Is Mobocracy and Fascism our future?

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Disclaimer: This article is not intended to cause harm to any individuals beliefs’ nor is it against the government or a political stance. This is only written based on my observations.

As mentioned before, I am an NRI now living in India. Even then, never have I heard of issues such as killing people in the name of cows; at least not in this frequency or with such malice.

When did Indians decide that killings fellow beings in the name of animals was ok? I know for a fact that even animals don’t kill for sport, only to sate their hunger. Do the said cows care about humans? Or their names is being dragged into it?

Most of you will be asking why am I writing about this now. the answer is Junaid Khan. Out of all the innocents murdered for ‘consuming beef’, This name will forever be etched in my mind. Junaid was a 15-16 year old boy. Emphasis on BOY. He was just a boy, out with his relatives, looking forward to Eid. His only worry should have been about school, exams and other issues that plague the teen-aged years. It shouldn’t have been about fear of fellow beings; about the need to escape them.

Instead of celebrating the end of a successful fasting period, his family prepared and conducted a funeral. Instead of joy, happiness and a house and hearts filled with laughter, there were tears, heartbreak and numbness. Maybe one day, his family will fall back on the thought that it was his time. Even if it was so, it shouldn’t have been in such a cruel and horrifying way; filled with fear, pain and hurt. It shouldn’t have been decided by a bunch of drunken assholes. It shouldn’t have been the way it happened.

Why did this happen? How have we, as humans, with “advanced intelligence”, fallen to such a low point? How do we face ourselves knowing, that this is the possible future we are leaving for the coming generations? That we kill fellow Indians in the name of four legged creatures, and it’s ok to do so?

How did people not react? Not the general public, but people on the train? How did they let these murderers go? Why…? That is the question that haunts me. Why did they let them go? Fear, of the same fate? Not their problem? They don’t care? Why? Did they not hear his screams of fear? Why, did they let them go?

Where in our constitution or our laws do we give allowances for such acts? That, too, in the name of religion? Really? How are people not realizing that moral policing is being shoved down our throats and we are enabling this by keeping our silence?

How is there no tidal wave of fury flooding the streets against such mobs? Why are we keeping quiet? Are we waiting for a breaking point? Are we waiting to see how far we fall from humanity?

On 30th June 2017, PM Modi issued a statement regarding these murders and attacks, after maybe, in my understanding, a year of such incidents. After a year? Since the last 6 months I have seen numerous news broadcasts with individuals begging for their lives when accosted regarding cows. How did people get the time to watch and film this? How did they not get the time to put a stop to such atrocities?

Jaago India! Jaago!

Under the Microscope

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I was born and brought up in Dubai. Being a NRI (non-resident Indian) is quite the experience. Being a woman and NRI is out of the world. Here are a few things I’ve learnt, on my own or through my friends…

  1. Girls should not hug male members in public, even though they may your grandfather, brother or husband.
  2. Do not wear shorts, including knee length ones. Even if your parents and immediate family members are cool with it, the mauhalle waale (neighbours etc.) definitely will have problems. Not to mention the stares and whispers.
  3. Never question religious rituals. I once made the “mistake” of asking my mother why they waste litres of milk by pouring it on a stone idol flowing into the drain, when lots of destitute people, including young children are waiting outside the temples walls? Wouldn’t it e beneficial to give it to them; their stomachs would be relieved from the hunger pains for at least a while, right? Believe me when I say the expressions of horror would have burnt me had they had the power, and gasps of exclamation would have been heard throughout the city that day. Plus the lectures about respecting the Gods, and how I would have to ask for God’s forgiveness, failing which I would incur untold wrath. Since I am writing about this 2 years later, guess God thought my point valid.
  4. Girls should not talk or laugh out loud. Apparently doing so is considered as uncouth or disrespectful, God forbid. I still have no idea how that one works.
  5. We should never reveal the fact that we do not know cooking, or that we hate household chores. Or that we drink (BIG no-no); or have boys as friends, so on and so forth, you all get the idea.
  6. Be prepared for the assumptions that since you’ve been brought up outside, you don’t speak the mother tongue, eat the native dishes, and voicing your opinions on a subject is considered as being spoilt.
  7. Relatives will have an opinion about everything you do or want to do in life; education, clothing, how you behave, work etc.. Be prepared with PPTs if you decide to challenge said views or hold your silence forever.

I could go on and on about what’s wrong with people’s attitude. Thankfully people have started questioning the rigid thinking, so it is getting better.

Change is slow, yes?

Travel Theme: Earth

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This is my first photo-story in a long time…  I am glad I am getting the opportunity to use my photos from my budding collection to start off, thanks to Ailsa’s ‘Where’s my backpack?’ blog. Hopefully, this will spur me to dust off the cobwebs and start writing again…

 

Back with a fizzle…

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After 5 years, and endless experiences, I am finally back to blogging. Yes, I know, 5 years is a long, long time to have taken a hiatus (some aspiring writer I am, no?), but what to do, life happens. Yes?

My posts are going to be random (not surprising I know); mad dashes, intrusive and annoying relatives, the travels, my fledgling photography, and being the third wheel. Thankfully, I’ve a collection of stories I have to share, some of which, most of you out there might even nod your head at, due to your similar experiences.

P.S. Be kind while critiquing my work… I’ve come to find out that just because one likes to read voraciously, does not mean one will be a good writer. It actually takes practice to write well… (Yes, I was surprised to find that out!). However, I welcome all empathy and sympathy with open arms… 😉

 

Advice from Strangers

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You’re all gussied up or, maybe you’re in your rattiest sweats, whatever; you’re one of the hundreds walking down the street. You don’t know them, they don’t know you. The easiest way to introduce yourself to them? Throwing yourselves at their feet. Nope! You haven’t read that wrong…  What do I mean? Trip over you own feet and crash land near theirs…

I am one of those not so ‘normal’ humans; clumsy and accident prone. Someone who manages to trip on flat surfaces (no joke!) which, all of those ‘well-balanced’ strangers seem to navigate quite smoothly. And it doesn’t matter where I am, my legs never seem to co-operate with my brain or they are just jerking me around, literally!

My entire being feels like it’s on fire when this happens. However, I am so used to (translation ‘fed up’) of hearing the comments and suggestions given to me while I am lying flat on my back, with raised arms, hoping some of those ‘advicers’ (a.k.a. ‘idjeets’ as I like to call them), will realize that I am expecting a helping hand, not because I’ve been frozen like that in the fall. And to top it off, you are also dealing with the awesome pain that is making itself aware after the initial numbness. And let me tell you something, pain is pain. Whether it’s the gleaming tiles in malls, the concrete pavements or the mud path littered with gravel. Ouch! would be too small a word for that. The bigger ‘Ouch!’ is being subjected to the gawks and smirks and sometimes outright laughter, after such instances.

Yet, how does one cure clumsiness? My remedy is to not wear heeled footwear. It’s either flats or flats (though I am a proud owner of two, rarely used, pairs). But like any girl, my hands do automatically reach towards the pointy, attractive devils at the shoe stores, I hold myself back, ruthlessly, thinking of the after effects of falling down while wearing those beauties.

I’ve resigned myself to walking slowly (not snail like though). Each floor is stepped on after careful deliberation of its smoothness etc. So, if you all find someone whom you’ve seen doing the very thing I’ve described above, maybe you’ve seen me or someone just like me…

Our Life on a Rainy Day

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The sound of rain is a most welcome one. For someone who was brought up in the desert, the smell of the earth after the first drops of rain is as intoxicating as the bouquet of 200 year old Scotch for an alcoholic. For the first time in a very long time, I arrived in India to a very pleasant weather; cool moist winds, bringing in the scent of clouds heavy with rain was a pleasant surprise after many years of dry monsoon, and I found myself wishing to a rain God (if there is one!), that the it would rain here rather than elsewhere.  And the rain God answered!!! By mid-afternoon, the rains started slowly but then gathered its full strength and went on till early next morning. It made the atmosphere cozy, something that only rains of this nature can create. My mum, sister and I, settled down to a typical rainy day behaviour armed with cups of hot tea (lemonade and chocolates in my case) and pakoras (fried vegetable fritters), for gossip/catching up sessions. Before my sister was married, and rains were plenty, there were always days like these; we would talk about our lives, our friends and troubles we were having at that time and discussions and argument would be plenty and be conducted at the top of our voices.

However this session yesterday initiated a new member into our routine, my one-month-old niece, Niharika. So, much time was spent on all of us observing the smallest gestures she did. My mum and sister had, what I am assuming to be a normal one, a good sentimental session on the joys of being a mother, which left me to be the one to run for tissues and the offerer of the shoulder, or just simply be enraptured by the baby. When the thunder was loud enough to scare her, we took turns rocking and soothing her, while the tea got colder.

This session also made us recall the times of when we had been younger and our grandma had been able, she would regale us with stories of her youth and her life. How she and my grandfather eloped almost 50 years ago; the struggles of bringing up 4 children; the fun they used to have running their shops; tales of their friends we are not inclined to believe at all (who would believe that old, grouchy, toothless, fiend Mr. X, had actually written poems for the girl who would become his wife, in order to woo her!!!!). In these stories, there were always lessons to be learnt; about life, love, how to manage ones’ responsibilities; how to have fun, to laugh, to enjoy life’s littlest pleasures; value one’s friendship, to never ever take advantage of a friend’s generousity and even if one had, to always remember that favour. Nowadays, she is mostly bed-ridden and under care, and cannot sit with us to tell us any more of those wonderful stories… but she has told us enough for us to pass on to the future generation; to our children, babies of our cousins and their respective spouses… something to be cherished, and remembered with love….

Photostory

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This project was done as a part of our university final project for this semester. We had to choose any topic and click 4 photographs to depict our theme. I had chosen abandonment, to which my Professor said that “that is putting it nicely” and renamed it as Waste… ha! It was agonizing to decide the final shots, but all in all… Fun was the key word for this project…

So here goes…


The most favored shot


A Medley

A thank you to my Mom… she oooh’d and aah’d even though she didn’t understand why I took photos of… well, Waste! Thank you Georgina and Prathima, as well as my Professor (Sir, I will work on my composition)…

Stage Fright anyone?…

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Scared of that bright unfriendly beam of light shining on you? If yes, then you are my comrade. I am a trained classical dancer, 16 years of bending, squatting, twirling, standing on my toes and various other rigorous practice routines.  You’ll probably be asking yourself… Isn’t someone who’s a trained dancer supposed to be fearless?! Not moi! The first and the last time I ever did a solo or a duet, was in my 4th grade. My dance school used to have annual shows, where us dancers used to put up the best of our routines with one major dance play (it would be like watching Romeo or Juliet in theatre). For us it was Shakuntala or tales of Lord Ram and Sita; or tales of Lord Krishna’s antics; and the list is forever, as Indian mythology has no limitations to stories being passed on for generations…

Now coming back to my supposed day of shining glory, it was my first and last one (much to my relief). It was a folk dance, comprising of myself impersonating a man (a drunken one at that!) and my partner, Vineeta (my wife)… Now, ‘fiasco’, would have been too underestimated a word for the events that transpired on stage. Before you all start imagining a stage collapse, fires or an impromptu hurricane, I should say that it was nothing as disastrous, except on a personal level… So here we were, in full costume, make up and the whole nine yards, with an addition of me feeling dinosaurs stomping around in my stomach, while Vineeta stood admiring my very impressive handlebar moustache.

So our names are announced, we take our places on the stage, the curtains are up and the music starts. And the funny thing is that, after I don’t recall what happened… nothing at all! Zilch! What I do remember is the pressure on my back of someone’s hands pushing my head between my knees, various other cacophonies. For a moment I thought I was blinded or dying, as I couldn’t see or breathe. When everything returned to normal levels after a couple of minutes, I realized, from the chatter going on that I had just stood there, fixed to my spot and then fell down, hyperventilating, hence, causing a small mass panic among the audience, especially my family. I could hear my father yelling at everyone to get out of the way, my mother being slightly hysterical and my brother bawling. Questions kept hurtling from every possible direction… “Are you ok?”… “Can you breathe?”; “Take her pulse!!” Listening to that particular directive, a lady frantically pokes at my arm with the requisite two fingers trying to find my pulse… which looking back, shouldn’t have been that difficult to find… I think at any moment, they were either going to pack me off to a hospital or start CPR (thank God that didn’t happen).

So basically, fiasco or embarrassment of monumental proportions, call it whatever you will, after this particular incident, I have stayed away from that unfriendly beam for some time, or at least performing solo’s and duets. And it wasn’t that difficult considering, as neither my trainer nor my parents wanted a repeat of that particular performance…

A Groaning Fe(a)st!

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Vishu… the Keralite people’s New Year, is something to look forward to, as it is with every festival. Even though we all have to wake up in the god-awful early hours of morning, this is made bearable with the viewing of the “Vishu Kani“, everyone’s auspicious first sight of the day, that is said have an effect on their entire year. The Vishu Kani, is prepared by the oldest woman in the household. It consists an arrangement of various fruits and vegetables; some articles of gold; the kanni konna, yellow flowers that bloom only during that particular period of the year. All this will be arranged around a statue of Lord Krishna, brightened by the little oil lamps.

The other hand, however, is brimming with cash to an extent that the wee little ones, fall into a coma just thinking about their supply of chocolates, the money can and will fund for at least a month. For the older siblings, it is more fun to watch our Grandparents’ morose faces, as they shake their empty wallets free of dust, after handing out “vishu kaineetam” to their kids, their grand kids and their great-grand kids, along with assorted family members who fall on to their laps at that time of the year…

The tale I would like to impart is one that happened six years ago to the date… when, one has extremely “bright ideas” that somehow seem to pop up in one’s sleep, where in you have to execute it!!! That particular year, during Vishu, I invited my best friends for, what I had described, almost feverishly, as the best feasting time they could ever have…

So the day dawns, my brother and I are grinning maniacally from the loot we have collected from our elders, and my friends descend. Now, in normal occasions, food is generally laid out and guests can pick and choose whatever they deem best for themselves. The problem they, being my friends, encountered was that, all the food my mother had madly prepared like it was the last meal we all would ever have, was already served on the banana leaves. Yes, you read right, we eat out of banana leaves, on special occasions. A bit daunted at first though, at my encouragement, they were game.

There are usually 24 different types of dishes served in a proper Keralite meal. So we are, all sitting down to a banana leaf each, served up to the full capacity. At my mother’s prompting, my friends rearranged their expressions of disbelief and started the meal. First came the serving of rice and parippu (green gram) curry; then rice and sambhar (mixed vegetable stew), along with the various home-made pickles, thorans (dry vegetable dishes) , avial (spicy, steamed mixed vegetables) etc. By then they were already clutching their stomachs as though they had been poisoned, and dessert had not even been brought out yet! Speaking of desserts, there are three servings of that too, different kinds of desserts. First came the Ada Pradhaman, then Semiya (vermicelli) payasam with Boli (puran poli), and at last the Kadala (chick peas) payasam. Now, we being used to the serving methods, eat a little of everything. My friends, however, ate rice and the curries to such an extent, that when they saw the desserts being laid out, actually turned a slight shade of green. Looking at that, my mother, thinking that she was helping, offered them buttermilk. I think it was all they could have done not to have leapt up from their seats and run away… screaming!

They politely declined the offer for anymore food (or drinks), and slowly made their way to my room. By the time I made it to my room, after being done clearing the table and storing the dishes away, they were fast asleep, and probably even having foodie nightmares. With much difficulty, I roused them awake, and took them out for a walk and of course, them being the best friends, cursed at me with such vehemence, I was sure even the most evil of witches, would have fainted at their tone, (I still think those curses haven’t burnt out yet). After much whimpering and said cursing, we managed to burn quite a bit of the letharginess away, and upon reaching home, they had made me solemnly swear that I was not going to offer them anything at all, to drink, eat, nibble, anything. and failing got do so would conclude in my immediate demise. Which made me think “Now how the heck am I supposed to break the news about the little parcels my mother prepared for them to take home?”

Well… they didn’t bite my head off, (or hang me by my legs off the balcony), but was at the receiving end of extremely dirty looks. However, six years later, we look back and laugh outrageously at that situation and our innocence, for, it was some of the last ever festivals we had celebrated together, before parting our separate ways to pursue our future. So, Amruta and Yashashree, thank you both very much for the memories of the unforgettable groaning fe-a-st.

Eh… What’s up Doc?

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Remember that line? Does it remind you of the lazy Friday mornings? Where the first thing you did after prying your eyes open, was to trot to the room with the T.V. and flick through the channels till the jingles of the cartoons filled the air? Bugs Bunny had and still has the capability to make one’s worries disappear, and instead be filled with his sarcastic humour, as well as tricky, outrageous, almost unbelievable plans and plots. He is famous for his numerous catchphrases, the famous one being, “Eh… what’s up doc?”. Be it outwitting the fearsome Yosemite Sam or befuddling the bumbling Elmer Fudd, or scaring big orange monsters out of their wits, Bugs Bunny’s done it all. Bugs also was the first cartoon character to be immortalized on a postage stamp on May 22nd, 1997. He is also the official mascot for Warner Bros. and is the only animated character, after Disney’s Mickey Mouse, to receive a star in the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

This carrot crunching grey hare, or rabbit (there’s always a conflict about that), was born on July 27th, 1940 in Brooklyn, New York. This “wabbit” made his debut into the world of movies in Porky’s Hare Hunt, where Porky Pig is seen hunting an animal more interested in outwitting him rather than running away from the barrel being pointed at it. His short movie, a wild hare, was nominated for the Academy Award for best animated short film. His official name, Bugs Bunny, was introduced to the audiences in the movie Elmer’s Pet Rabbit.

Merrie Melodies, intended only for one season, was renewed, due to Bugs’s popularity. He turned out to be Warner Bros. number one star. The main reason was that, during the World War II, his sassy, outrageous attitude provided a much needed relief, for the people living in war-torn nations. In 1943, the U.S. Marine Corps made Bugs Bunny an Honorary Marine Master Sergeant, after he appeared in a short, Super Rabbit, wearing a Marine Corps dress blue uniform.

He continued to make cameo or guest appearances in a number of shorts, including Jasper Goes Hunting, made by rivals Paramount Picture. He pops out of the hole with his catch phrase, after which he said “Hey! I am in the wrong picture” and then goes back into the hole.

The post war era proved to be eventful for Bugs, especially the year 1958. His short, Knighty, Knight Bugs, in which he finally exchanges blows with Yosemite Sam and his dragon with a cold, won the Academy Award for the Best Animated Short Film. The Duck Season/Rabbit Season trilogy in 1957, “What’s Opera Doc?”, was declared by the Library of Congress as ‘culturally significant’, and the National Film Registry selected it for preservation. This movie, showcasing Bugs and Elmer, was a spoof of Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen.

This recent project was the Looney Tunes show that premiered in Cartoon Network last year. Warner Bros. announced that they were planning a live action/ Computer generated – animated combo feature film based on the characters of Looney tunes.