worlds

Published on The Wrong Review, March 2017

my worlds
yes, plural
not just two, but more
many more
and i inhabit them all.

the world of safety and security
discipline and light conversations
where lines blur between traditional and modern
but not as much as i want.
yet i inhabit it, happily even, off and on.

the world of laughter, freedom, lightness
long, late-night chats, memories now
where i can do and say anything
but maybe not as much as i want.
yet, i inhabit it whenever i can.

the world of routine

early morning wake ups, hurried tasks one by one

throughout the day

but does it make life easy?

i don't know, yet i inhabit it, all the time.

the world of randomness, chaos and drama

where everything comes to life

momentarily

definitely not as much as i want.

yet, i inhabit it with mixed feelings, as much as i can.

but these worlds aren't isolated

they often collide 

envelop, overwhelm, even suffocate

pulling, tugging, tearing me apart.

yet, also holding me together in an explicable way.

it is all these worlds that have made me

that have taught me to accept, to love, and to let go.

and letting go of these worlds might be the only way

that i can hold myself together for a bit longer.

just a little bit.

A new challenge

The first challenge that I distinctly recall that folks went nuts about on Facebook was the ALS ice bucket challenge. While I thought it was foolish as well as a waste of precious water and energy, it apparently raised a good bit of money for the cause. That was almost two years ago. Cut to today, and there are two other 'challenges' being showcased on many walls--the black and white photo challenge and the motherhood dare.

The first, as the name indicates, challenges one to post a black and white picture of themselves. Is this challenging because we are in the age of Prisma, where photos are being morphed into paintings and other such cooler modes making black and white impossible any longer? And the second, is it a dare to the children because they don't want to be seen with their mums? 

I wonder how these dares even begin. The ALS challenge might have been initiated by an ALS group somewhere but what about these other two? Was someone so tired of looking at colour or sepia-toned photographs that they wanted to shake things up a bit? And was some mum so thrilled when her child/children posed with her that she decided to dare other mums?

I was recently tagged in another challenge, one that hasn't made too many rounds yet. Something about posting pictures with your partner for 7 days in a row. Not 8 or 9, only 7. No idea why. Caught off guard, I decided to unfollow the person who tagged me on this post--not a very close friend obviously. I feel stupid about doing that now. No, I don't mean that I want to post the pictures but I wish I had written to her declining her challenge instead of being annoyed and deleting her as a contact.

I dare someone who's tagged in either the B&W or the motherhood 'challenge' to turn it down. Not to ignore it, but to say "No, I don't want to be a part of this challenge because I don't understand how it's a challenge" instead of blindly following it, posting a picture and writing I accept but I'm not sure how it's a challenge. Someone needs to stop this madness. Soon. I wish it had been me.

Late aa yezhudinaalum na latest aa yezhuduven!

I finally watched Kabali three days after its release and for one-third the release date's price! Thankfully, that was only one of the things I was pleased about. (Big bucket of pop corn all to myself, was another.)

For a Rajni fan, this movie was unusual to say the least. While he was obviously central to the movie, he featured in it quietly, even in the first scene. His slow walk out of jail was a contrast to his usual half-run directly towards the audience when he makes his appearance. His catchy oft-repeated one-liners were dwindled down to one word. And when he spoke, it was brief. He was hardly highlighted in any of the dance sequences (for good reason), and did not--thankfully--have a young love.

Instead, he wore his clothes and wig with grace. He appeared pensive rather than jittery, and he showed some emotion--not quite that of the Rajni from the 70s but certainly not the one from even two years ago. (Yes, I am referring to Linga.) He didn't fly in the air and perform any gravity-defying stunts, he just did a couple of pull-ups. And no, I will believe until my dying day that he, and not a stunt double, did that.

What worked in the film was the background score, the music and the Super Star himself. What didn't, was the illogical and unbelievable sequences, the 'romba sumaar' (average) screenplay and the incredible amounts of violence that left me wondering what had changed since Baasha released in the 90s, where he also plays a gangster. That was violent too, but this took gore to another, completely unpleasant level.

Although there was no comedy track at all--a first for a recent Rajni film--the subtitles provided enough entertainment. In addition to translating words like 'avall' to 'My beautiful Mrs', they also explicitly told us whether his laugh was a 'tickled-pink laugh', 'confident laugh', 'arrogant laugh', self-assured laugh' or 'brave laugh'. Rajni fan or not, we could've figured it out.

For a fleeting moment, I had wondered if I should take my children and introduce them to the experience of watching a Rajni film in a theatre. To hear the crowd go crazy when the words SUPER STAR RAJNI flashed across the screen! To not be able to hear the dialogues for the first few minutes because the whistles were so loud! To watch people cry and throw things towards the screen! But I'm glad that I didn't because none of it happened the way I remembered it. Maybe because it was a weekday, or maybe because it wasn't the first day, or maybe because it wasn't Madras.

I'm glad I watched the film but I'm even more glad that I watched it alone. Just me and my memories of how it used to be.

Accepting brilliance for what it is

"If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two impostors just the same", wrote Rudyard Kipling. What better place to immortalise that than at Centre Court, Wimbledon. And what better player to deal with both than Roger Federer.

He almost met with triumph today. Almost, but who knows. My mind replays 40-0 at 5-6 in the 4th and it makes me believe that he would've won the tie break and the match. And it also tells me that he would've beaten Berdych or Murray simply because he was inspired. Because he knew that it might be his last shot at a Grand Slam title.

Age, injury and fatigue that let him be thus far have suddenly caught up. When was the last time that a trainer came onto the court for him twice? And when did he last fall? I felt the same last year too when he made the finals and eventually lost to Djokovic. I thought that was his last chance and that he wouldn't make it this far. I was wrong, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same again.

Younger, better, faster and stronger against brilliance. Does it stand a chance? Should I even wish that it stood a chance or should I just enjoy the brilliance as it happens? As it kicks the hell out of all the other things every so often, but only just? Should I enjoy it without hoping for more, without wondering what next year might bring or if there will even be a next year? That would be the real disaster, wouldn't it?

Triumph and disaster aren't exclusive to a select few. The impostors show their heads four times a year for sure, and many other weeks off and on too. I have to learn to treat them both just the same. Just like Roger.

Equal parenting equals a change in attitudes

In response to a post on The Ladies Finger

As a mother to two children who are well on their way to the eye-rolling tweens, a change in attitudes is what I wish for the most since my time to wish for a partner who would share with more parenting (at least the physical, rigorous demands) is out the window. Life experiences have made me understand how social conditioning leads many mums to believe that we are the primary caregivers for various reasons, physiological and cultural. We praise a father's active involvement when we needn't, we applaud a successful diaper change when we shouldn't, we speak of them proudly to our friends hoping to show up those whose partners aren't 'as involved'. And we are afraid to let go because what then, is our value?

Indian dads need to parent. That does not mean only being present on sports days and annual days or making clichéd statements at work, “I'll call you back, have to get the kids in bed”, and dropping an iPad onto the child's bed. Or taking selfies! I can list out a 100 things that a dad should do but the most important one can't be put on a list because it's innate. It's a feeling, a want, to be a parent. And a willingness to learn what that means as it's NOT a constant. Mums don't have parenting classes before the kids come along!

As India contemplates a six-month maternity leave instead of three, maybe we, as a society, should also contemplate how to change our own attitudes towards parenting. Both men and women.

the banyan

Published on The Wrong Review, March 2017

roots, roots everywhere
thin, thick, old, new
deep rooted to a fault
comforting, in a sense
but an unshakable identity
to everyone around

the same roots bind
strangle, compete
dry out, fall, break
rot and die
but an invisible choke hold
to everyone around

shade, conversations, secrets
people unburdening
happiness, sorrow
wants, needs
but a silent companion
to everyone around

oh, it was tired
its roots weighed it down
and the stories made it heavy
but it didn't know what to do
how could it stop?
what would they do?

should it break free?
but free from what, there was too much!
should it go deaf?
but deaf from whom, there were too many!

truth was that it loved to just be there
to comfort, to listen
save for the odd moments
when it all became too much

maybe it needed time
time to rest
to heal, to breathe
time to do what everyone did
with it, to it
time to let everything slip away
momentarily
just momentarily

before it would be back at it again
comforting, listening
doing the things that it loved
building roots, branching out
connecting new and old
people, stories
but being there
always there

World Culture Fiasco

I've written an objective piece on the same topic titled The Yamuna, a song, and a dance for India Water Portal. Be warned: The post below is more of a rant but with research, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. :) 

So take your pick on which one you read, but I urge you to read at least one of them. The situation revolving around the Yamuna and many other wetlands/floodplains in India is dire. It needs understanding before action. 

Maybe it should've been called World Culture Fiasco. That name somehow seems more apt given the way events have unfolded since news of the Art of Living Foundation's (AOL) mega event broke in December thanks to Manoj Misra, an environmental activist and convenor of Yamuna Jiye Abhiyan.

Enough has been written and shown about how the Foundation went about getting permissions, flouting guidelines and abusing their political (and spiritual) clout in order to make the event happen despite the National Green Tribunal fining it Rs. 5 crore—a sum that was supposed to be paid up before March 11, the first day of the event, but which is still pending.

I have to confess that my interest in the event came about only a few days after the event ended. An old friend was part of a German contingent at the World Culture Festival (WCF) and posted pictures on Facebook. She had praised most things about it including how well it was organised and how fantastic the arrangements were—contrary to what a participant from India had stated. True, it's one person's opinion. Call me cynical, but I'm fairly certain that this one wasn't the exception. But I digress.

“What are your thoughts on the environmental damage this has caused”, I asked and was met with a reply that was astounding in its simplicity. “Actually, it hasn't caused any damage as yet. People are speculating that the changes to the floodplains 'will' cause a problem in future. As a person who has witnessed the event in person rather than read it in the media, I believe the banks of the Yamuna will be left cleaner than found. The event has already drawn attention to how dirty the river was. Hopefully the cleaning will start soon.”

We traded a few comments back and forth on what construction on any floodplain could do, the resulting damage similar to what happened in Chennai last December (since we were both from Chennai, I felt compelled to put it in perspective), biodiversity and ecology of the region and so on. After a few exchanges, it became evident to me that these weren't issues that an average citizen—much less AOL followers—would be interested in engaging on. The constant refrain was that the AOL was an eco-friendly organisation with environmental consciousness built into everything it did, and that it wouldn't do anything to harm a river.

In fact, cleaning the river was a big part of the exchange we had—since 2010, AOL volunteers have cleaned the Yamuna itself with Sri Sri asserting that “we will turn it into a beautiful biodiversity park once we are finished with it.” I am not a water sector expert but one only has to read up recent news—and not even research papers or anything technical—to understand why cleaning is not the point of contention here. It is the extent of the damage to the floodplain, something which can't be estimated overnight because it is different from counting the kilos of trash removed from the river.

Newsflash! Remember the Chennai floods? Yes, those buildings on the marshlands in Chennai were permanent structures while the WCF-related structures were temporary, but a fair bit of tampering has been done on the ground to aid their construction. Now, a week after the event, volunteers are cleaning up, and that's supposed to assuage everyone's concern!

Maybe AOL followers—even those from around the world—feel unfairly criticised because it isn't uncommon in India to flout the law, get away with it, and repeat. This event being allowed is as much the fault of the various government authorities in Delhi as it is of the National Green Tribunal. The DDA granted permission as late as November 2015 because the Foundation had said that it would be difficult to cancel as too much had been planned already.

“Explaining why permission was granted for the festival, the official said, “In the past, DDA might not have given permission for events on the river bank but an exception was made in this case as it is an event for cultural emancipation and involves yoga and music. This event is spiritual in nature and permissions for such events are usually granted.” If that's not a poor precedent to set, the NGT judgement went ahead and did just that by saying that money can buy one anything including a 'get out of jail card for free' (or 5 crores in this case) when found guilty.

So yeah, there are a lot of people to blame but my biggest peeve with those supporting this event so staunchly is their blind belief in whatever the Foundation states as being done to 'save' the Yamuna. That, and statements that the Yamuna will finally get the attention it deserves so that it can be cleaned and restored to its original state. Environmentalists, activists, those whose lives depend on the river, and many more have been working tirelessly on this issue for years to no avail. The arrogance of the Foundation to think that a cultural event showing off its clout in all spheres will make the difference is staggering.

But who knows. Just like the wondrous rainbow that appeared on the first day of the event due to an act of God (and not due to the meteorological phenomenon that even first graders understand), maybe some intervention—divine or political—might actually make the Yamuna pristine once again, if only to save face.  

Not for another four years

I started writing a post about how dates aren't so important, milestones aren't that meaningful, and that it's not such a big deal that February has an extra day every four years. And I realised that the post ran to more than half a page! So much for it not being significant.

Deleted all the text but wrote this down just so I can mark an entry today.

Hah!

hmmmmmmmph

Was she sad? Or angry? Maybe it was a combination of both along with a good sprinkling of upset, thoughtful, analytical and so much more. Why did she feel so every time? Why did she get her hopes up? Why did she think that this time was it, this time he would pull through. Somehow.

The first two sets flew by but he somehow managed to squeak out the 3rd. Serving behind in the 4th, she knew that it wasn't going to be easy. And it went exactly how she thought. One break was all it took.

Truth be told, the far better player won. As a Federer fan, she found it very hard to even acknowledge that. When she first began to watch him, she always wondered at how amazing he was and how no one would ever be able to get to where he was. He was even more stylish than her childhood hero Sampras!

The truth hurt but one thing was for sure. Not many will come along who will play like him. That cracker of a serve down the T, the scintillating single-handed backhand down the line passing shot, that unforgettable forehand drive volley and those lucky-to-bounce even once drop shots, and that genial nature--memorable beyond memory.

The Djoker had the last laugh today. Well, he's been laughing for some time now and that annoyed her to no end. It seemed like a long time since their first meeting at a Grand Slam final and it took Fed all of 1.5 hours to finish him off. But today she had to admit that her dislike for him was only because he had routinely been taking Federer to school.

Someone asked her why he didn't retire and she wanted to scream and say, "Why should he when he's easily making the semis of a Grand Slam?" but she held back and said, "Maybe this year", while she thought, "Nah, there will be one more time."

Growing (up) pains - Part two

Protagonist: "Ma, I want a hair style like that guy."
Uncool mom: *stares at the pic of a guy with long weird hair* "Who is that?"
Protagonist: "He's in One Direction."
Uncool mom: *blinks stupidly* "What's his name?"
Protagonist: "Harry Styles"
Uncool mom: *thinks she's being funny* "Shouldn't it be Hairy Styles or Scary Styles?"
Protagonist:  "That's not funny, ma. He looks so cool! I want to grow my hair like that!"
Uncool mom: *horrified at what is going to come next* "What?!"
Protagonist: "Is there a way to write to them? I want to join their band!"
Uncool mom: *trying to appeal to his senses* "You know you can start your own band since you play the violin and others you know play the piano and drums?"
Protagonist: "Really? But I just want to join One Direction. Can I write to them now?"
Uncool mom: *not sure whether to laugh or pretend to be serious* "Sure, I'll check for their id."
Protagonist: runs off to the partner in crime saying "Guess what, I'm going to write to One Direction and join their band!", completely unfazed by the lukewarm response, "They're not going to take you."

As I recounted this story to a friend, she said that his joining will make them a better band for sure since they stunk at the moment. I thought "My God, it's his first band crush and it's One Direction! How horrible!", and then realised that's how my parents probably felt when I told them that I loved Wham and George Michael!

Yep, it all comes around...and how! I wrote Part one in 2011--another lifetime it seems like. Needless to say, my two cute whisperers have only grown up even more since.

Who said only tweens and teens felt growing pains!