The terrorists struck again, the states blamed the centre again, ope-ds have been written on relooking at the "root" of terrorism again and as ever, and there have been articles on how life goes on in these two cities. Being as we are in alien lands, whenever the news of a bomb blast in an Indian city is aired, thousands of us are gripped with anxiety. And then relief: thank God, it wasn’t my city. And then anger: but why Bangalore? Why Ahmedabad? Why Jaipur? Why India? There are discussions and ruminations as I am sure there are in India. There are explanations to be given to concerned colleagues who want to understand if the Muslims in India are as “bad” as they are elsewhere.
How can I answer this? I who went to a catholic school where more than half of us were Muslims? I who grew up in a Muslim majority city and would look forward to the Id as eagerly as to Diwali? I, who had always had friends that were not colored Muslim or Christian or Sikh by my parents? All I know is that those who flew those planes into the towers were not born and brought up in the US. That however, is not true in case of many behind the bomb blasts in India, Muslim or otherwise. And what causes them to erupt once in a while in demonic anger that compels them to burn, blast and destroy living, walking, normal people like you and me on the street who have nothing to do with their angst? I don’t know.
All I know is that when that happens as regularly as it has been happening nowadays, one part of me is desensitized. One part of me is depressed. Another part of me just wants to ignore it. But an overwhelming part of my being roars in anger. Anger at the mockery of the government that we have elected. Anger at the world at large for largely ignoring this (remember how many days we were subjected to images and discussions on the London bombings in July?). Anger that there is no one who would issue a war cry on behalf of all us against this putrid form of human emotion. Anger at my own helplessness and that of our useless wimp of a prime minister who has sacrificed his spine at the altar of the lady in a cotton sari so-far-away in her attitude and outlook to the murk that has befallen us all. Anger that the so called moderates among us just play the blame game. And that the world seems to fall in darker and deeper despair. This independence day, when the PM talks of sovereignty, I will be angry again, I know.
What does sovereignty mean if we cannot take any action against the very people who inflict this upon us?
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Saturday, 5 July 2008
Telusa Manasa?
“Many are the days that pass in mirth, in the quiet calm of a fresh engagement with life after eons of apathy. Many are the nights that yield passion if only driblets of what the all-encompassing ocean that it once was. Many a moment when I actually smell this world, when I truly see the colors in it, taste the simple joys of a meal in the moon light, walk down an unknown road in yet another alien land, dream a new dream for the years to come, read a line without thinking of what you would make of it, even look at life in the face for an undaunted minute or two. And then all it takes is a tear drop in the eyes of a child sitting in front of me in a bus, for this yearning to come back. As if it never did go away. As if all these years without you are but dreams. “
This is what I wrote after listening to this rather obscure telugu song, (God, was it really) ten years ago! Those were days of dreams and the shattering of dreams seemed rather romantic and inspirational for an aspiring writer.
telusaa manasaa idi ae naati anubandhamo
telusaa manasaa idi ae janma sambandhamo
tarimina aaru kaalaalu edu lokaalu cheraleni odilo
virahapu jaadalenaadu vedi kannesi choodaleni jatalo
Shata janmaala bandhaala bangaaru kshanamidi
prati kshanam naa kallallo niliche nee roopam
bratukulo adugdduguna nadipe nee sneham
oopire neevugaa praanamee needigaa
padi kaalaalu vuntaanu nee prema sakshigaa
ennadu teeriponi runamugaa vundipo
chelimito teegasaage mallega alluko
lokame maarinaa kaalame aagina
mana eegaadha migalaali tudileni charitagaa
Today, when I listen to this, I can only think of how fragile and beautiful the relationship portrayed in this song is. I feel ridiculously protective about the woman in this song (I don’t remember much of the movie but for the fact that she dies immediately after this song, utterly tollywoodisque).
For some reason, I had an urgent urge to transliterate this song last night. Have you ever felt this way about things as you age? What you take for granted in your formative years seems fragile when you are older. You don’t even feel anymore that death and old age cannot touch you anymore. Is it this feeling of being mortal or actually the lack of it in your younger years that make one yearn to be youthful forever? Is this why first love, college, friends of early years and the home you grow up in always yield nostalgic pleasure because whatever happens in your later years will never match up for the sheer abandon and total lack-of-inhibitions of the years of the yore? Telusa, manasa*?
From whence this proclivity, would you know, my mind?
Of which lifetime past is this bond, would you know my mind?
In an alcove of myriad lifetimes of togetherness lies this golden moment
Which neither the six seasons, the seven worlds nor the tempests of separation dare touch.
Your image it is that rests in my eyes every moment,
Your friendship it is that walks by my side in every step of my life,
It is verily you: this very breath of mine, this very life of mine.
And it is your love that will witness my love for you through the cycles of time.
Be thou the debt that can never be repaid
Be thou the jasmine creeper in the fragrance of accord
If times change, and with it, the ways of the world,
let this story of ours remain endless and unchanged.
* Manasu is loosely translated as mind/heart but is more fittingly described as an intension or a desire and not a visceral organ (as in neither brain nor heart). I left it as mind for obvious lack of creativity.
This is what I wrote after listening to this rather obscure telugu song, (God, was it really) ten years ago! Those were days of dreams and the shattering of dreams seemed rather romantic and inspirational for an aspiring writer.
telusaa manasaa idi ae naati anubandhamo
telusaa manasaa idi ae janma sambandhamo
tarimina aaru kaalaalu edu lokaalu cheraleni odilo
virahapu jaadalenaadu vedi kannesi choodaleni jatalo
Shata janmaala bandhaala bangaaru kshanamidi
prati kshanam naa kallallo niliche nee roopam
bratukulo adugdduguna nadipe nee sneham
oopire neevugaa praanamee needigaa
padi kaalaalu vuntaanu nee prema sakshigaa
ennadu teeriponi runamugaa vundipo
chelimito teegasaage mallega alluko
lokame maarinaa kaalame aagina
mana eegaadha migalaali tudileni charitagaa
Today, when I listen to this, I can only think of how fragile and beautiful the relationship portrayed in this song is. I feel ridiculously protective about the woman in this song (I don’t remember much of the movie but for the fact that she dies immediately after this song, utterly tollywoodisque).
For some reason, I had an urgent urge to transliterate this song last night. Have you ever felt this way about things as you age? What you take for granted in your formative years seems fragile when you are older. You don’t even feel anymore that death and old age cannot touch you anymore. Is it this feeling of being mortal or actually the lack of it in your younger years that make one yearn to be youthful forever? Is this why first love, college, friends of early years and the home you grow up in always yield nostalgic pleasure because whatever happens in your later years will never match up for the sheer abandon and total lack-of-inhibitions of the years of the yore? Telusa, manasa*?
From whence this proclivity, would you know, my mind?
Of which lifetime past is this bond, would you know my mind?
In an alcove of myriad lifetimes of togetherness lies this golden moment
Which neither the six seasons, the seven worlds nor the tempests of separation dare touch.
Your image it is that rests in my eyes every moment,
Your friendship it is that walks by my side in every step of my life,
It is verily you: this very breath of mine, this very life of mine.
And it is your love that will witness my love for you through the cycles of time.
Be thou the debt that can never be repaid
Be thou the jasmine creeper in the fragrance of accord
If times change, and with it, the ways of the world,
let this story of ours remain endless and unchanged.
* Manasu is loosely translated as mind/heart but is more fittingly described as an intension or a desire and not a visceral organ (as in neither brain nor heart). I left it as mind for obvious lack of creativity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)