I sing to you, my song,
Apprehensions in mind,
A student that I am, nascent,
Seeking your dwell. And all I get…
The mysterious silence of Silence.
Is it a pat on my back
For luck next time,
Or loss of words, in awe?
My shallowness tells not.

I cry to you, my angst,
Foolish fears of love and life,
A learner that I am, bothersome,
In need of guide. And all I get…
The eerie silence of Silence.
Is it the trust in my character
to break free sans aid,
Or a reminder of my solitude, my noise?
My ignorance tells not.

Is the jargon of love, Silence?
Where words surrender, Silence endures?
I fall short.
There is a long way to go, then,
To seize the sounds of Silence.

It was around seven yesterday evening. I was standing by my scooter parked near the temple waiting for my sister. The temple, for us, those who live in the vicinity, is a standard landmark. A road to our locality from any direction cannot ignore the landmark- “Come straight from station towards clock tower and take the lane beside the temple…”, “…if you take left near the bakery, that road will go directly to temple. But you needn’t go till the temple. You take the first left…” or “…take a share auto near the temple and get down near the gift shop”. My sister called me up and said that she’d be there, near the temple, in another fifteen minutes. But it took her more than that. So I was standing there, wondering about random stuff-maybe the bus got stuck in traffic at Begumpet; none of those traffic timers work; wonder what goes through the minds of these beggars; man, this chill is intolerable; Hyundai Eon looks a lot like Chevrolet Beat; pollution is aweful in Hyderabad…

Sudden commotion interrupted my highly intelligible thoughts. Two beggars, dizzied and mellowed by alcohol, were locked in a noisy tussle.

“adi naalugu”        [That is four]

“naalugu kaadu vaay, rendu”        [that is not four, that is two]

“adi naalugadi, lan<swear>ka, iyyi bey”        [that is four, you <swear>, give it to me!]

“rendu raa adi, rendu”        [two, that is two]

What actually happened was that devotee, on his way to his Honda Civic, gave money to one of those beggars to share among themselves. While one argued it was four rupees and each had to get two rupees, the other, who actually recieved the coins, said it was only two rupees and each had to get one rupee. Initial blurred vocal arguments, dominated by rendu and naalugu, eventually led to physical conflict. There were women among the beggars. They were neither drunk nor showed much concern. They threw one fleeting look at the hoo-hah and continued with their chat. I could only guess what they were talking about. Meanwhile, the swearing continued, with increased rigour. Beside the parking lot, the flower shop owner was talking to the vendor selling bananas, as he was shutting his shop down for the day,

“dunnapothulla untaaru, evaina pancheskochu kada”    [why don't they look for work instead of begging, they are as healthy as a bull]

The banana vendor replied, “ee thaagubothu vedhavalaki evadisthaadu pani”    [who'll give work to these drunk idiots]

Meanwhile the fight for those two extra rupees continued. They weren’t speaking much in their intoxication now, on random swinging of limbs. While one continued throwing abuses, the other kept
repeating ‘rendu’ in a trembling voice. Suddenly another older beggar at the other end of the line stood up and walked in a limp towards these two. One of his arms was heavily wrapped in gauze cloth. He walked to them, and started beating them up real hard on their backs with his other intact hand. To my surprise, they did not retaliate- it could either be seniority or sympathy towards his handicap or neither, I’m not sure. As the thrashing ended, one beggar picked his bowl up and walked away swaying and mumbling. The other sat down still chanting in a low shivering voice (I suspected crying),

“rendu…rendu…rendu”.

As my sister, on our way back through broken roads, glowing billboards and middle-class odes, was narrating her day’s experiences, it was all a distant song for me contemplating over that incident. That incident, which was a routine for many, but a story rare enough for me to put it up on my blog.

Myriads of paths traced,

By the ebbs and tides

Of the flow of life.

Countless journeys,

Paths explored, retraced,

Songs composed, echoed,

People met, friends born,

Failures faced, abandoned,

Mistakes made, repeated.

Midst the mystic events

Of birth and death,

Myriads of paths traced

The wonderful designs of Life.

“We can make the best or the worst of it. No one’s a loser. But yeah, I hope you make the best of it.”  -9

I’ll make you, you make me

We shall make each other.

]]> http://filecalledlife.wordpress.com/2011/04/25/we-shall-make-each-other/feed/ 3 kkrovvidi My home http://filecalledlife.wordpress.com/2011/04/23/on-a-saturday-to-monda/ http://filecalledlife.wordpress.com/2011/04/23/on-a-saturday-to-monda/#comments Sat, 23 Apr 2011 07:18:16 +0000 ringo.. http://filecalledlife.wordpress.com/?p=105 ]]> We left Voodoo’s cousin’s place at around 7:15 in the morning, nothing in mind as to where to head. The Sun was hiding somewhere behind the transluscent clouds and that mild breeze, unusual on a summer morning, was teasing.

Bojja said, “Monda?”.

I asked, “Did you get your camera?”.

He nodded and it was fixed. I was heading to Monda Market finally! Though not for the first time, I never went there without a purpose.

Monda market. Lying on the way from the busy-ness of Secunderabad Railway Station to the business of General Bazaar, Monda is one of the oldest market places in Hyderabad. At around 7:30 in the morning, as we entered the lane, it was still calm to my surprise. Gunny bags filled with vegetables were moving in, from the backs of aged lorries, on the backs of sweat-wet men and women. Yesterday’s trampled green swept into small piles laid every here and there . While a few were sifting the vegetables into heaps of various sizes probably to attach different price tags, a few others were busy with their everyday morning rituals. While a few were half way through their first dose of the day’s Adrak Chai(Ginger Tea), others already got into their seats alongside their common balances. So this is how that vibrant, energetic and abuzz devil of Monda Market looked in its early morning laze! The beast still asleep, I wondered.

We walked around for a while, had two cups of Adrak Chai (Ginger Tea, if you are wondering) each, a plate Poori with Pappu and Koora, did some random clicking and ambled out. The Chai was awesome and the Poori, filling. It was indeed a ‘Good Morning’.

“If only a Poet is born into a family here to describe the beauty…” -Bojja Rajesh

P.S: I’ll try to update post with the Photographs snapped as and when I make time to take them from him.

Coming to the Jan Lokpal Bill, the civil society version, I have issues.

1. The Jan Lokpal is too powerful. Apart from having jurisdiction over Politicians, Bureaucrats and Judges, the CVC and the entire vigilance machinery will be merged into Lokpal. Also the crime branch of CBI will merge into Lokpal. This will allow Lokpal to file FIRs, conduct investigations under CrPC and prosecute. So it becomes a super-cop and a super-judge.

Democracy is about diversification of powers so that one system keeps a check over the other. It is a balancing act. But Jan Lokpal seems to be defying the underlying principles. From filing of cases to prosecution, it takes care of everything. Such power in the hands of a single institution is very dangerous to the health of a democratic society.

2. No accountability. There is no provision in the draft that makes the Lokpal accountable to anyone-not even to the parliament or to the Prime Minister. It does not require to report to anyone, its actions. Accountability to public is another pillar on which democracy rests. The Jan Lokpal, which has been drafted keeping the corruption within the political and administrative systems in view, chooses to stay unaccountable to the Parliament which is a representation of the public.

So, the passage of this bill might paradoxically end up creating an overtly powerful anti-corruption body highly susceptible to corruption itself. Hence, what we need today apart from a Lokpal which is autonomous, accountable and assured, is the adjustment of existing systems through reforms-Electoral, Political, Judicial etc. towards a free and fair society.

Today afternoon, as I was lying alone on the warm floor, Lucky Ali’s ‘Dil aise na samajhna’ from Sifar in my ears, staring at the spring driven pendulum clock…

…I woke up to the early morning ringing of bells and agarbathi smells from the kitchen. Sister still asleep, I got up and loitered around The Alwal House, plucked a couple of flowers for the kitchen, tried to draw water from the well but the filled pail being too heavy for my size, I settled with more of those ripples. Then I wandered into the bedroom picking up the walking stick behind the main door, which was a tad shorter than me, on the way. There, grandpa was standing, in his regular white shirt and lungi, in front of the pendulum clock and intently looking at his wrist watch through his thick rimmed glasses. Just as I started to ask him what he was doing, he  gave a loud intimidating ‘Mmm’, demanding silence. All the courage I had accumulated to put my doubts forward evaporated. I just looked. After a series of operations which included giving key at two slots, adjusting the minutes and hours with his fingers, giving a little more momentum to the pendulum, he closed the glass door of the clock after placing the key inside the clock itself. Now I know where the key is! On his way out of the bedroom, he picked the wooden walking stick from my hand as if it was from a stand and left. I too left after a few more seconds of staring at the clock…

…My amble continued into the hall. The shelf in the hall was filled with all sorts of things. Books, dog-eared documents, cassettes, a single-speaker cassette player, screw drivers, nuts,bolts- Grandma came there, took out the cassette of Venkateswara Suprabhatam rendered by M S Subbulakhmi and inserted it into the player and switched it on with all the wariness in the world- screws, magnifying glass, tablet strips, syrup bottles, emergency lamp, big red batteries, diaries, drill-machine, pens, penci..Oh wait! drill-machine. After a sweeping glance to check for any elder presence, I picked it up with the swiftness of any other excited child and ran into the verandah. The spot I picked to drill holes was a single line of brick lining at the edge of raised portico. I started drilling. One hole after another. No questions asked. Just the bliss of drilling. The satisfaction of being able enough to use a ‘for grown-ups’ device. I got a call from Amma to brush my teeth and get my glass of milk…

…The sun got bright enough to cast sharp shadows and this was the moment I was waiting for. After breakfast and bath, I went to the shelf and looked for the big metal rimmed magnifying glass. Alas! I couldn’t find it there. I couldn’t dare ask him for it. I was contemplating if I could ask amma to ask him for it. But luckily I found it myself. It was on the table by the Grandpa’s easy chair, over the newspaper. Picked it up and rushed onto the terrace collecting as many dry leaves on the way as possible. Picked a convenient spot, sat down, placed the leaves in my pocket and started burning the leaves,one by one, using the magnifying glass. This was not the usual excitement of lighting a match stick and burning a paper. It was different. Primal gratification may be…

…If it is at The Alwal House, then a siesta is mandatory. He slept, so everyone else slept. And I was free. Free to do things which were otherwise banned; free to touch things which otherwise were out of my reach; free to peak into areas which otherwise were cordoned for kids. I roamed about the place jumping from room to room, shelf to shelf. Peaked into diaries, ejected the cassette player, closed it, ejected it again, closed it again, keyed the clock, touched the pendulum, gulped a couple of aamchur candies from kitchen, killed a lot many ants with the magnifying glass, tried my hand at typing on the Remington Typewriter etc. and finally I too fell asleep to the silence of the place…

…Evening was Sangeetham time. “Kartheekudu, itu raa raa. Oka thyagaraaja krithi anduko…”(Kartheekudu, come here and hum a thyagaraja keerthana for me) Stage shy, as I have always been, I needed a lot of coercing. ‘Bantu reethi’ set to the raagam Hamsa Naadam was the only krithi I knew very well. So every time he asked, I sang only that one that too with a lot of mistakes. Never did he complain…

…And as we set ourselves to bid goodbye, he asked us to wait and brisked back into the house. He opened the shoe rack and picked a red rubber ball from inside and handed it over to me, “Idigo, aadukora”. When amma inquired as to where did he get all the balls from, he replied, “Aa vedhavalu bayata cricket aaduthu baallu mana kitikesi baaduthu untaaru.. aithe avi daachestu untaanu. Theliyaali bhadavalaki..”(Those rascals play cricket outside and keep hitting our windows with the balls. So I seize all the balls. They must be taught a lesson)…

…the song stopped but the clock didn’t. Apart from the Clock, my memories are the only place where he still resides.

Love you Thathayyagaru…

P.S: I shall make a note to learn as many stories of him and grandma as possible from his children. Also, I’ll try to get my hands on that cassette player and Typewriter.

Neither there is anything new or revealing about Satyajit Ray that remains to be told nor am I equipped to do so. But there is one striking characteristic of his screenplay that I personally experienced and hence felt the urge to share. Every act of his script has one image that he focuses on(maybe that is what he imagines when writing the script), the image around which he builds the script locally, and makes sure that that shot is long enough to make an imprint on the audience. The above one is one such shot. It runs for about 7-8 seconds. The half lit face of Aparna, serene and calm. You can’t stop staring, I know.

Ray’s portrayal of women is so lucid and native that you just keep looking at them in awe. Awesome.

Among other things, as a co-commuter, I hate auto-rickshaws. Their maneuverability is overtly high for their size. Which moronic designer would give that big a body, a single wheel in the front with a scooter type handle? Added to that, their fart is multi-color. To sum it up, they are a big pain the asses. But there is another flavor, to this damned vehicle. They are so omnipresent, they become an integral part of your daily visual recordings. When was the last time you ran an errand without spotting one of these rascals? Also, all that hatred towards autos is confined to the times when you are not seated in it. Once you enter, you are in total awe of his maneuvers, twists, turns and escapades. You curse, along with him-the driver, those foolish riders and drivers who religiously follow all those rules vules. It gets even better if the auto has that China made cassette player. You get so involved in identifying the strikingly familiar songs running at higher than normal speeds, that time just flies by. In a nutshell, it is a mini amusement park ride.

And hence an Auto, maybe…

“oh, never heard of it man. Is it fun? who is offering?”

“It is being offered on earth. As of now it is fun. Nothing much to do, going though an orientation period.”

” what are the prospects, they say?”

“Donno man, at least none presently on earth know, they only keep guessing. The alumni, they don’t seem to exist at all. A few crazy guys keep trying to contact them.”

“Funny. Anyways, tell me more about the course, seems interesting. I too might give a try.”

“That’s the best part. You don’t have a time table or a course plan kinda thingy there. A few guys to make a plan themselves, a few succeed. So, You start off with two mentors. You might be the only student or not. Another weird thing is there are two main parameters apparently- physical size and mental growth. Both are independent, but there exists a general trend.”

“ok…”

“But the most exciting part is that we are not told when our course will conclude.”

“Eh?! What crazy shit is that? On what basis do we prepare then?”

” It is continuous evaluation… There is no final exam kinda thing. If we screw up something, it remains screwed up. But with ample time, hopefully, we can recover.”

“I want to give this thing a try man.. seems interesting. Can we unjoin anytime we wish to?”

“Theoretically yes. But they say it is tough to unjoin. But at least during orientation, there is no record of anyone unjoining. it is total fun during that time. But they say it gets tougher and tougher, and a few differ. Let me be frank, it seems as though each student here has his own opinion and wants every other student to have the same opinion. quarrels and all. It gets suffocating at times man.”

” Ok I’ll join, where do I register. The fees, course material and all?”

“Register with Mr. Cupid. He’ll trigger a few hormones for you. By the way, I was lucky to fall into a good classroom. I hear there are classrooms where students are in such dire conditions that they are not able to survive the orientation also. Hope you’ll get lucky. No fees initially. Your mentors will arrange for that. How long that will continue will depend on your mentors only. After that you’ll have to fill in your own fees. Also, how long you can stay without paying fee is also subjective to you.

“About the study material?”

“Same is the case with course material. Initially it is more experimental and hence fun.  Slowly, as you progress, it tends to get bookish. Finally it totally depends on your interest in the course.”

“Thanks dude…I’m excited. See ya on earth!”

“Sure. And by the way, they’ve introduced a new selection scheme and a few mentors take that seriously. So better opt for the male option. That’s the trend these days. See ya”