Thursday, August 10, 2006

An ode to Peace!

All we are saying is give peace a chance
John Lennon

We inhabit a violent, merciless world. There is so much of pain. Killing. Blood. Gore. Terror. Lies. Double standards. Humans have this tendency of creating chaos out of the most ordered of permutations. Right now, as I post, some diabolical Israeli warplane must be bombing the shit out of a Lebanese village. Smoldering its petrified residents. Alive. A barrage of Hizbollah rockets must be on their way to another café in Haifa. As the politicians of the civilized and the not-so-civilized world slug it out, the agony persists. 24 X 7.

War is so futile. Always. I cried as a kid when I read Hemmingway’s ‘For whom the Bell tolls’. It speaks about the brutality of war. War. It only separates friends from each other. Moms from kids. Wives from husbands. Children from their Dads. As someone rightly remarked, if you give me the money that has been spent in war, I will clothe every man, woman, and child in an attire of which kings and queens will be proud. I will build a schoolhouse in every valley over the whole earth. Yet I understand this ode can never pass muster. The armament industry will never rest. Or let the planet rest in peace. The injustice has to prevail.

I have been following developments in the Middle East and other conflict zones for a long time. Err…I am not too old, must I add. In the 16 summers of my love for books and the world affairs, I observed only the hollow twanging of war. The misery that violence begets. So many tomes of it. Hatred for one another and for humanity. Americans burning 10-year old girls in Iraq. The insurgents slaughtering worshippers in mosques. Russians carpet bombing Chechen villages. The Chechens hacking to death school children. Israelis humiliating the Palestinian women. The list is long and sad.

There are only blame-games. Slander. Ignorance of other cultures and a lot of indifference. Yet it is love that sustains the world. It keeps the children smiling and the adults hoping. Against hope. But hoping nonetheless. What this planet needs is more mistletoe and less missile-talk.

Amidst this backdrop, I am weary. I think I must shut myself from more of this mayhem. No laptops, no unfolding of abortive suicide attempts -- on British aircrafts -- beamed on Live TV. No bad tidings. Just the fragrance of a thousand daffodils in full bloom. I have decided to go to a very beautiful place where the water is pure and nights are cosy. Where the mountains whistle to you on solitary evenings. Where a blue sky kisses your nose on gorgeous noons. Where the moon appears like a cheese, you want to squeeze and chomp. I am expecting some great company.

God is holidaying. So am I!

See ya soon. Here, I leave you with a couple of images that have haunted us in the days before. There are other images that one never wishes to tear one self from. Let's continue to hope!


[The next blog will be posted September 1, 2006]

A Lebanese girl quietly lights a candle on the slab of an unknown person, killed in the Isreali bombing

A photo montage of IDF in action -- Isreal-Lebanon war 2006.

Our blue planet: Let there be peace

Those cute butterflies in my garden

The green-peek: A beautiful world.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006


The drizzle began as suddenly as a cat can blink her eye. It came in blobs. First, small and quiet and then fast and tap-tap-tap. The rain-wiper on my car did its best to shoo away droplets clung to the pane. The stockpile seemed unlimited. I decided to drive on! Soft music continued to cascade and fill my car. Outside countless sluices popped up from nowhere. Harried pedestrians and bitter bikers seemed busy negotiating their way through the water clogged six-way-lane. It is raining Monsoon in India’s capital city and everyone and his neighbor is caught in the downpour. The country may be riding fast on the high horse of development and affluence but at the blink of our cat’s eyelid, the real state of our rueful infrastructure shows up. Chinks in the Armour, as they say!

[The beauty of nature's glower]

However --nothing can take away from me my love for rains. Not the bad roads, maddening muggy evenings with power outages and a million mutinies, as the ever-acerbic Naipaul calls us. The sound of rain on trees, lampposts and lushes across the sidewalks continue to fascinate me. I try to make some sense out of the gentle pummeling of silvery driblets on my car-pane. Upon streams. On dark evenings. I love the hurriedness about it. People trying to run for cover. How it – rains -- bring to life, the bleakest of hopes. I think anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain.

[Rain through the pane]

The 19th century American poet Henry Longfellow says the best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain. It is when the fleecy clouds can hold it no more. The weary earth drinks the drizzle. Rivers lap the rains. Old wells in the countryside stock the reserve. Flowers nod. Gazelles hop. Birds break into a song. Peaches blush. A little rain, I think, is an elixir. Into each life some rain must fall, Longfellow must agree in his mossy grave. Rain never disappoints. It rains on the dead, as much as on the un-dead. The unqueer and queer alike.

God, I may drift. I need to end it now.

Happy rains


Tuesday, August 01, 2006

A blue Evening

I’ll keep it short. A very good friend of mine, who works with me, tells me that I am harsh on myself. I often tend to be self-critical and can be pretty relentless at that. I think we need a bit of self-flagellation at times. It only helps us keep things in near perfect shapes and aligned to the shifting situations around.

I have another weird component in me. I dream a lot. It was one of those blue-tinted dreams last evening. I saw the stitching on my shirt change color from green to electrical. Or florescent, was it! The world’s most enchanting pair of eyes floated in front of me. Magical, seditious and adorable. Angel, Am I dead, I thought. This must be heaven!

I could hear the bells toll in my head. Suddenly the phosphorescent lights went off. As if one a cue, rains came. In showers. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the beautiful image in front of me, perched on the couch. Basking in the glow. There are two kinds of light - the glow that illumines, and the glare that shines. The face has both!

There are times when we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. They laugh with us on solitary evenings. They sit silent with us on noisy noons. Laugh along over un-scheduled dates.

Ah, the lovely laughter. The flowered remnants of which, go on long after I am awake.

And only I am not harsh on myslef, others too are!