Wednesday, 4 February 2015

The Delhi Duel

 Winter, it seems, has delivered its final blow already. While the actual temperature is not likely to dip any further from what it is now, the political temperature is shooting up like anything in the national capital.  With the Assembly Elections hardly three days away, Delhi is gearing up for one of the most awaited and dramatic elections after the general elections of 2014. A colleague quipped the other night: “The only way there can be any more drama in this election is if Congress manages to persuade Anna Hazare to be their face.” Every day there are new allegations made by one party against the other. From old cases to old tweets everything is being raked up. No tactic is being spared. It’s the national capital at the stake after all.

This election is largely bipolar, with the AAP and the BJP as the main contenders. The Congress has apparently lost all relevance and credibility. This may only prove to be yet another miss in their list of hits and misses wherein the latter have been outnumbering the former with an alarming frequency. One wonders when will the party see the writing on the wall and decide to see off ‘Shri’ Rahul Gandhi. He’s virtually become the albatross around the party’s neck. A pretty albatross though, if that’s any consolation. Suffering from a tainted image and an ineffective top-level leadership, Congress is seeing some of its worst days since the post-Emergency era. Ajay Maken, an accomplsished and experienced leader, will have to bear the brunt of this legacy of incompetence and corruption.

Caught in the crossfire between the AAP and BJP, is the Delhi-voter. Erstwhile comrades-in-arms from the IAC movement have now literally turned (political) foes. Ms Bedi’s entry into BJP should not have come as a surprise for the people who have been watching her behaviour closely. She’s been singing in an altered key ever since the BJP launched its electoral campaign for the general elections last year. This new development has added a new flavour to the first major electoral battle of 2015, all the same. Mr Kejriwal also has returned with a flourish. The Muffler-man is not afraid to take on anyone from the industrial big-wigs to the political ones.

An average Delhite’s allegiance stands divided, especially the young voter’s. There are a lot of similarities between Mr Kerjriwal and Ms Bedi: both are known for their derring-do, radicalism and integrity.  Both of them have an air of earthy charm about them. Both of them are a fresh change from the old faces you see in the political galleries of Delhi— new-gen politicians they are being called.

Though the BJP must have anticipated this move to be a highly potent one, the BJP is indeed diffident and that can be gauged from the desperate, last-minute measures it is resorting to. Internal factionalism is a major challenge that the Delhi BJP faces from within. The Vijay Goel- Harshvardhan episode has replayed, only with Dr Harshvardhan being at the receiving end of the last-minute jettisoning this time. Notwithstanding the admiration and respect one has for Ms Kiran Bedi, one cannot overlook her political posturing. She looks patently uncomfortable when quizzed on the Hindutva-based ideology of the Sangh Parivaar.

Mr Arivind Kejriwal comes with his own set of blunders and histrionics. The adulation and ground swell that the AAP enjoyed the last time round has to some degree worn off. They have had their own share of factions and defections to deal with. Fighting against Mr Modi in Varanasi in the general elections was seen by some, including myself, as an over-reach and a rather reckless step. One clearly saw political amateurism and imprudence rife in the AAP’s  conduct throughout the last year.

Yet there are some fairly credible reasons why one might want to give the AAP yet another chance. The survival of AAP, if not its victory, is critical for Indian polity. Parties such as the AAP and what they represent are indispensible for keeping the hubris of the ruling party at the center in check. One doesn’t want the same complacency and arrogance to seep into the NDA as it did in the UPA. The UPA made the blunder of taking the people and their confidence for granted. They thrived on the notion that the country has no other sustainable alternative—and that proved to be the cause of their doom. All said and done, one cannot take away from the AAP, and its leader, the credit of embodying the spirit of what he claims to represent—the common man. And thus the clash between the AAP and the other two behemoths essentially represents the struggle between the system and the common man. The fight, thus, is also in some way more symbolic than political.

This is not a new phenomenon. In a not so distant past a similar battle had ensued in the state of Bengal, between the Left and TMC. In its present avatar, the only challenge BJP faces is from regional parties. The BJP has everything going in its favour. It had the nation-wide anti-Congress sentiment to ride on. It had a large cultural machinery working diligently for it and with it. It had a charismatic leader in front of whom the former Prime Minister Dr Singh and the Congress-touted-PM-prospect ‘Shri’ Rahul Gandhi paled miserably. And there was the modern-day Chanakya in form of the master planner Amit Shah. Thus the way the tide has turned in favour of the BJP nationally, leaves it fearfully vulnerable to hubris.

This hubris being referred to should not be taken lightly. It was the same hubris of the Congress party, which had taken the shape of “Modi can sell chai at our rallies” remark that had cost them dearly. That fight too was symbolic: a chai-wala against the privileged dynasty. However, Mr Modi is not the underestimated chai-wala any more. He is the Prime Minister. The fight in Delhi again is symbolic: muffler-man against the Prime Minister. The desire to crush the arrogance was so strong that it may have tilted a certain class of voters toward the BJP, despite the voter not identifying with the cultural/religious agenda that the BJP seems to espouse. The rise of Mr Kejriwal, if at all it happens, will mirror that of Mr Modi.

 Nevertheless, the AAP must exercise utmost caution. Going back the TMC-AAP analogy: one major reservation that a voter may have against AAP is its persistent, and at times annoyingly so, anti-establishment paradigm. One does not want Delhi to become a political battleground constantly. The state-centre harmony becomes peculiarly important in case of Delhi. In other words, people fear that Mr Kejriwal may turn out to be Delhi’s Mamta Banerjee.

While Mamta Di’s belligerence is something that Mr Kejriwal might want to avoid, there is indeed one leaf out of the TMC book that Mr Kejriwal should definitely take. Kejriwal should concentrate only on Delhi. He should not think of repeating the Varanasi fiasco till at least after one full term, or even two. Mr Modi himself served three terms. The AAP will continue hold relevance so long as it continues to be a Delhi-centric party, at least in its formative years. Their policies and style of functioning are small-scale. While they may work in Delhi, on a broader and a more diverse canvas they may not work.

Mr Kejriwal will have to come terms with certain realities that constrain any governing body. He will have to move away from the Manichean view of the world he has, or he projects to have.

Ms Bedi is an effective administrator and a woman of credibility and substance. Her investiture as the chief minister would mean a stable government which would be in accord with the central government, and, one hopes, corruption-free too. With oodles of energy and a (well-nigh) clean past, she seems to promise to bring the highly pragmatic and futuristic style of functioning to the CMO that Mr Modi has brought to the PMO.  Kejriwal’s investiture would reinforce people’s faith in the power of the common man. People still cannot delete the memories of watching Anil Kapoor’s Nayak and fancying it turning into a reality someday. They still get won over by his unassuming persona and earthy charm. Far from being the shrewd, manipulative anarchist with no shred of sanity that his critics portray him to be, in his interviews he comes across as an amiable, witty and well-meaning fellow with ready answers for all the “how-will-you” questions posed to him. Here’s a party which is taking on formidable opponents with out any religious/industrial support system.

Regardless of who wins, the Delhi voter can draw consolation from the fact that there will be an impressive and strong opposition leader in the Assembly and that the political developments in Delhi will only become more and more interesting from here on.

Thursday, 29 January 2015

Trivial

It's that time of the night when I sit to unload the squalor of my thoughts on to a pristine paper, thereby tainting it. Must the paper not resent me? There are better things that could have been scribbled on it.

It's not really the big things that weigh you down-- well, not always. It's the small things that are more the nettling. What makes it worse is that you cannot open up to others about them. They, in the eyes of others, don't merit crabbing. For they are life-- these small things. And they have to be lived.

Every now and then, you shut your eyes, straighten your back, square your shoulders, and heave a deep sigh, and say to yourself:"I shall not lose it. Okay, let's take it on. One small thing at a time." And you do. You do so until you live. Or you live until you do so. It's these small things, trivial as they are called, that can be quite lethal if allowed to grow on you, if not battled day in and day out.

It's these small things, trivial as they are called, that actually leave you worn out, although you don't do much visibly. Not in the eyes of others at least. "Ah! that's such a trivial thing to worry about," they say, and try to belittle you. Trivial as they are called, these small little things cling to each of us and collude with those clinging to our loved ones and they form a net out of which it takes nothing less than a life time to escape.


The three headed and ten headed monsters are to be slain only in the world of fantasy; in real life it's these tiny gnats that are enough to drive you to extinction. Quite unheroic such a death is. Quite unheroic most deaths are. And we blame the wars and the epidemics. Is it not unfair?

Is it not unfair that these small struggles neither earn you sympathy when they persist nor do they earn you praise when they are overcome? Yet, a chief part of our lives is spent wrestling with these matters which we have the temerity and hubris of calling 'trivial'.

What are these small things, you ask? Ask yourself. You know it. You deal with them every day. Those small things, trivial as they are called.

You say to yourself, "Okay, let's take it on. One small thing at a time."

It's that time of the night when I sit to unload the squalor of my thoughts on to a pristine paper, thereby tainting it. Must the paper not resent me? There are better things that could have been scribbled on it.

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Squalor

It’s that time of the night again when I sit to unload the squalor of my thoughts on to a pristine paper, thereby tainting it. Must this page not resent me? There are better things that could have been scribbled on it. But, no, this accursed paper is now obligated to bear witness to my sordid thoughts. What a pity! Not all of that squalor comes out though. Some of it is filtered by codes of propriety and some by subconscious that quails at the prospect of revealing it all. And thus, some of it that refuses to get impressed upon this blank page will continue to gnaw at me from within. Vice, too, seeks company. By putting it out here, by letting it take shape of intelligible words, I could have allowed it to seek its kin that reside in other souls who may have chanced upon this mindless nocturnal scribbling.

”O! So that happens with him too!”  “Darn! I so know that feeling!”  they would have exclaimed in their heads as their eyes would follow my words imbued with my vices and my lapses. It could have helped someone lessen their burden of shame. It could have made someone feel only human, more human. It could have given someone a sense of belonging, a sense of commonality, and could have made them feel less estranged. But I deny them this experience. A certain fear keeps me from it. The same fear which keeps you from stepping out of your house without any clothes on. Call it shame, if you will, but it is a fear after all. Despite their universality being established beyond doubt, our vices have, we believe, some distinct flavour that manifests only in us. We wonder if this distinctness marks us out and makes a spectacle out of us, or earns us the disregard of people we love— but, mostly and sadly, the people who do not even care for our existence.

What if they use it against us at a later date, we fear. What if we are seen only through the prism of such revelations in the future and every action of ours is judged in the light of our confessions. Riddled with all such deliberations, the mind rules against letting the filth flow unchecked. Elisions are made. Reality is made more palatable; its brutality is toned down and its sordidness is sanitised lest it offends the delicate sensibility of the delinquents.

It’s that time of the night again when I sit to unload the squalor of my thoughts on to a pristine paper, thereby tainting it. Must this page not resent me?
















Friday, 16 January 2015

How are you?

It is the one question that is asked more than any other on a daily basis, around the globe. Seven continents, hundreds of countries, thousands of languages, billions of people, and one timeless question: how are you? 

One is compelled to marvel at the robustness of this one tiny three word question: is it not a wonder that it can withstand the fusillade of lies that is shot, almost instantaneously, at its being asked. Doesn't it crumble under the weight of all the lies it attracts? Every day. Every hour. Every minute. The same question across seven continents, in hundreds of countries in thousands of languages asked by billions of people.

A question that, if pondered over intently, has the potential to plunge one into the pit of deepest existential crisis. A question that, if sought to be answered inwardly, can shake us up, wake us up, take us up, and break us up.

Who knows how many doctrines and philosophies, has this seemingly banal three letter question engendered. Innumerable souls must have gained nirvana upon brooding over this question. To the pinnacle of their enlightenment, this three word question must have been the ladder. Only, they must have asked it to their own selves instead of squandering it on others. Their dwelling over this question has enriched them with a wealth that can’t be sized or seized.

 And yet we show no gratitude to and reverence for this question. We just utter it as a greeting— mostly, almost always, when we are not even remotely interested in the reply. And the lips, highly trained as they are, curl into a smile, artfully, making a perfect passage for the most bewildering question that can ever be framed in any human language, to come out: how are you? Just like that.

And the replies to this questions-- Oh the replies to this question! The reservoir of insincerity must be as infinite as the cosmos for the replies to this question to draw from it. How else could this question, and the replies thereof, have sustained since the advent of speech. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Seven continents, hundreds of countries, thousands of languages, billions of people, and one timeless question: how are you?

Even the most scrupulous souls whose lives are validated by nothing but their righteousness, do not hesitate even for a fraction of a moment before they promptly make a reply to this devious question. So much for their tall principles. A tiny, compact, three word question is capable of smashing the fort of veracity which these people claim, or think, to inhabit safely. Down it comes like a house of cards.  All one has to do is to ask: how are you? Just like that.

Should not one’s soul revolt a little before one replies to this question? It (the reply) feeds on one’s misery like a leech. You can’t shake it off. Every time someone asks you this question, you, helplessly, unknowingly, unfeelingly, tirelessly, conceal this leech, this badge of shame, which was sewn into your existence the moment you were brought to life.

The beauty is that questioner never doubts the veracity of the reply, despite knowing the hollowness of it when it’s their turn to reply. Both the parties tug at the cloak of decorum at their ends, trying to hide their respective badges of shame.

Have you wondered if this question asked to confirm whether your life is as nondescript and tiresome as the questioner’s rather than genuinely asking after your well being? And we keep disappointing them with our rehearsed smiles and rehearsed replies. And rehearsed lies.

So the next time someone asks you how are you, don't be an insensitive jerk, regurgitating the most cliche replies that you've practised all your life. Hug them, hold their hand, look them in the eyes, and say, "As are you. The more pressing question is how are you? Ask yourself and you will know it. My answer is is the same as yours." 

Seven continents, hundreds of countries, thousands of languages, billions of people, and one timeless question: how are you? Every day. Every hour. Every minute.



Thursday, 1 January 2015

28th October is Here!



27th October 2013

A bachelor's den. Taps running dry.
Impetuous arrival at the ceremony.
Bashful attempts to hide the creepy footwear.

28th October 2013

And the night descended.
Youth shone in all its (vain)glory.
Narcissism in all its hues.

A wedding procession soaked in mirth and wine.
Amused like a six year old, He saw it wide-eyed. And attempted to snatch the merriment as much as He could, however unwonted.

Trying to mingle with the dominant flavour.
Supressing and deliberately ignoring his own.
Maybe this was how it could be gotten, joy.

Donning new ethos, he beamed and jigged. Unimaginable. Liberating in a way nonetheless.

Dichotomy-- an old companion. How could it remain far behind. Two hundred meters away someone had ceased to be. A road-accident someone informed. There He was in the chasm between life in all its glory, and death in all its pervasiveness. It was easily brushed aside. The illusory and elusive mirth had to be insulated from reality after all. How precious it was.

One bed.
Four contenders.
Night-long nudging and pushing.
Errotic snores.

29th October 2013

Blobs of butter melting on hot paranthas, munchable sandwiches.

A hub of capitalism.
A world of fantasy.
The luster of the wares gleamed in their eyes as lust.

On ice glided the charmer, from this end to that. That smoothness incredible.
On the frozen ice He could feel his heart melt.
"You were much better towards the end," were the parting words, punctuated by a smile. And an endearing accent.

Upon returning home, He smiled as he nursed a bruised knee and fanciful mind. :)

Wednesday, 3 December 2014

कुरु यदुनन्दन



Rub some salt of hope
On my wounds, so that
I may sing.
Shriller. And shriller still.

Bind me in darkness
Delirious, so that
I may dance.
Madder. And madder still.

Drown me in solitude
Delicious, so that
I may float.
Lighter. And lighter still.

Impale my imperviousness
Immense (and noxious), so that
I may heal.
Quicker. And quicker still.

Stifle my meagre mind
With wishlessness, so that
I may breathe.
Easier. And easier still.

Underline my eyes
With kohl of oblivion, so that
 I may see.
Clearer. And clearer still.

Push me from the nadir
Of my vanity, so that
I may fall.
Deeper. And deeper still.

Stoke my soul with passion, and
Fill my body with love, so that
I may fly.
Higher. And higher still.

And then shatter into pieces
My heart, so that
I may grow benevolent.
Kinder. And kinder still



O Unfair Master! I pray to thee:
Colonize my heart,and

Enslave my mind, so that

I may be set free!
Freer. And freer still.
 

~ aviD

                                                                         
 

Monday, 24 November 2014

There

Like
fair play in the world;
'b' in subtle;
reason in love;

Like
sight in Soordas and Homer;
'sense' in nonsense;
intermolecular space in solids;


Like
stars during the day;
meaning in life;
God in an idol;

Like
righteousness in Right;
feasibility left in Left;
equilibrium in Centre;

Like
Change wrought about by time,
day by day,
in things sub-lunar;

Like
my literary talent;
escape in sleep;
beauty in death; 

Like
Eternity in a moment;
Cosmos in a granule of sand;
truth in what poets write;

Like
Radhika in Bhagwatam;
Sensation of pleasure
and pain in a dream.

Like
the sixth Pandav;
originality in Shakespeare;
and efficacy of prayer.

Like
the weight of air,
you, O beloved! are always
there yet not there.

~aviD