Brand New Post

I read an article today about foreigners in India and their feelings of safety, belonging and fear in their new not-so-safe home.

http://www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?264345

“We are in India for a different level of consciousness,” says Sunny from England, his long wavy hair blowing in the wind. “We keep thoughts and discussions of terrorists and such things out of our field.” Did he feel targeted as a foreigner? Sunny replied, “We foreigners have many hurdles to overcome in India. Bombs are the very least of those hurdles. The visa regulations that get stricter after every bombing—that’s a very real problem for us.” A robust German massage therapist, sipping his avocado lassi, intervened, “Anyway, death is only a transition to the next dimension. There truly is no cause for fear.”

Heartening and disheartening at once. As I prepare to be in India after a period of 2.5 years, a number of questions, exciting anticipations as well as fears are going through my mind. For all who have been displaced either by choice or necessity from their places of birth and upbringing, the meaning of 'home' has changed forever. In a way it is heartening to note that more people are viewing terrorism as just one more reason that needs to be reconciled with, in this new definition of home. However as an Indian, it is disheartening to note that such open spirits and accommodating hearts cannot be provided with a more peaceful place to call their own.

Emily Gould and her misadventures

Why is this painful sequel to A Streetcar Named Desire appearing on NYT cover? I used to think of New York Times as the last living speaker of a dying language - that of quality journalism. Now I feel unmoored, the way you can only feel in a democracy with not a single responsible newspaper. For subjecting a loyal reader to this torture, I expect a fully tendered apology from the editors, sans inverted bedroom pictures of themselves.

Woe is me, indeed.

Precious silence

In these strange pockets of silence
Little waves of the heart
Gently lap against my mind
To break the silence

A bleak light in the distance
Flickering, yet calm
Signals impending winds
That come to break the silence

Every wave whispers a wish
For the flickering light to stay still
Gently swirling at it's feet
Begging not to break the silence

Shall we settle for these sweet swishes?
They ask as they wistfully bounce off each other
A wisp of foam and a touch of sand
Cannot spoil their merry silence

Wave after wave come crossing at the streams
At first soothing, befriending
Soon without warning they rise above the tide
And then, is gone, my silence

The rush can barely stop
The light flickers in a mad hurry
As the waters from the deep ocean
Stay absorbed in their silence

These little waves need some help
To turn their fury into a soaring rhythm
A small memory of those soft dark nights
When they knew their sweet silence

A force from within
Must take the seething foam
And turn it into a gentler wavelet
Slower and milder in silence

And then perhaps one night
these new little waves will make
tiny playful leaps on twilight shores
With reassuring silence

And my mind will embrace
The little taps of the heart
Safe in it's familiar melody
Never to break my silence

Operation Recapture

The events that recently unfurled in Nandigram, West Bengal, India, made my skin crawl.

http://www.outlookindia.com/full.asp?fodname=20071126&fname
=Nandigram+%28F%29&sid=1

A group of villages fighting against a policy that they believed would be harmful to their livelihood were brutally massacred and the women gang-raped with the assistance of the state government. The first person in the celebration lines was the chief minister of the state. His party not only controls the state of West Bengal but also holds 25% of the country's parliament. Does India still have basis to call itself a democracy?

Who is to blame? The brilliant policy-makers who allocated a multi-crop region to industrial SEZ? The opposition parties that clearly saw this as an opportunity to rally the masses for a protest against the chemical intrusion, despite obvious risks? The few and numbered who genuinely believed in the cause of opposing forceful acquisition of farming land to foreign industrialists? Or, the state government that went back on its own policies of labour cause and then used force when it needed control?

A series of bad decisions has been highlighted only by the inability of the federal government to step in. How different is this from the actions of the Modi government in allowing a massacre to take place while the BJP government did nothing to stop it?

When Gandhiji wanted to stop the Calcutta riots in 1946-47, he occupied a house in the city as a lone sane voice and braved it through the days of mayhem. 60 years from then, the same state of West Bengal has proven that where evil politicians have room to overwhelm hardworking citizens, democracy is merely one another twisted route to recapture autocracy.

Local sixer

For those of you who just dropped in from Mars, Pakistan has recently declared an emergency. Everyone is talking about it including Dubya. Yet, an eerie silence seems to exist in much of South East Asia, particularly India which has given about the same reaction to this issue as it did to the tearing apart of Karnataka and Tamil Nadu on the issue of water. A cool indifference coated with a verbal homage. For a country that has recently posted a nominee to the United Nations General Secretary post and is constantly claiming a position on the Permanent security council, it has remained largely docile in it's opinion in a situation where it should be really the most vociferous. One wonders whether the press is under immense pressure to maintain an appearance of neutrality. There is really no way for the Indian public to know of the long-term consequences of this emergency situation with no voices to trust or even hear. But what worries me most of all about this lack of stance is that in giving a lukewarm reaction to the plight of the average Pakistani, India is letting slip an important opportunity to gain the trust of this neighbour, once family. If democracy is re-instated in Pakistan, as I sure hope it is, one can only hope with a vague sense of relief that the new government will return any good-will for our support during difficult times. If we meet the ball now with an uncertain bat, we can be sure that that it will only boomerang on us when we most need it sent out of the ground. This is not a time for a "local sixer".

In the meantime Kumble is now faced with the arduous task of putting a new spin on the sporting rivalry between the two countries. I for one wish that this gamesmanship at least moves on in the right spirits. I am glad the Pakistani team has had some reason to celebrate its cricketing tradition, in times that they have little else to celebrate as citizens.

Unfettered, Unafraid

Set my sail on the deepest seas
Let me gently afloat
Distant lands on glimmering blue
I will catch the wind in my note

Fill me up like cotton wisps
Laden with misty dew
Bright noon sun and clouds for friends
I will bid the earth adieu

Root me strong, a plant to grow
Some flowers I can make
Creeping up or standing tall
Or swaying near a lake

Sing me loud with melody clear
A song from the violin's bow
Dance me with grace and land me strong
Spinning on a ballerina's toe

With questions sharp and answers warm
light me up and let me burn
With passion and care I'll find my way
Into new worlds, yet to learn

No matter what, don't tie me in threads
I'll move on till they fray
Like pearly drops on a slippery lotus
Nothing is here to stay

Hero-ing in on one

Watching the breaking-back author, James Blake, battle the ever-green Fabrice Santorro in the second round of the US open tennis matches, I cannot help but wonder who I admire more. Should I take my hats off to the blazing Blake for his grueling journey to somewhere near the top of the tennis line-up, or the courageous Santorro who hasn’t let the candles on his cake stop him from taking a best shot at what he so obviously loves doing.
http://www.tennisinsight.com/matchid20070827-1-US%20Open-402016.htm
Both have battled personal difficulties to do their best and have a good lot of fun while doing it. Alas, there is nothing like sports to play the “great leveler”, as they say. The cup belongs to only one. The winner is undisputed irrespective of unfortunate injuries and umpire foul-ups. One cannot hide behind such minor errors in the face of the larger game any more than one can escape the spotlights of the camera that captures the gliding ball across the court. Indeed some matches are particularly matchless…the prize comes only after a long and arduous path has been traversed, like this one. http://sports.espn.go.com/sports/tennis/wimbledon06/news/story?id=2510061. No matter what the nature of the game, the winner is always the better player. There is no two ways about that. Can such a winner be my hero? A hero for a life where there is no clear way to win and certainly more than one way to lose! Can I Blake it back after losses? Fabrice my way through hardships? Or at least do Justine to my chances? As I draw the shape of my own playing court and move along challenging my own line-calls, I do hope that there is a something of a champion in me somewhere that will make Agassi proud if only he knew her.