Good deed

Something stimulated my humble mind to do a good deed today. The usual college crowd encompassed the tiny juice stall to imbibe refreshments. Adjacent to the stall, the bakers’ corner peered at us while I along with few other friends chatted over cold coffee and fresh lime. The street seemed to be partly occupied by two huge vans surrounded by few dozen, probably preparing for an endorsement shoot (from what we could see, there were young boys in ‘undies’ walking across the street). There was nothing much that we could truly admire about the shoot set up and therefore we switched topics. On their usual time, the begging toddlers came around to grab a couple of coins for some food. One of them jumped and fell at our feet, danced till we got irritated and handed over a penny to him. But he wouldn’t stop! He evidently wanted more. He danced and jumped till he tripped only to injure himself. There was slight irritation in his tone when he groaned. He sat next to the bakers’ to gulp air through his mouth. His body had finally succumbed to fatigue and exhaustion. One of my friends offered him a glass of lime juice. He drank, took tiny sips; but something about his face told me that wasn’t what he wanted at that moment. He was hungry, to be precise, famished with hunger.
The wound on his leg caught my eye. There was an awful mixture of semi-solid pus and blood oozing down his leg. His face grew frail with pain and he could no longer bear it.
“Is it paining bad?” I asked
“Yes”
“When did this happen?” I asked.
“Five days back” he moaned.
I poured water over his wound and asked him to wipe it with the cloth he was holding. But that wasn’t enough. He was badly bruised at several other areas on his leg, previously acquired on bumping into a bike. I rushed to the medical stores to purchase an antiseptic cream and handed it over to the boy.
“Keep it, don’t throw it away” I said. He nodded.
“You seem to be hungry”
“Since morning”
Without giving it much of a thought I brought a packet of biscuits for him. Some of the other girls seemed to have sympathized with him too, because when I returned, he had a small pack of cake in his hand.
“You turned lucky today” I said, giving him the packet.
“Thank you” he said, in the best possible way that he could.
“Anytime” I said with a smile.

Too 'weak' to give it a title....

I kept changing sides, eyes spitting fire each time I opened them. The pepper patch on my right hand was receiving continual shooting throbs, amplifying with every passing hour. The sensation glorified irritation in extreme levels and sleep became my biggest enemy. There was no chance that it could even intend to conquer my consciousness. The vicinity was dozing in ease and here I was, struggling to persuade sleep to walk into my arms…
As much as I have virtually experienced the painful journey of a rock climber in accomplishing his dreams, I have in reality an equally painful experience with health. My quest for attaining a healthy lifestyle seems to be an impossible dream (optimism at its best LOL). Imagine warming up for elementary preparations to invade the highest possible peak of the nation! Exactly the feeling I get when I am asked to drink loads of water to flush out the toxins touring my body. It is envious to see my brother effortlessly gulping down thrice the same quantity. It is almost like yearning to play yanni's 'nostalgia' symphony without notes!

There can never be a proper inference to something as gibberish as this. Consider it a haphazard termination or the limited capability of an ailing personality to write better..

The unsaid goodbye

It feels so good to be back on the writing desk with a major writers block, knowing not what to write on the first place. Let me commence with a tiny yet a remarkable event that happened a little less than two weeks time. It was a proper summer evening and I was returning home from a five day camp, one of the best things ever to happen in seventeen years of my life. The eight wheeler made its first ‘see-off’ halt at CBD where a dear friend got down with a parting speech. Being her usual self, she passed some cheerful comments but also attached a note of apology if she had ever been mean to anyone. Like most of us, even she believed that this camp framed major ‘Kodak’ moments of her life. We roared the best possible farewell, thoroughly in favour of her thanksgiving. The best possible memories of the camp were right there in that bus with twenty nine other people parting in unison.
It was my turn to say goodbye, but before I could prepare myself for a parting speech, the bus halted at my destination. Home was yet miles away for others and they were busy laughing over queer confessions. It dawned upon me that there was hardly any time to thank, not just everyone, but even those with whom I had bonded oh so well! The bus gave a big jerk with which I was left with just once choice, convey all that I had to in just one single word ‘GOODBYE’, and I did just that. Despite the greatest possible strain on my voice-box, it was a silent farewell, an unsaid goodbye. However, I was granted the same warmth and joy that my friend had previously taken home. Nothing could stop me from smiling that entire night. With numerous smiles and songs that aided us through struggle and sorrow, I now have with me an integrated cry of farewell that stands above all those happy moments I shared with everyone. Above all stands the power of words, no matter how meagre or few, they have a generous impact if spoken straight from the heart.

Frustration at its peak

One of the things I am sure people would love to abolish forever from their lives; an irrevocable phase of prolonged frustration doing the rounds till it naturally wears off. But the tale doesn’t end there. The core of frustration could be anything, lack of jobs, excessive workload, study pressure, family problems, and social conflicts to name a few. One of the most severely doped cases of frustration is the torrential threat of unemployment, basically referring to no proper commitment to external work. A recessional phase as such where people are being royally kicked out of jobs is a sad sight in this era. Possible reasons could be boredom, an ingenious seductress tempting multitudes of unemployed candidates with inundated time and leisure. The most unfortunate consequence of boredom is that it sticks to us, initially as an unwanted guest and later, becomes an addiction. People smitten by lack of work find it extremely tedious to come out of it, partly finding safety in its shell. The secondary symptom of frustration is desperation which is purely psychological, reason being a frustrated soul is bereft of taking proper actions to eradicate his problems, let alone finding alternatives to keep the mind occupied. Free hours often stimulates the ‘devil’s workshop’ to rotate the wheels of pessimism at full force. This is what makes us think that nothing can be done in life; at least till we find something that captivates our interests.

The power of sacrifice

Some of the greatest classics ever to be portrayed on the silver screen moved me to tears yesterday. I do believe that words have a penetrating impact on people who are vulnerable to sentiments but, to get carried away by something you have known for years is a rare sight. Passion of the Christ had a language of its own, the language of sacrifice. Although major portions of the movie highlighted blazing torture and blind faith, there were soft, reverberating words filled with love and selflessness toward mankind. Jesus of Nazareth was tarnished with guile accusations of breaking temple laws for which he was expected to pay the price of mortality. Therefore Jesus, ‘The lamb of God’ wholeheartedly accepted His commands and embraced death as a gift of Paradise. He was no philosopher or priest of a higher order, but the benevolent son of God who resisted every element of sabotage to spread His loving message. Every bit of bread served at the last supper was a part of his preaching to his followers, the humble yet scintillating power of sacrifice. Every ounce of blood squeezed out of his battered flesh integrated to form a river of forfeit and tolerance. He was crucified in incarcerating darkness, only to be resurrected in enlightenment.
The milking tenderness of self sacrifice indeed breaks worldly barriers and limitations, opening several windows to a season of pure heartedness and peace. It is one of those qualities that tangibly defines humaneness in itself or, the epitome of humanity that rules all other qualities that escort us to Him. It is believed that a person, who procures the quality of being selfless throughout his life, finally finds his place in serenity intervened by fleeting activities of mankind.

The Jewel of faith and hope

Wish I could call this a fictitious miracle, until it chose to show up in real life, that too in front of my eyes!

Having retrieved my knowledge of Christ’s resurrection at Mt Mary’s church, I walked past the pathway leading to the main entrance of the Holy abode to get to the other side. I climbed the spiral stairs of an open church that escorted me to a bigger version of the Crucified saint. A wave of remorse swept through my mind when I realized that I had offered all my candles to the main cathedral where one is bereaved of lighting any within the church premises. I quietly put forth silent prayers and rushed downstairs to join my friends at the end of the lane. A partly molten candle grabbed my attention for few peaceful moments, the meager time period that allowed me to take up a very sincere yet precious decision. I finally had a chance to light a candle as per my wishes.
I lit the candle at one end of the open church. I was tad unsure of its consistency for the wind blowing northwards had a violent rush that could easily defeat the tiny source of light. I cupped the flame with my palms to ensure that it keeps burning. The candle constantly kept me on my toes with its flickering and fluctuating flame. The wind grew strong all of a sudden, blinding my vision completely with cluster of dust particles encircling, rising above the ground. I was amazed at my own determination of protecting the candle from the powerful gush of air; this was one of the moments when I could feel the presence of continual faith and hope. I found myself profoundly concentrating on two things that mattered to me the most at the moment; the flame and the crucifix that I felt deserved such humble offering. To my own surprise, the candle continued to burn with brief periods of weakness and alternate spurting of tall thick aglow. I stayed there for what seemed to be really long in accordance to my watch; all focus diverted from the flame to reality. At the spur of moment, I was barely aware of the fact that all this time I was guarding the candle from the destructive winds. Eventually, one hasty move from the candle diminished all the faith and hope embedded within the flame. Ultimately, the gleaming epicenter of light lost power to natures roar.

Freshmen foes

At one corner of a family restaurant, my dear friend was shredding the eatery bill; not wholly, just the edges.
‘This damn thing should be in pieces by this time!’ her frustration was clearly evident on her face when she said that. I told her to proceed with her current activity without spoiling her surroundings but she wouldn’t listen. In a way, it was tough for her to imbibe anything because she was tormented by the kind of work she is now forced to do, for the next two months. I can hardly forget her excitement when she told me about the workplace.
‘It’s a huge posh glass building with a sophisticatedly dressed watchman at its guard. Plush furniture, classy sofas and peaceful work atmosphere; everything adds to that place! I am in love with my work already!’ she said.
‘But you haven’t even started with your job. Looks like that place has boosted your confidence to accept your work as they give you’ I added. It was good to see her in such cheerful spirits after several days of undue pressure due to a mandatory job quest. Little did I know that I would receive a call from her on the very first day saying ‘My job stinks’!
A freshman’s life takes you to the peak of rippling anguish at the time when gathering work experience is extremely crucial. For somebody who hits the bulls-eye on the first few attempts is considered the luckiest in contrary to those yet struggling in the quest. An employed fresher has a typical outcome toward his job. To begin with, if anything touches the delicate chords of self-esteem and ego, it stimulates the lava of frustration to spurt in disdain. We youngsters are so accustomed to being pampered back home that any kind of authoritative imposition bereaves us of a positive outlook or optimism of any sort. Boredom royally seeps in, uninvited and finds company in an already demotivated soul, one of the predictable symptoms of a fresher surrounded with nothing but work and little or no friends at the workplace. Ultimately, with all the loneliness and annoyance creeping in, the fresher is left with no choice but to accept that life is not all kudos as it seems from the surface.
I don’t know what is in store for me in the near future but I can already see myself slogging like a pig in the next few months. It is then you will find me at the corner of a family restaurant shredding paper...

Evil Influences-Part II

You and I are witnesses to the dark pits swallowing humaneness from our souls. Most of us are even deliberate victims of intoxicating drugs and booze, leading showmen of black markets and masterminds in milking money out of illegal businesses. If none of the above has managed to influence you, then a part of your past life is certainly playing the cards of mounting frustration, anger or disdain. People who don’t belong to the categories mentioned above are passive scapegoats of untimely displaced aggression. What stimulates evil minds at work is yet a mystery left unsolved. Several homes are mutilated of their bearers and strangled to death without a trace of their reminiscent. Cases of rape, robbery and ransom are amplifying at an alarming rate. Ordinary working class men are left shattered with dispair, wallowed in the darkest possible feelings of inutility and distress . The world is no longer a safe place to live now. ‘Revenge’ has finally seeped through intellectual thinkers to make way for uncanny greed, fleeting desires and sadism. Such is the expansive nature of evil whose vicious elements have poisoned every aspect of nobility in men.
I have a tale to share with you. A newly wedded girl comes home to a skillful doll maker, a dutiful and ambitious mother-in-law. The daughter-in-law is caressed and tended like a blooming delicate flower, providing her with abundant leisure and comfort. She becomes an obsession for the doll maker and a subject to the old woman’s only passion in life-carving dolls out of wood. The girl fails to understand the reason behind her eerie possessiveness and suffers in silence for doing all that is not expected out of her- cooking, cleaning or working at home. She is a living doll with no expectations or life of her own. She tries to discuss it out with her husband but he turns a deaf ear to them. One fine day, she decides to put an end to all her issues and weeps for vengeance. The girl from hell arrives at her doorstep and invokes vengeful motives wrapped in a red string. The string of vengeance, once untied brings about fateful consequences for the person you choose to punish in return to your sufferance. The girl is left with no choice but to get into a contract with the hell girl which says, if you pull the string you will have to give your soul in return. After your death, your soul shall be taken to hell…
The girl seeks her revenge and the old woman is escorted to hell. What turns out in the end is even worse than expected. The girl’s husband turns out to be an exact replica of his mother, clearly intending to make a perfect doll out of the young lady who has suffered so far and is destined to suffer still. And after all this, the young bride is yet to pay her debts off to the hell girl by delivering her soul to the demons below…

"When a person is cursed, two graves are dug..."

(courtesy: Jigoku Shoujo-Animax)

Evil influences-Part I

Disclaimer: The inputs of the content given below is inspired from the book 'The unseen world of angels and demons.' May I add that the content means no offence on religious basis and contributes little for its implementation of any kind. The subject is purely a reading matter and should be considered nothing else but the same.

For many long years, our ancestors struggled to unveil the mystery of life put forth by the Supreme power. It called for a surpassed era of profound research on religious grounds and evoked religious beliefs encoded within the history of mankind. It was only in the recent years that Basilea Schlink, one of the ancient philosophers of the kind, inferred upon the very purpose of human existence and the cause of perpetuating battles of morality. ‘The unseen world of angels and demons’ grabbed my gaze for its fortifying concept and the enraged letters that threw fire in every sentence against the evil. It rightfully justifies the genuineness behind the good against the deceitful intentions of the treacherous. With the growing devilish influence in many million minds, we can now believe that the world thrives in semi darkness.
It is believed that the court of God makes way for thorough goodness and purity. Angels who serve God serve humanity for human beings are considered to be a superior creation of the Revered one and an immediate imitation of God himself. One of the first angels to be created in his court was Lucifer, a bright, angelic prince, also known as the ‘light-bearer’ in paradise. He was the epitome of might, honourably bejeweled with every precious stone that one can manage to retrieve. He had only one flaw that shattered all expectations of divinity and glory, the hunger to rule over heaven. Albeit being aptly punished for his wrongdoings, Lucifer roasted through negative emotions and spewed his anguish upon the inhabitants of planet Earth. The fallen angels who fell for his tyrannical motives were from that day onwards named ‘demons’ and the ruler ‘Satan’.
The book further plunges through the redness of guile and sinful practices that are making us hollow and bereft of true humaneness. The author claims that the blanket of crime surrounding us is nothing but scheming motives of the devil. It dives through the concept with varying instances of the present day world. How far you can go on to believe this is only a matter of choice, although it makes us think and rethink about the mysteries of life and the many victims of cruelty and deceit.

One life to love...

Disclaimer: Teen pregnancy is a highly sensitive issue hoarding a major bulk of social issues within. The content bears no intention of offence or of spreading obscene snippets through worldwide web; hope I have done justice, enough to prove my point.

While medieval issues of mankind, particularly the stringent superstitious practices of our ancestors have long gone occupied dog eared books, some of the real life events can be correlated with those terrifying episodes. Most of these occurrences can be termed as mere alterations of the past while some of them are tragedies straight out of historical references. Amongst the poignant practices of sati and child marriages (still evident in rural and urban India), the civilized society makes way for intricate problems such as premarital intercourse and teen pregnancy. Unfortunately, even the power-driven forces within the globally recognized NGOs are having a tough fight in this struggle.
Two years back, the reel world projected one of the most controversial movies which was, I must say a bold initiative towards highlighting such crucial affairs. Sixteen year old Juno becomes the spice of school gossips owing to her pregnancy. When abortion becomes a discarded option, she chooses to give the unborn for an adoption. What really amazes me is not the attitudes of people towards her pregnancy, but the calm ambiance that circumvents the motion picture throughout. The atmosphere at the girl’s house is not very tense and the girl’s parents are in for all her decisions. The entire issue fades away like a whiff of unwanted odour in the end, leaving behind a slightly tranquil impression on the concept.
This is how people are abroad, we are taught back home. In India, such issues are analyzed on the basis of the society we live in. Such concern on a broader basis in order to preserve respectability and self-esteem often makes way for insecurities and undue fears. Albeit only off-late, the modern sections of the society are well tutored about such problems, there is always a difference in opinion. For instance, teenage pregnancy, although disapproved of, can gather social support as well as disdainful comments from the same section of the society. On the other hand, a huge chunk of rural India still remains under the shadow of sheer ignorance and illiteracy. The stigma of blind faith that holds this section of the society is a backlash to the overall progress of our nation.
In the North Western regions, young teenagers are forced into relationships that they are not ready to handle. Practices of child marriage are very common and rampant as it calls for festive occasions and blessings. As a result, many young brides are subjected to early pregnancy consequently inviting a series of health hazards. Girls are barely exposed to youthfulness when they are bounded by responsibilities of the household and coping with pregnancy, not to forget the fateful events that follow the untimely death of a husband leaving her no room in the society. The economic and social desperation harnessed by the supposedly inferior members of the society, costs teeming young lives and mortality of the unborn.
The ironical background of this issue ultimately calls for one thing- no matter how you take it, exposure to such delicate matters need to be emphasized on the basis of the right time, maturity and the individuals will of acceptance. To conclude with, we do not need another thirteen year old with his arms filled with a diminishing future and an added responsibility to live with the rest of his life.

Yet another thought...

It hardly matters on which day of the week you choose to walk down the moderately filthy streets of Pink Corner to eavesdrop in budding gossips or informative conversations. Every evening you will find chain smokers and occasional drinkers coining their grief and happiness in effervescence. These are undeniably top notch executives or well-to do undergrads grinding cashew nuts and work pressure with utmost pleasure. While most of us tend to become passive smokers thanks to the continual transmission of soot, it helps us to get acquainted with first hand information (not the front page headlines of a major newspaper) of any workplace in particular. Most of the time, their topics are confined to jobs and job-related issues, otherwise, discussing gizmo's and entertainment and back to business. This is because working class heroes have hardly any space left for other thoughts; they can hardly afford to live multiple lives. Competition is sucking out soulful lives yearning for a slice of success, intoxicating many ambitious minds. As a result, money and money alone invades and rules the thinking factory, closing all doors of peace and happiness.
Look down from your window and you are sure to find the youth dominating your streets, either rushing for classes or suffering under the hammering heat on a quest for jobs. From a distance, they all look like ants marching to and fro your locality. Walk down the stairs and try being a part of them; their eyes reflect events waiting to confide themselves, elevating spirits swaying in merriment contradicting famished hopes withering in unpleasant memories. Each of them is taught to think big, materialize their visions and slog to procure a PhD in survival tactics. Naturally the youth is fenced with added responsibilities blinded by the colours of educational perks and prosperity. The aftermath of seeping through premature exposure to the world of diverse work culture and milking money is irreparable. The undying thirst of earning easy money fades away with time when consequently boredom creeps through hollowness and monotony. The lucky ones who employ themselves at the right time barely have a choice but to thoroughly imbibe their jobs and inject the resourceful nuances of work through their veins.
The very concept functions like a melting ice-cream; lick it before meltdown, eat it before the flavor fades and devour it whilst it bears unique essence and mellow. The world thrives on changing spheres and trends, gradually increasing rapidity and pace, making survival an uphill mission to accomplish. Echoing the words of an underground musician, that day is not very far when fellow humans will be left quarantined of all providence's of Mother nature, only to die in nestling hunger for more…

Realm of terror...

The recent rulers of the Swat valley unleashed yet another one of their visual recordings, disclosing their latest radio announcement. ‘India is next on the hit list’ said Maulana Fazalullah, leader of the Islamist militant who runs an infamous group under the ‘Shariat’ banner. The Talibs whose regime dates back to December 2008 have a steady control over the Swat operations in the valley, the supposedly ‘Switzerland of Pakistan’. The inhabitants of the admirable former princely state are now mere guinea pigs wriggling for a democratic life amidst continual attempts of the Pakistani Government to strike peaceful negotiations with the Talibs. The imposition of Islamic rule on the valley calls for a new set of implicated norms and stringent rules. People residing in the north- west region, especially women are already suffering from the undue restrictions imposed by the Sharia law. Thousands of girls have lost their right to educate themselves, let alone a better future for the desolated counterpart. This alone implies to forlorn right to liberty and fraternity. The Islamic law has constricted the economic progress to traditional Islamic activities on the other hand, precariously put a stop to DVD/VCD sales, usage of mobile phones, listening to music and public executions.
Many months of bloodshed and warfare have compelled one-third of the valley population to flee for their lives. Taliban and Al-Qaeda stand out to be clear winners in this lopsided battle where the Pakistani Government is making desperate measures to shun terrorism. If not for the formers abolishment, let us pray for all those innocent civilians suffering in the dark over the years.

The Grimm tales-king of fantasies!

With the Potter mania racing up the entertainment bulletins, fantasies have once again surfaced brilliantly raking oodles of fame and credit. The glamorous film world, as big as it gets has umpteen laurels attached to it thanks to the parallel universe of miracles studded with magnificent castles and majestic beasts. For this, we must offer a vote of thanks to the Grimm Brothers who created a whole new world of queer magical events, a base for the glorifying progress in every possible field of entertainment that would have been least possible without such marveling thoughts.

Ever thought of getting nostalgic with bedtime stories? How about walking through the miraculous woods where trees glide along your path, giant geese swoop down to drink water possessing magical powers to turn them back to four legged creatures of our creation, ancient rock designed to form enormous castles gravely embedded with creepy greens…? If that is what you grab for light reading, then brace yourself with many more Grimm’s tales of the fairyland, this time, stories that you have only heard of. Don’t be surprised if you are slightly gripped with curiosity and hunger to know more about the tale even after it ends, that is how Grimm brothers chose to curtain the climax. After having journeyed through the paradisaical territories of Royal Kings and gorgeous looking Queens, charming princes and distressed yet breathtakingly beautiful princesses, there is more to it before you can call it ‘stupidity’ and shut the book with that statement. The Grimm brothers depict the good taking over evil with god-like fairies battling with ugly looking witches. In the end, after a horrifying phase in the lives of good men, every living being is destined to live happily ever after…

If you are too tired to churn the wheels of your imagination, then the Brothers Grimm is an easy access to their stupendous ideas. The movie has a unique way of depicting miracles, clubbing tragedy and comedy with ‘Grimm’ plots. It is an interesting summation of almost all the fairy tales with every possible element of evil associated with it. The theme revolves around the Grimm brothers, fooling people with their tricks, little aware of the fact that they were only inviting social and political complications. The fictional fantasizing world of Jacob Grimm comes true and the siblings find themselves being carried past a jungle of haunting episodes, all the way to the sky scraping tower in which an arrogant princess sleeps her way through beauty and obsession of power. She uses fleeting strategies of the swallowing horse, the gingerbread man and the forest dwellers (i.e. birds and animals) to ransom a pretty looking girl in red, Gretha –a sister to Hansel; eleven such girls for a seasoning of their youth to nourish her parched physique with warm blood and glowing skin. The princess with her seductive instincts captivates men who come along her path to make them her slaves. Her pride that lied in the reflection of her own image (i.e. the mirror) is ruthlessly shattered to bring to an end her tyrannical motives. The movie of course ends on a happy note, the usual one of the Grimm’s with an ironical uncertainty: and they all lived happily ever after…maybe not!

I don’t mind people calling them children’s bedtime stories; they have deeper messages in between the lines. For example, the ravenous beasts serving the devilish enchantresses and witches depicts their evil mindedness and no matter how beautiful she is, her attire always reflects her wrongdoings, that every tale ends on a happy note is an assurance that it is good that prevails in the end etc. To me it is all of this that yet captivates my interests in fantasies. Now I would like you to tell me what interests you in fantasies and if it does, why and how…It’s high time I put my readers to work!

Just an emotional outburst...Part 1

Honestly if there is any room for global welfare, a tell-tale for fellow humans, it is just the way we have moulded it to be. We are so boisterously absorbed in our interpersonal dealings that nothing apart from an ideally normal life seems to have amused us. The holistic protests and outbursts, military bombardments and mass mortification are no big deal, just a part of life in this seemingly vast biological world. We seem to have busied ourselves into setting up fences around us, an illusive wired entourage shielding against such perilous events. Generation today believes in practicality and rational thinking, for it is equally important to live a commendable life. Look at the world around us, a mass victim of global recession, a scapegoat of constant man-made sabotage and a mere puppet dancing in the hands of fellow nations teaming up to make a peaceful planet Earth. The melody of harmonious and peaceful foundations that some of our ancient leaders have laid is undergoing a disdainful transformation. Soaring sea levels have inflation as one of the most loyal companions , which has only recently tumbled down in recent times. However, there has been a despairing slow down of global economic progress, that scarcely justifies hiking retail prices of goods and services.Why should vendors continue selling tomatoes for twenty bucks? Speaking of retail prices, why is it that dropping recession rates have little affected vegetable and oil prices?

Flamenco

On the busy streets of Malaga, a young Spaniard is found strutting round the fisherman’s corner to go about his business. He looks around and establishes himself next to a raised platform and begins with the strumming on his guitar. Very soon, he’s found to be encompassed with doubling tourists and localiites who stop by his side on the onset of a foot-tapping rhythm. The cheerful artist breaks into a traditional number and encourages people around him to join in with beats and claps. The crowd cheers on the appearance of an eccentric dancer dressed in blood red with frills coiled round her lower body. She wins many a heart by her intricate footwork and graceful movements. The young musician strums with great enthusiasm and adds flavours of other traditional styles to enhance the joyous ambiance. The dancer eloquently adapts to his changing styles and entertains the audience with her versatility. Her performance is effortless and adds to the celebratory moods of the evening.
The Espanol culture, widely known for its richness and savory, is all about bull-fights, the Tomatita festivities, wearisome paella preparations and jigging the flamenco way. On special occasions, people overtly participate in carnivals, play with red juicy tomatoes, shove mounds of vegetables, chicken and marisco’s (shellfish) on their platter and groove to the catchy rhythms of traditional Spanish music. The Flamenco is an art form originally belonging to the gypsies’ era in the 1500s that dominates Spanish lifestyle and culture. Undoubtedly a rich source of entertainment, it is packed with emotions, feelings and deeper social messages. It is sure to leave you intrigued with the complex sequencing of the guitar chords, a hint of drama and hysterics to the style of singing and the streaming delicacy in the actions of a dancer. Flamenco takes you through ruffling layers of thoughts and expressions with its impalpable spontaneity and variance.
Originally believed to be born in Andalucía, the indigenous song-dance form is a part of everyday life of the inhabitants. To them, flamenco is a spice of passion, ground with a hint of romance and pulped with stories of bravery and courage. The mountains and the rivers, the haunting past beneath the tropical paradise have each a story to tell which is materialized with women draped in colourful shawls and polka dots, castanets and a hand on the acoustic guitar. Apart from being known for its gypsy tradition, the culture of flamenco belongs to the Arabs, the Jews and also the Andalucians. The palo or the style of music is branched into melodic, rhythmic and harmonic structures, all of which are basic elements in every form of flamenco. The instrumentation in terms of tempo and pace has undergone revolutionary changes over the last few decades. Percussion instruments like the cajon (box-drum), bongo and the tinaja have added new elements to flamenco. Today, the acoustic guitar is accompanied by a series of foreign instruments to bring out new combinations in beat and melody.
The striking similarity in the flamenco and Indian music is hardly an element of surprise owing to its vast historical events; the records date back to the emigration of Indians to the west, the gypsy settlements from the European nations and the increasing Persian influence back home resulting in the inter-mingling of cultures amidst foreign invasion. The Persian culture carried a wealth of diverse musical inputs and scattered out bejeweled ornaments of regional melodies. Today, irrespective of the ‘Indalucian’ blend as a consequence of the past, maestros worldwide have adapted to fusion forms of music for the best possible results. Popular forms include flamenco bondage with South Indian music, flamenco feat Indian tabla and blends of Indian ragas with flamenco to name a few.
A more or less seductive invention of the Spanish, the authenticity of flamenco still remains to be an argumentative issue. Otherwise known as the tell-tale tragedies of the gypsies, the flamenco in its concocted form is far more popular than the original. Albeit infamous for its erotic essence, it is a benignant practice of rejoice, a reason for sentiments to captivate and inundate every Spanish mind.

Sufism

Sufism is a mystical practice that guides a pathway to actualization of truth and single-minded focus towards the Supreme One. It cultures the inner mind and soul towards selflessness and adorns it with love, purity and Divinity. It is the heart of all religions that nourishes the inner self with utmost peace and spiritual well being. The ‘tariquat’ or the spiritual path carving the nuances of Sufism leaves an enthralling effect on the pilgrims of serenity. It has its roots in the Quran of the Islamic sect and refers to profoundness of truth and its importance.
It is hard to explain the existence of Sufism without the elements of music and the sand dunes that bear its origin. Sufi music has survived through the scorching suns of Africa and the mountains of Pakistan and Iran, sailing through the Atlantic waters to spread its influence in Egypt, Palestine, Uzbekistan and India to name a few. Its widespread popularity in the Middle-East and South-East Asian countries is inevitable owing to the philosophical roots and melodious compositions. The Islamic Sufis believe that the divine practice is a means to detach one’s soul from the physical self. This can be achieved by dissolving the physical realm into an ocean of spiritual oneness. The Sufi evokes to the soul’s consciousness and transcends to a state of trance, whirling and singing in ecstasy. The trance enables complete renunciation from worldly attachments and establishes a powerful connection of the soul with God, an achievement which is rare of its kind.
The very concept of Sufism lies in sounds that enhance spirituality and music that promotes sanctity. The Dhikr is considered to be the most integral component of the rituals of Sufi music. It involves meditation to concentrate all the divine energy to reverence. ‘Mawlid Annabawi’ confines to praising the prophets who serve people as messengers of God and his teachings. The rhythmic and instrumental practices of Dhikr depict variance as per the region of practice. The ‘Nay’, an instrument used in South-East Asian nations of Pakistan, Iran and Uzbekistan is a channel through the hollowness and purity of human mind to congregate the celestial powers of God. The reed flute, as the concept demands, is indeed hollow and resonating. Another instrument often used by Sufis, called the ‘Bendir’ or the frame drum in the West especially in Morocco is a symbol of repetition that materializes into a trance. It also represents pulsating rhythms of life at different stages or in philosophical terms, the cool calm layers of water bodies beneath the lashing surfaces of deep blue seas on the onset of torrential rains, tornados and rippling quakes. Later, more instruments like the santoor, sitar and tar, derived from Persian music added flavours to Sufi.
The dervishes (or practice of Sufi music) is said to have intangible healing powers. In Morocco, it is practiced for improving physical and mental health. The therapeutic purposes are served through the concept of ‘medicating the mind’ which is conveyed through various therapies. The Sufi brotherhoods implemented other uses of such mystical practices- protection from mental illnesses, scorpion stings and haunting spirits. They have diverse ways of depicting their musical practices with complex rhythmic and melodious modes. The contemporary widespread of Sufism is through its blend with other forms of music, which are more or less the most popular methods of promoting it. The ancient carriers of Sufism philosophy such as Rumi still prevail in derived modern forms.
The flourishing culture of Sufism is believed to be as a result of the explicit teachings of Prophet Muhammad and poetic messages designed by renowned philosophers such as Rumi and Al-Ghazali. Well-acclaimed for its diversity and uniqueness, the core message of Sufism remains the same: spreading love, peace, harmony and beauty through complete freedom of one’s soul from his body.

Sounds of music

Music is a gifted fruit of life-a divine multitude of delicacy richness and mellow coupled with benign sweetness. It is a world of sounds, modulated to seep through the soul and evoke a fountain of emotions to dance in merriment. In other words, it is a uniform stream of thoughts that amplifies our emotions and reiterates in resonance. Music is a journey through varied perceptions, tended and caressed with melodious inputs. Indeed an experience to cherish, music speaks the language of love, beauty, enigma, passion, harmony and peace as opposed to fear, jealousy, anger and grief. It communicates through the clinging of vessels and cutlery, honking horns and racing vehicles, running taps and splashing puddles. It flows through pearly white rivers and glittering oceans lashing out to enormous boulders. It lies in the strength of a new born who cries on its entry into the living world. It thrives within the physical self, a reason for continuance of life through the beating of the heart and a channelized flow of air through the lungs. It is a call of the first showers of rain, sobs of grief, tears of happiness and a medium of expression. It ends the day with hushed prayers and lullabies to make way for a blissful nights’ sleep and wakes up at the crack of dawn with a new commencement, a fresh series of melodious compositions to look up to.

Direful Destination

A gloomy paradise is blessed with inundated showers of bliss. The soft chattering gets aggravated to thick sheets and lashes out in rage, only to sabotage the glorious and timely inventions of the revered one. Enormous boughs and rattling branches slowly descend and shatter the pride of widened barks with violent dancing and swaying. The day succumbs to a thick blanket that leaps to encompass the atmosphere with swallowing darkness. The night feasts with great exuberance on triggered fright and frail of many a beast thriving on the delights of daytime. It is a cursed boon of which a young teenager becomes an unfortunate part, tripping and trotting her way back to the local city bus on a highway.
The girl is lost for sure and pays no heed to her grizzled hair and heavily dampened jacket. Her eyes are absorbed in self-sympathy and eagerness to seek shelter, now that she is nowhere close to a network of fellow humans. She maps her journey with every possible way that could lead her to a small town or an octroi. After covering a considerable distance from a spot of nothingness, she is back to where she came from- dense greens and lifelike trees staring back at a pair of perturbed eyes.
Albeit grappled with fear, the girl manages to spot a cave to the left of an old trunk. The cave is huge and appears gravely ominous. The girl rushes to the cave and walks further into it. Her quest for light and warmth is seized by a tug on her leg, a thick rope entangled on a horizontally placed wooden slab. She bends down to get a visible picture of the entwined rope and the wood only to discover a broken iron latch at one end of the slab. She unties the rope and pulls open the door that makes way for a flight of stairs descending downwards into pitch darkness. The girl tumbles into the doorway, although intimidated by her sudden discovery. Her curiosity however, compels her to follow her instincts, at the same time, allowing them to engrave her destiny.
Timelessness descends the wandering teenager to a place where stairs cease to exist. With every reluctant advance, a torch-light comes to life from either sides of an aisle. The aisle directs towards numerous doors sandwiched between a pair of torch-lights. The girl walks with greater pace and rapidity, intrigued by the series of ongoing events. On realizing the perpetual horizons of the aisle, she chooses to enter into one of the doorways, hoping to spend the night and kill time discovering creepy and unusual things. The door opens to a huge brown shelf full of thick leather bound books, ancient oak furniture and a webbed ceiling. She seats herself upon a comforting couch and fixes her gaze upon a pile of books weighing down a mystic brown table to her left. She picks one of them, a fairly thick black book to entertain herself through the night. The book opens to the following words…
‘… She is accompanied by an entourage of young boys and girls of her own age, chattering into the day with juicy gossip. The city bus comes to a halt and the teenagers jump out of the vehicle for some fresh air. The gang gets carried away with jittery talk and gradually drifts away from the highway to a nearby forest. The youngsters race amongst themselves only to be terminated by flashes of lightening followed by patter of raindrops. Almost every teenager manages to track down the city bus with the exception of a young girl who is left behind. She is trapped by the vicinity and is confined to dense greenery surrounding her from all sides. She walks deep into the forest and enters a huge cave for shelter. Very soon, she discovers a secret passage underground and walks into the doorway. She strides down the aisle and is benevolently guided by the torch-lights through the door that preserves a storehouse of leather bound books. She sits down and begins to read the story of her journey from the city bus to the mystified aisle. This book depicts her destiny and the place where her life will come to an end. She is soon to be devoured by four ravenous cannibals, eyeing her for a lavish feast comprising of succulent flesh and bones…’
The girl gives out a violent smirk to resist the adrenalin captivating her insides. She diverts her gaze from her book, to stare into a pair of jet black eyes coupled with rigidly cracked lips. The ferocious being seems to have replicated into three of his kind to leave the girl faltered with immense terror. They crouch towards her, craving for a rush of warm blood behind the pinkish epidermis and a bite into the flesh of the victim. They stare into the caricatures of the nerves that make up her terribly aghast face. Their propinquity swipes her ability to scream for help. There is little time left for her as the cannibals with their huge claws are almost ready to make her written fate into reality…

Dilli 6

The devouring darkness of the night is taken over by a speck of bright light, dominating the enormously squatted city of New Delhi. The light blankets, circumvents and bombards the already bustling streets of Chandni Chowk with delightful pomp and splendid celebratory ambience. On the gracious occasion of Ram Navmi, a stage is embellished with multicoloured props and numerous stage lights. Masked men are seen pondering over the huge dais with their torsos bejeweled with armaments, coloured clothing and bizarre strokes of paint. It is an auspicious event embraced with great generosity by all those who are a part of it. The soil of the venue suffers a great deal from the constant dancing of happy feet rushing to see the play. The sutradhar (narrator) is the first character to be witnessed by the peacefully seated audience. He amplifies the narration with a touch of cultural and social beliefs, leaving a deeper message of morality and righteousness behind. The channel of intense emotions leaves everyone intrigued of the sequential events to unfold. On the onset of an effectively melodramatic scene, Goddess Sita is stopped short of grieving over her fate by a promotional campaign of a political party. The representative of the party greets the audience and begins with a spluttering of strong Hindi diction. The end of days play is indicated with the successful publicity of the political party for the upcoming elections.
Delhi 6 is all of the above; a place of people who brace many more of their kind to live together harmoniously. Every hint of joy is momentously captured and preserved, only to be flushed by intimidation. As much as Mr Producer has promoted the typicality of chandni chowk, he has the root cause of cultural disparity put into action. The entry of kala Bandar shows the first sign of fear and triggered insecurity which alarmingly spreads through the common masses. The black figured criminal is only used as a means to surface ones possibly existing sense of fear. The supposedly haunting Kala Bandar controversy becomes the talk of the town, a reason to be alert and cautious and a fun filled gossip among the pickle and papad blenders (the female counterpart). The hero comes into picture amidst the controversy and unknowingly becomes a part of it. His sole purpose of coming ‘home’ is to fulfill his granny’s last wishes of ‘perishing on the Indian soil’. Chandni chowk fascinates the protagonist as much as any tourist would be on his first visit. Streets are jammed with posh four wheelers teaming with evergreen cycle-rickshaws, hawkers and vendors selling foodstuffs and pedestrians walking to and fro. There are showers of religious prayers adding a touch of integrity to the diversified nature of the place. Delhi 6 seems ever ready to welcome anybody who wishes to explore and experience.
Further, there is an episodic flow of daily events flavoured with melodious inputs. Rahman adapts to every situation and brings out the best of his technical abilities to blend with the colours of Delhi. He adds a touch of Sufism to portray the significance of Muslim dwellers and their religious passions. To add to his appreciative skills, he makes way for his musical scores to mingle with changing spheres of circumstances. Delhi 6 is a musical journey of romance, love, religious beliefs, traditional outputs and the sigma of the above four-Indianness. The heroine (Bitto) is shown to have a typical nature of a Local Delhi girl who is on the quest for a successful career. A very common phase which most of the female counterparts may have experienced is the scene where the girl is shown jumping out of her traditional to go western. Like every other innocent girl, she is fooled by a localiite who promises her an easy entry into the popular musical stage ‘Indian Idol’. She is bounded by traditional ties and family norms that permit little or no exposure to worldly issues. The protagonist shows her a ray of hope to fight all atrocities which is flopped in vanity by her own people. The conservative nature of Indian families is clearly evident in this phase.
There is not much of a romantic roller coaster highlighted, but the concept of romanticism is enveloped by religious boundaries and superstitious beliefs of the masses. There is no element of surprise when untouchability is shown to be a part of peoples daily practices. A woman belonging to that section of the society is deprived of following her own religion and is also detested with a strict degree of confinement. As opposed to peoples scornfulness, she chooses to stand by them to resolve an undying social conflict. Bitto's passion taken for a mountain of despicability is royally suppressed to preserve self- esteem and respectability in the society . In one of the scenes, her father is shown to bribe a family into ‘buying’ his daughter for a couple of silver ‘sikkas’ out of desperation. There is little sense of morality when situations are out of hands. Meanwhile, the Kala Bandar controversy continues to perturb many minds and evokes religious disputes amongst the inhabitants. The widely renowned Baba inculcates a feeling of disparity and secularity falls prey to caprice. There is a wide spread rumour of the pre-existence of a Hindu temple where a Mosque stands. Political rivals raise issues on religious insecurities and blame the opposition parties for it.The terror spreading through the deadly monkey man is precariously used as a weapon to contest elections. Hindus fight over Muslims for their right and Muslims are seen defending their culture. Climactically, there is an outbreak of a religious war which persists till the ‘Kala Bandar’ is finally witnessed. It is only after the Bandar is impulsively shot, that the masses realize the root cause of such pointless commotion. The movie ends with a social message which defines the true concept of the movie ‘Kala Bandar thrives in every heart that nourishes fear and suspicions; he is very much a part of our own existence…’
There may be strong reasons attached to the movies failure at the box office. To me, it is all that takes to make a sensible movie out of a meaningful concept.

Daddy Dearest!

I remember taking giant leaps to keep up with his pace; walking with him always meant trouble to my skinny legs. He would take me to a nearby sports club for some exercise which was always of primary importance to him. Being a kid, I had trouble focusing on his explanations; sports talk is something that demands tremendous amount of patience. At the end of a tiring session, he would playfully lift me up and jog back home to get me dressed for school. That’s daddy to me, a sports champ and a thorough athletic package. Apart from that, one of the greatest time freaks I have ever witnessed in seventeen years of meager life. (That’s because he’d get started for our 10 minute journey to the educational institution an hour before its commencement!)
Biology being his favourite subject, he’d enjoy giving sermons related to the subject even when least required. One of his biggest lectures was on the external structure of heart and its internal functioning (which dates back to 1998, when I was a confused fourth grader). His knowledge was finally put to use in a science project which apparently turned out to have a great impression on my teachers. Those were one of the few, rarest of occasions when I acknowledged his affection as a father. A staunch believer in educational qualifications, he inculcated principles of basic knowledge and its significance, yet we (i.e. my brother and I) were never confined to academics. I was always pampered to a degree greater to my elder brother, who unfortunately, was the innocent one amongst us. He took pride in our achievements in a very queer manner; a manner that stood completely invisible to us till the time we were made to realize of its existence.
There came a time when it clicked me of his introvert nature, gradually enfolding itself. Being an exact replica of him myself, I despised his ruggedness and conservative conduct. I rooted various reasons to burst out on him, yet, he guarded respect, never stormed out directly to prove his point and till date stands out to be extraordinarily consistent in preserving that quality. Today, I feel extremely remorseful, never having acknowledged of his pertinence, protectiveness or even his mere existence without which my presence would have been practically impossible.
If the above sketch is a dry imitation of his own self, then let me clarify that the potential emphasis lies in this particular phase of his character- duties and responsibilities, all of which comprises of his shoulders that have abundant strength to fulfill them and immense practicality to perform them rightfully. His love for his family is in every way, as ordinary as anybody else’s could be. Yet, he has the power of doing what people are fretful to consider as one of their responsibilities- the power to initiate duty for the sake of it, not as a means to achieve anything out of it. The only reason that saddens me of him is, of all that he did for his dear mother, he was left with little or no time to grieve for her. I couldn’t help but feel proud and sorrowful for a loss that affected him more than it did to anyone else. It was as If the stretcher carrying her was the entire world crashing down on his shoulders. He was broke, yet he fought his grief to accomplish final rituals, a traditional quintessence for the soul of the dead to depart in peace.
How much ever I write about him, words are still few. This is one of the little ways of appreciating his support and his love for us. WE LOVE YOU DAD!

A thought to remember...

The International Monetary Fund yesterday issued a warning that record oil prices will stunt the growth of global economy next year….

“Post graduation in management studies would mean minimal investment of ten lacs. Can we afford it in times of recession?”

The state government’s decision to end the stamp duty amnesty scheme on February 15 led to considerable confusion among flat owners who….

“Let us assume that I obtain a degree in Mech. Not considering campus interviews and job opportunities, is it practical enough to opt for an MBA after that?”

…threat to boycott SSC/HSC exams if the state government does not clear salary sheets. Fully-aided schools…

“Your cousin sister is excelling in academics and is due to receive an offer letter from TCS this year. Well, she’s a nine pointer after all…”

Rewind: few years back
“…and don’t forget to carry your Tiffin-box. The least I expect is that you starve all day unnecessarily.” There is a single slice of toast left on the plate, half emptied glass of milk and bits of bread scattered on the ‘bearer-of-all’, our loyal furniture (table i.e.). You are half choked with a sickening combination of omelette and few gulps of milk. Prepare yourself for a single- warrior combat and get set to play the hero who gets defeated in the end! Mommy dearest will ensure that you are showered with the deadliest of whacking and an elevated spirit to be welcomed at school. You are taught very well to walk up a miles distance without relying on anybody; your back is embellished with a two kilo bag lazily slumped over your shoulders and a pair of dragging feet. Pretty much to your advantage, you have a half hour’s time to flush out your frustration. Eating breakfast is such a waste of time! I am fed up of being stuffed with bread and milk every morning…That old school fellow..! He’s too full of himself; I will beat him in marbles today. Forget homework, I am yet to finish my class work. About the book that I am to submit today, I don’t remember keeping it in my bag….
Such events bear major importance within them, equivalent to a minister’s appointment with his fellow cabinet members, a celebrity interview with a news channel and a mid-life crisis. Every morning greets a play with a protagonist encompassed with petty jobs and too much load, the responsibility of fulfilling his/her parents expectations by religiously walking back and forth to school, completing homework assignments and attending to additional commitments that people often mistakenly address as ‘multi talent’. Amidst all the haunting tasks, the ‘star-kid’ speeds off to hit a couple of shots or pick up a ‘toy’ fight with neighbourhood tots. The joyride is not confined to concrete school grounds and brick red open spaces; there is constant chattering by the seas, getting defensive off the giant water bodies, munching on peanuts and feeding spicy red ‘pav bhaji’ gravy to already dirt smitten clothes. There are huge monuments and sky scrapers looking down upon the bearer of innocent eyes widened with wonder and excitement. Every moment of exhilaration is an outcome of- the right time to grab an ice cream, a race through wet streets washed away by the showers of first few drops of rain, a giant alien ‘toy’ loitering in the streets destroying thick ‘rubber snakes’ dug beneath the earth, our dear samosawala’s arrival and discount toy stalls set up at the neighbourhood grounds, to name a few. The carrier of such innocence and half knowledge is yet curious to know why, with a zillion things worthy of appreciation, is the world around him/her unhappy and tensed?
The protagonist is a toddler who appraises the gravity of any situation like we do, today as young adults or experienced elders. The innocent ‘five and something’ will grow up to evaluate every circumstance in a manner he/she is taught to, lest there should be a reason with enough pertinence for an exception. The basic difference lies in the changing degree of appraisal with passing time. In other words, what may have seemed to be challenging then is now a part of sweet memoirs of the past and is therefore, no longer a challenge. The innocence in procuring joy out of cute and cuddly events is swiped out with growing maturity. Once the burden of responsibilities is bestowed upon us gracefully by the older generation, we fail to gratify those moments which add up to our lives, our age and the individuality that develops over time; the little reasons that carved gradual smiles on our faces, the tearful ones and those that brought immense happiness even in times of grief.
As much as we wish to have those days of dashing bicycles and ‘galli’ cricket back in our lives, technically it is said to be an impossible dream. For all that God has left with us, let us live in harmony and spread happiness with this thought in mind: the privilege of living through childhood, the greatest of all gifts granted to mankind.

Random thoughts

Writing is the toughest job I have ever come across. If I consider every minute of my routine, I have a hundred jobs to perform on a daily basis. There are times when I feel like pouring out each passing moment on a piece of paper which is far from being possible.Sometimes I can feel my head throbbing, overburdened with random thoughts, trying its level best to channelize its priorities and ultimately, failing to do the same. It is only when I am walking down the street or preoccupied with important commitments of the day, I am struck with a turbulent flow of thoughts worth putting on paper; which is when I am stuffed with frustration with layers of disappointment piling up. After going through a series of emotionally vibrant episodes, I have drawn an inference: I write only when I feel I should and if it is good, it happens only once in a while. It has nothing to do with my emotions, my mood or psychological elation and tribulations. I am in a stage where I could bring out issues never intricately considered or thought of. Yet, I lack the ability to let the flow descend without obstruction. If you consider writing as a learning experience, you may jot down points for framing sentences in accordance with the topic chosen, the body construction and the impression one can make upon the reader by projecting a wacky introduction. In that sense, it is an uphill task to perform, an added responsibility for passionate readers and those who aspire to make it big as writers. The most peculiar aspect of being a part of this race is, you can always back out whenever you want to, but you will always have a mark of your own to remind you of your role as a writer. You will know your importance as one when you choose to opt out of it. Escaping or making giant leaps towards resignation from writing could be an easy option altogether, but one of the most difficult situations to deal with. If you are heavily doped with thoughts and have had experiences with ink and paper, then writing is certainly meant for you. If bad writing makes you feel low, remember one thing: writing is an art of playing with words, juggling them and putting them in the right places. It is synonymous to building a new outlook towards life. In the process, you are always learning something new from your own literary work. It is a skill acquired by few in this world of teeming millions, mastered by a handful. Bad period should never be mistaken for lost talent, it is something that develops and diminishes with passing time…