, but I am thankful to its form and content for making me feel love, and LOVED.

Forty days and Forty nights

Its forty days. And forty nights. Feels like its forty years. But to count, its just forty days and forty nights. Just over a month. Spread over my mental landscape like a barren desert with distant oases- forty days and forty nights. Forty countable time periods… just forty of them. But if you count the drops of tears that I shed during those forty… I am left with no words to recount what they were for me. But there is a swelling within which always threatens to explore. A swelling so full of pain, agony, love and loneliness. So life-like I guess. I listen to Lionel Richie, Hariharan… and go down into the abyss of reflection of my state.

When I get up in the morning, I ask myself- ‘what next?’ There’s no answer I know. But what if there is… Forty mornings have heard this question, but none heard its answer.

The forty were spent on trains, buses, dingy lodge rooms, red hot Hyderabad streets, cheap hotel tables, verandas of old buildings, at the ends of long and never ending queues, and lost in thoughts about what is the meaning of all these… Whenever I turned around hearing a ‘no’ or a ‘sorry’, I went back into thoughts about meaning. Of late, I wonder if I am searching for a job or meaning…

In one of my literature classes there were discussions of meaning making, and life as a process of meaning making. Now I understand what it all meant. It is true. Life is meaning making. Whenever I went down the narrow fissure of despair, there came a voice from within that told me to wait till the meaning is revealed. A long wait for a revelation- LIFE.

But it sucks to learn that its not easy to wait indefinitely. While you wait at a hotel table, you know your food is being cooked. When you wait in the railway booking queue, you know your turn is this far. But when you wait for meaning, you don’t know till when or if at all! That’s what sucks…

Once, in a cave-like lodge room in Ernakulam, I was amazed by the dedication with which scores of mosquitoes kept on trying to suck me dry of my blood. I wondered why I lack that king of enthusiasm about my own life. Then I realized that whatever happened to me was the outcome of what I have within. There is nothing unexpected and unplanned in life. Even death and accidents could be expected and planned. One should be prepared for anything. One should be prepared to attempt till one’s prey is sucked dry of blood- just like those Ernakulam mosquitoes. 

So its forty days and forty nights now. Forty days and forty nights of itinerant existence, address-less-ness, anxiety, and uncertainty.

Today, sitting in the chill and heights of my room, I can see these forty days and nights laid out like a collage on the busy streets and tall buildings around. Dark and bright, they hold up their ups and downs for me to see. Forty pieces of them. Forty pairs of them. One for each day and night. I can hear people, smell spoilt food, see frowns and smiles of people I love/d on those forty pieces of collage- sort of jigsaw puzzle I would say. From this height, I can see they take a shape… a definite shape of something which I can’t make what… Probably I will have to wait. Another revelation of kinds. I am reminded of my literature class again, and the sweetest of all teachers I had… Unfolding meaning. Meaning making. LIFE.

Yes, I realize. It is life. The unfolding. The revelation. LIFE. Life in a crucible of love, pain and loneliness. That’s what it is- Life in forty days and forty nights.

Ways to learn...

Experiences do not come one's way. One can't go in search of them either. One needs to be open to the nodes of experiences that guide this phenomenon called life. If one is blind to what comes to him/her, no learning takes place. At the same time, life will not seem a meaningful exercise.

The other day, while I was waiting for a bus (which I do many times these days) a beggar approached me. I didn't mind that man. He was ugly. Might not have had a bath in ages! While wondering why this fellow cant have a bath, a young boy standing next me gave him a Rupee one coin. The beggar received it, raised his hand as if to bless and moved on. The boy went back to his chatting on phone.

But I couldn't move on. I was pushed into thinking. I was wondering why beggars are made at all! I, for example, am educated. But I beg for a job, I beg for my salary and food. Why do we have to beg? Is this world so bad that no one can get his/her share of food and shelter? Anyway, I was awaken from thoughts by the next beggar, and I imitated the young boy, contributing a Rupee to the beggar. I felt proud.
What I am driving at is, that if we don't keep ourselves open, such experiences can escape us. If they escape us, there is no way we can get it back and relish it.

These are ways to learn. Today when I went for lunch, I planed to buy Poori. But just then, it got over. The other day, I was hesitating to go by a bus which went round-about. So I waited for another bus. Many buses of the former category passed by, but none of the latter. I waited for an hour and a quarter. Then I realized that the other route also would have taken me to my destination long back. I decided to board any bus that came my way. Then plays destiny. For another half an hour, NO bus came that way!!! What does this experience teach me? Grab the opportunity? or Don't wait for better opportunities? I don't know. probably it is true that I should have taken the first bus. I am yet to understand the lesson.

I was searching for a room to stay. It's a rich man's world- I understood long ago. So I decided to move to a poorer locality where I can save a little on rent. But not many are available. Those available are in shabby condition. After many a good friends' generous and selfless efforts, a room was found. Advance was paid, and on the next day, I paid full rent for a month in advance and started staying. But the very next day, people at my office tells me that I can stay at the guest house in the office. What is it! I couldn't understand the mystery. Why shouldn't I wait for a day? Why didn't the office tell me a day earlier? But no complaints. I might get my advanced money back... What I learn is that there is no lack of generosity in this world. I was offered this room at the office, because of the generosity of a benevolent lady at the office.
What do I learn?

I learn that I am learning. That I can't keep my eyes closed to these realities around. That these are ways to learn- looking around and understanding...

Take a deep breath...

Dear friend,

Take a deep breath,
Make up your mind,
Close your eyes,
Take off your fear
And jump,

Be assured of this.
That you will fall for sure.

You might break a heart or two. 
But you wont die of the fall,
Neither will you kill.

Because there is the fist of love,
Waiting to hit you hard with its soft velvety hands,
Only to make you feel more secure than ever.

So dear friend, 
Make up your mind, 
Close your eyes and jump.

And before that, remember to take a deep breath...

Why should the girl run?

What I saw 

I got out of the bus at Secunderabad station. As hunger was eating my energy, I walked fast. Traffic is heavy as usual. After trying 4 times, I crossed the road successfully.

On the other side, life was as usual busy and 'vender'ful. Just then, a rude looking guy crossed me. He had a plastic bag in hand. I observed him because of his careless manners.

There was a young girl of 20 coming towards me, after crossing the road. Our 'rude' guy was dashing at that girl, as if to hit her! She looked up and saw this man, and began running. The 'rude' guy went his way, but the girl continued to run towards the bus stop. I stopped and looked at this for a few moments.

What I thought

I am ashamed. In my country, girls have to run to be able to live with self respect. This morning's newspaper told me about a teenage girl being gang raped next to the police station and a church! I am ashamed, and left without words to feel sorry for myself and my world.

My dear friends, a society that can't respect women, will not progress. Civilization is where individuals have freedom to be themselves in mutual agreement and peace. While most of our people are not able to be themselves for fear of being 'looked at', 'attacked', 'molested', 'raped', 'teased' and 'disturbed', how can we claim to be the great civilization that we are proud of?

I am ashamed and left without words to feel sorry... because our girls are made to run...

After the storm...

പരീക്ഷയുടെ ചൂട് അടങ്ങി തല തണുത്തപ്പോള്‍...

നീണ്ട ദിവസങ്ങള്‍ക്കു ചിറക് ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നെങ്കില്‍...
ഇപ്പോള്‍ എങ്ങും പോകാന്‍ കഴിയുന്നില്ല...
മനസിന്റെ വ്യാപ്തി കുറഞ്ഞതുപോലെ...
ദൂരങ്ങളില്‍ കണ്ട സ്വപ്‌നങ്ങള്‍ ഇപ്പൊ അകന്നകന്നു പോകുന്നു...
ചിലപ്പോ തിരക്കില്ലാത്ത ദിവസങ്ങളെ ശപിക്കാന്‍ തോന്നും...
എന്തെന്നില്ലാത്ത ദുഃഖം...
മരണ വേദന..
തിരക്കില്‍ മൂടി കിടന്നതെല്ലാം ഇപ്പൊ ചാരം തട്ടി പുറത്തു വരുന്നു!

ഇന്നലെ ക്ഷീണം കാരണം ഉറക്കം വന്നു...
ഇന്ന് ഞാന്‍ ക്ഷീണിച്ചു മടുത്തു!
ഇനി എന്തെങ്ങിലും ചെയ്തില്ലെങ്ങില്‍ ഒരുപക്ഷേ ഞാന്‍...

ചില തീരങ്ങളില്‍ പോകേണ്ടിയിരിക്കുന്നു!
വിളി ശക്തമായിരിക്കുന്നു...

ഇന്ന് രാത്രി ഞാന്‍ സ്വപ്നം കാണട്ടെ,
നാളെ ഞാന്‍ തിരക്കിലാവും...
സ്വപ്നങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് അവധി...
ഒരു തിരമാല കഴിഞ്ഞതല്ലേ,
ഇനി അതിന്‍ തുടര്‍ച്ച വേണം...

Sometimes...

Life has strange ways... Indeed...

Sometimes I feel like being the most unworthiest being on this planet... For all the trust and confidence the world has on me... for the love I have been experiencing... Everywhere is home for me because of my dear people... And looking into my own eyes, as tears flow down, I feel like crying aloud in madness or dying out of unbearable pain, or running away...

Sometimes, in the sweetest of moments, I realize that the sweetest of my thoughts was just a day dream.. A shattered dream is born in tears again. Smile and laughters would pile up in the pyre again to be burned. Ashes and smoke... That is what life has in the end.

Sometimes, trust seems the rarest of virtues. Don't know how much of it is around. The smiles of my friends, the innocent smiles, they lead me home. I sleep in peace because I trust those around me. They are mine. Flesh and blood of my soul tells me that they are no different from me. I feel soft and comforted.

Sometimes, I feel cheated. Smiles of innocence turn wolf like grins, chuckles in deceit. I only can look and wait for monsters to devour me. Won't be able to move a finger to run away or protect myself. Death, despair, loss, bad name; may it be whatever, I accept when its from my beloved ones. I tend to ignore the evil grin that is behind the sweet smile.

Sometimes I feel I am to be blamed for such naivety. Life demands prudence along with naivety. And I fail to comply...

Sometimes, I feel like ending everything too... Asking why Lord, to the silence that kills souls, I retire into unconsciousness. Death would be no different.

Sometimes I thank god for these pains too..

Sometimes I blame god for these pains too..

'Nothing will happen to you,' says a voice from within. I trust.. I go on..

Between heaven and earth

What would you feel if you are hung between heaven and earth? Heaven- where you would like to go, Earth- where you would be like! A strange position indeed. Guess who is in that position? It's me, hanging in mid air, happy and sad at the same time.

I am blessed to have a heart full of friends. I am also blessed to have the hearts of those friends. Those beloved hearts are all burning with some trouble or other. At one point, they help me to realize that my little troubles are no troubles at all. But at the same time, they also make me sad. My friends are my friends. Their pains are my pains, like their joys. Therefore, I feel like being hung from the heavens and thrown up from the earth.

Sweet and sour at the same time. I wish good for all...

Silence. The temple of my heart is ready for the ceremony. Its a ceremony where each of my pains, those of my friends' is  thrown into the fire. And when they all are just smoke, filling the temple chamber, I will breath in relief... Life is just a ceremony! JUST a ceremony? Oh! No... Life is a celebration - of joy and sorrow, of smile and frown, of ecstasy and tears...

Still, I am there, in the mid air.

Its me. And I shall be there till the end of ages...

--------------------------------------------------

A Challenge

The Sunday bug is at hand is almost slipping away. I went to listen to divine voice this morning and heard what I didn't expect. I was challenged. In fact, I shed tears on what I heard. Simple thoughts thrown in a careless manner hit my heart with such force as to drive me out of my comfortable place in life.

"When I am ready to listen to God, am I ready to do what I hear?"

I... Often, I have failed to be open towards what I heard. Whenever I pray, I pray for what I think is better for me. And whenever something other than what I expect is offered, I shirk! Choices I make, I made... Oh god, it is painful to go over them again and again and again... I am tired of shedding tears... I am not ready for this anymore. But still you bring me more of it, as if I am not yet steady... I am tired... What gives me hope is a hope that everything is right... I am shaken, to the roots again. I have already begun to doubt about the very base of my life. The clarity I had is melting away like an ice cube. Soon, I will be left with no place to hide and no peace to dwell in. Again...

In the past, were I shying away from truth? This truth torments me like a live wound on my heart. Even otherwise, I live the life of a living confusion. Now, everything is ready for another toppling. Being overthrown from peace, I will wander in an all-white no-where for the next few weeks. A haunting truth or a haunting lie? Why am I constantly being pulled in both directions? Why am I comfortable on both the sides? Is it myself that I hate? Questions that occur incessantly!

And the most painful of all thoughts: What if I had made a mistake? It makes me feel like I am dead already. The consequences of such a possibility makes my brain go dead... But when heart takes over, I feel tormented, like my friend on the wooden cross... What if I had made a mistake? I don't know how and when to pay back or get paid for all these...

Being directionless! It is really a maddening experience... As days go by, the picture may emerge clearer- may be... Or it may remain foggy and unclear... Or I may forget about it... Or may be everything will be alright...

Like Basheer said...

Pretty much like what the great writer Vaikam Muhammad Basheer said, every little creature has the right to live on this little earth. Today, at the university, I saw a puppy playing with a bigger dog at leissure. Both the dogs were playing with each other in ecstacy, pulling each other, climbing over the other, running around, ocassionally falling down, etc. It was a wonderful sight to see.. Even now, at the lab in the university, i can see two piggeons talking to each other, over the air conditioner outside the room. It is wonderful to see how wonderful life is. I also saw a brown coloured dog, gasping for breath, may be in the process of bidding farewell to this life..

On my way back from the university, I usually see a man lying down on the road side, sometimes clothed, sometimes not. He is hungry most of the times. Therefore, he streches his hands out, asking for a contribution. Whenever he is not hungry, he is seen sleeping on the road side, in all that dirt, peacefully, like a dove.. He is unclean, he is not properly clothed, he is not probably educated.. But he seems happy! Last year, at the bus stands, I used to see a man, of the similar nature, except that he usually was naked. He seemed clearly out of his mind. (Or probably, you and I are out of our minds!) He didn't possess even a pair of clothes! Still he seemed to be smiling like a child at everyone. I remember a quotation: "Give one of your smiles if you find someone without one."

Why am I writing all these? I am in search of meaning. Life seems pretty interesting for me. It also seems quite puzzling. Happiness doesn't seem to be an outcome or end anymore. Joy is not a state of mind. I have recently begun to think that happiness is something that we always aspire for. And when we get closer to it, we feel that we already have it. Then there is ecstacy. But before we realise that happiness is still far away, the state of ecstacy would be far away.. This makes me compare myself with that puppy, the pair of piggeons, the dying dog, the man on the roadside, the naked man... They seemed happy, without the credentials I have. I only boast of myself...

I don't know whether to turen desperate or to turn optimistic. There were many ocassions when I thought that joy was at hand. I still know that joy is just out there. Does it always remain a mirage? Is it something unreachable?

As I lie down on my bed every night, praying for what I love the most, what I miss the most, what I aspire the most, I feel happy. I feel the ecstacy. I feel that I too can love. May be that gives me power to go through the next day. I am yet to know what it means to BE! I am a child. Like Basheer said, every little creature has the right to stay on this earth. This little child too... with all its troubles and problems...

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