too late to apologise?

i came across an interesting concept - a type of people called 'apologists'. they are basically followers or believers in a controversial system who feel the need to apologise for the bad points of their belief system and emphasise the good points. for example, a member of the islamic faith might be an islam apologist - one who explains that the faith is being misinterpreted by the fundamentalists, and that in reality it does not expound indiscriminate violence.
in the same vein, i am an india apologist. how many times have i apologised for my country - almost every time i pick up the newspaper a fleeting feeling of apology escapes me.
richard gere - im really sorry, sir, that some people in my country do not GET a harmless kiss. and how the woman could be okay with it.
how 'loose, forward and pub-going women' should be molested in order to 'preserve their dignity' because such women cannot be from 'decent families'.
i apologise for the blind faith, the senseless violence, the prudery, the misplaced morality, the pettiness, the lethargy, the filth, the ignorance, the politics, the immaturity.
maybe i'm just a liberal. but it's too late to apologise for that now.

Q & A

QUESTIONS

And the man In the corner… why does he never agree?

And If I soar on the back of an eagle… will I be able to identify with the bird?

Can you unlearn a language? Listen to the words of a familiar song without understanding what It means?

A friend who’s gone far ahead… will he ever look back?

Why don’t I look back to see those I’ve left behind?

Does it get any softer? Is it better in pink? Will water destroy it all?

What do you really want?

ANSWERS

in your head, put a Needle through a thread

Look into my eyes and tell me what im thinking

put a Mirror to a mirror and witness infiniteness

Loop the loop in a car

Imagine the happy place

Red will destroy white one day.

The saxophone will just not let me go…

Whisky on the stars

Morning somehow always wins…

and i flow...

And then who should walk in through the door… but the man. The man himself. The cigarette out the window, it lights the sky while the red ember rains upon me… and we pray… I fold my hands only to crack my knuckles, and then throw the thought away. The crack. Where is the dream I thought I was dreaming… rainforest dewdrops on my ragged jeans… and her sweet stale breath through the wafting coffee… strains of last night’s song… the god we thought existed… thought. Taut. Tight. And I hold on… sieve me through the strains and I will become complete… wires, glass and pumice… and will she find her way… the green streets lit with gold… and I flow…

epiphany

I know that any of this doesn’t matter. The hungry boy is still starving. He’s still starving and my formatting in size 12 Times New Roman will not make any difference. But if I was responsible for him, I would wish I was here, where life was about double line spacing and footnoting in Harvard bluebook style. And without my efforts here, I cannot help him anyway. I might just BECOME him. I know that any of this doesn’t matter but I must still do it, because the alternative is not an alternative. I must do it while realizing that it doesn’t matter and do it anyway, because in the end, it does matter. Just don’t get obsessed. Its all maya, if this is maya, then the little boy is also maya. And if he is real, then This is real too. There is heartbreak and agony here too, just because it isn’t so stark or so impoverished doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. The ‘lipstick and powder classes’ may be obsessed to a point of foolishness, but I am not one of them. This is the way out for me. but it is also the way in. Do what you have to do in order to do what you want to do.

the intellectual and the intelligent

it struck me that there is a vast difference between the words 'intellectual' and 'intelligent'. intellectuals dont care about anything except the source of their creativity. the painter will paint, the singer will sing, the inventor will invent and the thinker will think. they are all in a way inventors - for they all bring in new things into this world. they are all also thinkers because it is impossible to create without thinking. they can be called 'artists' in the true sense. their singular approach leaves their houses and finances in disarray. their only treasure remains the source of their creativity. success is per chance; coincidental; ancilliary.

the intelligent are not so one dimensional. they are more street smart, more worldly. they may not achieve as much in one field because their energies are dissipated in various areas. their finances and houses are in order. they can be called 'patrons'. success for the intelligent is guaranteed for they will only invest in the winners. they select which intellectual they wish to patronise, for such person will achieve for them vicariously what they cannot achieve for themselves. the businessman becomes famous for buying the artist's work. is not akbar remembered for birbal?

a quitter's posthumous tribute

smoking, for all its faults, brings people closer. boston legal taught me that. i think smokers become more sympathetic/adjusting/social as it forms a common bond between the most unlikely people. before or without smoking, i would always compete - a contrast to my smoker friend who seemed to 'get along' with everyone. you know the guy in class - he always feels a need to compete with all those around him and doesnt realise that its not always about winning and who's better. i guess he should start smoking. see also: 'pass the joint, dude! peace!'
as people become older, everyone's field gets so diversified - i hardly know what to say to my friend in medical college - but its all cool, as long as we can catch up over a smoke together. talking to diverse people is so much easier when you smoke - coz then a common bond is instantly formed. non-smokers have to search so much harder - not everyone is a jazz musician or a footballer, but they come together as smokers, which they might have not done otherwise. and so if you cant find friends coz you cant play either the guitar or football, start smoking. it doesnt require any particular talent - any fool can start - and most do. experience taught me that.

the growing up guide

i really wish i had a 'growing up guide' when i was younger. you know, someone to tell you stuff like, 'no, you can't really be anything you want to. maybe if gandhi was your surname. but no such luck.' parents are not too useful for such purposes. they try to paint a rosy picture for you, coz they live in mortal fear of that realisation that you will no doubt one day have - "no santa claus? this place sucks! what the hell am i doing here???"

so ok here's one realisation i had kinda recently -
there are 'smart' kids and 'stupid' kids. the smart ones try new stuff. they are willing to explore. but they never stagnate - they dont get stuck in the stuff they've tried. that's the important thing. so rather than the stupid ones, its the smart ones who would do weed first. and its not coz they know what it is - but precisely coz they do not. its the novelty, the curiousity - its mysterious and adventurous. they do it, get over it and move on. the stupid ones do it when they see the smart ones at it, and they get caught in it. thy stay stagnant, sometimes for life. these are traps, i believe, that must be crossed along the way - that's life. they must be experienced and overcome.

for heaven's sake

i just came across this piece in the Hindustan Times, 11/01/2009, the winner of a short story contest organised by the paper. (read @ http://epaper.hindustantimes.com/ArticleImage.aspx?article=11_01_2009_016_002&mode=undefined)
"BLUE OF NOON by Rajat Gulati
it wasnt a dark and stormy night, but quite the opposite actually. the day was bright and balmy with hardly a cloud in the sky. yet the sunrays flicking merrily on the waves did nothing to lessen the knot inside his heart. all the years of preparation and fortitude, of piety and dedication to the cause - all was coming to fruit. there was no going back now, he thought as he looked around the boat. nine equally determined and grim looking faces met his gaze. it was the afternoon of November 26, 2008 and they were still several hours away from the shores of mumbai."

now this is no doubt a well written paragraph, but it is exactly the kind of thing i am afraid of. why can we not resist the urge to romanticize everything. we CANNOT see things from THEIR point of view. they may have a point of view, and a very valid one in their eyes, but at the end of the day, there are absolutes. there is a right and there is a wrong. these men were wrong. and we cannot allow ourselves to empathise with them or their "cause", whatever it may be. for heaven's sake, just this once, let us not see it from the other person's point of view.

the old donkey joke

you've definitely heard this one - a beggar is sleeping under a statue of gandhiji. at 12 o' clock the statue comes alive and says, 'listen, i have done so much for you people. i fought the british, i went on fasts, i practically got independence - and i have to now stand on my feet all day! shivaji atleast has a horse - i am the father of the nation, i am older than him - even i want a horse, so please get me one.' the beggar gets shit scared, but decides that if the mahatma is asking for a horse, the mahatma must get a horse. since cannot afford one, he goes to the local MLA who doesnt believe that the statue could come to life, so he goes along with the beggar and sits under it. sure enough, at 12 o' clock, the statue starts moving. the mahatma takes one look at the MLA and tells the beggar, 'i asked you for a horse, and here you have brought a donkey?'

ha ha. a piece of chalk is probably funnier, but that's not the point of this post. well, what would different people's response be to this joke? that, my friends, is the point of this post.

FEMINIST
this joke shows the patriarchal hegemony in society. firstly, you will notice that there are only men in this joke. where are the women? secondly, why is gandhiji called the father of the nation? we will call him the parent of the nation. thirdly, a man can easily go and sleep in the park at 12 o' clock at night. but if a woman is in a park at the middle of the night, she must be a prostitute. right?

PETA ACTIVIST
we protest against the ill-treatment of statues of horses. the horses are often cast with one or both feet in the air, which causes severe distress to the animal while modelling for the statue. also, we would like this joke to be banned from all humour columns as it disregards animal rights. it mocks donkeys by likening them to MLAs.

CULTURAL HISTORIAN/ SOCIOLOGIST
this joke marks the links and shifts between the newly-independent india and the india of the 21st century. the gandhi-MLA syllology is used to depict the neta-junta divide in postmodern india. it shows the declining respect for politicians in indian culture, with gandhi mocking the present day MLA-archetype being very strong symbology. this joke also highlights the advent of the social and political new world order, caricaturing the india-bharat divide.

MLA (government)
yeh oppozeeshun wale neta hai jo polayteeshun ka naam badnam kar rahe hai. yeh chutkula ek oppozeeshun propgaynda hi hai. is baat ko hum sansad mein uthayenge, ispar vichar karenge, aur oppozeeshun par CBI enquiry baithaiyenge. jai mahatmaji - jai nehruji - jai indiraji- jai rajivji - jai sonaji - jai rahulji- jai hind!!!

MLA(opposition)
yeh chutkula isi baat ko dikhata hai ki yeh sarkar janmat kho chuki hai. ab yah sarkar bhooko-nango ki nahi rahi! gira do is sarkar ko, band karo yeh nanga nach!! jai hind!!!

i came up with this a couple a year or two back, and have been adding since. please feel free to contribute!

moshe's journey

i can just see it coming.
this piece is about moshe. you know moshe - of course you do, everybody does, he was the jewish kid who got saved by his nanny during the 26/11 attacks on nariman house. he is now safely living with his nanny in israel. we all saw his photo in the papers and shared his pain when he lost both his parents to the terrorists' bullets, we were relieved when his nanny carried him out of the flames and we were charmed by his smiling face, safe in his nanny's lap in israel. now, i have two questions at this juncture.
1) why the fuck is he in israel? his parents both lived here, so there's no reason he went there. its not like he 'went back to his native israel'. he just went to israel. does this mean that india is no longer safe for him? shouldnt we be saying, 'no dude, come stay with us, we'll make sure you're ok' instead of being happy that he's far away from india?
2) how the fuck is moshe a hero? i agree, he lost his parents and everything but if anyone, isn't it the nanny we should be talking about? after all, she was the one saving him from the fire... he was just getting saved. can we have a round of applause for the nanny here?

ok now getting down to business. the 2-year-old kid is presently in israel (i think ive mentioned that). so one day, around 15-20 years later, he will be all grown up and will want to rediscover his roots and will probably make a trip to india to do so. he will no doubt visit nariman house and will no doubt have tears in his eyes when he is there. which is all well and good and natural. my problem is the media is going to have a field day when it happens. i can just see it coming - 'moshe says hello again' or some such schmitzy headline. worse, cultural historians will use moshe's life to mark our journey as a nation, as a people. just like paul mc cartney - he wrote a song 'when im 64' and when he actually turned 64, the media marked it as 'the end of an era' and hailed paul as 'the symbol of the baby boomer generation'. i fear that moshe, whether he likes it or not, will be a yardstick to measure our lives by. now this just pisses me off. reason being that we already have a yardstick to measure our lives by - his name is Master Rehan Vadra.

we indians have been lucky in this matter - we have always had a yardstick. before Master Rehan, we had Master Rahul - before that Daddy Rajiv; before him Dadi Priyadarshini. and the poster boy of india himself - Bade Chacha Nehru. oh and Motilal Sa'ab was the pioneer - even though the poor man spent 3 years writing a constitution that was eventually chucked in the bin.

there you are

welcome. here are some conversations with yourself - you know, the kind you've had on the bus, in class/office, while buying groceries, etc. its nice to read your own mind once in a while. enjoy.