Monday, February 23, 2009
Confusion and Agony
Devendra Chachaji is no more with us. Yes I sometimes feel his pain but I am happy that he is relieved now. We all could have done more and we all could have prevented some things from happening. Yes. But it doesnt make any sense anymore. DLF Metro is now a question mark. Offer from Leeds has arrived. I am still waiting for Darmstadt. Taking study loan is not a very wise thing to do, given the uncertain market conditions. Helix is in a fix. Practically I am alone because practically I took the lead. I take the onus. I dont want to mess up Sanjeev's work. So I will do this job atleast. Come what may. On the other hand, they are building up a pressure on me to give my consent for marriage. I am holding. Beacuse I cant refuse. She is so good. She is so innocent. She is so pretty. I know, I cant get a better match. But can I marry so soon when I am professionally so confused? I need to sort out things before its gets too messy to clean up. The good part is that I now know that I am alone – in my friend circle. It makes easier to take decisions. You don’t have to ask a lot of people. Also the family came closer all this while. So there is a new avenue that has opened up. God is great. I want to leave a lot to him. Let him decide. I am sure he will do the right thing. May God bless his soul.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
At the airport..
Arrival and departure
and the lounge we share
Plus the hustle & bustle
that surrounds us there.
What else is life?
I wonder sweet lord
For some its glory
for some its glare...
and the lounge we share
Plus the hustle & bustle
that surrounds us there.
What else is life?
I wonder sweet lord
For some its glory
for some its glare...
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Desperation
They have their own lives
n have I my none;
Even as they are my soul
n for them I'm no one.
n have I my none;
Even as they are my soul
n for them I'm no one.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Promise
The more I try, the more I fail
Keep pushing, I, my heart with force
It bleeds in pain, it goes so frail
Have been like lord
Lasheth who his slave -
To the point he cries, to the point he faints.
Its still no good, there's still a wave
The more I try, the more I fail
I keep the promise, its hard to keep
Inhuman too, is it not insane?
How will I swim? Will I survive?
No pulse i hear, no wind to sail
Ask I myself, is it a crime?
A cime that cruel? A crime that grave?
Which needs a promise - so hard to keep?
Still I try - I know I'll fail
To keep the promise, so hard to keep.
What is it, that haunts you dear?
No angel I am and no monster
Am just someone whose wisheth to fall
Fall they may call, but Rise as I see
To Rise in your love, to Rise with thee
And break this promise - so hard to keep
To get back a life, to find a new world
To take back my right -
Right to live and to die
A right to smile
And a right to weep
And break this promise - so hard to keep
But what of I'm sure is but one tiny thing
That I love you more, than all that I need
Will dig up my heart and and get rid of it
Will not think of you and take up the pain
But wont be a fool - one who wants to rise
And more I will try and try not to fail
And keep up the promise - so hard to keep
And more I will try and try not to fail.
~<171120081306>
Keep pushing, I, my heart with force
It bleeds in pain, it goes so frail
Have been like lord
Lasheth who his slave -
To the point he cries, to the point he faints.
Its still no good, there's still a wave
The more I try, the more I fail
I keep the promise, its hard to keep
Inhuman too, is it not insane?
How will I swim? Will I survive?
No pulse i hear, no wind to sail
Ask I myself, is it a crime?
A cime that cruel? A crime that grave?
Which needs a promise - so hard to keep?
Still I try - I know I'll fail
To keep the promise, so hard to keep.
What is it, that haunts you dear?
No angel I am and no monster
Am just someone whose wisheth to fall
Fall they may call, but Rise as I see
To Rise in your love, to Rise with thee
And break this promise - so hard to keep
To get back a life, to find a new world
To take back my right -
Right to live and to die
A right to smile
And a right to weep
And break this promise - so hard to keep
But what of I'm sure is but one tiny thing
That I love you more, than all that I need
Will dig up my heart and and get rid of it
Will not think of you and take up the pain
But wont be a fool - one who wants to rise
And more I will try and try not to fail
And keep up the promise - so hard to keep
And more I will try and try not to fail.
~<171120081306>
My Princess
Seldom you speak, o little princess,
Seldom you hear what commoners may say;
You walk innocent through the dreams you weave,
And what you care? They may think what they may;
But when you laugh n sing and play them around,
All they can do is - just adore you and pray;
Pray for your smile and pray for your dream,
Pray for your song and pray just for thee.
Monday, August 25, 2008
A short story ...
The Wanderer Prince
He stood there, engulfed in deep thought. The sea wasn't calm at all. Waves randomly rose and jumped over his feet like a pack of wild snakes, sometimes hurting his toes with their velocity and force. But he was too busy to care about them. He was completely in union with nature, leaning against the cliff and watching the vast bluish green ocean in hope and confidence, as if trying to tell the world beyond these waters that – "lo and behold, here I come for you". The wind was chilling and sharp and blew his long dark brown locks of hair here and now on his face, blessed with chiseled sharp features. He seemed quite determined and his big black eyes looked focused. The man was tall and handsome and his tanned well built body, though covered only with a couple of modest holy unstitched clothes, confirmed his royal genre. The reflection of dusk sun on his skin, along with the hue of his saffron outfit, gave him a divine aura. A short but kind smile played on his thin dark lips. It was hard to say whether he was an invincible god or a mortal human, but one thing was certain – he was not someone ordinary.
Suddenly his concentration was disrupted by a thunder bolt as loud as a battle conch and as bright as a brand new sword. Perhaps Indra, the king of gods, was delighted and wanted to wish him good luck. He first looked up at the crimson sky that was now turning dark grey with all those monsoon clouds piling up and then he turned around slowly and looked towards the shore. He could clearly see an assorted army of various peoples, smart and young, busy with their daily drill in front of the numerous camps they had set up along the sea shore. All the camps, without exception, were decorated with huge dancing saffron flags – symbols of devotion, valor and unity. An expression of love and gratitude ran across his face. He closed his eyes and chanted a few sacred mantras from the holy samhitas in order to thank the gods for their blessings and guidance. He was clearly pleased to have experienced this day of achievement. The story of his long and eventful journey was coming alive in front of his eyes - the amazing lands he had visited, the wonderful people he had met, the strange customs he had witnessed and the numerous wise teachings he had learnt, all these years. How could the princes of Manu be so ignorant and suspicious of all these peoples whom they never hesitate to call dasyus and danavas? How could the millions of these lives be so distanced from civilization and awareness? How could the great rishis, munis and other revered sages, who devote their lives for the upliftment of these unfortunate men of Aryavarta, be not protected and supported by our so called Aryan kingdoms? He wondered.
He wondered why no Suryavanshi prince of the Ikshvaku dynasty ever cared to cross the great Vindhyachalas and visit the beautiful lands of Madhya and Dakshina? Was he the first Raaghava to have experienced the waters of Narmada, Tungabhadra, Krishna and Kaveri? Was he the first kshatriya to have worshipped the van-devas of the Aravalis & Nilgiris and the kul-devis residing in the hills of Megha and Tripura? Was he the first Manava to have visited the astounding cities of Yakshas, Gandharvas, Suparnas and Nagas and also the far flung villages belonging to the aadivasi tribes? Was he the first Aryan who had brought the message of the shrutis and smritis to the tribes of nishaads, bheels, munds, kols and gonds and also to the clans of 'the divine monkey' and 'the great bear'?
Maybe yes. Maybe he was the first Aryan prince to have walked throughout the vast rugged landscape that lay to the south of the great plain so thoroughly. Though a prince by birth & right and by karma & varna he chose to live and walk among the so called lesser peoples. It is hard to estimate how many villages he visited or how many forests and rivers he crossed. It is difficult to say how many million lives he touched or how many thousand friends and followers he made. But he came on each one of them as a messiah and a messenger. He showered his unconditional love on all of them. He broke the barriers of jaatis, varnas, and gender and demolished the walls of languages and customs. He taught them the higher ways of living and thinking. He gave them the concept of family and its values and ideals. He gave them sanskaars and gyanam. He made them the superior ones.
He would politely refuse to take the daughters of the tribal chiefs as his wives as he was already married. He would accepte the widely revered deva pashupatinath and matrudevi and would worship them as he would worship his own gods - indra, varuna, agni, maruts and ashwins. He would establish hundreds of ashrams and gurukuls across this land and would train the tribal youth in the contemporary aryan warfare to protect these small yet powerful building blocks of civilization. He would teach them developed ways of agriculture which the aryan people had been practicing in the northern plains of sindhu and saraswati for centuries. He would make them aware of the existence and expanse of their land – their own land of Aryavarta and would in turn get himself enlightened about the diversity of the cultures here. Many a violent chiefs of barbaric danava and daitya tribes would be killed - the repenting spared and the sober ones be protected thence.
It was a revolution - a revolution of civilization, awakening and awareness – a revolution of bringing the neglected dasyus into the mainstream and making them Aryans. It was hardly surprising that his message spread to the farthest lands within a short span of 14 years of his journey and this land to the south of the great Himalayas and to the north of the great ocean actually became Aryavarta in true sense.
The royal one took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles. A sense of satisfaction showed in his kind eyes as he stood on the cliff braving the fierce monsoon showers, looking at his army of a hundred tribal chiefs with their thousands of innocent yet brave young men, quickly moving around, making logistic arrangements to appropriate the sudden monsoon. They revered and loved him like a god and father and he was, today, proud of his devotees. How well had they come together to help their master and mentor in this hour of distress and difficulty. How meticulously had they planned and built this huge structure just out of their devotion and affection for him. He once again looked at the ferocious ocean dancing tandava to the tune of monsoon and then gradually turned towards that unending long coral and rock bridge that stood steadily in the wild ocean, running down south to connect Dhanushkoti with the golden island.
A hand quietly touched and surprised his shoulder. He swiftly looked back. It was none other that his younger brother Saumitra Lakshmana. "The sethu is ready respected brother, in all ways". "Well then dear Lakshamana", replied he in a polite yet stern voice, "Ask Maharaja Sugreeva, Mahabali Jamvant and dear Pavanputra to get our men ready. We shall proceed tomorrow, as soon as the morning gets into its fourth hour. The gods will protect us indeed."
"And let us prepare ourselves for the greatest battle ever – a battle that shall be fought among best of men on earth. A battle that shall bring back the pride of Aryavarta – a battle that shall bring back Devi Sita……..my Sita……"
The wanderer prince was now looking straight in the eyes of his beloved brother with his voice choked and the tears of grief and love rolling down his royal divine cheeks.
~ Atri Joshi
<070720082300>
He stood there, engulfed in deep thought. The sea wasn't calm at all. Waves randomly rose and jumped over his feet like a pack of wild snakes, sometimes hurting his toes with their velocity and force. But he was too busy to care about them. He was completely in union with nature, leaning against the cliff and watching the vast bluish green ocean in hope and confidence, as if trying to tell the world beyond these waters that – "lo and behold, here I come for you". The wind was chilling and sharp and blew his long dark brown locks of hair here and now on his face, blessed with chiseled sharp features. He seemed quite determined and his big black eyes looked focused. The man was tall and handsome and his tanned well built body, though covered only with a couple of modest holy unstitched clothes, confirmed his royal genre. The reflection of dusk sun on his skin, along with the hue of his saffron outfit, gave him a divine aura. A short but kind smile played on his thin dark lips. It was hard to say whether he was an invincible god or a mortal human, but one thing was certain – he was not someone ordinary.
Suddenly his concentration was disrupted by a thunder bolt as loud as a battle conch and as bright as a brand new sword. Perhaps Indra, the king of gods, was delighted and wanted to wish him good luck. He first looked up at the crimson sky that was now turning dark grey with all those monsoon clouds piling up and then he turned around slowly and looked towards the shore. He could clearly see an assorted army of various peoples, smart and young, busy with their daily drill in front of the numerous camps they had set up along the sea shore. All the camps, without exception, were decorated with huge dancing saffron flags – symbols of devotion, valor and unity. An expression of love and gratitude ran across his face. He closed his eyes and chanted a few sacred mantras from the holy samhitas in order to thank the gods for their blessings and guidance. He was clearly pleased to have experienced this day of achievement. The story of his long and eventful journey was coming alive in front of his eyes - the amazing lands he had visited, the wonderful people he had met, the strange customs he had witnessed and the numerous wise teachings he had learnt, all these years. How could the princes of Manu be so ignorant and suspicious of all these peoples whom they never hesitate to call dasyus and danavas? How could the millions of these lives be so distanced from civilization and awareness? How could the great rishis, munis and other revered sages, who devote their lives for the upliftment of these unfortunate men of Aryavarta, be not protected and supported by our so called Aryan kingdoms? He wondered.
He wondered why no Suryavanshi prince of the Ikshvaku dynasty ever cared to cross the great Vindhyachalas and visit the beautiful lands of Madhya and Dakshina? Was he the first Raaghava to have experienced the waters of Narmada, Tungabhadra, Krishna and Kaveri? Was he the first kshatriya to have worshipped the van-devas of the Aravalis & Nilgiris and the kul-devis residing in the hills of Megha and Tripura? Was he the first Manava to have visited the astounding cities of Yakshas, Gandharvas, Suparnas and Nagas and also the far flung villages belonging to the aadivasi tribes? Was he the first Aryan who had brought the message of the shrutis and smritis to the tribes of nishaads, bheels, munds, kols and gonds and also to the clans of 'the divine monkey' and 'the great bear'?
Maybe yes. Maybe he was the first Aryan prince to have walked throughout the vast rugged landscape that lay to the south of the great plain so thoroughly. Though a prince by birth & right and by karma & varna he chose to live and walk among the so called lesser peoples. It is hard to estimate how many villages he visited or how many forests and rivers he crossed. It is difficult to say how many million lives he touched or how many thousand friends and followers he made. But he came on each one of them as a messiah and a messenger. He showered his unconditional love on all of them. He broke the barriers of jaatis, varnas, and gender and demolished the walls of languages and customs. He taught them the higher ways of living and thinking. He gave them the concept of family and its values and ideals. He gave them sanskaars and gyanam. He made them the superior ones.
He would politely refuse to take the daughters of the tribal chiefs as his wives as he was already married. He would accepte the widely revered deva pashupatinath and matrudevi and would worship them as he would worship his own gods - indra, varuna, agni, maruts and ashwins. He would establish hundreds of ashrams and gurukuls across this land and would train the tribal youth in the contemporary aryan warfare to protect these small yet powerful building blocks of civilization. He would teach them developed ways of agriculture which the aryan people had been practicing in the northern plains of sindhu and saraswati for centuries. He would make them aware of the existence and expanse of their land – their own land of Aryavarta and would in turn get himself enlightened about the diversity of the cultures here. Many a violent chiefs of barbaric danava and daitya tribes would be killed - the repenting spared and the sober ones be protected thence.
It was a revolution - a revolution of civilization, awakening and awareness – a revolution of bringing the neglected dasyus into the mainstream and making them Aryans. It was hardly surprising that his message spread to the farthest lands within a short span of 14 years of his journey and this land to the south of the great Himalayas and to the north of the great ocean actually became Aryavarta in true sense.
The royal one took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles. A sense of satisfaction showed in his kind eyes as he stood on the cliff braving the fierce monsoon showers, looking at his army of a hundred tribal chiefs with their thousands of innocent yet brave young men, quickly moving around, making logistic arrangements to appropriate the sudden monsoon. They revered and loved him like a god and father and he was, today, proud of his devotees. How well had they come together to help their master and mentor in this hour of distress and difficulty. How meticulously had they planned and built this huge structure just out of their devotion and affection for him. He once again looked at the ferocious ocean dancing tandava to the tune of monsoon and then gradually turned towards that unending long coral and rock bridge that stood steadily in the wild ocean, running down south to connect Dhanushkoti with the golden island.
A hand quietly touched and surprised his shoulder. He swiftly looked back. It was none other that his younger brother Saumitra Lakshmana. "The sethu is ready respected brother, in all ways". "Well then dear Lakshamana", replied he in a polite yet stern voice, "Ask Maharaja Sugreeva, Mahabali Jamvant and dear Pavanputra to get our men ready. We shall proceed tomorrow, as soon as the morning gets into its fourth hour. The gods will protect us indeed."
"And let us prepare ourselves for the greatest battle ever – a battle that shall be fought among best of men on earth. A battle that shall bring back the pride of Aryavarta – a battle that shall bring back Devi Sita……..my Sita……"
The wanderer prince was now looking straight in the eyes of his beloved brother with his voice choked and the tears of grief and love rolling down his royal divine cheeks.
~ Atri Joshi
<070720082300>
Saturday, March 29, 2008
A short story
The Vengeance
It was just another morning for Taufiq bhai. For others in the community it was a special weekly event. It was the auspicious day of jumma. Taufiq bhai was feeling too lazy to get out of his “bed” – a chaotic arrangement of rugs and rags on mud plastered floor in the backyard of his two room “house”. Like the other houses of the mohallah, his house too was a typical muslim house – a couple of rooms enclosed within a rough, partially broken boundary wall and a clumsy jute curtain thrown carelessly at the entrance. A few goats tied in the verandah and a dozen chickens all over the place.
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
The morning azaan had commenced.
“Damn this rogue. Can’t he let me sleep a little more?” Taufiq bhai was not at all pleased with the shrieking high pitched voice of Munne khan – the son of “khoosat” imam or “the diseased” imam – as he was fondly called by many. It was not because of his habit of waking people up so early that he was hated so much but because of his liaisons with the corrupt politicians and his dirty ways of luring and convincing people away to vote for “hand” or “cycle” or “elephant” or any other symbol during the elections. The rumour said that he demanded thousands of rupees for a single vote from the mohallah.
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
-
The azaan was not stopping. Neither was it supposed to.
“May Allah curse you and your entire family, you son of the diseased one… damn you!” Taufiq bahi stood up stretching his arms in air and despair. Although he seemed quite disturbed by the morning call yet he had no choice but to get ready and head towards the Lal masjid before it was too late and before the sun showed up. Afterall, it was the day of Jumma. He quickly wore his baniyaan, tied up his tehmat, got into his chappals and grabbed his white prayer cap before rushing towards the street in anger.
Even in the early morning hours the narrow cobbled street was as crowded as it got during the day. Everybody was rushing towards the masjid - the old and the young, fathers and sons, friends and foes, the rich and the poor – everybody. It was indeed the day of jumma. One could hear all sorts of sounds - people talking to each other, children laughing, old men coughing and boys whispering. It seemed like a piece of fast bollywood number with the chattering of chappals rendering a rhythm to the whole thing.
As Taufiq bhai approached the masjid, the voice of Munne khan in the old disfigured loudspeaker got stronger and stronger. He was reciting the same old verses from the Quran which Taufiq bhai had been listening for forty, maybe, fifty years altogether, since his childhood – the verses in Arabic he could hardly understand. But surprisingly Munne Khan’s voice was fresh and young and his pronunciation profound, unlike the khoosat imam, though he shrieked twice as much as his father. It was for the first time that Munne was guiding the jumma prayers since his homecoming. Taufiq bhai had heard that he was a bright lad and that is why he could make it to Deoband to graduate as a maulvi. They said it was after years that a maulvi from Agra had graduated from Deoband. Taufiq bhai though knew in his heart that it was more of his father’s influence and precious contacts with a bonus of his capability to pay the hefty donations, that had helped Munne graduate in this fancy manner. A passing thought ran through his mind – could he ever do the same for any of his sons? The answer was simple.
Lal Masjid could now be seen clearly on the opposite side of Chauranga road, where Taufiq bhai had finally reached through the snaking narrow brick lane of the mohallah. It was one of the busiest roads of Agra and housed numerous shops and small workshops on the either side. Taufiq bhai too worked in one of these auto workshops. He was lucky enough to work with Naveen bhai, a Hindu. Naveen bhai’s workshop was quite renowned and there was no dearth of work. And Naveen bhai himself was a nice man. He would never shout at anyone and was gentle enough to grant paid leaves to his workers, nearly all of them Muslims, during the holy month of ramzaan. But most importantly, he had a special regard for Taufiq bhai given their long association and good faith. Taufiq bhai paused for a minute and looked around at the road. The market was closed and the road was choked with hundreds of heads, all covered in white circular prayer caps. There were some cows lying beside the garbage heaps munching their find. Loudspeaker was at its worst and it had started irritating Taufiq bhai even more.
“May Allah curse you, the evil one!” he whispered, maybe a bit loudly.
-
“Whom are you cursing Taufiq bhai?” A soft sarcastic voice came from behind.
Damn! Was he overheard?
Taufiq bhai turned around and found wicked Naseem, his neighbour grinning at him.
“Umm… nobody Naseem bhai…..just these cows….the beasts are blocking the way of our brethren...” Taufiq bhai made it up quickly.
“Hahahaha… you are absolutely right my brother…” Naseem laughed back.
“I wonder why are these bloody cows sitting here when they can serve the appetite of our entire mohallah for a week? Isn’t it stupid to watch your dinner up so close and still not have the power to eat it?” Naseem was serious this time.
“But isn’t it illegal to kill a cow?” Taufiq bhai retaliated.
“Arrrgh! Who made these laws? These kaafirs? I don’t abide to these stupid laws. I only believe in the laws of Quran Sharif. You know, we regularly make a cow halaal at my place. What does it take? Just a hundred rupee note for that Hindu constable? And it’s worth it my brother. You don’t know what sort of treat you are missing.” Naseem walked on.
Taufiq bhai stood, thinking.
“No… no... it’s not worth it…” He thought. “Why upset the Hindus when we can survive over the meat of buffalo? I am sure it tastes the same…. and this Naseem? He is an evil man…. Everybody knows this isn’t it?” He muttered in a consoling tone.
The sun had started shining brightly on the masjid, exposing its cheap red colour and un-plastered tall minaret - crowned with a big old shrieking loudspeaker. The masjid was small yet powerful and its power reflected not only in the numerous long prayer queues on the Chauranga Road but also in the hearts of the hundreds who had joined in on jumma, as a reassurance of faith, unity and brotherhood. Taufiq bhai too joined the ranks like a drop in the ocean though a bit unwillingly. He never liked this long tiresome ritual.
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
-
Munne khan guided the people of faith through the entire ritual of jumma prayers with utmost confidence and serenity. His words were heavy but clear and his voice fresh, as it should have been. He delivered the Arabic verses in such a sophisticated manner that one could have easily passed his speech as an Arab’s. They could feel the depth of faith and honesty in his voice and many a men were so impressed that they imagined it coming straight from the holy prophet himself. Such was an impact of Munne khan on his first day as an imam. Surprisingly, Taufiq bhai too, who would take the jumma prayer as a horrible formality, was mesmerized by Munne khan.
“Peace be upon our prophet Hazrat Muhammad, sallallaaaho-w’aalai-wassallam”
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
As the long ritual of prayers came to an end, it was time for the weekly sermon. Everybody eagerly waited to hear what the new imam had to say on his first day.
“Bismillaah-ur-rahmaan-ar-raheem….”
“Brethren, by the grace of Allah, I have, today – for the first time, an opportunity to speak to you and share the golden words of Quran-e-paak and Hadees. And share with you what our prophet had expected of us when he had bestowed upon us the faith of Islam and the wish of Allah, and also what have we become today. I want to share with you the facts, of which, you are most certainly unaware, for, if you were aware of those, you would not just sit idle in your homes or serve the kaafirs all day, but would unite and fight for your rights – the rights gifted to you by none other than the holy prophet himself through the numerous verses in the holy book.”
Munne khan’s explosive words had already charged up the atmosphere and everybody without exception had their ears fixed on his voice.
“Have you ever thought my brethren, who you really are? Are you a pathan or a husseini? Are you a shia or a sunni? Are you a bareilvi or a dakkhini? Who are you my brother? Lest you are confused, let me remind you – you are nobody, mind me, nobody, except a mussalmaan! And that is because you were born at Allah’s will and so will you die. And if you know this fact then you must also know that Allah has mercy on every mussalmaan and also that if you are not a mussalmaan first, then you are a kaafir, just like many who throng this land of Hindustan today like untamed cattle. And do I need to remind you about the fate of kaafirs, my dear ones?”
Munne khan roared like a lion. The kid was indeed gifted.
“This land of Hindustan that was once ruled by our forefathers has now been taken over by the kaafirs, can’t you see? Can’t you see how these kaafirs, who had been conquered over and destroyed by our mighty Mughal ancestors, have once again stolen the riches and nobility befooling you, using their old filthy ways? If anyone among you has read the holy Quran, he must know what the verse five of the chapter nine says. And because it seems to me that none of you has indeed read our holy book with seriousness, let me quote – then, when the sacred months have passed, slay the kaafirs wherever you find them, and capture them and besiege them, and prepare for them each and every ambush – but if they repent and accept Islam, then leave their way free. Verily, Allah is most forgiving, most merciful”
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
“Remember, o my brethren, we exist today because our forefathers fought for our tanzeem, for our Islam, for our honour, for us! It was them who brought this land of kaafirs under Daarul-Islam. It was them who conquered and killed a hundred thousand kaafir kings and showed the way of Islam to their hundred million subjects. It was them who ruled this land for a thousand years. And look what has happened to the might of Islam today. Look!”
“You slave all day for a Hindu baniya who throws some pieces of bread at you and you eat it like a dog. What has come upon you my brethren? What is it that has turned you Mussalmans into cowards of no soul?
Visibly, a wave of anger, disgust and guilt swept through masses and a hundred heads covered with white prayer caps shook in disbelief.
“Do you have a slightest idea what these kaafirs are doing to our people? If no, then let me remind you about the martyrdom of our beloved Baabri masjid. They destroyed it in front of our eyes and what could we do? They killed thousands of our mussalmaan brothers and raped thousands of our mothers and sisters in Gujarat and Kashmir and elsewhere and what could we do? If you can’t hear their cries and can’t feel their pain, you have no right to live! You have no right to live if you don’t have power to avenge. And you will never have power to avenge if you don’t rule this land and believe me brethren, you will never be able to rule this land unless you dream of it, unless you dream of our land, the land of Islam, the land of Mughalstan!!”
Mughalstan! Mughalstan? A brief pause gave way to the whispers of curiosity.
“Yes Mughalstan!!!!”
The voice thundered and words exploded like a killing bolt of lightening.
“Our brothers took Pakistan fifty years back and five years hence, we will take Mughalstan – our destined land! Kashmir, Himachal, Haryana, Dilli, Punjab, UP, Bihar and Bengal will be taken and will be governed by us, in the name of shariya, in the name of Allah, the most merciful. The entire land will belong to us – to our tanzeem. We will connect Pakistan to Bangladesh, inshallah! Once again we will rule this land, bringing an end to our filthy exploitation. None of us shall remain deprived. None of our brother shall be killed by the kaafirs and none of our sister shall weep. And to achieve this, we must unite. We must consolidate our efforts and energies. And if need be we shall kill every single of these treacherous kaafirs for, as we all know, a muslim life is more precious than a million kaafir lives put together. They shall be eliminated sans mercy if they dare touch any of our brother!”
“Don’t worry my fellows, everything is ready and everything has been planned. Accurately.”
“Aameen…”
-
“Aameen…”
-
“Aameen…”
-
Many a fists rose in air. And a thousand angry passionate voices screamed and echoed on the road like an approaching hurricane.
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Mughalstan Zindabaad….”
-
“Mughalstan Zindabaad….”
-
The dream ran through their minds like an English action movie. Their eyes twinkled with zest of revenge and hatred. Many a bodies trembled with excitement and many a souls lost the fear of death. They could smell victory in their numbers and terror in their smiles. They started dispersing quickly repeating the name of the holy prophet, only to come back in far greater numbers, the next jumma.
-
“….how on earth could I be so naïve? Isn’t he absolutely correct? Haven’t these Hindus turned us into beggars? Look at Naveen. He lives in a kothi. And look at me who lives in a jhuggi. I toil all day and he keeps all the profit. And worse, he is a bloody kaafir, born to serve and I am a Mussalmaan, born to rule. Isn’t that an irony! But praises to Allah, this is going to change soon.”
“Naveen bhai, be prepared to pay for your misdeeds because the day is not far when I will have your shop and your kothi and you shall be driven away to hell…hahahahah…”
Taufiq bahi was feeling a new energy in his heart and a new strength in his limbs as he walked chuckling to himself. The passion of youth overtook the aging body. It was a rebirth, or maybe, the real birth.
-
“And you, the sacred one, see you today at Naseem’s place….”
He muttered, smiled sarcastically and greedily… and kicked the cow that had blocked his way.
Atri Joshi
<230320081230>
It was just another morning for Taufiq bhai. For others in the community it was a special weekly event. It was the auspicious day of jumma. Taufiq bhai was feeling too lazy to get out of his “bed” – a chaotic arrangement of rugs and rags on mud plastered floor in the backyard of his two room “house”. Like the other houses of the mohallah, his house too was a typical muslim house – a couple of rooms enclosed within a rough, partially broken boundary wall and a clumsy jute curtain thrown carelessly at the entrance. A few goats tied in the verandah and a dozen chickens all over the place.
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
The morning azaan had commenced.
“Damn this rogue. Can’t he let me sleep a little more?” Taufiq bhai was not at all pleased with the shrieking high pitched voice of Munne khan – the son of “khoosat” imam or “the diseased” imam – as he was fondly called by many. It was not because of his habit of waking people up so early that he was hated so much but because of his liaisons with the corrupt politicians and his dirty ways of luring and convincing people away to vote for “hand” or “cycle” or “elephant” or any other symbol during the elections. The rumour said that he demanded thousands of rupees for a single vote from the mohallah.
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
-
The azaan was not stopping. Neither was it supposed to.
“May Allah curse you and your entire family, you son of the diseased one… damn you!” Taufiq bahi stood up stretching his arms in air and despair. Although he seemed quite disturbed by the morning call yet he had no choice but to get ready and head towards the Lal masjid before it was too late and before the sun showed up. Afterall, it was the day of Jumma. He quickly wore his baniyaan, tied up his tehmat, got into his chappals and grabbed his white prayer cap before rushing towards the street in anger.
Even in the early morning hours the narrow cobbled street was as crowded as it got during the day. Everybody was rushing towards the masjid - the old and the young, fathers and sons, friends and foes, the rich and the poor – everybody. It was indeed the day of jumma. One could hear all sorts of sounds - people talking to each other, children laughing, old men coughing and boys whispering. It seemed like a piece of fast bollywood number with the chattering of chappals rendering a rhythm to the whole thing.
As Taufiq bhai approached the masjid, the voice of Munne khan in the old disfigured loudspeaker got stronger and stronger. He was reciting the same old verses from the Quran which Taufiq bhai had been listening for forty, maybe, fifty years altogether, since his childhood – the verses in Arabic he could hardly understand. But surprisingly Munne Khan’s voice was fresh and young and his pronunciation profound, unlike the khoosat imam, though he shrieked twice as much as his father. It was for the first time that Munne was guiding the jumma prayers since his homecoming. Taufiq bhai had heard that he was a bright lad and that is why he could make it to Deoband to graduate as a maulvi. They said it was after years that a maulvi from Agra had graduated from Deoband. Taufiq bhai though knew in his heart that it was more of his father’s influence and precious contacts with a bonus of his capability to pay the hefty donations, that had helped Munne graduate in this fancy manner. A passing thought ran through his mind – could he ever do the same for any of his sons? The answer was simple.
Lal Masjid could now be seen clearly on the opposite side of Chauranga road, where Taufiq bhai had finally reached through the snaking narrow brick lane of the mohallah. It was one of the busiest roads of Agra and housed numerous shops and small workshops on the either side. Taufiq bhai too worked in one of these auto workshops. He was lucky enough to work with Naveen bhai, a Hindu. Naveen bhai’s workshop was quite renowned and there was no dearth of work. And Naveen bhai himself was a nice man. He would never shout at anyone and was gentle enough to grant paid leaves to his workers, nearly all of them Muslims, during the holy month of ramzaan. But most importantly, he had a special regard for Taufiq bhai given their long association and good faith. Taufiq bhai paused for a minute and looked around at the road. The market was closed and the road was choked with hundreds of heads, all covered in white circular prayer caps. There were some cows lying beside the garbage heaps munching their find. Loudspeaker was at its worst and it had started irritating Taufiq bhai even more.
“May Allah curse you, the evil one!” he whispered, maybe a bit loudly.
-
“Whom are you cursing Taufiq bhai?” A soft sarcastic voice came from behind.
Damn! Was he overheard?
Taufiq bhai turned around and found wicked Naseem, his neighbour grinning at him.
“Umm… nobody Naseem bhai…..just these cows….the beasts are blocking the way of our brethren...” Taufiq bhai made it up quickly.
“Hahahaha… you are absolutely right my brother…” Naseem laughed back.
“I wonder why are these bloody cows sitting here when they can serve the appetite of our entire mohallah for a week? Isn’t it stupid to watch your dinner up so close and still not have the power to eat it?” Naseem was serious this time.
“But isn’t it illegal to kill a cow?” Taufiq bhai retaliated.
“Arrrgh! Who made these laws? These kaafirs? I don’t abide to these stupid laws. I only believe in the laws of Quran Sharif. You know, we regularly make a cow halaal at my place. What does it take? Just a hundred rupee note for that Hindu constable? And it’s worth it my brother. You don’t know what sort of treat you are missing.” Naseem walked on.
Taufiq bhai stood, thinking.
“No… no... it’s not worth it…” He thought. “Why upset the Hindus when we can survive over the meat of buffalo? I am sure it tastes the same…. and this Naseem? He is an evil man…. Everybody knows this isn’t it?” He muttered in a consoling tone.
The sun had started shining brightly on the masjid, exposing its cheap red colour and un-plastered tall minaret - crowned with a big old shrieking loudspeaker. The masjid was small yet powerful and its power reflected not only in the numerous long prayer queues on the Chauranga Road but also in the hearts of the hundreds who had joined in on jumma, as a reassurance of faith, unity and brotherhood. Taufiq bhai too joined the ranks like a drop in the ocean though a bit unwillingly. He never liked this long tiresome ritual.
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
-
Munne khan guided the people of faith through the entire ritual of jumma prayers with utmost confidence and serenity. His words were heavy but clear and his voice fresh, as it should have been. He delivered the Arabic verses in such a sophisticated manner that one could have easily passed his speech as an Arab’s. They could feel the depth of faith and honesty in his voice and many a men were so impressed that they imagined it coming straight from the holy prophet himself. Such was an impact of Munne khan on his first day as an imam. Surprisingly, Taufiq bhai too, who would take the jumma prayer as a horrible formality, was mesmerized by Munne khan.
“Peace be upon our prophet Hazrat Muhammad, sallallaaaho-w’aalai-wassallam”
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
As the long ritual of prayers came to an end, it was time for the weekly sermon. Everybody eagerly waited to hear what the new imam had to say on his first day.
“Bismillaah-ur-rahmaan-ar-raheem….”
“Brethren, by the grace of Allah, I have, today – for the first time, an opportunity to speak to you and share the golden words of Quran-e-paak and Hadees. And share with you what our prophet had expected of us when he had bestowed upon us the faith of Islam and the wish of Allah, and also what have we become today. I want to share with you the facts, of which, you are most certainly unaware, for, if you were aware of those, you would not just sit idle in your homes or serve the kaafirs all day, but would unite and fight for your rights – the rights gifted to you by none other than the holy prophet himself through the numerous verses in the holy book.”
Munne khan’s explosive words had already charged up the atmosphere and everybody without exception had their ears fixed on his voice.
“Have you ever thought my brethren, who you really are? Are you a pathan or a husseini? Are you a shia or a sunni? Are you a bareilvi or a dakkhini? Who are you my brother? Lest you are confused, let me remind you – you are nobody, mind me, nobody, except a mussalmaan! And that is because you were born at Allah’s will and so will you die. And if you know this fact then you must also know that Allah has mercy on every mussalmaan and also that if you are not a mussalmaan first, then you are a kaafir, just like many who throng this land of Hindustan today like untamed cattle. And do I need to remind you about the fate of kaafirs, my dear ones?”
Munne khan roared like a lion. The kid was indeed gifted.
“This land of Hindustan that was once ruled by our forefathers has now been taken over by the kaafirs, can’t you see? Can’t you see how these kaafirs, who had been conquered over and destroyed by our mighty Mughal ancestors, have once again stolen the riches and nobility befooling you, using their old filthy ways? If anyone among you has read the holy Quran, he must know what the verse five of the chapter nine says. And because it seems to me that none of you has indeed read our holy book with seriousness, let me quote – then, when the sacred months have passed, slay the kaafirs wherever you find them, and capture them and besiege them, and prepare for them each and every ambush – but if they repent and accept Islam, then leave their way free. Verily, Allah is most forgiving, most merciful”
“L’aa-i-l’aaaaha i’llaaaah…… muhammaad-ul-rasooool allaaaah…….”
“Remember, o my brethren, we exist today because our forefathers fought for our tanzeem, for our Islam, for our honour, for us! It was them who brought this land of kaafirs under Daarul-Islam. It was them who conquered and killed a hundred thousand kaafir kings and showed the way of Islam to their hundred million subjects. It was them who ruled this land for a thousand years. And look what has happened to the might of Islam today. Look!”
“You slave all day for a Hindu baniya who throws some pieces of bread at you and you eat it like a dog. What has come upon you my brethren? What is it that has turned you Mussalmans into cowards of no soul?
Visibly, a wave of anger, disgust and guilt swept through masses and a hundred heads covered with white prayer caps shook in disbelief.
“Do you have a slightest idea what these kaafirs are doing to our people? If no, then let me remind you about the martyrdom of our beloved Baabri masjid. They destroyed it in front of our eyes and what could we do? They killed thousands of our mussalmaan brothers and raped thousands of our mothers and sisters in Gujarat and Kashmir and elsewhere and what could we do? If you can’t hear their cries and can’t feel their pain, you have no right to live! You have no right to live if you don’t have power to avenge. And you will never have power to avenge if you don’t rule this land and believe me brethren, you will never be able to rule this land unless you dream of it, unless you dream of our land, the land of Islam, the land of Mughalstan!!”
Mughalstan! Mughalstan? A brief pause gave way to the whispers of curiosity.
“Yes Mughalstan!!!!”
The voice thundered and words exploded like a killing bolt of lightening.
“Our brothers took Pakistan fifty years back and five years hence, we will take Mughalstan – our destined land! Kashmir, Himachal, Haryana, Dilli, Punjab, UP, Bihar and Bengal will be taken and will be governed by us, in the name of shariya, in the name of Allah, the most merciful. The entire land will belong to us – to our tanzeem. We will connect Pakistan to Bangladesh, inshallah! Once again we will rule this land, bringing an end to our filthy exploitation. None of us shall remain deprived. None of our brother shall be killed by the kaafirs and none of our sister shall weep. And to achieve this, we must unite. We must consolidate our efforts and energies. And if need be we shall kill every single of these treacherous kaafirs for, as we all know, a muslim life is more precious than a million kaafir lives put together. They shall be eliminated sans mercy if they dare touch any of our brother!”
“Don’t worry my fellows, everything is ready and everything has been planned. Accurately.”
“Aameen…”
-
“Aameen…”
-
“Aameen…”
-
Many a fists rose in air. And a thousand angry passionate voices screamed and echoed on the road like an approaching hurricane.
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Allaaaah-o-akbaaar……”
-
“Mughalstan Zindabaad….”
-
“Mughalstan Zindabaad….”
-
The dream ran through their minds like an English action movie. Their eyes twinkled with zest of revenge and hatred. Many a bodies trembled with excitement and many a souls lost the fear of death. They could smell victory in their numbers and terror in their smiles. They started dispersing quickly repeating the name of the holy prophet, only to come back in far greater numbers, the next jumma.
-
“….how on earth could I be so naïve? Isn’t he absolutely correct? Haven’t these Hindus turned us into beggars? Look at Naveen. He lives in a kothi. And look at me who lives in a jhuggi. I toil all day and he keeps all the profit. And worse, he is a bloody kaafir, born to serve and I am a Mussalmaan, born to rule. Isn’t that an irony! But praises to Allah, this is going to change soon.”
“Naveen bhai, be prepared to pay for your misdeeds because the day is not far when I will have your shop and your kothi and you shall be driven away to hell…hahahahah…”
Taufiq bahi was feeling a new energy in his heart and a new strength in his limbs as he walked chuckling to himself. The passion of youth overtook the aging body. It was a rebirth, or maybe, the real birth.
-
“And you, the sacred one, see you today at Naseem’s place….”
He muttered, smiled sarcastically and greedily… and kicked the cow that had blocked his way.
Atri Joshi
<230320081230>
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Pain
Maybe this is why I do not stay at home. It provokes me to think. To think about myself. Today when I was trying to make a list of courses I "want" to apply for, i suddenly realized that this is not something I "want" to do, but some thing I "should" do. Fuck! What the hell was I doing? What the hell was I doing for the last some months? I was not being myself. I was betraying myself. I was acting like a good boy. I was acting as a responsible person. And in the process I was killing myself. I was trying to adapt to a world of corporate sharks. I was negating my hard earned 5 years which made me what I am today. Why was I running towards hell? No answer. Its just that this is what one must do. I do shit all day at my office and call it management. I abuse people on my way back home and call it a necessity. I feel like drinking to get over the ugly day and I want to try smoking. What the fuck?? Whats wrong? I keep telling myself that I must do all this to earn and support my home. I must stay with my father because he needs me. Is this true? Is it okay to kill oneself everyday to "support" his home? I dont know. But what I know that when I was weeping and crying for help today and when i was desperate to talk to an angel, I found none. I scanned them and I found that I mean no more that an iota to them.
I found myself alone. I am not sure what I want in life. But I know what I enjoying doing? One thing that I have realized over months is that I am an architect. I cant kill the architect in me. And I want to use my skills NOT for myself but for those whom I dont know. Who live a struggling life yet manage to laugh. For those who expect nothing from me but who shed a tear or two when they can trust me. There are many who need me and whom I need. I, however, do not need these selfish bunch of people around me.
I believe in you God. Please forgive me and show me the way. I trust you and love you. Protect me form these sharks God. You sent me here. You will protect me and my people I know. Take the fear out of me o God. I pray.
I found myself alone. I am not sure what I want in life. But I know what I enjoying doing? One thing that I have realized over months is that I am an architect. I cant kill the architect in me. And I want to use my skills NOT for myself but for those whom I dont know. Who live a struggling life yet manage to laugh. For those who expect nothing from me but who shed a tear or two when they can trust me. There are many who need me and whom I need. I, however, do not need these selfish bunch of people around me.
I believe in you God. Please forgive me and show me the way. I trust you and love you. Protect me form these sharks God. You sent me here. You will protect me and my people I know. Take the fear out of me o God. I pray.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Till I go to sleep
Whatever they say and whatever they ask for,
Whatever they expect and whatever they laugh for,
I can not have what's not my tea
Its crystal n clear; its loud n big
Let me be what I'm supposed to be
Dont force me hard, dont push me deep
Wont give up my dreams till I go to sleep.
~Atri <251220070905>
Whatever they expect and whatever they laugh for,
I can not have what's not my tea
Its crystal n clear; its loud n big
Let me be what I'm supposed to be
Dont force me hard, dont push me deep
Wont give up my dreams till I go to sleep.
~Atri <251220070905>
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Quotes
Do few things, make sure that they are the right things to do and then do them brilliantly.
Creativity is thinking different. Innovation is doing different. (Azim Premji)
I may walk slow but I never walk back. (Abraham Lincoln)
You can fool all people sometime, you can fool some people everytime but you can’t fool all people everytime. (Abraham Lincoln)
Creativity is thinking different. Innovation is doing different. (Azim Premji)
I may walk slow but I never walk back. (Abraham Lincoln)
You can fool all people sometime, you can fool some people everytime but you can’t fool all people everytime. (Abraham Lincoln)
Saturday, December 1, 2007
This is quite true
"Be not too hasty ...
to trust, or to admire,
the teachers of morality;
they discourse like angels,
but they live like men."
Samuel Johnson
to trust, or to admire,
the teachers of morality;
they discourse like angels,
but they live like men."
Samuel Johnson
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Feel good factor
Feeling a lot better today. Maybe its because the type of work in the office has changed. From execution to planning. Planning seems good. Yesterday I met Mausi and Dada. Dada is all that same. Mausi too is same though she was missing her college environment - peace and tranquality, energy and creativity. Here in Delhi, past was lingering on. But I know she will conquer the world one day. She will shine like a star. And I also got a renewed will to migrate. I have to make this happen man. This is not where i am destined to live. Three cheers to Dada and Mausi. They made my day.
Monday, November 19, 2007
God, save me!!!
Guess what? I finally made it to Mata Vaishno Devi's Durbar. It was good. It was something that I wanted to do for a long time. But it was more of a ritual than a real spiritually satisfying trip. I know its not correct to state this but its true. Somehow the excitement, the longing and the expectation was not upto the mark. I was lacking in something. I was lacking in faith. I tried to generate some, but succeeded only partially. I thought it over. Why did I lack that faith? Maybe I have stopped expecting even from gods. I know. I know it’s a shame to speak thus, but let me complete. I have given up. But I have only stopped expecting the emotional support. Rest is okay. God has given me everything I had desired. I have celebrated with him and thanked him. But in the matters of heart, I have lost. Nobody seems to be around now, not even God. I went to Vaishno Devi with only one wish, though I pretended to take along a list of wishes for my family members and friends. I tried to be politically correct with God. But I know he knows that there was only one thing on my mind – to pray to get a partner. I prayed for it and for all. I am not sure whether my prayer will be answered because I am a strange person. I am still living in past and future and I keep on losing on present. When I first liked a girl, I didn't even know I liked her and there is more that one should do apart from keeping on liking. And the only girl I have ever loved (in a sense of falling in love), to whatever extent, even refuses to be loved. Its an irony, isn’t it? Although I have vowed not to think in that manner, but its not going from my mind 100%. I still visualize her as a perfect match sometimes and its dangerous. I don’t want to do this. I want to move on. I want to be told that there a plenty of such matches in this world. But I fail to find one. I am desperate to find the same as soon as possible. I am sure I will move on then. But as on today I cant leave her like that. I don’t know why but I have taken some sort of moral responsibility on myself to take care of her. Maybe its part of me. I don’t want to be mean and slimy. I don’t want to be a liar and a hypocrite. I just want to move on. With her or alone. God! Just do something. Save me!
Friday, November 9, 2007
Common Man
There was a time (and maybe still is) when I used to dream utopian. There was a time when I was unaware about how a real human being behaves when he is set free. I was even unaware about the weaknesses that are inherent in a human being. I was an idealist but being an idealist is not enough, I have learnt for it makes you blind. It makes you blind about how the world moves actually. An idealist just dreams in his own world.
But being stationed here in Jammu, surrounded by real people has taught me a lot. It has been an interesting journey to learn how the "common man" behaves. I have never had such an interaction with the "common man" earlier, except in Nigeria where I passed them as exceptions. And thats because he (the common man) used to hide behind my relatives, friends and people whom I respected and trusted. But the question here is - who IS this common man? What does he look like?
A common man is a married man with two kids and a wife, working in a renowned company for Rs 25,000 a month. He is 35 years old and owns a car, although he lives in a rented house. He lives in the society, surrounded by various people. He follows the customs and his religion and is quite God fearing. He loves his family and his parents and has no great ambitions except to increase his income twofolds, maybe.
He has mastered the art of looking content and is extremely concious of his image. He says he drinks socially and smokes no more than a couple of cigarettes a day and he is proud that he has controlled his senses after marriage and that is why he disapproves of looking at other (pretty) women. A common man, my dear friends is a liar and a hypocrite. He is selfish and jealous and he is also dishonest and corrupt but most importantly he is weak and timid. Here I present before you the real face of the "common man". You give him just a little bit of freedom and he turns out to be a satan, a mean slimy organism who can fill your heart with unimaginable hatred. He is not a lion but a wolf he is not a hawk but a vulture. He is cunning and crooked and he strikes on your back.
You give him free liquor and he turns out to be a drunkard. You show him a dark alley with a lonely damsel and he turns out to be a rapist (provided the damsel forgets every damn thing the following morning). You give him a million rupees and he can sell away his country. He doesnt mind cheating on his wife time and again while away from home. He doesnt mind stealing goodies if no ones watching and he can hurl every abuse on this earth to the womankind if noone is listening. He has an eye on his younger sister but is too afraid to make a move. He can kill his boss and his wife and throw away their corpses in river but is too weak to proceed. He can rob a bank provided you give him safe haven. He can even abandon his children if you assure him that someone would not let them die on streets.
This is the "common man". The man next door. The man on street riding a hero honda. The man working as a financial advisor in ICICI bank. The man who enjoys cricket after workin 10 hours in the office. The man who never forgets to bring gifts for your children on Diwali. He moves amongst us - the "common man". Beware !!
~<051120071057>
But being stationed here in Jammu, surrounded by real people has taught me a lot. It has been an interesting journey to learn how the "common man" behaves. I have never had such an interaction with the "common man" earlier, except in Nigeria where I passed them as exceptions. And thats because he (the common man) used to hide behind my relatives, friends and people whom I respected and trusted. But the question here is - who IS this common man? What does he look like?
A common man is a married man with two kids and a wife, working in a renowned company for Rs 25,000 a month. He is 35 years old and owns a car, although he lives in a rented house. He lives in the society, surrounded by various people. He follows the customs and his religion and is quite God fearing. He loves his family and his parents and has no great ambitions except to increase his income twofolds, maybe.
He has mastered the art of looking content and is extremely concious of his image. He says he drinks socially and smokes no more than a couple of cigarettes a day and he is proud that he has controlled his senses after marriage and that is why he disapproves of looking at other (pretty) women. A common man, my dear friends is a liar and a hypocrite. He is selfish and jealous and he is also dishonest and corrupt but most importantly he is weak and timid. Here I present before you the real face of the "common man". You give him just a little bit of freedom and he turns out to be a satan, a mean slimy organism who can fill your heart with unimaginable hatred. He is not a lion but a wolf he is not a hawk but a vulture. He is cunning and crooked and he strikes on your back.
You give him free liquor and he turns out to be a drunkard. You show him a dark alley with a lonely damsel and he turns out to be a rapist (provided the damsel forgets every damn thing the following morning). You give him a million rupees and he can sell away his country. He doesnt mind cheating on his wife time and again while away from home. He doesnt mind stealing goodies if no ones watching and he can hurl every abuse on this earth to the womankind if noone is listening. He has an eye on his younger sister but is too afraid to make a move. He can kill his boss and his wife and throw away their corpses in river but is too weak to proceed. He can rob a bank provided you give him safe haven. He can even abandon his children if you assure him that someone would not let them die on streets.
This is the "common man". The man next door. The man on street riding a hero honda. The man working as a financial advisor in ICICI bank. The man who enjoys cricket after workin 10 hours in the office. The man who never forgets to bring gifts for your children on Diwali. He moves amongst us - the "common man". Beware !!
~<051120071057>
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Whatta month !!
Jammu, Jammu and Jammu. This entire month was devoted to Jammu. What a chaos! What a race! What a noise! What an energy! What an excitement! What a learning! Simply Great!!
It was a golden opportunity to work on my skills and acquire new ones. A boost in my professional life, I'd say. I enjoyed it. And I can never forget the golden words by Mr. Chandra, "Success should succeed in succession"
These corporate people are so motivated to succeed, to prove themselves and to achieve the set goals. Why are the architects so lousy?? I have understood certainly that to build something big, this sort of motivation is a prerequisite. No escape from hard work and precise thought. No gol-mol talks. Only the edge wins man!
It was a golden opportunity to work on my skills and acquire new ones. A boost in my professional life, I'd say. I enjoyed it. And I can never forget the golden words by Mr. Chandra, "Success should succeed in succession"
These corporate people are so motivated to succeed, to prove themselves and to achieve the set goals. Why are the architects so lousy?? I have understood certainly that to build something big, this sort of motivation is a prerequisite. No escape from hard work and precise thought. No gol-mol talks. Only the edge wins man!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Lust and Love
It is a bit difficult to define the term love because it is used in a number of contexts. Some times it is said to be pure and divine like "love of a mother for her child", sometimes its romantic as in "falling (or rising, whatever)" in love, sometimes it is pure sex like "making love". Yesterday I was thinking about the exixtence of romantic love without lust. Is it possible? The answer is NO. Romance is the foreground of sex. But the sex that follows romance is beautiful and romance still remains a seperate entity to be revered. Sex between lovers is divine and can be equated with heaven. But what about sex without love or bonding? Can it exist? Sex for the sake of sex? The answer is YES. It does exist. It is quite common. I see around so many people, young and old, married and single, who would not mind having a sexual encounter here and now. They say, they need it. If forced to stay away from their families, they'd do it often. They may even go to prostitutes. What is this? Is this negation of 5 million years of human evolution which has given romance and love? Maybe. Maybe nature is stronger than civilization. And mind you, i do not include the "courting and dances" aimed at having sex, in the category of romance. Because although it is true that romance will culminate in sex yet it is not what romance is directly aimed for. Sex is the consequence of romance not its sole goal. Whereas the courting and drama that goes on before pure and simple sex at whcih the mind is aimed, is part of sex.
So, what is sex without love and romance? I think it is just stimulation. It is just like jerking off with a better and more real fantasy. Nothing more than that.
After all, the part of brain that takes care of love is different than the part that gets stimulated during sex...
So, what is sex without love and romance? I think it is just stimulation. It is just like jerking off with a better and more real fantasy. Nothing more than that.
After all, the part of brain that takes care of love is different than the part that gets stimulated during sex...
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Duality of universe
Sometimes I think about the great ocean of thoughts. An ocean of Floating Frames. Frame of each action. Frame of each event. Even intent is written as an action. Then there might be a clash of intents. Then I realize that there is this dual nature of universe, and not singular nature that I have believed in previously. The duality consists of:
1. Manifest and its concentrations
2. Thought and its concentrations
Manifest is matter and energy in simple terms. Thought is intent and intellect. Both manifest and thought are intermingled like a homogeneous mixture of gases. Somewhere there is a huge concentration of manifest but low concentration of thought. Somewhere the concentration of thought is much more than that of manifest. But never there is a time not there is a place where there is no manifest or thought. Everywhere and every time all manifest has had thought and all thoughts have had manifestation. For example, even a still object like pebble has thought and even a thought (like me playing in clouds) has manifest. The scale might differ. All instances of thought and manifest can affect all other instances to a degree proportional to their own concentration.
Then there are numerous concentrations of thought and manifest in this ocean/universe. Each of these great concentrations is at a safe distance of space and time from each other to maintain the balance. Each of these great concentrations has a power to affect its surroundings. Their effect decreases with space and time but never dies out.
The systems of manifest and thought though are intermingled and have an effect on each other yet they are distinct systems. There is no inter-convertibility. Or maybe there is. Its hard to tell.
All degrees of concentrations are present but the larger concentrations keep on becoming larger and larger, swallowing numerous smaller ones. Hence, there are somewhat distinct systems that take birth, with a great concentration as the ‘focus’ and subordinate concentrations around. Concentration of manifest is through its nature which is governed by its physical properties. Concentration of thought is through intelligent intent of its master concentration. This great master concentration of thought is a ‘God’ for its inferior concentrations or those which lie in proximity of space and time.
It is up to a ‘God’ to create, use/play or destruct its subject concentrations of thought. It is up to a ‘God’ to make rules of the game and change them at his will. Every ‘God’ is a subject to its superior ‘God’. So every ‘God’ can “think” inside the framework created by its superior ‘God’. There is, hence, an individual freedom of thought granted to each concentration by its superior ‘God’ to act itself as a ‘God’ to still inferior concentrations. But it is only up to a ‘God’ to grant that freedom. It’s a God’s wish. There might be a ‘God’ who gives no freedom to think to its subordinates. There might be a cruel ‘God’. There might be systems where the rules say that that you have to kill others to survive i.e. diffuse other concentrations to save oneself. Somewhat like our own system. There might be a creative ‘God’ on the other hand, which lays down that you have to create more systems in order to survive.
Then what is the relationship of manifest and thought? A certain kind of manifestation can support a higher degree of thought. It is solely dependent on the nature of manifest (its physical properties) how thought can “live” entangled to it. Otherwise it won’t “stick” to it to a greater extent. I must say here that a concentration of thought is not obliged to get “stuck” or “live” in/with a concentration of manifest. Though there might be certain concentrations of manifest that attract thought to get “stuck” to them. It is purely dependent on a ‘God’ to design thoughts which stick to a certain concentration of manifest. There might be numerous concentrations of thought around us but we can’t experience them through our manifested bodies really well because the degree of effect that manifest can have on other manifest is far greater than that which thought has on manifest. So we mostly experience only those thoughts which are entangled to manifest. But in our experience of thought we rarely need a manifestation for experience because same principle follows here as well.
Our ‘God’ is an intelligent ‘God’ and it has designed thoughts to use a certain concentration manifest, maybe the one which has carbon. The choice reflects the efficiency of thought to use manifest and create bigger and bigger thoughts. It’s a game of creation of thought and diffusion of manifest in the long run. It’s a good plot. Keep it up ‘God’!
1. Manifest and its concentrations
2. Thought and its concentrations
Manifest is matter and energy in simple terms. Thought is intent and intellect. Both manifest and thought are intermingled like a homogeneous mixture of gases. Somewhere there is a huge concentration of manifest but low concentration of thought. Somewhere the concentration of thought is much more than that of manifest. But never there is a time not there is a place where there is no manifest or thought. Everywhere and every time all manifest has had thought and all thoughts have had manifestation. For example, even a still object like pebble has thought and even a thought (like me playing in clouds) has manifest. The scale might differ. All instances of thought and manifest can affect all other instances to a degree proportional to their own concentration.
Then there are numerous concentrations of thought and manifest in this ocean/universe. Each of these great concentrations is at a safe distance of space and time from each other to maintain the balance. Each of these great concentrations has a power to affect its surroundings. Their effect decreases with space and time but never dies out.
The systems of manifest and thought though are intermingled and have an effect on each other yet they are distinct systems. There is no inter-convertibility. Or maybe there is. Its hard to tell.
All degrees of concentrations are present but the larger concentrations keep on becoming larger and larger, swallowing numerous smaller ones. Hence, there are somewhat distinct systems that take birth, with a great concentration as the ‘focus’ and subordinate concentrations around. Concentration of manifest is through its nature which is governed by its physical properties. Concentration of thought is through intelligent intent of its master concentration. This great master concentration of thought is a ‘God’ for its inferior concentrations or those which lie in proximity of space and time.
It is up to a ‘God’ to create, use/play or destruct its subject concentrations of thought. It is up to a ‘God’ to make rules of the game and change them at his will. Every ‘God’ is a subject to its superior ‘God’. So every ‘God’ can “think” inside the framework created by its superior ‘God’. There is, hence, an individual freedom of thought granted to each concentration by its superior ‘God’ to act itself as a ‘God’ to still inferior concentrations. But it is only up to a ‘God’ to grant that freedom. It’s a God’s wish. There might be a ‘God’ who gives no freedom to think to its subordinates. There might be a cruel ‘God’. There might be systems where the rules say that that you have to kill others to survive i.e. diffuse other concentrations to save oneself. Somewhat like our own system. There might be a creative ‘God’ on the other hand, which lays down that you have to create more systems in order to survive.
Then what is the relationship of manifest and thought? A certain kind of manifestation can support a higher degree of thought. It is solely dependent on the nature of manifest (its physical properties) how thought can “live” entangled to it. Otherwise it won’t “stick” to it to a greater extent. I must say here that a concentration of thought is not obliged to get “stuck” or “live” in/with a concentration of manifest. Though there might be certain concentrations of manifest that attract thought to get “stuck” to them. It is purely dependent on a ‘God’ to design thoughts which stick to a certain concentration of manifest. There might be numerous concentrations of thought around us but we can’t experience them through our manifested bodies really well because the degree of effect that manifest can have on other manifest is far greater than that which thought has on manifest. So we mostly experience only those thoughts which are entangled to manifest. But in our experience of thought we rarely need a manifestation for experience because same principle follows here as well.
Our ‘God’ is an intelligent ‘God’ and it has designed thoughts to use a certain concentration manifest, maybe the one which has carbon. The choice reflects the efficiency of thought to use manifest and create bigger and bigger thoughts. It’s a game of creation of thought and diffusion of manifest in the long run. It’s a good plot. Keep it up ‘God’!
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