A Mighty Heart

A mighty heart... Was that the correct title for the film? Well indeed it was... What made me write this blog? I really don't know.. Perhaps cos the movie moves u. It moved me cos I knew that it was true. This did happen. And guess what? It continues to happen... Americans are doing it all over the world, somewhere legally, somewhere illegally, even Chinese do it. But don't we Indians do it as well?? Look around the newspapers and the answer lies there.. The Kashmiri separatists, the Naxalists, the ULFA... why is the 10% of the nation fighting it? Are we ready to face a few realities?

Today, one of my friends very casually remarked on how the Biharis have spread all over the place with a contempt at his face as if he was talking about some other species. Haven't many of us felt the same? But are we ready to ask ourselves where would they rather go if the rest of the nation doesn't help its state develop? Do we ever ask why is Naxalite movement spreading so fast? Branding 10% of the Indian population as anti-social certainly wouldn't be a solution!

We pay tips at the restaurants, but would pick up a fight with a rikshaw-wala over 5 rupees. We can spend Rs1000 on a single outing on a Friday night casually, but would ask 100 questions if someone asks for Rs 100 donation for a cause. We would lament that PM relief fund is not being used as the reason for not contributing towards anything good.

We say reservations are anti-merit. What merit are we talking about? Isn't it the same merit being bought in a coaching institute?

I know the questions are difficult and answers subjective. But unless we face them, the way forward is meaningless. I always felt secure away from death and violence. But a few days back only I realized maybe its not that far..

Jolie says in the film that wherever there would be misery, they (terrorists) find people. Ask yourself if you're one of those helping them get one more person... This pain that you can see everywhere now remember is like that of a swallowed tear that swells the throat. Its not the swelling that needs to be cured, it is the pain that caused the tear!

Aye mere pyaare watan...

I wanted to write a review of The Last Mughal. Finished it a few days back. But then I could hardly remember the starting as I read it about 6 months back. A special gift as it was, I started reading it in Malaysia and as luck would have it, completed it when I am in Helsinki. SO basically I read it never in the country it talks about, in the city I love as much as its Scottish writer does, but understand so little.

The book starts with how the last of the Great Mughal, Bahadur Shah II became the emperor of Delhi in his sixties. The once great Timurs' influence was now reduced to a small yet captivating city of Shahjahanabad that Shahajahan had built with so much of love. The old king with the pen-name of Zafar, was a marvelous gardener and an articulate poet. William Dalrymple vividly desribes how King only in name, Zafar could barely manage to exert his will inside the palace which had become full of cheating cocumbines and unruly illegitimate princes. The control of Delhi was more or less passed onto the British like in the rest of the India. But this did not stop Zafar from taking Delhi to its cultural zenith. It was an era of Ghalib, the times of Zauq. When courtesans doubled as tutors to children of the nobility teaching them the courtesies (adab). Zafar himself had a few as his disciples. Delhi was a city that hosted the Mushaiyaras every evening with fresh mangoes being served and the most refined Urdu being spoken. The words that Dalrymple uses immediately recreate that lost grandeur in front of your eyes.

As I read the initial few pages, the whole Chandni Chowk started to crowd my imagination. The streets I grew up in started to lose their shabbiness and regain their grandeur - such is the effect of William Dalrymple's words. The Havelis, the bazaars, the lanes, The Red Fort, the Jama Masjid were all transported to the Mughal era and I could see the streets hosting the poetry competitions between Zauq and Ghalib, with wine being served and songs by the courtesans. This was Delhi of 1857.

When 300 mutinous Hindu soldiers entered Red Fort in the middle of the night to seek the blessings of a Muslim king, he saw a chance to regain the pride his dynasty had lost in the past century. Dalrymple shows how the rebellion was not only a mutiny of some soldiers against their senior officers, it was at the same time a social, economic, political and military in nature. Scared and angered by the inroads that Christian missionaries were making in the Hindu and Muslim cultures, the whole of north India rose up against the mightiest Empire in the world. Today it is hard to imagine how the whole Hindu heartland rallied to Delhi proclaiming a Muslim king as its true ruler. But it was Zafar's hard-work over the years that gained him this respect. Extremely tolerant, he even banned cow-slaughter and didn't let the Rebellion turn against Hindus ever.

Meanwhile little did Zafar know how his nod of consent to the 300 sepoys would change the course of his beloved city and his famous dynasty. After killing the British in Delhi and thus capturing Delhi, the sepoys started looting the city for and wealth and soon enough the Dilliwallahs start despising whom they called Tilanganas. Dalrymple quotes various complaints to the emperor by common people against such plundering. He then shifts the focus to the British. How British try to regain the lost ground inch by inch. At this time Dalrymple cleverly reminds the reader of the situation that the world is seeing today in Palestine-Israel conflict. The book then gets into a trap of how the situation was worsening in the city and gets rather boring as Dalrymple keeps quoting various letters which are now preserved in National Archives of India. The ending is rather abrupt when the sepoys give in.

Dalrymple then describes how cruelly the British massacered the Delhi residents and how very muslim inhabitant was either killed or thrown out of the city they always lived in. The author gives a moving account of the public hanging of people, the destruction of Havelis and the Red Fort. Dalrymple then goes on to describe the last year of Zafar in exile till he dies.

The most interesting thing about the book is the way the author has dealt with the title character, that of Zafar. At one time he would be critical of him, at another - sympathetic. The reader is given a lot of space to decide on him. As for me, I found him to a weak man, a weaker husband and even a weaker king. But can anyone expect a man is his eighties to be as pragmatic? A ruler who became the king in his sixties when the whole of India had already given in to the British? How could he have behaved otherwise?

Perhaps the book is a lesson to the politicians of today to give way to the younger generation. N also for the world, on how can Islam be actually integrated with other religions and how atrocities lead to nothing but revenge. Overall, a must read for anyone who loves Delhi!

Another Adieu

So its time to leave a place again. Helsinki that is. A home away from home. A place I would have never come to live ever on my own had it not been for student exchange. But I just loved these three months. Though I kept on cribbing for not having good food, for cleaning the apptt on my own, for doing my laundry etc etc, but I can safely say it was amazing.
I still remember my first impressions of the city... "Where has the whole civilization disappeared???" Yeah, the streets looked deserted and the city was getting back to normal after the new year's vacation. Though situation didn't change much and i got really accustomed to not seeing many people around. N then it was great... the people, the place... even the cold weather! I also actually realized what it was to be Indian! How are we different and what makes us what we are. I know people who hate stereotyping, but a great deal of it is true.

The best part was... knowing myself... Staying away for everyone who mattered, I really learnt a lot about myself... What I like, what i don't. Whom do I like, whom I don't. What i can do without and what I can't. etc etc... It was a self-revelation of sorts. Going out of the comfort zone n all..

I guess I'll keep this post short, as I need to goto bed and wake up to return to my home... India!

Army!

Sorry people, I had thought of starting to blog very regularly once am here in Helsinki, but lazyness just got better of me... Anyways lemme start now... So here's this course called "European Integration Issues" that I have taken up which deals integration challenges that EU is facing.

N in today's class, i heard one of the most interesting discussions I have ever attended! It was how is army looked at in ur country... We, Indians very proudly proclaimed how much respect the armed forces receive in our country, n related this with the fact that our country has to be indulged in wars more often ( the last one in 1999), making us respect ppl who protect us... But what followed was beyond I could have ever expected... The German guy said Germans hate their army because of historical reasons (remember Hitler???). The French said, they r pretty indifferent. N guess what the Finnish people had to say..... "I think they are a waste of money"; "We can't pay them for doing nothing". Adding to the comic scene were the Mexicans who told about the system int their country about the mandatory army service. Apparently when ppl become 18 yrs old, they have to goto an office and pick up from a box one ball... One particular color implies that the person shall have to serve in the army, while the other means you dont hav to (!!!).. Yeah, its that arbit. N also even if u r unlucky to pick up the wrong ball, u can bribe your way out of it ;)

It's interesting to see people's reactions to topics like these! I remember sometime back, the topic of the debate was "what are you paid by the govt if you get fired" (!!!) I could barely believe my ears when i heard the topic! Everyone narrated how their respective govts support the person and his family of someone gets unemployed. N believe me what their govts were paying them was higher than what most of the people get when they are employed! When my turn came, I said why should and would govt. pay for the fact that my employer finds me useless??? But then I saw all the Europeans looking at me with disbelief cos i told them tht in India, its just 3 month basic salary n tht too is the upper lmt! Talk about disparity! N yep forgot to mention... on an avg, a EU cow receives $913 annually in subsidies! Need I say more???

:)

Basic Instinct

Long before Sharron Stone gave this phrase a sexual flavor, it used to signify something else, something deeper than the skin. The feeling, the hunch of knowing something, the ability to predict something. Remember the time when u disliked a guy, without a reason? Remember when u get uncomfortable in someone's presence despite his/her best efforts to make u feel good? You find something is amiss. I think thats what is basic instinct.

N today I accept what I never did... I have an excellent instinctive system wrt judging people. Was stupid enough to ignore its presence.. Would always be the first one to proclaim myself as the defender of logic n reason. But some ppl would just be hell bent on me accepting it finally, that am pretty-pretty good at judging people. I don't remember any instance where my initial feeling about a person has been proven wrong. I still remember that gal in y school whom i knew to be ..... But then i became friends with her behavior made me ignore my hunch. But hey she proved me right just before i left the school. N today... The biggest example which made me change the stance... I knew he was like this... Always knew it... Yet he managed to do that twice... I guess I should be blamed only. I thought people learn from their mistakes, he would as well. What i ignored was that i myself did not learn from mine... Bad for me! You know what, the basic nature of people doesn't change. Their behavior may tempt you to think otherwise.. They might become your friends, but no! They would not change! Do you really think 25 yrs of formations would give way to some months old "friendship"? A weakling remains just that, a s*** always has only one hormone working, n a bastard is anyone's guess!

N yeah one more thing at me.... If at all u wanna know me more, understand one thing about me... I have this huuuuuuge ego! You dont have to inflate it, but u r gone if u hurt it... Has anyone been able to get away by steppin on it? No dude! No!

So dude, next time you think of changing you opinion about someone, think again. Maybe your initial hunch is right... The person is not worth another chance. I know for myself, from now on, its the basic instinct that rocks!

50 years on, Atlas still hasn't Shrugged.....

50 years back, Ayn Rand asked all the Atlas of the world to shrug. She asked the movers of the world to stop working for the unproductive people. She wanted to protect our blood from the parasites. But 50 years on, Atlas is still undecided. He still carries the world that hurts him, kicks him, abuses him and still feeds on his blood. He still bleeds.....

So why doesn't he shrug? Why doesn't he say - Thts it, I give up!!! When Atlas Shrugged came out, many predicted the death of Communism. It symbolized what is now ridiculed as the Great American dream. But people hated it too coz it advocated the fulfillment of the desires of man. It valued money. But a lot of time has passed since then and the question is was the title of this masterpiece just a title or was it a metaphor, urging us to give up the unyielding struggle against the evil.

Why don't people actually say enough is enough? What stops them? Is the that omni present initial hesitation or that fear of the unknown? Maybe its complacency. I guess its the same feeling that a caged bird would be having... A bird that does not like to be caged but still is wary of freedom. Coz freedom gives it the choice. Choice, if we go by Ayn Rand, should not lead to any dilemna. Thts coz right is always right and wrong is always wrong. There is no middle path. Middle paths emerge when you are not sure, when you are afraid of taking a stand.

I read Atlas Shrugged just when i started my career against the advice of many. I didn't seem to agree with some parts of the book. I always sided with Dagny Taggart and could not understand why Hank Reardon and others gave up. I believed in being a doer. I wanted to drive the engine of the world. 2 years later am not so sure. I can now understand the reasons why Dagny eventually stopped providing her blood to the parasites. But can I stop? Or rather do I want to?

One of my frnds today told me that maybe Atlas has shrugged. But I don't think so. When atlas shrugs, the engine of the world would stop. Since tht hasn't happened, since my senior still forwards my work as his own, since i still do work which doesn't really excite me without complain, Since I still put others' demands over my needs, Atlas hasn't shrugged coz i haven't shrugged!!!!!

Tell me Maa

Tell me Maa, What did you used to tell me when i insisted for something I could not have? How did you make me forget that car I wanted to own or that airplane I wanted to fly? How did you do that? Tell me Ma, coz I wanna tell myself those things again... I wanna trick myself, wanna forget things I can't n won't be able have!!!

A morning bathed in winters

I could name this note a morning draped in mist or a morning washed by dewdrops or probably a morning dried by chilly winds. But I'll keep it short(very unlike me) n summarize by saying that it was a morning dipped in winters. Its amazing how happy I feel every morning when I am rushing to catch my bus with the winds blowing into my face. The chill sometimes just sends the shivers throughout my body and stirs up something that otherwise remains dormant most of the time. Probably a feeling of being alive, a feeling that tells me that am not indifferent to everything that happens in this world. The mist seems to shield the world from something darker than the night. The faint sunlight then falls on your eyes and becomes your unrequited love - you want much more warmth from it than it can actually offer!

Review of Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie

Salman Rushdie's ardent fans may not find Shalimar the clown his best work, but nevertheless it's a must read for all. It marks the return of Rushdie to his homeland, Kashmir after a long time. A compelling story that moves from LA to Kashmir to France n then back, it tells the tale of a Paradise, not as much lost as much destroyed! Kashmir is not just a backdrop; it is a character in the story. The book is about the journey of Shalimar the Clown as well as that of the Paradise!

The story opens in LA, where Max Ophuls is stabbed to death at the door of his only, but illegitimate child India by his own driver who calls himself Shalimar the Clown. A French Resistance hero, Max was once an American Ambassador to India whose carrier ended with a controversy that changed the course of many a life. But what looks like a political murder at first turns out to be rather an intense personal revenge story.

Rushdie then goes into flashback and returns to Pachigam, a village in Kashmir, where the love story between Boonyi Kaul, the famous dancer & Sher Nauman, the equilibrist aka Shalimar the Clown is blossoming. A Hindu girl, a Muslim boy. But in the Valley of 1960s these were not divisions but mere descriptions. What follows is a tale of betrayal, a tragedy that unfolds slowly and leaves you griefstricken. While the lead characters play their part, a paradise transforms into a battlefield between the Indian Army & its own children trained by iron mullahs from Pakistan and thousands of Kashmiri pandits flee from their homes in the middle of night in the hope of returning some day!

While reading about the 'exile' of the female protagonist, one wonders if Rushdie gets autobiographical, reflecting his own miseries of running away from home when the threat of a fatwa was looming large on his own head. This part of the story is the most beautifully worded as Boonyi awaits the return of her husband which does not happen for many years and her return to her true home which does not happen at all.

The ending is rather violent without being violent, just as Shalimar loved Boonyi without loving her and Boonyi deserted him without actually deserting him.

The book may not be the best work of Magic Realism, but there is an inherent charm to this story of love, betrayal & revenge that leaves you spellbound. The telepathic conversations between Boonyi & Shalimar are so beautifully written that you gasp in awe of the marvel that Rushdie is famous for. Rushdie plays the rage & revenge of Shalimar, the agony &\nrepentance of Boonyi so intelligently that it becomes impossible to put down the book. Rushdie also uses local mythology to convey many things. You can't help being impressed by his use of Rahu & Ketu, using the struggle between the shadow planets, to depict the moral dilemma that we all face. He has brilliantly unraveled the path that the youth takes in becoming terrorists & their reasons: some fight for 'faith', while some for personal vendetta!

But despite all this, the book lacks that sparkle that his fans worldwide are so much accustomed to! The main problem is that the narrative is not in the first person, unlike his other books & this greatly undermines the effect. Surprisingly, the plot becomes boring when he describes Max as the character is written very shabbily and looks completely out of sync with the story. Also the backdrop is so overbearing that at places, it completely overshadows the main plot. Besides you have your own interpretations of the whole situation that get challenged quite often! But nevertheless it's a book that'll add value to your bookshelf and deserves to be placed alongside his other works like Midnight's Children. I'll end this note with a text from the book by this great master of metaphors and am sure you'll find yourself rushing to the bookshop next door to lay your hands on Shalimar the Clown!


" A woman left at home would close her eyes and the power of her need would enable her to see her man on his ocean ship battling pirates with pistol, her man in the battle's fray with his sword and shield, standing victorious among corpses, her man in a desert whose sands were on fire, amid mountain peaks, drinking the driven snow. So long as he lived she would follow his journey, would feel his elation and his grief, and if he died a spear of love would fly back across the world to pierce her waiting omniscient heart. It would be the same for him. In the midst of desert's fire he would feel her cool hand on his cheek and in the heat of battle she would murmur the words of love into his ear : live, live. That was what the stories said about love. That was what human beings knew love to be."

My first blog!

Well this is the first time I am writing a blog. Initially I didn't understand the purpose of writing a blog at all, but now I have some content I thought I can share with you... What I foresee in my blog would be mainly accounts of my interpretation of situations around me, my understanding of the books I read, the movies I watch. rest, I'll try to figure out later......