Silent prayer...

Hoping to see you in the faint light of religious lamps, I spent countless nights trying to light them again and again. Everytime I thought the flame was steady a gust of wind would come and blow them off leaving me in darkness and confusion. A fool was I to try to see you in the light of earthen lamps, My master. For you shine on your own with a brilliance that blinds my mind and soothes my heart. The sun, fire and lightning are mere reflections of your power. I shall not seek you in the light of lamps.

I made a formidable chain to bind you, carefully crafting each link with logic; proud that no one could ever break those links. In the end when the chain is complete, I find that the chain binds me and robs my freedom. Come and break this chain.

Make my knees strong enough that they do not bend before the tyranny of the world and yet make my spine supple enough to reach to your feet residing in the lowest depths of society where the oppressed live.

Sacrifice this pawn in your game of celestial chess if you wish, but place it at your feet, where the righteous live in the enlightened comfort of your eternal presence.

I know not what the next moment holds for me and the memories of the past are clouded by perceptions and prejudices. My mind lives in this moment and thinks it can grasp you who extends beyond boundaries of time. Forgive this childishness.

I complained to you the other day that you don't come to my house. That you didn't come in through my front door, even though I was waiting for you inside. But I now realise that I locked the door from inside. You waited outside in a silent patience.

I complained that I don't see you in my everyday life. You pointed at the unkown stranger who helped me and the child who gave an innocent smile as he looked at me from his mother's shoulders. You pointed at my parents, my siblings and friends who helped me in difficult times. You pointed at my old dog that used to wait for me at the door. You pointed towards the bookseller who brought the books to my hostel. I had missed you as I thought you were different from the common folk around me. I thought you would be special always shining and extraordinary...little did I expect to see you in the dust raised by the workers walking back home after a day's toil in fields and mines. Extraordinary you are, not because you are exclusive but because you are all inclusive. I shall try my best to see you in all and welcome you to my home.

My heart knows you are the greatest treasure, but my mind still holds on to the tinsel of the world. It doesn't allow me to come to you. My lord come to me.

I thought I knew what love was and called you to come to me. I now know that your love is far greater than mine. I shall be waiting for you in a silent prayer. Will you come?
Jignasu.

Arrogance...

"Don't call me your cousin you lowly creature", thundered the lovely rose looking at her neigbhour chrysantamum. Chrysatamum said nothing and looked with sad eyes. That evening gardener plucked both of them in preparation for the great welcome to the king. Rose was thrown on the street to welcome the king. Alas! Arrogance and false pride at its heart were broken as it was trampled by the king's horse. Chrysantamum adorning the lord's feet in the temple saw the king come in with naked feet and bow before her.
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Eye opener?

Initially I dismissed the whole Blank Noise Project(BNP) as another ranting that usually goes on. I dislike militant feminism as much as male chauvinism and categorise them under misguided idealogies. But a second look prompted by a friends suggestion made me go over a few of the things that many wrote. I was horrified to learn about the level of torture that an average women endures in a society in trying to achieve 'equality'.
I always thought the eve teasing belonged more to Bollywood than to real life..for after spending time in NE one cannot but but admire the culture in NE India where the women are treated with much more respect not just in scriptures but in real life. It fills my heart with sadness when I realized that all the incidents of drive by rapes and molestations were not isolated incidents by some drunken perverts but were a sign of a deeper malaise afflicting the society. The society where a the forefathers delcared ages ago that, 'yatra naryastu poojyante ramante tatra devatah' (where women are held in high esteem there gods remain happy). In a country where Mahatma delared true freedom to be the day when a woman could walk freely alone at night, without fear, it hurts to see women being assaulted in broad daylight...and most people watching a spectacle. No one should keep quiet and endure. Agreed there will be scornful looks and people saying behind the back, that they 'asked for it'. More often than not these feeble voices do not dare to challenge the fury of conviction. This is one of the issues where forebearance ceases to be a virtue. Enduring such acts, women insult not only themselves but also all the other people who view such acts with disgust.
What is the solution? I don't think enacting a law would be an effective measure. We do have laws banning female infanticide, dowry etc etc...but how effective is their implementation? We cannot cure a cancer by painkillers. We need more effective treatments. They may not be dramatic, but will have a lasting effect. By calling for enactments of laws etc we are placing the burden of solution on 'others', which history has shown is never effective. To begin with as Gandhiji said, we must be the change we want to see in the world. The women who have suffered may not be able to file cases and punish every offender. However by educating children, talking about the problem more freely and not just on a women's day in internet blogs we can hope for the best. Everyday in schools, in our homes and in our neighbourhood we can raise the awareness. Refuse to talk or be 'friends' with those who tease, just as we would try to avoid those involved in criminal activities. If every mother took care of her sons, if every sister told her brother that she could be at the recieveing end some day... I dont think anyone would even entertain such thoughts. True, it is difficult and many may even call it impractical. But it will be a lasting change precisley because we changed the way the society thinks through our little actions. Think of Amul..it started in a cow shed. Blacks in west fought for their rights and still are..look at how they changed the society's thinking through individual acts of courage and conviction.
Imagine the sitaution after 15 years, if everyone of our generation resolved to stop this in our immediate surroundings... Then the effect is no longer miniscule. May be in a decade we will have kids in the school who will not think it is 'cool' and in the decade after that, Mahatma will be happy to see from heaven that India has finally achieved its freedom.
I shudder when I think what my little sister could be writing in an anonymous blog on a womens day in next few years. But I think that if we can stand up now then may be she will only have to read about BNP somewhere among the forgotten Archives on Internet, just as we read about civil rights movement in our history books.
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Men and women

OK, let me take a pick at the women in general in this one! (I read a few comments on a friend's blog and interestingly recieved some email fwd's from a friend which Iam putting here)

A store that sells husbands has just opened in New York City, where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates. You may visit the store ONLY ONCE!
There are six floors and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch.... "You may choose any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!"
So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband....
On the first floor the sign on the door reads: Floor 1 - These men have jobs and love the Lord.
The second floor sign reads: Floor 2 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, and love kids.
The third floor sign reads: Floor 3 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, and are extremely good looking.
"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.
She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads: Floor 4 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop- dead good looking and help with the housework.
"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!" Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads: Floor 5 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop- dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak.
She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign reads:
Floor 6 - You are visitor 4,363,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please.
Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store. Watch your step as you exit the building, and have a nice day!
Please send this to all men for a good laugh and to all the women who can handle the truth!

Its not over as yet...As a complement to the above store, a guy decided to open 'wife's store' two block away. Again there are six floors and the attributes of the women increase as the shopper ascends the flights. An the same rule of oneway applies here.

On the first floor the sign on the door reads: Floor 1 - These women are intelligent and beautiful.
The second floor sign reads: Floor 2 - These women are intelligent , beautiful and love sex.
The third floor sign read:Er...No one ever visited these floors, so management decided to rent them out for other businesses.
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School days!

In some classrooms one could hear children talking in whispers in the classroom as the teacher wrote on the blackboard, while in others one could hear the incessant chattering voices if the treacher was not present. The class leader more often than not joined the pandemonium by shouting at the kids to 'discipline' them and threatening to write their names on a peice of paper that he threatened to give to the class teacher. It was generally a futile attempt as more often than not the leader would lose the paper or the teacher would be more interested to start a new lesson than listen to complaints. The more adevnturous ones would venture out and play 'leg cricket' or some other crazy game. Some good samaritan would come running into the classroom and announce at the top of his voice 'principal madam aa rahe hain'. Few skeptical souls would have a look and confirm it is again by announcing at the top of their voices. Then a transformation would occur: suddenly all the bags on the chairs would be shoved into desks, all paper planes recovered and safely put away in the darkest corners of the desk, lunch boxes closed, and books taken out for an additional special effect. Principal madam would come, scold the entire class telling them that they are the most indisciplined class in the entire school and invariably pick two or three poor souls make them stand up on the bench for a class or two to show that she means business. In extreme cases where one of the guys goofs up badly and comes in AFTER principal madam would have his/her ears twisted. After she left a pall of silence would descend on the class, people would start talking to their neighbours in whispers and slowly the noise levels would be back to the normal before principal get back to her office.

The big peepal tree in the centre of the school stood like an old sage, written under it were words written in stone, 'united we stand, divided we fall'. During the breaks, the guys would invariably team up and run upto the favorite spot to play the game in fashion. Some would go to the banyan tree next to the road and swing across the road clutching the roots. A few would hunt for 'seetaphal' or 'raw tamarind'. The thrill of finding the hideout of another group's stashed raw seetaphal under the leaves to allow them to ripen was the best in the world...meeting a few snakes on the way just added to the excitement. Poor attempts to camouflage the hideout with other tree leaves would be promptly discovered and ruthllessly plundered.
Wednesday PT would be more of a routine where we had to swing arms like some trained monkeys to please bhagwan sir (yes it was his name!) who would come and hit you if you dared to move half inch away from the perfect line. Toughest punishments were reserved for those who feigned headache or stomach ache..poor guys would be humiliated before the entire school and then made to stand right under his nose, next to the deafening drums... to whose tunes we had to dance.

One incident I could never forget...it was my final exams and mangoes in the aunty's house were tempting. After finishing the exams hurriedly, bahadur, me andDRama decided to pay the unknown aunty's house a visit. Since the house was locked, we scaled the wall and plucked a few mangoes. Greed they say is the root cause of all evils...A few good mangoes fell inside the house and brave bahadur went in and picked them up. He failed to notice our unkown aunty lurking in the corner, who grabbed him by his shirt and yelled,'This is it. Iam tired of you brats. Iam going to complain to your principal'. DRama and me jumped from the wall and ran for our lives. However we missed a small thing. We left our exam pad and papers with our names boldly written so that nobody could ever try to steal it were left at our beloved aunty's house. She promptly grabbed them and waved them at us. We ran back and pleaded from a safe distance that she was a nice lady and she should return our things as this was the first time we ever tried 'taking' the mangoes and would never do it again. However, our prayers fell to deaf ears. But when DRama realised that his exam pad was not in her hand but was some 10 feet away, he ran the sprint of his life and vanished with a big grin on his face. This hardened auty's stance and no amount of our pleading could cool her. We were taken to principal madam, who scolded us and made us stand outside her office for an hour. We were finally left with a dire warning, that we should bring our parent if we wanted to get the progress card. It was the longest 10 day wait of my life. On the day of results, as was the practice, she announced the names of the two guys in the class on the stage. I felt a wave of relief when she called my name and gave me the progress card. I simply smiled at her and with a mischevous wink, grabbed the progress report before any of the earlier memories came to her.
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