It was twilight as I struggled to look beyond an arm’s length. Kashi da, who had been quiet and reserved throughout the boat journey had finally broken his silence. I had been itching to strike the right note with him after a seven hour long journey. The journey that took us deep into the mangrove forests and little half-submerged islands. It may have been the dialect that I used; or my genuine interest that he eventually opened up. His intense eyes that were keenly searching for patrolling boats of forest guards spoke of his encounters with the man-eaters of the Sunderbans.
“The light fades off extremely fast in the delta” – I remembered reading somewhere. As the shadows thickened, I was trying hard to see if he had any permanent marks left from the fierce encounters. Did he have two-less fingers or three? Did I somewhere spot a small tear drop while he spoke of his nephew being dragged by the creature “we don’t speak of!” These were trivial questions for most of my gang that was busy playing cards on the upper deck of the motor boat. As the high tides set in, the old motor started making restless noises battling the heavy undercurrent. I was barely ready with my next question for Kashi da as the silhouettes of a dark creature suddenly emerged a few metres from the boat.
I was too shy to raise an alarm wondering if it was my tired eyes or a long day of antiquity blue speaking. Before I could react, Kashi da was on his toes. He was well into his late fifties and had been wearing a blue chequered lungi with off-white stripes and a white vest that hugged his distinct ribs. A farmer turned honey-searcher turned helper for tiger surveys turned a boat-man, Kashi da had something very intriguing about his facade. He quickly hushed something to his helper nephew who was in his early teens. Once again my Bengali let me down as i stood up bemused holding the wooden railing. The sudden movements in the boat had alerted the wasted lot of nine men who seemed to be in a state of trance.
Meanwhile before anyone could react, this creature came tantalizingly close; took one full rotation around the boat and in a blink of an eye went down, right under the boat. To evade an attack in case the dark creature emerged out, everyone tried ducking for cover. In panic, the entire gang of drunken men had moved to one side of the boat, making it bend into the water. Now I could hear my heart thump louder than the dying motor. Despite the huge lump in my throat and my weight shifting towards the bend, I tried taking charge. “Get five on each side of the boat!! Balance your weights…” I shouted but was royally ignored. Kashi da’s timely intervention saved me from a cardiac arrest.
“It’s a Gangetic dolphin guys. Gimme a light” – said a nonchalant Abhigyan who was tipped to be the smartest of the lot, as he pulled a pack of cigarette from his pocket. It took me no time to realize, it was Amitav Ghosh speaking out loud in the voice of our well-read man trapped amidst the hungry tides. For Dipjoy who had done his post-graduate research here in the delta, it was a crocodile. For Abhishek if I remember well, it was a large over-bloated fish. My profession of an analyst had taught me to consider information from credible sources only. I immediately turned to my key opinion leader – Kashi da who for the first time displayed deep lines on his forehead. And this time even the guy standing next to me could hear my heart thump loud. The motor had breathed its last…
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
New Boy
“Swim here New Boy…now!!” K dictated as he spat on the floor near the wooden desks. The New Boy was trembling with fear as his feet resembled the dance steps of the popular Ketchup song. There wasn’t enough water to swim but enough to drown him in the realm of fright. He took a sizeable number of blows from K and kicks from the two-dozen audience of class VI students. The only trade-off: a bubble gum he had purchased with great difficulty for Rs. 1.50. It meant more than what a bottle of Jack Daniels would mean to him now. Parting with it with a heavy heart, he cursed his parents for getting him to his fifth school in 8 years of academics.
Fifteen years later, as he prepared to join his fourth company in 4 years of corporate experience, the plight of being tagged a New Boy throughout his life just flashed in front of his eyes. Whistling past towns and cities with an arrogant horn, that of a steam engine, New Boy realized how he only took pit stops at certain stations and then moved on. Not every station was forthcoming and warm. Each time the train arrived, the crowd welcomed it with loud roars of “New Boy”.
Each year the New Boy would struggle to build his identity, pick up the new local language, turn hostile classmates to friends and get biased regional teachers to appreciate his efforts. Next year, like a pawn he’d be picked up from the white checkered square and placed into the black one. He would learn the tricks of the trade, master the operational processes, read the pulse of the client’s whims and massage the ego of the insecure manager. Next year the entire world would conspire against him and create an Economic Downturn to ensure he chose another job.
Cities changed, so did schools and organizations. Tiny, fiery eyes gave way to dark skins with protruding lips; Kela Bongali (bloody Bengali) changed to Bangali Saala (bloody Bengali again); “just a fresher” changed to “you can’t have direct reportees yet”. What never changed is our innate propensity to judge. If only as human, our retina allowed us to see beyond the color of the skin, the size of the eyes, the accented speech, the salary one drew or the number of years one had worked…the numerous New Boys wouldn’t dread to make a New start each time…
Fifteen years later, as he prepared to join his fourth company in 4 years of corporate experience, the plight of being tagged a New Boy throughout his life just flashed in front of his eyes. Whistling past towns and cities with an arrogant horn, that of a steam engine, New Boy realized how he only took pit stops at certain stations and then moved on. Not every station was forthcoming and warm. Each time the train arrived, the crowd welcomed it with loud roars of “New Boy”.
Each year the New Boy would struggle to build his identity, pick up the new local language, turn hostile classmates to friends and get biased regional teachers to appreciate his efforts. Next year, like a pawn he’d be picked up from the white checkered square and placed into the black one. He would learn the tricks of the trade, master the operational processes, read the pulse of the client’s whims and massage the ego of the insecure manager. Next year the entire world would conspire against him and create an Economic Downturn to ensure he chose another job.
Cities changed, so did schools and organizations. Tiny, fiery eyes gave way to dark skins with protruding lips; Kela Bongali (bloody Bengali) changed to Bangali Saala (bloody Bengali again); “just a fresher” changed to “you can’t have direct reportees yet”. What never changed is our innate propensity to judge. If only as human, our retina allowed us to see beyond the color of the skin, the size of the eyes, the accented speech, the salary one drew or the number of years one had worked…the numerous New Boys wouldn’t dread to make a New start each time…
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
My Idea of Equality as on January 18, 2011
It’s a 6:30 am cab for office this winter morning as i recollect the candid conversations with my doctor-cousin a few years back. Anosmia he says it is. When you lose the ability to smell...and to a great extent taste. The Indica takes a left turn from the dump-yard where on usual days the stench is unbearable. Today is different. I look outside the window pane, oblivious to the reek of the rotten waste across the road, the aroma of boiling tea from little shacks and the smoke from broken huts. A copy-pasting job surely kills your appetite but this morning there's more to it.
The tasteless days last for weeks, sometimes an entire month. Anosmia grows with each day. Anger turns to frustration and explodes into despair. The loneliness I am so fond of screeches aloud in my head. The symptoms seem synonymous to PMS. Except for that one doesn’t start shouting randomly at colleagues or burst into tears or argue over non-existent issues. It gives you a perspective though and it's fun. It acts like caffeine, stimulating your brain right from the start of the day. I can't help as my nose and tongue pull me into an egalitarian mode. There’s nothing as a pungent smell or an alluring fragrance; and a bitter-sweet taste or tangy flavour. Everything is simple – Insipid and Equal.
For breakfast in the cafetaria, the 6 foot tall, spike haired, parantha-loyalist Delhite; and the petite, shy looking, dark Tamilian who craves for a vada dipped in sambar – they all look the same. Why the cold war? I feel confused. The Tamilian sniffs the freshly poured sambar and gives me a smirk…not sure why. Reminds me of the numerous Sholay jokes where Thakur is asked to toss the coin, shake hands or pick up the phone.
From the brightly lit conference rooms to our very own ammonia lab (read men’s toilet), I can’t spot a difference. I see a senior manager, an analyst and the floor cleaner – all composing enchanting music, that of a placid waterfalls standing next to each other in the loo. Just that every musician has a different expression. The senior is a visionary, too engrossed, as if in a superior connection with the divine. The analyst is too shy...perhaps intimidated by the senior musician’s presence; frequently looking at his instrument, composing melody at an intermittent tempo. The cleaner is nonchalant, a thorough professional possessing a been-there-seen-it-all manifestation. He performs as though the stage is all his and leaves before the automatic flush could applaud his concert with a thundering drizzle.
From the convoy of Merc and Volkswagen that brings in a troop of fair skinned clients from the west; to the formal-clad assistant manager (whose shirt is crisply ironed and shoes that shine like his slime-ball head) who greets (almost salutes) the guests with all his paan-stained teeth out…..They all look the same.
From the boss in electric blue shirt who actually knew nothing but incessantly had “I knewed” (to be pronounced as “nude”) on his lips; to the loony intern from a premier pharma college who is at other's mercy to swipe him out of the glass enclosure even when nature calls him aloud....they all look the same.
Its ironical that due to some involuntary action, my fingers type in Swami Vivekananda’s Chicago speech on google this morning. It’s the same speech that I would have read a million times since Class III. Not that it is difficult to comprehend; it’s a masterpiece in true literary sense. But the timing is spotless. Swamiji elucidating the importance of equality and tolerance during an era of religious extremism and social evils…And me getting a forceful taste (or rather lack of it) of the need for equality in turbulent times at workplace.
The day at office ends with a very serious dilemma as I approach the customer friendly coffee vendor in the cafeteria. Should I have coffee or tea is the question. Without a blink of an eye, picking up a steel cup he says “coffee saar…strong-aa?” The Sholay jokes start looming large in my head….
The tasteless days last for weeks, sometimes an entire month. Anosmia grows with each day. Anger turns to frustration and explodes into despair. The loneliness I am so fond of screeches aloud in my head. The symptoms seem synonymous to PMS. Except for that one doesn’t start shouting randomly at colleagues or burst into tears or argue over non-existent issues. It gives you a perspective though and it's fun. It acts like caffeine, stimulating your brain right from the start of the day. I can't help as my nose and tongue pull me into an egalitarian mode. There’s nothing as a pungent smell or an alluring fragrance; and a bitter-sweet taste or tangy flavour. Everything is simple – Insipid and Equal.
For breakfast in the cafetaria, the 6 foot tall, spike haired, parantha-loyalist Delhite; and the petite, shy looking, dark Tamilian who craves for a vada dipped in sambar – they all look the same. Why the cold war? I feel confused. The Tamilian sniffs the freshly poured sambar and gives me a smirk…not sure why. Reminds me of the numerous Sholay jokes where Thakur is asked to toss the coin, shake hands or pick up the phone.
From the brightly lit conference rooms to our very own ammonia lab (read men’s toilet), I can’t spot a difference. I see a senior manager, an analyst and the floor cleaner – all composing enchanting music, that of a placid waterfalls standing next to each other in the loo. Just that every musician has a different expression. The senior is a visionary, too engrossed, as if in a superior connection with the divine. The analyst is too shy...perhaps intimidated by the senior musician’s presence; frequently looking at his instrument, composing melody at an intermittent tempo. The cleaner is nonchalant, a thorough professional possessing a been-there-seen-it-all manifestation. He performs as though the stage is all his and leaves before the automatic flush could applaud his concert with a thundering drizzle.
From the convoy of Merc and Volkswagen that brings in a troop of fair skinned clients from the west; to the formal-clad assistant manager (whose shirt is crisply ironed and shoes that shine like his slime-ball head) who greets (almost salutes) the guests with all his paan-stained teeth out…..They all look the same.
From the boss in electric blue shirt who actually knew nothing but incessantly had “I knewed” (to be pronounced as “nude”) on his lips; to the loony intern from a premier pharma college who is at other's mercy to swipe him out of the glass enclosure even when nature calls him aloud....they all look the same.
Its ironical that due to some involuntary action, my fingers type in Swami Vivekananda’s Chicago speech on google this morning. It’s the same speech that I would have read a million times since Class III. Not that it is difficult to comprehend; it’s a masterpiece in true literary sense. But the timing is spotless. Swamiji elucidating the importance of equality and tolerance during an era of religious extremism and social evils…And me getting a forceful taste (or rather lack of it) of the need for equality in turbulent times at workplace.
The day at office ends with a very serious dilemma as I approach the customer friendly coffee vendor in the cafeteria. Should I have coffee or tea is the question. Without a blink of an eye, picking up a steel cup he says “coffee saar…strong-aa?” The Sholay jokes start looming large in my head….
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Of Restless Agitation, Baul Music and Mysticism
There is a remarkable connection that the climate of the mind and the mountains possess. It takes moments for the weather to change from a bright sunny afternoon to heavy rains in the hills. The mind too tames a turbulent, unpredictable weather within. In moments of silence, it pulls you away from the material world, as if in search for something. The “something” remains elusive to most.
In the never-ending quest to discover this, I made a trivial effort to excavate the origins of the restless mind. This time I was treading the spiritual path and not the scientific one. I stumbled upon some of my favourite topics that deal with Mysticism. As wiki defines it – mysticism is the pursuit of communion with or conscious awareness of an ultimate reality, truth or even god. No wonder mysticism exists as an offshoot of almost all religions – Sufism being one of the most sought after approaches.
I wondered how mysticism which is such a well-documented and rigorous practice relates to common man. In a routine life, it’s fascinating how even the most accomplished souls feel the need to break all shackles and attain a different state of mind where there is a sense of unification with something or someone divine. As mysticism is practiced through various medium such as aphorisms, poetry, music, riddles and humour; people usually find one of these modes to attempt reaching the communion in daily life.
I was amazed to see how the very simple people of Bengal who practice the Baul sect connect to the divine. These are modest beings with just enough food to see them through the day. But the level of consciousness they have attained in their pursuit of seeking oneness could mesmerize you. Growing up, I was always intrigued by the simplicity of baul songs, the lyrics, the instruments used and the philosophy preached. Baul talks about connecting to “praner manush” or the man of the heart. The songs if heard carefully can lead to a state of trance. Once you enter the trance, a lot of the thirst that results from the restless mind is quenched.
I am convinced that no form of intoxication is needed to attain a higher state of consciousness. I can be high throughout the day, no matter what….
In the never-ending quest to discover this, I made a trivial effort to excavate the origins of the restless mind. This time I was treading the spiritual path and not the scientific one. I stumbled upon some of my favourite topics that deal with Mysticism. As wiki defines it – mysticism is the pursuit of communion with or conscious awareness of an ultimate reality, truth or even god. No wonder mysticism exists as an offshoot of almost all religions – Sufism being one of the most sought after approaches.
I wondered how mysticism which is such a well-documented and rigorous practice relates to common man. In a routine life, it’s fascinating how even the most accomplished souls feel the need to break all shackles and attain a different state of mind where there is a sense of unification with something or someone divine. As mysticism is practiced through various medium such as aphorisms, poetry, music, riddles and humour; people usually find one of these modes to attempt reaching the communion in daily life.
I was amazed to see how the very simple people of Bengal who practice the Baul sect connect to the divine. These are modest beings with just enough food to see them through the day. But the level of consciousness they have attained in their pursuit of seeking oneness could mesmerize you. Growing up, I was always intrigued by the simplicity of baul songs, the lyrics, the instruments used and the philosophy preached. Baul talks about connecting to “praner manush” or the man of the heart. The songs if heard carefully can lead to a state of trance. Once you enter the trance, a lot of the thirst that results from the restless mind is quenched.
I am convinced that no form of intoxication is needed to attain a higher state of consciousness. I can be high throughout the day, no matter what….
Saturday, December 18, 2010
ZERO
The feeling of nothingness so intriguing
Transcending from deep dark thoughts
To the sound of melancholy
How the light within a clear mind
Gives way to darkness
Seeping in... engulfing the wits
Like the cold winds that blow off the flickering lantern
Closing your eyes you realize
Nothing that meets the eye is true
How delusional could you be?
Nothingness resides deep within
Disguising itself in half unmindful smiles
And lost expressive eyes
And the spirited greetings
A part of life it is…
It ain’t a shadow that follows me
Coz it won’t wane when the lights go off
Its hidden all around
Perhaps shy to reveal itself
But I trace the Zero in numbers
In objects, emotions and thoughts
Does it walk with me
Or I carry it along?
Or was it meant to be
...a part of them, you and me
Transcending from deep dark thoughts
To the sound of melancholy
How the light within a clear mind
Gives way to darkness
Seeping in... engulfing the wits
Like the cold winds that blow off the flickering lantern
Closing your eyes you realize
Nothing that meets the eye is true
How delusional could you be?
Nothingness resides deep within
Disguising itself in half unmindful smiles
And lost expressive eyes
And the spirited greetings
A part of life it is…
It ain’t a shadow that follows me
Coz it won’t wane when the lights go off
Its hidden all around
Perhaps shy to reveal itself
But I trace the Zero in numbers
In objects, emotions and thoughts
Does it walk with me
Or I carry it along?
Or was it meant to be
...a part of them, you and me
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Profound Realizations II: Life After Death...
Was counting my sins today, wondering if I’d be seated amidst clouds and playing the harp or getting boiled in sweltering hot oil. Although the difference between heaven and hell these days lies between delivering the project for a client on time and missing the deadline…One would wonder what happens once we are physiologically dead.
The silent observer believes in a certain theory as original as himself!!! Human soul is a mass of cosmic energy – the bond that unites the universe, its galaxies, the planets, human beings and every little molecule. The world and the million other fictitious or real worlds that exist within the universe act as non-stop production plants, producing Souls. All the stray energy (other than the ones acting on binding certain physical entities) is sucked into the wombs of mankind and animals continuously. Here is how the galactic shop floor works:
Energy from the tsunami, the volcanoes, other natural phenomenon and even the slightest traces of free energy get assembled in discrete packets. These packets structure themselves in the various layers of the atmosphere – let’s say between the Troposphere (being the closest to the earth surface) and the Thermosphere (which is over 90 km above the earth’s surface). The closer the packet to the earth’s surface, the more the probability of it being pulled into one of the embryos growing inside the wombs of expecting mothers. The soul then enters this embryo which was nothing more than a fertilized egg, giving it what we call Life.
But since the idea of the blog was to write about life after death, here it goes. As the embryo takes the shape of a little baby that gradually reaches adolescence and eventually old age, it makes several choices and executes numerous actions throughout its life. All the actions - physical, moral, psychological or emotional influence the energy within the soul. The impact of these actions on the energy is either positive or negative, thereby affecting the overall magnitude of the soul. As death approaches, the soul reaches its end-point magnitude of energy. Once physiologically dead, the energy is released back into the atmosphere. Based on its magnitude of positive energy, the soul moves up the atmosphere. The higher the energy level, the farther it travels away from the earth’s surface.
In short for all laymen like me, the more sins you commit, the lesser your soul travels away from the earth surface. This increases the chances of the soul being sucked back into the painful cycle of life again. The more the good deeds, the higher the soul travels allowing it to achieve Nirvana or Mokshya. So start doing something good today…Begin with nice encouraging comments for the blog!
The silent observer believes in a certain theory as original as himself!!! Human soul is a mass of cosmic energy – the bond that unites the universe, its galaxies, the planets, human beings and every little molecule. The world and the million other fictitious or real worlds that exist within the universe act as non-stop production plants, producing Souls. All the stray energy (other than the ones acting on binding certain physical entities) is sucked into the wombs of mankind and animals continuously. Here is how the galactic shop floor works:
Energy from the tsunami, the volcanoes, other natural phenomenon and even the slightest traces of free energy get assembled in discrete packets. These packets structure themselves in the various layers of the atmosphere – let’s say between the Troposphere (being the closest to the earth surface) and the Thermosphere (which is over 90 km above the earth’s surface). The closer the packet to the earth’s surface, the more the probability of it being pulled into one of the embryos growing inside the wombs of expecting mothers. The soul then enters this embryo which was nothing more than a fertilized egg, giving it what we call Life.
But since the idea of the blog was to write about life after death, here it goes. As the embryo takes the shape of a little baby that gradually reaches adolescence and eventually old age, it makes several choices and executes numerous actions throughout its life. All the actions - physical, moral, psychological or emotional influence the energy within the soul. The impact of these actions on the energy is either positive or negative, thereby affecting the overall magnitude of the soul. As death approaches, the soul reaches its end-point magnitude of energy. Once physiologically dead, the energy is released back into the atmosphere. Based on its magnitude of positive energy, the soul moves up the atmosphere. The higher the energy level, the farther it travels away from the earth’s surface.
In short for all laymen like me, the more sins you commit, the lesser your soul travels away from the earth surface. This increases the chances of the soul being sucked back into the painful cycle of life again. The more the good deeds, the higher the soul travels allowing it to achieve Nirvana or Mokshya. So start doing something good today…Begin with nice encouraging comments for the blog!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Profound Realizations I – The Romantic Remains a Loner
What Meets the Eye - He romances with a person, an idea, an artform, the nature or perhaps even the most ignorable petite creations around. He is a romantic…one full of passion. He finds beauty in the most unusual places…searches for love not only in people…but even in concepts, beliefs and philosophies. He is compassionate and can relate to the happiness, sorrow or anxiety of everyone around him. He is one full of zeal and is obsessed and dedicated. Day in and day out, he is driven by one word…and one word alone – Passion.
He is the one who made some of the greatest things happen to mankind. He is the scientist whom one thanks each time one flies; He is the musician one applauds each time a symphony stirs one’s soul; He is the architect whose work of art makes one to travel far and wide only to marvel at the structures hundreds of years old. He is the one different from the masses…the one whose mind never stops wondering and traveling several light years while the body may seem static. He is the one who made such a huge difference to the planet we live.
The Flip Side – Such is his passion; he’ll dive deep into whatever he chooses to romance with. If he finds romance in study, his inquisition will take him to the greatest depths of the subject ever known. The depth, to many would seem like a dungeon and the scholar a lunatic. If he loves a person, he’ll grow completely into the other only to attain perfect resonance. But once the passion dies down, he’ll grow out of the person too. We’ll then call him an escapist or perhaps one who isn’t trustworthy. His single minded endeavour and intent will also make him a stranger, an alien in front of the crowd. He’ll choose his own audience and selectively open up in bits and pieces. We’ll call him a snob.
The Realization – The romantic has to be a loner. His love and passion for everything around will force him into associations, relationships and bonds. But he has far too many questions he needs answered, far too many miles he needs to trek, far too much of love, compassion and beauty he needs to discover. He perhaps cannot undertake his voyage with strings attached. Misunderstood, sometimes admired, loved, sometimes loathed…he’ll walk on….
He is the one who made some of the greatest things happen to mankind. He is the scientist whom one thanks each time one flies; He is the musician one applauds each time a symphony stirs one’s soul; He is the architect whose work of art makes one to travel far and wide only to marvel at the structures hundreds of years old. He is the one different from the masses…the one whose mind never stops wondering and traveling several light years while the body may seem static. He is the one who made such a huge difference to the planet we live.
The Flip Side – Such is his passion; he’ll dive deep into whatever he chooses to romance with. If he finds romance in study, his inquisition will take him to the greatest depths of the subject ever known. The depth, to many would seem like a dungeon and the scholar a lunatic. If he loves a person, he’ll grow completely into the other only to attain perfect resonance. But once the passion dies down, he’ll grow out of the person too. We’ll then call him an escapist or perhaps one who isn’t trustworthy. His single minded endeavour and intent will also make him a stranger, an alien in front of the crowd. He’ll choose his own audience and selectively open up in bits and pieces. We’ll call him a snob.
The Realization – The romantic has to be a loner. His love and passion for everything around will force him into associations, relationships and bonds. But he has far too many questions he needs answered, far too many miles he needs to trek, far too much of love, compassion and beauty he needs to discover. He perhaps cannot undertake his voyage with strings attached. Misunderstood, sometimes admired, loved, sometimes loathed…he’ll walk on….
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