Ever untitled :)

Why does my urge to write at its strongest when I am not in the best of my moods?
Has writing got anything to do with the rush of adrenalin? For that matter, has adrenalin got anything to do with the worst moods?

In past 1.5 years of blogging and of over a decade of writing diaries, one feeling has ruled for more than 90% of the times. On an average at least 3 times a day I find issues I would like to write about. But the ones which actually take the shape of alphabets from vague hues are the ones penned on an impulse - like the present article.

The tussle that ensues between the impulse to write and the mind unwilling to write about frustrated emotions is very interesting for a third party onlooker, (However, being caught up amidst the chaos is not the best position to watch). Consequently, a thousand 'gems' die at the foetal stage itself. One day I realised that the list of 'draft' posts was much longer than that of the published ones. I felt so abashed at my inability that on yet another impulse I deleted the list. That was a classic case of 'na rahega baans, na bajegi bansuri'.

Anyways, my list and moreover the ideas are once again piling up. Ideas are like dust - you can never wipe them off completely, you'll wipe a portion and it will simply be replaced by another set. The only tangible benefit of penning such thoughts is that it allows one's soul to be freed from the frustrated mind. But then, there is a huge disadvantage as well. Reading such articles at a later stage always make me feel stupid about my behaviour, sad about the situation and immature at the reactions.

Interestingly the 'not so good moods' have a lot of variety to offer. There are times when I'd be really angry, almost like having a fit; thoughts compiled under such situations would be highly incoherent in flow as well as grammar. On other occasions, there would be moments when I'd be deeply hurt; compilation of thoughts is a rare process under those circumstances, however, if at all it happens, the outcome is bound to be melancholic and can get subtle at times. The worst of all the scenarios is when I feel absolutely helpless and there is nothing that I can think of to improve (or remove) the conditions. The end result in these cases is a ranting; comparable to the outcome of a blown off safety valve; these articles are of the worst variety, they are just a collage of facts, like a sensationalized news report, even though they might be high in content, but they are very low on substance.

Infact, even the articles penned during super exicted and chirping mindset tend to get incoherent at times, but the overflowing happiness seems to hide the damage pretty well. All in all, the best articles are the ones written with a balanced mind, and a peaceful scenario (which explains why there are such jewels are extremely rare). The most difficult aspect about a penning session is giving direction to the article and seeing to it that it reaches a conclusion. After all even though ideas are never-ending, yet articles cannot go on forever.

Presently, I am simply not able to understand why this untitled piece has been written in the first place? What is it all about – a description of different articles that I write? I seriously cannot name it, can you?

Annual Celebrations & Perennial Nonchalance

Time: 09:00 hrs

Date: 15.08.2011

Place: Garden Swing

It had stopped drizzling a short while back, clouds and sunshine were busy in their usual duel thereby benefiting the earthlings. Patriotic melodies resounded yet again and 'desh-prem' was once again call of the hour. Beloved 'tiranga' manifested its presence via all possible media. Cell phone inboxes and facebook walls were flooded with Happy Independence Day wishes. Nationalism ruled and with every agency trying to strike the best deal out of the prevailing sentiments, commercialism ruled as well.

I myself had done my bit; by playing one of my favourite Independence Day tracks. As I swayed on the swing, absorbing the environment and allowing the patriotism to strike the right chords inside my heart, I could feel something not so right about it. Struggling hard to figure out the nagging thorn, my mind searched through each one of the 15th August spent in past.

I remembered my pre-primary years, where on every eve of I-Day and R-Day, we painted the tricolour on white sheets. Our teachers added the finishing touches to the flags by drawing the 24 blue spokes. The next day we would hold the flags high and march around in unmatched steps looking as cute as tiny tots do. Though these painting sessions ended with the onset of primary education, yet holding a tricolour high on those days remained a high point throughout my school days. What was to be the fate of those venerated sheets of paper after the patriotic surge had subsided fell under my mother's purview. In those days, I never allowed myself to be burdened by such lesser causes.

Playing out loud 'desh-bhakti' numbers, attending flag hoisting ceremonies at school (and some times at my father's office), watching the 2 p.m. I-Day special movie on Doordarshan, quite summed up the physical activities I indulged into on a regular I-Day. It was followed by an unyielding demand to be taken on a sight seeing tour of the city in the evening. The beautifully decorated government buildings made them quite a sight. All these acts made me feel that I-Day was something special, something to be cherished forever. However, the charm of I-Day was not a consequence of these activities. These pursuits simply added to the flavour. The most prominent feature of the whole affair was the fervent enthusiasm that came from within. And yes, now I had nailed the nagging thorn, the enthusiasm was not as fervent now as it used to be.

A candid confession: from past 4 years I had been looking forward to the national holidays as a method to save leaves and escape the confines of my office. I still feel enthusiastic about the celebrations, but the passion has begun to dwindle. Disillusionment has begun to replace dreams, negativity is eating its way into the hopeful heart, and a sense of helplessness is spreading like a cancer polluting the heart and soul. 'Iska kuch nahi ho sakta' has become the favourite punch line for every situation.

Now, my heart often questions my intent saying 'why do I remember my country only on the 15th of August and 26th of January?' It asks me that instead of flying tricolours only twice a year, why don't I work for country and try to bring about the changes that are needed. Why do, on the remaining 363 days, I take the 'Let it be' stand and am unable to produce a voice loud enough to be heard. Why do I prefer to be a passive observer of the constitutional injustices around me? Why even on the 15th of August, do I feel content by just humming Jan Gan Man in the morning and then proceed to spend the remaining day as yet another holiday? I think that I am simply scared to take an initiative because I feel that I am not well equipped and am alone in my fight; but is this the only truth? Is the only thing stopping me is this monophobia?

As I continued swinging, my heart treaded further on the path of introspection. Done with the scrutiny of carefree childhood I-Days, it was now busy analysing the mature ones, and, let me be very frank, it happens to be my most critical critic. The first finger it raised was towards the language of my thoughts. I tried to deviate it and responded that there were still 45 days for ‘Hindi’ Diwas. It had bigger issues to trouble me and therefore relented on this one. The next issue it mentioned left me speechless. It asked, ‘How much longer do I plan to be the silent passerby?’ I had no replies to offer.

Restless, I left my coveted seat and started strolling. My thoughts all jumbled were quite a contrast to the firm footfalls. I could not recall the first time when missing the flag hoisting had not raised a pang of guilt, but I did know that I have been quite irregular on this front of late. Of course, I have stopped making/purchasing my own tricolour because I am unable to undertake the responsibility of safekeeping them once the celebrations are done with. However, these were not the only things bothering me. In fact, this was just the tip of the iceberg. Attending or missing the morning ceremony doesn’t seem to make much a difference. At heart, I love my country; but then was love alone sufficient? Further, was my duty, as a citizen, limited to standing in attention to the tune of the national anthem when the tricolour flutters high, on the annual occasions and for the remaining year was I supposed to be oblivious to the issues ailing my motherland?

When I was young, I often fantasised about fighting against British for our independence. With a childish sadness I used to regret having been born after 1947. However, even then, I could sense that my country was not fully free from its woes and I made a hundred thousand promises to myself that when I grow up, I shall definitely work towards making a difference. Now, my heart jeered, ‘How more will I have to grow before putting my thoughts into action?’ I retorted that I was struggling hard to do justice to all my responsibilities, personal and professional, and that I tried to do full justice to my systems in terms of quality and longevity. The furious heart, burning with piled up frustrations, snapped back vehemently. ‘So, now doing regular office duty, for which one gets paid, also comes under the category of greatness? These are truly desolate times in that case’, it yelled at me.

The practical mind was still busy devising methods to get the heart off ‘this’ track, however, my conscience knew that I had been a lazy being. Heart and mind continued their debate for as long as they wished, and I became an observer once again. I knew which was right and which was practical and had no courage to side with either. In past, I have resolved and re-resolved umpteen times, however, my resolutions have yet not been powerful enough to bring about a change in my inertial state. Swinging or strolling, debating or distracting, I knew that nothing shall come out of it unless resolutions turned into ideas and ideas were shaped into action.

Engrossed in this mental mess, I struggled hard to come out, but to no avail. Perhaps my conscience was regaining some of its strength, however, just then I heard the main gate being thrown open. With a jerk I came back to practical realm and watched my husband returning from the flag hoisting ceremony at his office. The heart had just one last observation to make, ‘Amidst the nonchalant behaviour upheld throughout the year, at least some had not given up on annual celebrations as well.’

Musings.....

As I was looking through my glass window, while my driver struggled through the traffic, I happened to observe a mother with her baby sitting inside a shanty atop a slab covering a wide roadside drain. The woman was dressed shabbily even though the white pearl neck piece that she wore was quite notable. The toddler sat in front of her and a plate separated the two of them. Though it was not in my line of sight, but the movements of her hands suggested that she was kneading flour and the baby was trying to imitate her action to the amusement of them both. A few meters ahead, in another similarly built shanty another family was having a meal. A young girl amongst them was entertaining herself by watching the traffic.

Don’t get me wrong, during this complete short episode, the human spirit and the similar high fundas didn’t cross my mind. Not for a moment did I think about the bond shared between the mother and her toddler or on any such noble theme. All that struck me was their poverty. I tried hard to imagine what they would be thinking at that moment. I wondered what would be their immediate wishes, aspirations and expectations from life.

My floating thoughts brought back the memories of an accident that occurred a few days back. A tractor trolley, laden with daily wage labourers, hit a speeding train at an unmanned level crossing. There were four causalities, four from a family lost their lives; the lone survivor was the bread earner who was now left with none to earn bread for. This made me think about the lives of these migrant labourers, who spend their days building castles for others and at nights take shelter in these makeshift shanties. Often they are people from far off ‘backward’ states who come to the cities in hopes of a better livelihood and in dreams of a better life. Do they get it? What are their limits? The least and the most they demand and yearn from life? What preoccupies them besides their daily needs (if at all they have the luxury of preoccupation)?

Indulging in such thoughts is not an issue, the main problem lies in calling these thoughts ‘musings’ and allowing oneself to glide over. Exploring further, the problem lies within me. I allow myself to raise the questions but do not allow myself to dive deeper to find the answers. The fact is that my own fake sense of honour prevents me from doing anything concrete. I and people like me need people like them, so that there is always someone available to clean up the filth we generate.

Right now, I am typing from amidst the comforts of a soft bed and an air-conditioned room. However, if fate presents before me a simple prospect of visiting one of these shanties and spending just five minutes with these people, I’ll for sure hesitate initially. Moreover, I am not sure if I’d eventually accept the offer. In all probabilities I need to broaden my mindset first, before I make another attempt to understand something about which my inner most fears tell me to be wary off.

Kandla: Through my looking glass :-)

Yahan hawa nahi dhool chalti hai

Yahan dhool dhool nahi namak hoti hai.....

I have never before come across topography as this and though many people might disagree and grumble, but I find it very enchanting.

Bright skies with patches of white cotton balls; shallow; very shallow swampy ponds on either side of the roads. The vision occasionally blocked by farms of closely built tanks. Few scattered buildings; some abandoned, some rebuilt and some unaffected by the tectonic plates underneath. The horizon displaying shades of grey, skeletons of dinosaur like cranes and of course small heaps of salt displaying shades of white and grey. This is what greets my eyes as I travel down NH 8A. My fellow companions on the highway are mostly trucks of varying stature.

A railway track crosses my path twice and on one particular occasion I found a goods train and myself taking a stroll on the road together, quite literally so. The different varieties of goods wagon that I encounter during my travels, seem to be my husband's scheme for giving me a better understanding of his job.

The picturesque landscape is made even more so by the annual migrants; Flamingos. Beautiful white coloured birds display their true colours when they take off. Strange though it seems but their feathers are a beautiful red from underneath.

Even though each and every inch of land here is reclaimed, and therefore planned, yet it gives me a feeling of wilderness. Looking at it for long seems to put me into a trance and I find myself transforming into a fly on the wall. The undulating topography, the swamps, the bushes, the soil, the salt pans, the roads, the tanks, the piping – Kandla very aptly reflects the never ending tussle between nature and mankind.

Floating through these scenes and thoughts, I am usually busy in ‘backseat photography’ and often a thought crosses my mind, ‘I feel like a princess of pre-independence days travelling in air conditioned luxuries clicking shots of ‘everyday routines’ of commoners, while the ‘commoners’ toil away in sun and dirt for their livelihood.’

However my sham royalty doesn’t last for long. As I near my destination and a particular manufacturing plant becomes more and more discerning, my driver takes a right turn and brings me to my own heaps of sands, morrum and abandoned property which had once been glorious. With a thud I am thrown back to reality and my looking glass slips inside by purse as silently as it came out when I started my short trip.

My dream place to work…..

My dream place to work…..

Where work matters, and people don’t

Where system matters and whims don’t

Where work speaks and people don’t

Where to work is not foolish

Where not to work is not pardonable

Where system defines the process, and not gets defined by it

Where correct means matter more than the result they achieve

Where responsibility is owned and not just the chair

Where acts are appreciated and not just the position

Where system cries and people listen

Where to endorse the system is not treason

Where the worthy gets the reward

Where sincerity and hard work are not scorned

Where performance is measured by competency

Where work is assigned as per capability

Where pleasing the management is no requisite

Where maintaining contacts is only for receptionists

Where the fair opportunists don’t get undeserving opportunities

Where a vigilant watch is kept and not gifted

Where such dreams are nurtured and not ridiculed

Where all this is not just a fantasy

Where all this takes shape of reality

And last but not the least…………

Where my alarm doesn’t ring when I am dreaming

Yet another road crash............

Road accidents are a very common feature on Indian thoroughfares. Without getting into the statistics and its subsequent analysis, I can easily vouch for having passed by at least 10 such causalities 'blocking' the traffic and umpteen no. of injured people lying in similar state, in less than 26 years of my existence. This is when I do not work for traffic regulatory bodies and have never been associated with medicos. Nor do I happen to be an avid traveler. I have always come across these cases on my way from my home to school/ college or work.

The point to ponder is not about the when, where and how preceeding these incidents, but the actions taken by the silent passer-by's including me. Without the least amount of any pride in my act and ironically without much of remorse as well, I clearly remember myself staring at the 'victims' with great amount of shock, awe and pity, as long as my eye sight would permit, but without the least intent of stopping down to offer help of any sort. Okay, let me not paint myself as a brute, I might have helped a person here and there, but right now I am referring to strictly accident cases; cases where it is actually a matter of life and death and where, without any choice, a hefty portion of the responsibility falls on strangers like me who just happen to be at the 'wrong place' at the wrong (or may be right) time.

The point I am trying to raise out here is about the way we carry ourselves when face to face with emergency situations. Is it not so that in most of the cases we find ways to convince ourselves sufficiently to subdue to the guilt feeling? The practical mind almost always manages to overrule the emotional heart. And, with conviction about the 'only option we had' feeling, we manage to walk off without even a glance in the 'wrong' direction.

'Right' and 'wrong' are very perspective terms and it all comes down to how we interpret the situation. But don't you think that we have had too much of this 'chalta hai' attitude. How long can we continue turning a blind eye towards the system anomalies? For how long are we going to stay unconnected and unconcerned with everything happening around us concluding with a single one liner 'it’s none of my business’? This society is by us as much as we are by this society. If we are not going to make an effort for sorting up the matters, trust me no one else will. We are not living in a fairy land. Are we? No angel is going to come when we are all asleep and make everything right with a flick of a wand.

I spent the last twelve months of my life building a system, while trying to improve the quality of construction. I tried hard to understand my system's needs. I fought hard against the personal whims and interests of many others. Screaming from the bottom of the pyramid, in many occasions, my voice was lost in the chaos, but something told me to continue fighting. Eventually, after being forced to compromise on almost all the issues, to accept sub standard work and to call it my own, the system was eventually commissioned three months back.

To watch those lifeless sheets of metal turn into a functional machine was absolutely enthralling. My nervousness during commissioning and happiness thereafter matched that of a mother waiting for her child's board result. Though I felt on top of the world to see my system running, yet the happiness was marred by guilt and depression about the quality I had managed to deliver. I had perhaps managed to make 0.0000001% of difference to the system. And this was after having a new fight almost every single day during last one year. What efficiency!

Anyways, post commissioning, I took a long leave, fulfilling my life's biggest dream. On my return, the sight of my 'ex-site' made my heart bleed. The feeling of helplessness is back and I see my panels crying and their cries falling on deaf ears just like mine did.

I have once again become a 'passer - by' and the helpless accident victim is blocking the traffic on the main road. Like others, I too have started closing my eyes when faced with the 'unwanted' situations. My well wishers tell me to count my days and have a peaceful transfer and when the 'emotional' heart gets too difficult to handle, the practical mind knows sufficient methods to divert the topic altogether.

All of us are waiting for the patients to become critical enough to need specialists attending them. ‘Prevention is better than cure’ we sure have never heard this one! You tell me, have you ever seen people coming forward to help a victim who manages to stand erect within 5 minutes of the incident!

On a day like Today :)

“Hi! My invisible, nonexistent, imaginary readers!

(And oh yess! I do acknowledge your presence as well, my dear forced readers)”

This is how I started this post some five days back while in office. My mind is just sooooo full of thoughts. (But then, is this not always the case?) Anyways, after realising that I had been away from the blogging world since too long, I was desperate to make a return and wanted to do it with a bang. I dreamt of writing a piece titled ‘I am back’.

While I was at it, I read a news paper article about how number of bloggers was dwindling with the increasing popularity of tweeters and facebookers. The article had compared statistics of 2006 with 2010 and since I had chanced upon blogging in 2010 only, therefore I thought about penning down my ‘counterview’ on this issue. I started the ‘bhumika’ of this article, however while the first para was still in its infancy, the right combination of mood+time began to elude me. As time continued to pass, more and more ideas started getting a foothold on my mind’s platform. After moulding perceptions by giving peep view of snaps of my balcony view and enjoying a pleasant (though not warm) afternoon therein, I decided to shift the focus of my ‘big’ article to the musings that had thus resulted. However, once again laziness conquered all and yet another day came to a close without the article doing the same.

The above event log finally brings me to ‘my current situation’. First of all a piece of information: today is 14^th February 2011. Technically, it is the seventh Valentine’s Day of our life ever since we became ‘we’ and also our ‘two month’ marriage anniversary, if we decide to celebrate that. However, reality bites. Well right now, I am not exactly feeling let down or anything. In fact, I have become quite used to the concept of no V day celebrations. Don’t get me wrong, we haven’t embraced the ‘anti v day campaign’ as such. It’s just that ever since we became a couple, we have never had a chance to be free and together on February the 14^th. Very frankly, since I have never tasted it, therefore I never miss it as such.

That said, it doesn’t mean that the vexing ways of the great IR fail to irritate me. Don’t term me biased, instead please evaluate my point rationally; were they laying the foundation of the great Gymkhana or were they starting the conspiracy against any lovers there might be associated with the great Gym. Anyways, it’s an old lamentation, no use reciting it again. To think of it, I really don’t know if there is anything in particular that I would like to do to celebrate this day. Living in cities like Panipat and Gandhidham helps damsels like me. Add to it, living in remote locations, surrounded by Haryanvi fields in near about ‘dead’ townships helps the case even more. I guess if I remove television connectivity, I will not even know (forget whining) that today is anything other than a Monday which is yet another stupid day to go to office. I would have probably felt bad had I spent the day in a metro like city where the malls and markets would probably be a shade of red and heart shaped red balloons would be hanging decoratively from the ceilings of the restaurants.

Anyways, imagination is a pretty tricky thing. Within moments, it can take us on long flights and then with an equal ease drop us on ground with a singular ‘thud’. So let me not give wings to mine. The list of ‘what if’s is endless and that of facts is very concise. The fact remains, had Aks and I been together right now, then that would have added to my happiness as well as to another reason for ‘no post today as well’. To say the least, at times, to reconcile to one’s fate is perhaps the best decision to make. :D