If only appearances were true!

I got an alarming chill when I received a call from Trishna*, my neighbour/friend from the building where we stayed before shifting to the current house. She was sounding miserable and wished to meet me. I was surprised to see Trishna in such pensive mood as she is always very cheerful, content with life. She happens to be one of those few fortunate ones who have everything one would wish from life. 


I was wondering what could have happened that she was in such a terrible state. I reached her house with little apprehension and there she was, shaky, having lost some weight, with sullen face, looking much older than her actual age. I panicked and inquired about her husband but with the very mention of her hubby's name she seemed agitated and glowered. Within minutes it became clear that her marriage had reached a shuddering end.


It was difficult to comprehend what a sudden, tragic turn Trishna's life had taken! I have always seen Trishna and her husband as a couple deeply in love and it has always been evident in every aspect of their life! Lovely memories of witnessing some beautiful moments with Trishna and her hubby started to torture me with the question what could have caused end to their relationship? 
  
Perhaps, my presence tapped the surface of Trishna's pain and her places of brokenness, sorrow, the places where her grief was haunting her and all the aches she was going through found way through her tears. It was for the first time I was witnessing her private hidden spaces of pain and to see her bereft of any guard with all her emotions completely bared was deeply excruciating. My heart became heavy after listening to ugly truth about her marriage that was carefully concealed from the outside world.


While returning from Trishna's home I was thinking about how life had changed for her and the impressions of her "happy life" had shattered in a few moments of her candid confessions! I was thinking about if I had been blind to have never seen the cracks in her marriage. My mind was surging with endless thoughts about life and relationships in general. 

In most of the homes around me, life is very pleasant. Some homes are also deeply fragile and in some homes there is barely a wall between the real and the one projected to the outside world hence barely able to hide all it can. Some homes are silently screaming, some holding on despite the obvious devastation. In some homes, love has vanished long back while in some it has grown beautifully. Some nests are completely empty while in some, despite having all the riches of the world it is lonely and much emptier than the rest. Some of the best homes have deep turmoil. Some homes are visibly brewing underneath the facade while some are always full of laughter and joy.


In some homes, when the day is over and people lock themselves behind the walls, the mask worn for the world is taken out as if the act on the stage is over. Perhaps, there is a quiet relief for some moments, a silent refuge!  

“Society is a masked ball, where everyone hides his real character, and reveals it by hiding.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

* (name changed)

Where is our conscience?

I was at the food court of a mall when I noticed sudden commotion near the television screens. Horrific news of molestation of a teenage girl in Guwahati, in front of a bar was being telecast with chilling visuals. The news displayed how the nightmare for the girl continued for half an hour during which she was stripped, molested and abused, in public. The gruesome act was recorded on camera and nobody seemed to intervene during her tragic ordeal for a long time! While I am writing this article, the incident has already taken many murky turns and the episode appears to be lethal combination of filthy politics, greedy media and hooliganism at its worst. In this incident, the nation witnessed yet another death of basic humanness that connects us all. 

I was shocked not just by the incident but the reactions of the people watching it at the mall.  A man in his thirties called people saying, "tv par news dekh, mast story dikha rahe hain" (watch news on television, some interesting story going on) with lecherous smile. Some people remarked, "Are kuch nahi, woh ladkine kuch galat kiya hoga." (Perhaps, that girl must have done something wrong) smiling perversely as if aroused by some titillation and indicating licentious character of the girl. On the table just across mine, two ladies in their fifties screwed their noses saying "ye aajkal ki ladakiya! Sharm aati hain ye sab dekh kar. Pata nahi inke maa baap inhe kaise palte hain" (one feels ashamed looking at such girls these days! Wonder how their parents raise them)! 

The only people who appeared upset were a group of teenage boys and girls sitting at the next table who started discussing angrily how the guilty should be HANGED in public. I became numb with disbelief after watching the tragic plight of that helpless girl on news and appallingly insensitive remarks of most of the people around me. It made me think what would be their reaction if God forbid, their own daughter/sister/wife/mother or a member of their own family was subjected to such horrible predicament?

This is what we have become as society. Nothing affects us! With every passing day, learning about new crimes that should shame us as human beings, makes me wonder what is happening to our collective intelligence and conscience? In the times when the most gruesome crimes are covered by media in salacious manner to cater the insatiable need for TRPs, what can one expect? If the television channel has allegedly 'scripted' this whole episode, the license of the channel should be terminated. The political angle in this shocking incident makes me puke. Perhaps, this case would disappear in oblivion and the victim will be silenced or will continue to suffer in process of getting justice for years.

As nation, we are not ashamed. Not even by some of the most heinous crimes of inhuman sexual perversion or oppression of women. Crime has become such an integral part of our life that we have started getting voyeuristic pleasure out of it! 

I bemoan lack of will and vigilance that any civilized society should display and be accountable for. It is deeply saddening that we still lack the basic education in humanity. But let us not forget that the first few steps towards that basic education start from home.

We claim to honour and worship Goddess "shakti" and respect her personification in women. Our true face is unmasked in female infanticides being devoured by sewages from rural as well as global metro cities. Our true face is exposed in charred bodies in dowry and tandoor deaths. Our true face is completely bared in hanged bodies of "honour killings" and painfully disturbing cases of inhuman abuse. Should a nation that does not respect dignity of its women have moral right to worship Goddesses in puja rooms and temples? Let us stop being hypocrites!

For any democracy, people losing faith in its government and suspect credibility of media, is dangerous. I am afraid, we, as nation are already on the brink! 

Lured by the clay

One of the most beautiful memories of my childhood is eagerly waiting for Sunday noon; when Jeevi, the toys seller would pay us visit from a nearby village. She used to bring interesting menagerie of stunningly beautiful clay toys that captivated our hearts in sense of wonder. The moment her arrival was announced by a typical, sweet clink of her silver anklets, all the children would sprint towards her in desperate attempt to be the first lucky one to see, touch and feel the treasure she had carefully chosen for us that week! I remember always being more possessive about her clay toys compared to other expensive toys that were sought after by many kids. 

Last week, I got an opportunity to pursue pottery; something that I have always wanted to do but somehow could not. Perhaps, that little girl playing with clay toys must be still alive deep down in some corner as I am absolutely THRILLED! 

Touch of clay can be ethereal experience! There is deep sense of satisfaction derived from giving a form to amorphous lump of clay. One feels sense of integration with the earth, the very source of our material. There is some strange sense of belonging. Making an absolutely shapeless form of mass into some brilliant form is a real work of art and I can't wait till I create mine. I have realized what a restless soul I am deep down. My mind that is so used to multi-task gets little edgy when I am told to practice LOT of patience!  

Clay as a material is very difficult to handle at all stages and one has to be constantly diligent from beginning till end, in order to avoid damage or breakage. Making something with clay can bring endless moments of frustrations, joys, risk and excitement of working with the element of fire. The culmination of fire which turns clay into permanent form is the most painstaking yet immensely rewarding exercise! 

The most interesting thing, apart from enjoying some therapeutic moments while handling clay has been my interaction with the artist/designer/teacher, Neha, who happens to be very experienced in the field. Last week, two most important lessons I learnt were when she was teaching me how to handle the clay while giving it a form. She said, "Simi, NEVER get emotionally attached to any piece you make out of clay, no matter how hard you have worked in the process of making it. Eventually, most of the pieces would break, get deformed in the process, disintegrated in the kiln or even after having taken a perfect permanent form might be damaged due to careless handling or some freak accident". She added, "Mend the cracks the moment you notice them emerge, so that they don't weaken rest of your creation."

I have been trying to imbibe those lessons while working with clay and her words made me wonder how true they stand for relationships and life in general! 

Soaked.

At last, it rained in Bombay and when it rains, it pours and when it pours, I act like a school kid wanting to bunk the school. There is complete lack of drive to step outside home. All I love to do is resign from frenetic cadence of the routine, nestle in my favourite chair, play some jazz and let the view from window lull me to dreamy land!

There is mystic beauty in surrendering completely to the subdued, languid pace. This poignant journey within allows me to discover timber of my own creative and spiritual pulse, the most sacred time for my body, mind and soul.

The house creaks a little with gushing wind and patter of the rain. The view outside my home looks blurred yet amazingly glorious! The breeze stirs and tiny crystals from grey rains mist fall from heaven. I get engulfed in soothing embrace of tiny raindrops. 

The snail from spotted stone appears to have Zen like serenity. When the breeze bustles through branches, there is a quiet chirp from a bird's nest. On another branch, a bird watches restlessly from its seclusion while a few remnants of clinging leaves quiver, trying to hold on to fleeting moments of hope. A few more raindrops and they break down cascading, dancing in the wind to the ground with gleaming stab of sadness of a vaguely and incoherently broken dream. 

On the ground, carpet of wet leaves and flowers keep changing mesmerizing abstracts.  After the rain has done its worst, I go outside to pay tribute to the last remains of the summer blooms romantically ruined. Whenever the Sun shows up, those destroyed blooms would wither under its glare and become just a memory!

Dreams unlimited at the bazaar

Every time, I drive past a crowded market place, its scintillating energy always intensifies my curiosity. I braced myself to go to the market on Sunday early evening with the rumbling of an idea that required some semblance of shape and form. I often follow my heart and wander at different places while more sensible people indulge in siesta! Such delightful wanderings are invariably always rewarded by rare glimpse of life.  

Two different worlds of gullies and by-lanes and  swanky surrounding just a few meters away across the road swirling into myriad patterns of juxtaposing and coexisting in this effervescent city that exudes such aura of power and wealth! I was entering teaming other world of a crowded market; a microcosm throbbing and pulsating brilliant energy.     

The moment I entered the market, my senses were assailed with repugnant, odious smells that left the nostrils quivering. Loud, almost deafening noises made my heart palpitate rapidly and I cowered inside. There was so much happening around and once all that was conquered, I could embrace stories of people who had so much to share and welcomed me open heartedly. Albeit, I had to quickly master the art of ignoring futile attempts of some wanton, ludicrous comments.     

I simply love the realness of such bazaars! It is like visiting an unknown land where courtesies are very much present but just packed differently. The engagement of human interaction is warm, genuine and very comforting. This world is completely different than mine yet in some way connected. My frequent visits to mall have never given me so many opportunities to know about life this well. 

The bazaar holds great charm amidst the new age concrete and glass bling despite being forlorn and unkempt. Sometimes, piece of exquisite architecture that is tragically forsaken finds a rare glimpse amidst random constructions and one realizes how time has changed this interesting world! Fortunately, what has never changed is the fascinating buzz till late night. 

This unique microcosm epitomizes unlimited dreams rearing new heights every day! Whether it is a person working at small road side tea stall, eateries, tyre puncture repair shop, mehendi artists or someone selling safety pins! Everyone's eyes are brimming with ambition of making it big someday. 

While children as young as six or seven struggle to learn some blue collar skills in attempt to chase elusive dream of secured future, their experienced elders keep a watchful eye on other hawkers trying to encroach even an inch from barely few feet space of their own empire. Most of these hawkers are not licensed and have occupied space illegally. They know torment of everyday existence and though their individual struggles connect them in pain, each one is aware that he is alone in his daily rigors. The solution of their problem lies in passing on weekly hafta (bribe) to the concerned authority.  

There are days, when authorities force them to shut down. On such occasions, they emerge crushed with silent screams of vanquished dreams take ugly turn but the very next day they appear with cocky smiles and self-possessed air with steely determination reflecting in their eyes. For many, the desire to stay ahead of others in race of survival is so potent that it doesn't matter which path they choose to take through life.  
  

Though I was just a welcome distraction, the hawkers joked with me, asking lot of questions, sharing their experiences and laughter. They offered me meal and enjoyed all the attention I showered on them. I returned happy, listening a few rags to riches stories that were truly inspiring. This seemingly shaded world is always willing to impart lessons about life, business and human nature that no "art of living" class or management school could ever teach. I was glad I had learnt mine for the day!