Some Things Will Never Change

“When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world/ I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change the nation/ When I found I couldn’t change the nation, I began to focus on my town/ I couldn’t change the town too/ Now as an old man I tried to change my family, but to no avail/ I then realized that only thing I can change is myself and if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact my family, the town and the nation.”- Rabi Israel Salanter.

 While taunting man’s helplessness to achieve what he wants in life, this poem also underscores the impossibility of changing certain things in the world… things that remain immutable to change… things that go past human efforts.

 Some of my friends are always switching jobs and going in for new, green pastures. At the time of their migration to new companies, they would blame their old ones being regressive and dead to the changes happening around them. The new companies my friends hop in suddenly catch their fancy and I hear them speak highly of them. But, their fancy is a short- lived phenomenon. For, I know they would quit the new concerns too calling their bosses addled headed morons and the company lacking in long range visions.

So fastidious are my friends that they go on switching their jobs and adducing reasons for it. A deep study of their behavior may reveal that they have sort of mind-set that refuse to appreciate the goodness in other things or persons if they go against their pre-conceived ideas and thoughts. With the ‘I-am-always-okay’ thoughts ever filling in our minds, we built an imaginary world in ourselves and weigh the real world with our so- called self- worth.

 Like nature, we should have equipoise in life. We should appreciate that while there are many things in life that are liable to change, still there are some things that are immune to change. My friends who are switching companies are well qualified. They have all the know-how and expertise in their respective fields. However, they are not ready to adopt themselves to the atmosphere of a company, which requires a change of mind-set. They quit their jobs feeling it infra dig to work with companies that are incompatible to their self-worth. If they had been a little patient, they could have brought desired changes in their workplaces.

 ‘I am always infallible, doing things right,’ is the thought that drives many of us when we pitch in to change things around us. While we perk up our ears to hear the ideas and thoughts of our contemporaries, we never open our minds either to accept them or evaluate their merits. Unfortunately, we expect such opening of minds from others when we preach our notions and thoughts. It is a sort of ‘I am okay, but you aren’t okay’ mind-set that refuses to see the worthiness in others.

‘My mom doesn’t understand me; my family doesn’t understand me; no one in my office hears what I say; and the society too is not ready to travel with my thoughts and ideas,’ are some of the monologues we continuously indulge in all through our life without realizing that it is we who need to change and not the society.

 Why do we indulge is such mawkish monologues? Why people including our family and friends don’t understand us? Why the society is lukewarm and looks askance at us when we try to change things? This happens because we always sit in a high pedestal of vanity and expect the world to rally around us and adapt to what we preach or ignore what we impeach.

There were a lot of leaders in our midst who changed many wrong courses in the world. The world accepted their course corrections without resistance as the leaders did it smoothly without the air of ‘I-know-all’. They did not swim against the current; they rather went with the stream and turned it to their way at a right time. So, success becomes elusive to those who try to force feed others with their thoughts and opinions, however good they may be.

 We cannot bring changes in the world without changing our mindset which only reflects our pride-self and know-all-character. We’d better remember that the world will never for once fall at our feet and adapt to the change we preach. Rather, it is we who should turn our thoughts to the course of the world. For, course correction, like charity, should begin at home.

 “My god, give me powers and prowess to change those things that are susceptible to change. If not, make my mind more pliable to accept such things that are immune to change,” has been the prayers of those who want to sail smoothly through the hard waters of life.

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Unbeatable Ticket Touts

The queue was longer than the extended, mystical tail of the legendary Veer Hanuman.   Fortunately, I stood in the middle of the queue that pitched in before a railway booking counter issuing open tickets. It was ages since I had travelled in an unreserved compartment.

The queue was only inching its way to the counter. I stood in between two fatties who virtually squeezed me into pulp. People who stood behind me too were uncharitable as they tried to edge me out of the line. But still, I was hopeful of getting my ticket in no time. I was always like that … a hopeless optimistic bloke who would attempt to dismantle a mountain with a chisel.

My CEO, a cranky old truck, could never identify problems/issues whenever they flicker in the office, but run amok when all are in flames. So, I was here in the queue to catch an early morning train, go over to Coimbatore and sort out some burning issues there.

The queue picked up speed for a moment only to stop its momentum abruptly. I spotted a middle-aged man came and parked him opposite the queue. He was clad in white dhoti and sleeveless shirt. His gleaming pate was smeared with vibhuti [sacred ash]. He took out a sachet of Pan Parag from his pocket, cut open it with his teeth and emptied it in the mouth, all simultaneously in reflex. Beside him stood a police constable. His presence soared my spirits, as I was now hopeful of getting the ticket without any hurdle. Again, the optimist!

Gosh! I was wrong [the optimist went down the drain]. For, I now saw a posse of goons appeared from nowhere and tried to break the queue. There started a pandemonium when people standing in the back came to the front and confronted the goons. The police man swung into action, but strangely he dislodged those, including me, who were already standing in the queue and enabled the intruders to take our places.

Jostled out of the queue, I suddenly found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with the dhoti-clad, pan-chewing man. He was holding a bunch of tickets in his hand and started selling them to those who were displaced by the goons. People had no qualms about shelling out as much as Rs. 300 per ticker [the original fare was only Rs 75] and buying tickets from the man. ‘He must be a tout … a blood sucker in disguise,’ I thought plaintively.

When the tout had an unsold ticket with him, he offered it to me demanding only Rs. 250, out of sympathy. I got wild and yelled at him blue and black. ‘You tout. You’re hand in glove with the police, dislodge people from the queue and sell them your bloody tickets for a fortune. I’m a responsible citizen, going to write to ‘The Hindu’ about this sordid incident.’ By now, a large crowd gathered around me, but the tout and the police man disappeared from the scene.

So, I missed the 6.15 am super fast train. Every time I stood in the queue for getting tickets for subsequent trains, the queue was broken by new group of goons with the help of a constable. It was now 10.30 am. I have missed the series of trains. My boss got me over my mobile and gave me a fine dressing down for being unduly late in catching a train.

Driven to the wall, I ran hither and thither; met the SM and the Railway Police. They simply shrugged off their shoulders, gesturing their inability to do anything on my complaint. Exhausted, I sat on a bench in the waiting hall.’ Why a bunch of touts is allowed to hijack a well-evolved system and convert it to their own convenience … convert it for spinning money’, I thought naively.

The tout, after some time, came over to me, of course in another avatar. For, I now saw him in the pants with his shirt tucked in. No vibhuti on his forehead, it was gleaming brighter. I could guess that his new avatar was only to hoodwink people about his identity. Brandishing a ticket, he demanded Rs. 400. All in gestures. I was reluctant for a moment invaded by my cardinal principles of anti-corruption. But then, my exigencies became more important than my principles and they made me submit myself meekly to the tout. I gave him the amount and got the ticket.

Spitting out the last bit of the pan parag into a garbage bin, the tout smiled at me sheepishly and said: ‘That’s it. Illiterate persons are smarter than the educated lot like you. For, the unlettered know how to go about in life. They don’t cling to useless principles. But, you, the pants-clad people are mere wastrels not knowing the intricacies of life, but living in your own make-believe world. Come on, sir, go over to the 3^rd platform and board the 11.15 train. My people in the general compartment will help you get a window seat.’

I nodded grimly, started leaving the waiting-hall for the 3^rd platform. When I walked over the foot over bridge, I felt like walking over the corpse of my anti-graft feelings and principles.  Let them RIP.

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I’m Completely Different

[A poem has the power of healing a wounded-heart. It can show a way through or it can give you a shield to hide behind. It can turn the light back on in a place you thought was permanently disconnected. It can be a talisman to be worn in the head for warding off miseries. Kuroda Saburo [1919-1980] is a Japanese poet, he writes often of matters relating to love & family. ‘I am completely different’ is one of his best poems- I even call it a modern mantra, for the act of reading it is somehow comforting. Saburo always sees roses in debris; hear dirge as a song from a Nightingale. He feels eruption of hope in the midst of devastation and destruction. It is one of my favorite poems- I read it again and again whenever I feel blue… whenever the course of life becomes uncharitable.]

 I am completely different.

Though I am wearing the same tie as yesterday,

am as poor as yesterday,

as good for nothing as yesterday,

today

I am completely different.

Though I am wearing the same clothes,

am as dirty as yesterday,

living as clumsily as yesterday, nevertheless

today

I am completely different.

 Ah-

I patiently close my eyes

on all the grins and smirks

on all the twisted smiles and horse laughs

on all the shameful defeats and defaults-

and glimpse then, inside me

one beautiful white butterfly

fluttering towards tomorrow.

Image courtesy: Google                

For Whom Should I Cry Now?

“Alas that love, so gentle in his [Romeo’s] view 
should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.”- William Shakespeare

Back in time, when young was the moon 
speechless we stood in a train station. 
Holding hands, we’d wept for our failed- love. 
Pale went your face as you fought tears, 
concealing wounds in your heart. 

Shrieking horns came then a blue train and 
home it carried you… your marital home. 
There under new skies you’d become 
a wife, mom, and grandma. 
Stupefied I still watched the train 
running over my love heartlessly. 
The moving devil now looked red not blue, 
showing the color of my tears. 

Leafing thro my Memory Book, 
your pretty face I oft look. 
Can I ever forget your elegant eyes? 
that spoke volumes and volumes once. 
Seeing your bubbling dimples when you laughed 
rainbows bobbed up in my heart. 

All sweet kisses your rosy lips gave me then 
still remain moist in my mouth, tasting like nectar. 
The perfume and fragrance you’d wafted when hugged 
still remain spread in my body, making me ever balmy. 
My love! 
To keep your memory ever green in heart and soul 
I had to fight with Time, a heartless Monster. 

When waves of time brutally wrecked my life boat, 
I struggled like a fish in a hook. 
Void and emptiness grew thick in heart 
as I wished to see the face I’d lost to Time. 
Leaving me in a limbo you’ve gone 
to the wind to make a wind, 
to the moon to make her more shining, 
and 
to the grey sea to make it green. 

Shocked, I felt like falling into a cauldron 
when your demise I knew from a tabloid. 
I smothered my sobs and fell into my knees. 
But… but… 
Amidst sorrows, I felt a drizzle 
drenching my soul. 

For, in the ‘obit’ column of the paper 
I didn’t see an age-ravaged, time-eaten 
face of an ol’ lady.’ 
The photo therein was the one 
you gave me long back when 
we were in the spring of love 
breathing for each other and 
praying for each other. 

Now- 
Straddling relief and sorrow, asked my broken heart: 
“For whom should I cry now? 
You or your failed- love or your dead lover? 

Catching up with Nilam

[This post was written when Chennai was in the grip of fear on 1^st November, 2012. When Cyclonic storm Nilam was all set to strike the metro, weather bloggers predicted unprecedented disaster and devastation to the metro.]

Cyclone Nilam that hit Chennai last week was expected to be a grandiose affair having had all potentials to devastate the metro. But then, a cyclone is not a messiah and it never leaves a spot without getting it lambasted through tornadoes or hurricanes or constant, aggressive pouring, that scare even a Noah. Fortunately, Nilam got dissipated, became tame when it crossed the shores of Mahaballipuram, a heritage treasure-trove, about 60 km south of Chennai

.

For those who were indoors, the only effect they thought that Nilam left on its trail was the abrupt shut down of power supply from midday to midnight. They felt isolated from the outer world since TVs’ became mute, not able to flicker. They were groping in the dark like the people living before the advent of electricity. Through the dim light of melting candles they felt they still existed.

I love cyclones. For, with its many upheavals and being beyond the reach of man, it shows its unbeatable, supreme prowess over man and his pet dogs -- science and technology. I too hate cyclones since they bring in its train only holocaust and devastation to humanity. How can a person love and hate a thing? I must be a crank.

Fear of cyclone starts the moment weather bulletins flash on TVs. When a forecast announces a trough disturbance, rapidly increasing its size and strength and moving north/west, we begin to shudder thinking that the would-be storm is going to decimate the world.

So it begins in our minds. A storm with gusts of over 120mph, still growing in size and speed, as it moves toward a decrepit city or a cosmopolitan metro. This time we were privileged to get the Nilam. Giving it a name at some point did little to diminish the mysterious excitement of the whole thing.

A Restaurant owner became taciturn and timid. Giving me a glass of Chennai filter coffee, he asked me suddenly with fear-ridden eyes. ‘Sir, will Nilam strike at his area?’ I startled, looking at him quizzically and said: ‘Why on earth, do you ask such a bloody question?’ ‘Because’, he was a bit hesitant and replied, ‘I have opened this eatery very recently investing a huge fortune. I fear the cyclone will make it all go at one stroke’. I didn’t know how to dispel his fear. I had only pity on him. Everywhere, people are like the restaurant owner only self-centered no matter it is storming or not.

The cyclones themselves are always astounding and thrilling. We have some wild bunch of people who would venture into sea-shore whether it is raining furiously and sideways, hoping for a gust powerful enough to lift them up off the ground.

When we got our ears glued to FM radios [the only communication channel we could be linked with] that’s updating the movement of the Nilam and the catastrophe it’s causing around the city, I was surprised to hear the RJ announce that there were bunches of adventurous youth parking themselves in the forbidden seashore, snapping the furious waves, the turbulent sea and the darkened sky just to upload them on their social sites. The awesome power of nature, the freedom of the unknown, of innocence, of playfulness- all of it was so alive and fascinating. Everything was rich and wild and sweet and amazing, even difficulty and danger.

I wait for another cyclone.

Rewinding myself to my childhood days, I could still remember how we, the children, at the time of a gathering storm, would huddle in a corner of the house, scary of the howling winds or thunderclaps. As always, mother was our rallying point. Seeing our fear-ridden faces and trembling bodies, she would make us sit around her. Giving each one of us a rice-ball mixed with some curry, she would say: ‘Storms are nothing but gods coming over to the earth. They come in the form of swirling winds and bolts of lightening only to destroy the baddies. They would be benignant to those who are good and innocent. You children, you are always good. So, you needn’t worry about storms’. Getting convinced of what mother had said we would retire to our beds with new-find courage.

However, times have changed. I could never say such things to the children of today or justify the arrival of storms. When told that a cyclone is in the offing, one of my neighborhood children retort saying: ‘Why, uncle? Why worry? If need be, we can buy some windbreakers to deal with the storm.’ I could only laugh at his childish ingenuity.

New-age children with their knowledge and understanding about the Nature and its course are better placed than us in taking the calamities of nature in their stride.

Image courtesy: Google

Quotes courtesy: ‘There is only Now’, by Scott Morrison]

Missing Quilt of Life

[I’m 70. I’m alone]

Loneliness when I hear

the morn-birds

sing paeans to the Sun.

Loneliness when I

quiver in winter mornings

missing my quilt of life.

Loneliness when I

sigh at children

dancing in the rain.

Loneliness when family

look askance at me

and my ever stinking bed.

Loneliness when someone

hold my hands and cry, but

I don’t know who she/he is.

Loneliness when I

mutter Gitanjali, but

stop as memory fades out.

Loneliness when thoughts

about my dead wife

still knife me and wet my eyes.

Loneliness when I

lay awake during nights

drinking the poison of silence.

Loneliness when I was

in a hospital, caching up

with my departing breath.

Loneliness when I hear

footsteps of Lord Yama

holding ropes on hands.

Loneliness when people

force opens my mouth to

spoon -feed drops of water.

Loneliness when I

search for a bygone youth

but, meets only the

the corpses of my desires.

[Poetry is not my cuppa. But then, afflicted by a sort of Sensitivity Affected Disorders and driven by strange emotional upheavals seeing the demeanor and deportment of things, both animate and inanimate, I begin to indulge in a kinda verbose, which I brazenly call poetry. Puritan Poets may, therefore, very well excuse me for this aberration since I always call a poem a product of heart not head]

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Children Not Our Own

Top of Form

 “You may give children your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.”- Kahlil Gibran

 What a prophecy and how clairvoyant is Gibran! For, today’s youth have their own anarchy of dreams and fantasies, which defy comprehension. Regrettably, they have lost their ideals and gone far away from their moorings pursuing the mirage of their own make-believe thoughts and perceptions. Mesmerized by some bad movies and, growing in a no-holds-barred, ultra-tech world which preaches a neo-culture, the twenty-first century youth grows like shrubs in the wilderness not wanting others to tend their growth.

 Recently, two eight-year-old boys in Chennai staged their own kidnapping drama taking a cue from a movie they had seen. They did this because they did not digest the admonitions of their fathers over their erratic behavior. A twenty-three-year- old Pawan Varma from Delhi enacted a scene of kidnapping and demanded a ransom of Rs.5 lac from his father because the boy wanted to go to a picnic spot and he had no money.

 We have these disturbing trends going on for some time. Youngsters, yielding to their impulsive whims and fancies, resort to such extreme steps just to grab the attention of their parents and family members. The movies they watch, and sorts of strange and bizarre culture they are exposed to in the society convince them that they could turn their parents’ attention to them only through such extreme and abnormal means.

 Poor parents! Since they are always engaged to earn bread and butter for the family and satiate every essential need of their wards, they are left with no time to give proper attention to their children.  Pitifully, most parents find it hard to strike a balance between their work and personal lives. In fact, they don’t have chances to spend quality time with their wards who always feel an alien in their home.

 The advent of the nuclear family is always thought to be a safe haven for young couples as they have their long-felt luxury of privacy. That it has its own hazards too is known to them only after some time when their children start growing up. For, the nuclear family leaves no adequate support system for the kids. Lonely youngsters upset over the lack of parental attention and company resort to extreme actions like their own stage-managed kidnapping because they want to tell their parents that there exist a young soul at home who wish to be with his/her parents for at least some time a day and share their pains and pleasures. The education system too, with its antiquated curriculum, fails to shape the youth.

 Another reason, according to psychologists, that make children abnormal and defiant is the parents’ controlling. It is appreciable that parents always want the best for their children. Their expectation to see their kids grow as good and responsible citizens is also natural. However, in the name of controlling, some parents go overboard and cruelly punish their defiant children not knowing that it only affect their ward’s psyche. I know one of my relatives always brutally punish his 10-year-old son even for his small mistakes. He would strike the boy with anything he could lay his hands on: brooms, spoons, leather belts, and hairbrushes, et al, without knowing that such brutal punishment teaches only revenge to the boy.

 Nuclear family, parents’ controlling, bad movies and an emerging unpalatable culture in the society may be the reasons for making children defiant and delinquent. It is high time for parents and teachers to take cognizance of the malaise and find ways and means to cure them. Good communications between parents and children will always help ease bad situations since the kids have opportunities to open their minds either to the mother or the father. Parents should understand that kids, too, need their own space and can’t be forced. For their parts, kids need to be made to understand that parents are always for them.

 Gone are the days when we had ‘moral’ classes in schools where teachers taught us all the finer values and ideals of life. Since teachers were our role models then, we grew up as Good Samaritans avoiding all pitfalls of life. However, schools had since long transformed themselves from educational institutions into business concerns. They now stop with churning out children who are only academically brilliant, but morally fake.

 It is heartening to note that The Education Department in Tamil Nadu recently urged schools to pay more attention to students’ behavior and necessary corrective measures. They advised teachers not to stop with producing results, but work on strengthening the value system of the community by instilling values in students. Behavioral scientists say that the teacher is the core point. They should become the role-models for the students and integrate value education with classroom teaching.

 Will teachers or for that matter parent’s wake up to the new responsibilities imposed on them by a sudden and swift change in the behavioral patterns of students and prevent them from becoming moral bankrupts? That is really a ten million dollar question on which hinges the future of the Generation Y or Z.

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