Somewhere I belong...

Other day I was at the most mundanely boring meeting. That too at 12 o’clock in the afternoon, which involved being presented with incomprehensible graphs and data on how Un(fair) and Lonely brand of skin lightening cream had seen a 0.02% increase of sale in some less than One Lakh Population Strata town in the Telangana district of Andhra Pradesh. While this was happening, I spent some quality time doodling like it was going out of fashion. And all this while recently joined, out-of-campus a few months back boy took down copious amount of notes. (Obviously, any chance that I might have had in becoming his role model, mentor or the fascinating ‘older’ woman in his life, gets thrown out of the window!). Anyway, what woke me up and stop fantasizing about lunch was this statement by the speaker, ‘Thank god for all you Madrasis’ and smiles all around most patronizingly. I am then thinking, among many things, Ass!

I mean, much literature has been dedicated to this, and much angsting has taken place, but this standard, stereotypical moniker is to stop. So while we sulkily drive back to office, I rave and rant. Now, flunky boy tells me, ‘But isn’t it true that historically too South India as it were, is this gooey mass of undifferentiated people? Case in point, our National Anthem…’

Now great man that Tagore was, a liberal, intellectual and the pride of the nation – this is what his composition says:
Punjab Sindh Gujarat Maratha
Dravida Utkala Banga
Vindhya Himachal Yamuna Ganga
Welcome to the Dravida Club… hmmm.

Even worse, is that popular patriotic song, one which is deeply entrenched in many of us who were brought up in the times of state-owned television days – Yeh mere Watan Ke Logon. As a Sainik child myself, I felt even more proud of our men in the battlefield and the pride with which appa would say, ‘They gave up their today, for your tomorrow…’ It would be most contrived to describe that emotion… and let me not digress now.
But as Pandit Nehru was moved to tears by Lata M’s rendition of this song, which says somewhere…
Koi Sikh hai, Koi Jat, Maratha
Koi Gurkha, Koi Madraasi
I am thinking, what is with poets?!

Stereotyping is convenient. Generalizations make life easier; we can with the use of minimum amount of information reach conclusions quickly. Is a very useful thing. I do that all the time. But, but, but… I sometimes ponder on how they originated?

Given that we live in a seemingly shrinking world – wherein we work with, make friends with, share our man/woman/other woes with, fall in love with, get married to and horrors even have babies with non Madrasis at times – shouldn’t the issue be given a burial? And yet, the myths and beliefs don’t seem to go away. Besides, the funny accent and three parallel white lines on forehead kind of stuff, one is often asked questions like:
Why do you guys walk barefoot?
Are you all vegetarians?
Why do you’ll obsess about fair skin?
Why don’t the South Indian movie heroes and villains look too different?
Do you all learn Bharatnatyam?
Why do South Indian men have moustaches?
And it goes on…

Now, I am not going to deny all of this. True, untrue? Doesn’t matter… We have our own Northie generalizations, so in that sense we are quits!

But I am curious, how did all of these originate? That the person from the other side of the Vindhyas is very different from the one on the Northern side seems to be the conclusion. It does seem a bit strange, given that the world is flat and what not…

And after all very many of the people of Dakshin origin have moved rather far from their beginnings – both in the geographic and very often the 'lifestyle' sense and have imbibed the wicked West as it were! Of course, we have family and its extensions in Southern cities, we practice southern versions of religious mumbo-jumbo rituals, and the smells from our kitchens perhaps still are authentically South Indian. Yet, we sort of like to live this stereotype at times ourselves… we feel the need to in many ways. But what about the questions we are often asked? Does one have answers?

Identity is a serious issue, and of course I am not equipped to answer that, which doesn’t mean I can’t have my theories! In my mind I am sure, these are formed by history and the culture that we inherit… and so these stereotypes naturally have their roots way back in the past. And yes, culture is ever evolving and all of that, yet it is still rooted in the past…

Which of course brings me to my pet topic, that of the Aryan Invasion Theory aka AIT! :) And surely between Mythology, Economics and the AIT – most things must be explained.

Mythology has not been too kind to the South Indians… after all, the hub of all action was “up” North, be it Ayodhya, Kurukshetra, Hastinapur, etc. The heroes were also ‘up’ there – Rama, Krishna, Arjun, and sundry others. In the South, we had only wicked Ravana, the wicked Mahishasura, and the sleeping Kumbhakarna… no sir, mythology is not very kind to us.

But look what did the Aryan invasion do? There we were, happy Dravidians, peaceful people residing somewhere in Central Asia. We were short, dark, and endowed with fat but no muscle… basically not meant to fight wars and stuff. Then suddenly, one day the wicked Aryan came, he was tall, fair, the proverbial lean-mean machine (think Salman Khan, if he were five inches taller). Yes sir, this was Villain Man. Of course, this proved to be a no-contest… and poor Dravidian was defeated. Now under duress and in need for self-preservation, Dravidian Man needed to do something… and I am not sure how this discovery was made, but suddenly the Vindhya Mountains sounded like a good place to flee to. Once he crossed the other side of the Vindhyas, he knew nobody could touch him – a bastion that even the mighty Mughal Empire didn’t truly threaten and breach. I think Ashoka was one of the few emperors who did come down reasonably South, but then he was on this spiritual quest…

Having crossed the Vindhyas, the Southern part of India became a cocooned shell. While the North remained plundered and looted, we were happy composing poetry and building temple towns. With not too much to worry in terms of attacks and threats, art forms began to grow. This also explains why dance thrived here. The Devdasi cult gave dancers special status and it is mostly considered the done thing for South Indian girls to learn this form. In contrast was the North, where the Mughal emperors, mostly for their voyeuristic pleasure, patronized dance. This is why perhaps in the North, there were many reservations and resistance to it being imbibed by well-brought up girls from middle class homes.

Of course, all this is not to say that foreign traders didn’t come – the Dutch and Portuguese did…so we accepted the foreign land, but the influence was slow. So given the cocoon that this region was, change happened rather slowly. Which is why perhaps, it is widely believed in marketing parlance, the South Indian consumer is risk averse and not so much in the ‘here and now’ like her Northern counterpart. The Northern consumer having inherited a legacy of very many attacks and looting tends to be in this whole, ‘Kal ho na ho…’ frame of mind and is hence far more open to spending money and general self-indulgence. The Southern consumer still thinks that the best thing to do is to invest money in Public Provident Funds.

Which is why, I suppose we hold on the past a little more - and may be that is why we still walk barefoot, still wear jasmines every now and then, think it is cool to stick bindis on our forehead while wearing jeans and Diwali is still a religious puja and not a party. I am not saying this is a virtue or a vice, but it is there…

So what was the grand purpose of the AIT in this context you might ask? It has impacted general psyche of the South Indian, the evidence of which is found in our cinema. Cinema is always a good medium to understand the pulse of a community and get insight into what issues matters to them at any point in time.

Now in the Aryan attack - the Dravidian had lost, but his life was good now. He was reasonably prosperous, he was happy, he had many temples, he had some savings tucked away and many times he had two wives. Nirvana, one would think? Yet, underneath he is still smarting, he needs to feel good, he needs to avenge this. Yes sir, he needs to kill the Aryan.

And thus was born the classic South Indian movie plot – Dravidian Hero (Short, Dark, Fat yet Weak) and the Aryan Villain (Taller, less darker and generally better looking). At the end of 2.5 hours, after much hamming, heaving and hawing the Dravidian Hero will kill Aryan Villain, just after he finishes a monologue lasting 12.5 minutes before the final stab! The Dravidian has been avenged!

This also partly explains why the South Indian movie heroine is either an import from “up” there or is a fair Madrasi. You see, here is fair skinned woman, somewhat dumb, city-bred, seemingly shallow, arrogant and of course a surrogate for the Aryan. The shrew needs to be tamed. And who better to do that than the Dravidian Hero. Not only does he win over the wicked Aryan, he also adds one more member to the community. Such, poetic justice!

Another reason why the moviewallah’s obsess about fair skin is to do with caste politics. The South actually saw this rise for the rights of the formerly represeed lower caste, even before the Mandal took the Northies by storm! In fact one of the big misconception that a lot of people have about the Madrasi is the belief that, he/she is vegetarian – which is really because they actually think that all Madrasis are Brahmins. Far from the truth, Brahmins are actually the minority and make up a very minuscule proportion of the population. Yet given the slow pace of social change in the region, the Brahminical hegemony as it were continued for long. Enter the politician. The politicians realized this was the trump card to mobilize support, and so we had Periyar in TN, the Naxalite movement in AP, general unrest in Kerala and of course the City Man vs Son/Heart of the Soil (Murthy vs Gowda; Bangalore Vs ROK) sort of debates in Karnataka. There was an organized movement all across the region. This caste politics also explains why the dark and moustached hero, aka lower-caste and therefore the underdog will attain the fair and buxom aka Brahaminical and hence tormenter heroine.

Which finally leaves me with one question that remains unanswered? Why is the South Indian man moustached? I don’t know. It is something, which has disturbed me for a large part of my life as well. I mean if I can shed the jasmine flowers, the man must shave off the moustache, right?

Also there are some more questions which must be asked, why is the Bengali never East Indian and the Maharashtrian never West Indian?

Actually given our quest for simplification, most people accept this as the clasification:
South Indian aka Madrasi
North Indian aka Punjabi

The question then is, How is the South Indian person feeling in all of this? I think, most of the times we don’t care really.

Its true that we are all thrown into this together, yet at some level we don’t really like each other, too much.

Let me explain. In our mind, we are four distinct entities, speak four different languages, have four different cultural idiosyncrasies. So Gult men are so Bah, Mallus are so clannish, Tams are so full of themselves, Kannadigas are also something… In Tamil cinema, we love Mallu jokes. Among Tamil friends, we love Gult jokes and the feeling is undoubtedly mutual.

Yet, when we are in Aryan land, the land of the common enemy - the insecurities crop and suddenly we become the “South Gang” and are happy being viewed as one undifferentiated mass. It is the same logic that we used to apply, when as children, we watched cricket matches. If it is a match between Pakistan and England – let us support England. You know, better to support the former oppressive ruler than the former brother! Funny in a sad way…

So, this South bonding is mostly a fallacy. Like when in the Post-Grad college I went to, when 11 of us batch-mates traversed all the way from the land of Sabaramati to the land of Kaveri, Krishna and others… prior to the journey, we used to all love each other, because we were all in the enemy land, with an almost exaggerated closeness. When we would get into the train we will fight over berth-rights and such stuff, by the time the 48 hour journey gets completed (a 36 hr journey, which by virtue of a derailment in Guntakal gets 12 more hours added to it), we vow that in the next semester will stay away from the giggly Mallu and the Psycho Gult.

But then you get back to campus, so far away from home, and you once again discover much much bonding with the Gult batchie. After all, he is the only one who will approximate the much pathos and longing that is involved (almost equivalent to Ghalib and Neruda poetry), when on a Wednesday night, which is Chicken night in the mess, I say, ‘Sigh, I wish I could get some Thayir Saadam.’

Long live the Dravidian!

*Tongue firmly in Cheek*

The one who really understands me well,
Isn’t the one who can speak English or Tamil.

She is the one who says something that makes me go,
Gosh that is the story of my life, what do you know!

Unfortunate Coincidence...

By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying –
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.

I love Dorothy Parker. So much wisdom, so much wit and oh-so-cynical!

Yet, all my ‘bravado’, 'cynicism' and accompanied raving and ranting notwithstanding, I must confess I am a Closet Romantic. In fact, like the average person out there, I am a closet many things!

Which is why inspite of my appreciation of various forms of art that celebrate the ‘flawed dual world’ theory, I am happy doing absolutely silly school girlie stuff, which are contrary to the said theory.

Spoilers Alert: No Sour Grapes Ahead

I have over the last few years, given up on various potentially romance promising situations… no sir, doesn’t happen.

… So you know that people whom you meet via the Internet don’t fall in love. I mean people do, but you don’t. I mean you do, but the other doesn’t.
Get the drift, right?

…You also know that it is the height of bad form for people meeting as potentially matrimonial prospects to fall in love. All these marriage type unions have to be either because of love or because it has been arranged. On doesn’t engineer/ arrange this falling in love business!

… You know that just because some people find romance when they are holidaying, doesn't mean you will too. In fact, you don’t even go on a holiday.

… You also know that you will not meet any interesting man, while flying away to obscure places. In fact, you will not even meet interesting women. Empty seat next to you is good. More arm-space is something that one can do with.

Of course, this is by no means an exhaustive list, but that isn’t the point of this post. And can we humour me now, and assume that there is a point to this? Thank you!

So as I spent yet another week traveling to obscure places in the pretext of keeping kitchen fires burning, I was absolutely sure that this experience was not going to be any different. Here I was in my favourite window-seat, nose buried into book. And then he walks in – the hero of breathy fantasies. And surprise, surprise, he pauses near my row and sits next to me. While he is adjusting his various expensive toys, aka laptop, I-pod, PDA, blah, I took a close look at him and thought, not bad. In fact let us be more charitable, I would say not bad at all. So I shoved book into bag and made myself look suitably available – for conversation.

But as cruel fate would have it - when there is intent, the opportunity will obviously disappear straight out of the window! So boy takes out fancy mobile phone and coos into it. And while eavesdropping is not the intent… I couldn't help catching a few key phrases. First of all, was the obvious joy and happiness in his voice! Then of course, “Miss you too babu”; “Will call you as soon as I get there.” And of course, “I love you too”

Errr, babu! And I love you too!

Very, very heartbreaking. In fact, they are far more final than just the three words. I love you, is easily said. But I love you too? Now that is game, set and match to Ms Babu. But let me not digress here.

Needless to say a broken hearted me, went back to my book.

And SSDB (Smirky Silly Dishy Boy) gets to texting, the love interest no doubt.

I am thinking then, how irritating. Gah! And why would people in love, go all lovey-dovey at 6:30 am. Hmmpph! This truly must be a 24*7 affair. Or may be, 6:30 am may be nights in certain parts of the world!

Anyway, self –piteous state is not conducive to reading and so after a while I gave up and began rummaging through seat pocket for in-flight magazines and sundry contest forms. Yes, I am one of those - who fill up forms and complete slogans! So, anyway finally I found this little paper and I pulled it out, just to discover that it was a bill. It was a Shopper’s Stop bill, of their Bandra store.
Bill Amount = Rs 230
Item Purchased = Pair of socks
All very ordinary and very mundane stuff, as you can see.

The interesting bit, was on the reverse of the bill, this is what it said:
A B H A Y S I N H A … B Y S H = 4
K A L P A N A G O V I N D A R A J A N …. K L P A G O V I N D R A J A N = 14
4+14 = 18
F L A M E S

A B H A Y = 3
K A L P A N A = 5
3+5 = 8
F L A M E S

And that would be F L A M E S game. Am sure, a large number of you must be familiar with this one, at least very many women would be… all an essential part of the journey from girlhood to womanhood.

For the uninitiated, this is a very simple exercise. Take names of two people, usually of opposite genders and cross out all the common alphabets between the two names. Post that, count the number of alphabets that remain and get that number. Now write F L A M E S on a piece of paper and start counting from F to S, then go back to F and again the same process is done, with the number you have. Every time the count ends, cross out that alphabet, and restart counting from the next alphabet. Repeat this till you cross out five of the alphabets and remain with one. And that is the much-sought answer to your relationship question, to be decoded as follows:
F = Friend; L = Love; A = Adore; M = Marriage; E = Enemy; S = Support

So ladies and gentleman, here you have very scientific and accurate predictive model for your relationship. And please do not ask questions such as:
… How is love different from adore?
… Does this suggest that one doesn’t marry enemies, people you love, people you adore and people who support you.
… And so on

All this means is that, all people in love don’t marry and all people who marry don’t necessarily hate each other.

Anyway, with this magical formula you can calculate for any relationship, especially those of the ambiguous variety what are the 'chances'! If you don’t how the other party feels about a certain relationship, this is a good way to come up with a predictive model for future behaviour!

The best part about this formula is that you can ‘work around it’ to reach desired answer. So drop first name, surname, include initials, middle names, pet names, pseudonyms, everything. However, if you still don’t reach desired answer, learn to make peace with it!

For example, Abhay Sinha and Kalpana Govindarajan are doomed… whether with first names or the Bihari and Tamilian surnames. So you didn’t know FLAMES to know that the cultural factor might have been a problem here… but one must always assume and hope that, one is the exception to any rule! :)

Oh and when you work around this and cheat a bit, remember… any change in X must be supported by a proportionate and equal change in Y. So, if you include X’s surname then ditto for Y. You know like…

X=Y
X+2=Y+2
X*2=Y*2
X/2=Y/2

… It has to be this way only.

The thing is that when one does this whole F L A M E S thing, very often you don’t do this to get the answer as F, E, S or even A. Those you know. Mostly, it is the big prize M or for some people L, that one is looking for.

And very very important, while you are at it, please spell names correctly! :)

Anyway, this digression apart, I got very enthused to try this out in the context of my life. So, I took every man in my life that has been cause of:
1) Interest
2) Trauma
3) Interest and Trauma

And the results told me, few of them were friends, fewer loved me, fewer adored me, some supported me (errrmmmm), some were my enemies (grrrr) but nobody wanted to marry me. *Sigh*

So, I tried to work around the problem, and tried out with re-worked names, but that didn’t help either! I then tried with fictional names, not men from fiction… but men who didn’t exist in my life, but whom I could potentially meet. For example:

Srinivasan Ramanujam
Arindam Banerji
George Issac Mathew
Nachiket Godbole
Shermaji
Vermaji
Kapoor
Khan….

And so on. But no sir, nobody but nobody wants to marry the SMUGBUG.

I then tried out the same exercise with the names of many of my girlfriends! And it seems there are some of them, I must seriously consider marrying. Oh well, but like a wise woman once told me… if we cant find a man, what are the chances that we can find a woman! :)

All of this made me oblivious to SSDB, who was by now looking at me most curiously. He seemed part amused and part perplexed and asked me, ‘Is that a game?’. I then launched into a theory on the evolution and process of the game. He then wanted me to check if he and his current interest of joy and happiness will ‘make-it’. So, I did my quick calculations and informed him, ‘No dude! There is only love!’

He looked most sad, and I was wondering if saying, ‘There are many more fish in sea…’ type of thing be considered insensitive. Of course, the flight eventually landed and we parted at the baggage carousel.

In the car, on the way to the meeting, I did some quick FLAMES between Smugbug and SSDB – and there it was - finally the elusive M, finally someone who wanted to marry me!

And of course, this bought back memories of, ‘When Harry met Sally’. Where the friend Mary tells Sally, ‘All I'm saying is that somewhere out there is the man you are supposed to marry. And if you don't get him first, somebody else will, and you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that somebody else is married to your husband!’

Oh well! Anyway, I suppose it is appropriate that I finish this with another one by Dorothy Parker.

Words of Comfort to be scratched on a Mirror
Helen of Troy had a wandering glance;
Sappho's restriction was only the sky;
Ninon was ever the chatter of France;
But oh, what a good girl am I!

And headed straight... into the shining sun

Since there is perception in a few quarters that I have reportedly slashed my wrists owing to general boredom, I thought of resurfacing to let all of them know that I am, alive and well…

Too much has changed between the time of my last post and now… who would have thought that within a span of some 23 days, so much can happen…

By far the big highlight for me was the rain, that hit this mostly rain and water starved city and I daresay state that I live in. Okay, so it was just one day of rain, actually a few hours of it… but it was enough to bring the city to a stand-still. And of course most people preferred to stay indoors and watch the rain with part excitement, part awe and part fear. I like this kind of rain, you know the type that pour incessantly for a few hours, may be a day or two and then disappear. It is like the planet has gone through this form of catharsis and she is cleansed of all the bitterness and angst.

This sudden shower of blessings by the rain gods also led to much speculation…
Why did it rain so suddenly?
Why did it rain so much?

Of course, there is a perfectly valid scientific explanation for all of this… the hot air-vapor-forms cloud- clouds go higher- cool down and pour… that is junior school stuff as we know of it. But one doesn’t sort of like that explanation… so we make up more fanciful ones…

The neighborhood patti, as in grandma says, ‘So much rain because it is Kalyug… as a race we shall all drown…’
Not a pretty thought, besides this ‘Day after tomorrow’ and death kind of notions must be avoided…

The watchman in the building says, ‘Akka, so much rain because of so many cars…’
Oh, you gape.
Watchman continues, ‘Yes akka, so many cars… means more pollution… means more clouds… dark dark clouds… and so rain…’
Errm, no no. You try to explain, but realize you can’t explain things without Google.com so give up…

Mom says (of course, she has to say something), ‘It is because Assembly Elections are around the corner… Jayalalitha needs to win, so she got rains and has made Kaveri overflow…’
Oh, Jayalalitha got the rains????
Mom, ‘Yes, she got 350 Carnatic Classical musicians who performed Raaga Amritavahini at the Tanjore Temple and so it rained… with so much Saraswathi (music=goddess of learning) even the god (aka Brahma and husband of the aforementioned goddess) had to listen…’
Oh well, to mom rain and divinity is closely linked… and sometimes nature is actually god. I mean Eastern philosophical thought has always idolized Mother Nature, gaining inspiration from the seemingly harmonious ways of her lifestyle, and accepting her as a guru, a teacher of life. So one doesn’t argue with that sort of logic! :)

All these theories notwithstanding and in spite of the threat of the depression brewing in the Bay of Bengal some of us, with petty concerns and in pursuit of capitalist dreams reach work-place…

There is a great deal of pleasure which one gets in reaching work-place when you know; no work will get done because the whole corpo-slob chain is incomplete. So when the appropriate links are missing, one is sort of redundant in this GDP quest. There were a handful of us who braved the rains and got to work… each of us with our varying stories involving errant winds, cars stuck in water, muck and of course much bravery and the infallible human spirit…

After an hour of swapping stories with colleagues whom you had no clue could frame complete sentences… you decide that since work is a no-no and going back home is too much effort, and therefore one needs to make the best of a bad job.

So I decided that a quick poll on ‘top of mind’ rain associations might be fun. Don’t ask me why? But like they say, the first thing you say, might perhaps be the most honest thing… the problem is, most people don’t say it! The thing is, if you don’t tell what is in your mind, nobody else can do it for you… but let me not digress! :)

And I went around asking people what was overwhelmingly rain for them… and almost everyone has this most quaint sort of imagery…
… Part asleep, curled up with a book – one that you perhaps have read many times over and know it like the back of your hand, hot tea – mostly adrak chai (and this among the average filter coffee lover!), hot snack type food…
Pretty stereotypical, eh!

But the occasional adventurous one will mention walking in the rain… but with many disclaimers thrown in.
As long as I am not coming to work…
As long as I don’t need to drive, the carpet will spoil!
As long as I am dressed in thick clothes… Yup we are modest people! :)
And many such like stuff…

For some of them the Rain Clouds symbolize romance. Even legend often likens the clouds to Krishna and the dry-lands as lovers pining and angsting… so that the rains quench the thirst for lurvvvvvvvvve. Oh well, I didn’t say that, so please! :)

But rains are mostly an evocative medium, and very in the here and now… may be that is why we love it too…

Of course, when so much rain talk happens, music can’t be far behind… which also explains the initial theory of how music started it all… most viscous cycle. Almost everyone has a favourite rain song… and I think much can be said about their current state of mind given what they pick as the song of the moment….

For some of them, it is the usual, ‘Singing in the rain’, complete with the Gene Kelly imagery. Or, ‘Come rain, come shine’ – Frank Sinatra… And of course Louisiana Rain, Kentucky Rain, and other assorted regional variations… these are mostly happy sort of people…

Some like the darker type rain songs… like, ‘Buckets of Rain – Dylan’, with a somewhat convoluted rain fit. Then there is, ‘November Rain’ (a personal favourite, though my associated memories are that of Delhi winters…) or some like the type that goes, ‘I am happy only when it rains. I feel good when things are going wrong. I like to listen to sad, sad songs…’ Oh well, rains does that I suppose, you can sort of weep it all away…

Then there is new trainee at work who associates, ‘It is raining men…’ Ah well, where exactly is it happening? Between cats, dogs and men raining, I wonder which is most likely occurrence, if at all… and which is most desirable… keen contest I think! :)

Of course, rain songs also mean Hindi film music make its presence felt... though people do make strange linkages… I mean what is ‘Rang Barse…’ link to rain…I mean hello! But of course, that must explain either association of brilliant colours with this whole rain business or Rekha as the preferred Rain Diva (though that is perhaps an epitaph best suited for Sridevi…) Some like the poetry of the, ‘Ek akeli chatri mein jab aadhe aadhe bheeg rahein the…’ Is nice,in that unrequited-could-have-been thread…

And so it went on… and frankly, this will never end, if I go on with this train of thought…

But suffice to say, some associate water, some the music/ sound of it, some the clouds, for some the rainbows…

For some the genre varies – soulful ghazals to retro remixes to angsty, deep music, to blah…

For me it is always about the sun. Rains are beautiful, you need them, you handle it in small doses… but at the end of it you need the sun – to say, it is all okay now, please don’t do hermit-rabbit thing and scurry into woodwork again… come out because I am back… I am always partial to the Sun, even from mythology I thought Karna/ Karan, of the sun god fame, was this hugely interesting character… in fact barring Eklavya and him, I have never liked the men from mythology, there is a pattern here, which one can analyze at some other point of time! :) But ya, sun means happiness and well-being…

And so that is how it is… things are seeming to be looking up: Sensex touching 8000, Indian cricket team with our Dravidian captain doing very well, Sachin Tendulkar back in form, one ought to be happy.

But there is gloom too, of terrorist attacks which make no sense and even the rains causing havoc in some parts. Even with my generally pre-occupied self it makes me stop and wonder… and yet we move as always and go on and celebrate the ‘triumph of good over evil’ type of stuff…

Thinking of such ‘celebratory’ occasions I am reminded of a story by Christian Bernard that I read some time during school, yes, my school memories are some what hazy. This chapter titled “In Celebration of Being Alive,” was from his biography, I think. In it he talks about an incident involving two physically challenged children at the hospital he was working in. Like I said, the details elude me, but what he says is that these two children on the verge of death demonstrate all the irreverence (in a nice way) and child-like exuberance, as only children can. The point he makes, albeit simplistically is that we should celebrate being alive because it is not a bad state to be in. In spite of the ‘unacceptable’ simplicity in this statement, I almost always find this story uplifting. And that is not because I like to see it is as, ‘At least I am doing better than that/ them’ but because I like to hold on the belief that things can only get better.

Amen!