JAI HIND
You are jealous about the huge pay packet, the perks amenities the defense services receive and the icing on the cake is the comfortable pension they draw after they retire. WE, the poor hardworking civilians pay such high taxes every year, and the income tax slab keeps on raising its bar. This is all done to keep these army people….the faujis comfortable in their lavish life style.
Well, how about trading all this for a bullet? All this could be yours if you had the courage, guts and gumption to join the army. Be a man, go on join the army, let’s see if the six-pack, the false bravado hold true when facing the enemy. The colossal green unified fighting machine which safeguards us while we all are sleeping safely is facing red-tapisim and the biggest challenge is the enemy within the country; Maoists and heaven forbid if they try taking action they are held ransom by Human rights association who cry murder at every move they make. The army personnel just quietly do their job ; a description which is not for the faint hearted and when they are compensated in a monetary way, we the drawing room arm chair doyens of the society kick up a fuss. They ask for better clothes, up gradation of the out-dated weaponry and an answer to the red-tapisim which dogs the poor soldier down. If there is a formula which can work out the sum to be paid when a soldier dies, I’m sure the jawan would be happy. It sure would be a breakthrough which could later be patented thus returning manifold the cost incurred by the Indian government in paying compensation to the jawan who doesn’t bat an eyelid when issued orders to face the enemy head on.
There is an old and oft repeated saying in the army, “it’s not for us to question why, but to do and die.”
This Republic Day will come and go but please change or awaken the sleeping conscience which is awakened only when our cozy haven is threatened. It is akin to opening the inner eye for moksha; how can one attain salvation when we forget to be compassionate? They only want recognition for their services rendered in the name of the country which is a mother to all and when the bullet is faced the blood is red with no distinction for a sikh, Hindu or muslim.
Rise, awaken change that indifferent attitude and salute the soldier who asks for no awards or is not driven by lines of religion, community or caste but serves untiringly, unflinchingly to ensure that we can continue to hold our durbars in drawing rooms and the media can keep on holding their trp driven debates in the safe secure high scale homes.
So, at least for one day shrug off the sloth this has taken over the soul or to borrow a rebel leader’s slogan … Jaago!
Happy Republic Day
A civilian: Ravneet Sangha
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Mera Bharaat Mahaan...
We will be celebrating our Republic Day next week and surprisingly the youngsters of our town and had no idea what it all was about. Yes, it is a national holiday, Angad a class eleventh student said, Let me Google it on my smart phone! Give me a minute is the answer we got when youngsters were asked.
Republic Day is celebrated every year and this day is significant as the Indian Tricolor was unfurled in Jan 1930 at Lahore by Pt. JawaharLal Nehru and the declaration of Indian National Congress was made. @6th Jan.1950 was the first time when the Indian constitution came into force and in 1965 on this day Hindi was made as the official language. Since time immemorial our parents and in turn their parents would tune in their Black and white Texla tv’s to the solitary channel with one iconic tune and the swirling hypnotic orb of Doordarshan beckoning one. All eyes and ears tuned to the grandiose parade which swelled their hearts with pride. It seemed everyone was on a patriotic high, sadly which is missing in our present and the next generation.Teena dosanjh, an Nri visiting Jalandhar says,Acc. to Circuit(munna bhai) it’s a dry day..As a housewife a sunny day so loads of washing... Acc to a school student...Go to the district level celebrations to sing patriotic songs or participate in parade (compulsosry) for the young crowd...Another day for mauj mastii and gerii time! And for the so-called desh bhakts it’s a day to deliver long winding speeches and for the security forces ..Another tiring, thankless day”.
This quite sums up the present scenario. Previously the program was watched with anticipation but sadly, even if the youth does wake up at 8 am they’d rather be checking their msg’s or listening to music lost in their world.
Another shocking fact was that there was mixed reaction about whether the President presided or was it the prime minister. The republic day is of no importance to us, said Suchet Sangha an engineering student, we would rather talk about GIRLS, MOBILES or SEX.Nobody wants to hear about deshbhakti stories but if there was a story about a girl they were all ears.
Republic day for the youth of today is frankly a day which actually reaffirms the state of inept politicians and corruption which is rampant at all levels. A constitution which has been amended 94 times, what can it offer. They feel that the leaders of the country are bringing in shame at all levels and all of them are consensus in one thing that they are driven apart by politicians who play caste driven cards. Politicians surface only during election year hibernating for the 4 years and with remarkable assurance surfacing in the 5th doling out freebies and sucking us in for the next 5 years. This was felt by a group of twelfth class boys, Gurmehar Singh, Hartaaj Powar.
Democracy is a farce; politicians indulge in linguistic politics. We all get swayed by jingoism and do not care about the fellow Indian. We are the most racist people on the earth as we term fellow Indians as outsiders even while navigating the country. Republic day is just another symbolic day says, Rajan Iyer passionately.
The sign of the times is that when a survey was initiated on a popular networking site Face book, the queries drew a zilch. For the first time this had happened. The general mind set being why bother, boring debate… IF however it was a debate on the vital statistics of Sheela v?s Munni the server would have crashed!
There is hope, though one person remembered it being his wife’s birthday,one happy wife there , so why bother about the rest 1.2 billion?
Happy Republic day
Ravneet Sangha
Republic Day is celebrated every year and this day is significant as the Indian Tricolor was unfurled in Jan 1930 at Lahore by Pt. JawaharLal Nehru and the declaration of Indian National Congress was made. @6th Jan.1950 was the first time when the Indian constitution came into force and in 1965 on this day Hindi was made as the official language. Since time immemorial our parents and in turn their parents would tune in their Black and white Texla tv’s to the solitary channel with one iconic tune and the swirling hypnotic orb of Doordarshan beckoning one. All eyes and ears tuned to the grandiose parade which swelled their hearts with pride. It seemed everyone was on a patriotic high, sadly which is missing in our present and the next generation.Teena dosanjh, an Nri visiting Jalandhar says,Acc. to Circuit(munna bhai) it’s a dry day..As a housewife a sunny day so loads of washing... Acc to a school student...Go to the district level celebrations to sing patriotic songs or participate in parade (compulsosry) for the young crowd...Another day for mauj mastii and gerii time! And for the so-called desh bhakts it’s a day to deliver long winding speeches and for the security forces ..Another tiring, thankless day”.
This quite sums up the present scenario. Previously the program was watched with anticipation but sadly, even if the youth does wake up at 8 am they’d rather be checking their msg’s or listening to music lost in their world.
Another shocking fact was that there was mixed reaction about whether the President presided or was it the prime minister. The republic day is of no importance to us, said Suchet Sangha an engineering student, we would rather talk about GIRLS, MOBILES or SEX.Nobody wants to hear about deshbhakti stories but if there was a story about a girl they were all ears.
Republic day for the youth of today is frankly a day which actually reaffirms the state of inept politicians and corruption which is rampant at all levels. A constitution which has been amended 94 times, what can it offer. They feel that the leaders of the country are bringing in shame at all levels and all of them are consensus in one thing that they are driven apart by politicians who play caste driven cards. Politicians surface only during election year hibernating for the 4 years and with remarkable assurance surfacing in the 5th doling out freebies and sucking us in for the next 5 years. This was felt by a group of twelfth class boys, Gurmehar Singh, Hartaaj Powar.
Democracy is a farce; politicians indulge in linguistic politics. We all get swayed by jingoism and do not care about the fellow Indian. We are the most racist people on the earth as we term fellow Indians as outsiders even while navigating the country. Republic day is just another symbolic day says, Rajan Iyer passionately.
The sign of the times is that when a survey was initiated on a popular networking site Face book, the queries drew a zilch. For the first time this had happened. The general mind set being why bother, boring debate… IF however it was a debate on the vital statistics of Sheela v?s Munni the server would have crashed!
There is hope, though one person remembered it being his wife’s birthday,one happy wife there , so why bother about the rest 1.2 billion?
Happy Republic day
Ravneet Sangha
Thursday, January 20, 2011
leap of faith
A little girl with kohl -laden eyes , oiled hair fair was gawking at me when I was wondering how I was going to jump across and fall even if the rickety ladder was across which was swinging over a huge chasm which had no bottom.
I needed to jump to get the courage to make the leap of faith as in Indiana Jones ( my fav. movie ). I know the comparison is hackeyned and you all think well she is romantacisizing but... there is always a comparison between good and bad ...goodness carries on. When and how does one make the leap of faith . To surrender, to submit to the unknown is what I fear. This dilemma is faced by all of us. The chasm seemed /or is wide unknown , deep,dark and hold all sorts of dangers.
Do we take the leap of faith or not ? or do we spend our lives in the cubby-hole?
I needed to jump to get the courage to make the leap of faith as in Indiana Jones ( my fav. movie ). I know the comparison is hackeyned and you all think well she is romantacisizing but... there is always a comparison between good and bad ...goodness carries on. When and how does one make the leap of faith . To surrender, to submit to the unknown is what I fear. This dilemma is faced by all of us. The chasm seemed /or is wide unknown , deep,dark and hold all sorts of dangers.
Do we take the leap of faith or not ? or do we spend our lives in the cubby-hole?
role reversal
My sign is in danger of being taken over by the rampage of the weaker sex, you know the women from Venus. It seems that all that we have kept sacred, together from the times of Manu is being scattered and blown to smithereens by these laws which are slowly and slowly empowering women.
The last bastion, Lohri celebrations was taken away by the so-called custodians of the society. What would they know! We are in danger of being obliterated and becoming obsolete, taken out once in awhile to being just the sperm donor. Very clinical.
As my life starts, there is sexual discrimination right from the time of my nursery admission, an upstart girl would get preference and ruin my chance just because she is an only girl child she would get priority. New Delhi region all adheres to this, especially the public schools. It just doesn’t get easier, if all children are equal, why do we have to give up our seats, let them have a separate queue? Their incessant giggling and smirking and smiles where they get an upper hand because they are girls is enough to drive anyone up the wall. There is a quota system which we have to deal with, be it any college, any professional college, the customary job which is taken over by woman so as to adhere to the requisite number of women in an office according to law.
Why does the poor man, have to fight at all turns? Then comes, finding a friend, we are doomed if it’s not platonic and abused if heaven forbid, we mention that we have a love interest. Does it get easier anyway? When making a match (arranged) the girl has all the luck. She gets to have the upper hand,marriage law being with her. The draconian laws which exist in this country can put a man behind bars if she just whispers the word ‘dowry’. There is a general consensus that we made these laws to protect the weaker, fairer sex but not at the cost of manipulation. Gurbinder Singh Anand, says that he has seen many cases where men suffer atrocities at the hands of women. Many men are languishing in jails without bail implicated in false cases where the woman gets away with literally murder.
We as a race find masculine feminists overbearing who are over the top , who manipulate their sexual identity to suit the purpose, be it money, a job, money ; the crux of all. Sometimes, the power game is what drives them and we get a bashing. The innocence is what dupes men in general and they use this double edged identity to their benefit. Men have a genetic code built in them where we are taught to be deferential to a woman; this again taught by our mothers, a woman but this generation is all set to break these barriers. They compete with us; walk side by side but at the slightest get back to being a specie form Venus!
Arrogance, bad attitude are turn-offs and not desirable, as Yogeet Brar says that women try to masculine and in that process lose their identity. Women in general also agree that there is manipulation of laws by their own sex. Interestingly, the fairer sex says that change should be inward- out. We need to change the mindset rather than outward appearances.
Please let this be the case.
Interestingly,this piece has been written by a woman.
Ravneet sangha
The last bastion, Lohri celebrations was taken away by the so-called custodians of the society. What would they know! We are in danger of being obliterated and becoming obsolete, taken out once in awhile to being just the sperm donor. Very clinical.
As my life starts, there is sexual discrimination right from the time of my nursery admission, an upstart girl would get preference and ruin my chance just because she is an only girl child she would get priority. New Delhi region all adheres to this, especially the public schools. It just doesn’t get easier, if all children are equal, why do we have to give up our seats, let them have a separate queue? Their incessant giggling and smirking and smiles where they get an upper hand because they are girls is enough to drive anyone up the wall. There is a quota system which we have to deal with, be it any college, any professional college, the customary job which is taken over by woman so as to adhere to the requisite number of women in an office according to law.
Why does the poor man, have to fight at all turns? Then comes, finding a friend, we are doomed if it’s not platonic and abused if heaven forbid, we mention that we have a love interest. Does it get easier anyway? When making a match (arranged) the girl has all the luck. She gets to have the upper hand,marriage law being with her. The draconian laws which exist in this country can put a man behind bars if she just whispers the word ‘dowry’. There is a general consensus that we made these laws to protect the weaker, fairer sex but not at the cost of manipulation. Gurbinder Singh Anand, says that he has seen many cases where men suffer atrocities at the hands of women. Many men are languishing in jails without bail implicated in false cases where the woman gets away with literally murder.
We as a race find masculine feminists overbearing who are over the top , who manipulate their sexual identity to suit the purpose, be it money, a job, money ; the crux of all. Sometimes, the power game is what drives them and we get a bashing. The innocence is what dupes men in general and they use this double edged identity to their benefit. Men have a genetic code built in them where we are taught to be deferential to a woman; this again taught by our mothers, a woman but this generation is all set to break these barriers. They compete with us; walk side by side but at the slightest get back to being a specie form Venus!
Arrogance, bad attitude are turn-offs and not desirable, as Yogeet Brar says that women try to masculine and in that process lose their identity. Women in general also agree that there is manipulation of laws by their own sex. Interestingly, the fairer sex says that change should be inward- out. We need to change the mindset rather than outward appearances.
Please let this be the case.
Interestingly,this piece has been written by a woman.
Ravneet sangha
Monday, January 17, 2011
transformation 101
Transformation through Love
This phrase has stuck in my mind and a dear friend who is an older brother too, advised me to write of things which are happy, of pleasant things rather than letting people, incidents affect me and in the heat of the moment write nastily which was against the grain of my nature.
I wonder whether the goodness people see in me is there or is just an illusion, a mirage which when one comes close to will disappear.
Remember the mist/clouds which gently touch one cheeks romancing taking one to another plane. Well as they say I am, rambling. Just blame it on the increasing years. Coming back to my original thought love is a mystery. We all have experienced it in some sort of way at some point of time, hit by Cupid’s arrow and feeling that one cannot live without the other. Well, sorry to disappoint you folks not talking about the chemical reaction or the crazy rush of adrenalin which gets the heart pumping and fuzzes one’s mind.
I am talking about love, the intense love for God. The most ancient traveler in the world is love, Swami Rama often told his students. This great Indian mystic, yogi said that bhakti is the intense love for God. It is a deep yearning to experience love in its purest and highest form to unite with that which is eternal and unchanging. We are forever engrossed in our worldly relationships, especially our near and dears. WE do not love others for their own sake but rather for the Divine Self that resides in them. In fact, the ancient practice of namaskar was started; as it was a salutation where one was bowing in respect to the One’ness which resides in the other’s soul.
The only way we can transform one is through the three stages aptly classified as the honeymoon phase, the desert phase and the state of surrender and grace.
When one gets married, we all go through the perfunctory period taking off to celebrate the union by a honeymoon where we explore each other’s mind and all is rosy , dewy and it seems the world is colored by whatever rainbow color you fancy! Similarly, the path to God is the same where the initial rush is the same where we experience love, sensations of joy light, upliftment and inner peace. It seems the world changes for the better and we face the inner sweetness which resides in us. This transition is always with external help, be it a teacher who is essential and it would be foolish to say one can do it by themselves. This is also the period where there is a danger that one’s ego will supersede or be supreme. Quite, a catch-22 situation, a juxtaposition of humility and ego-rise.
The beauty in this phase lies that we offer whatever we can externally to HIM. There is no need to suppress ourselves. This is via prayer, rituals associated with worship. Sufis dance and abandon themselves to Him. Those swirling dervishes become one with him, and awaken their anhad naad. Some read, write poetry. Do not be deterred every step brings you closer.
One prays chants, meditates, contemplates and does jaap of mantra. Prayer is of two kinds, one which is egocentric where we focus on path which will for us .Remember , all those deals made with God when examinations were approaching, the Prasad at the temple, the extra coconut ,. We actually end up bribing him so that the result in the future is in our favor, Well stop, doing this, pray genuinely. A heart felt prayer which comes from within. This prayer is sacred, beautiful pure and innocent. Do not laugh and say innocent… how does this fit in? When we pray for strength to face our problems and to solve our day-today problems with a calm balanced exterior. Such prayers are always answered. Mister Eckhart Tolle, said,” if the only prayer you say in your entire life is Thank you’, that would suffice. So say thank you, it doesn’t cost much, gives a smile and if it is heartfelt and again you are the winner!
Chanting helps one to rope in those wayward thoughts and emotions which keep on running helter-skelter and you think one is going through a perpetual state of PMS.Contemplation is what keeps us going on this path, we need to continue to exercise those grey cells to discriminate, to separate otherwise the vortex of emotions suck you in and you cannot move to the next level. Jaap, is important as this repetitive recitation of the Holy Scriptures, words at a fixed time and at a designated place is what grounds us. It is the gravity which keeps us grounded. None of us want the honeymoon phase to end, but hey nobody said living life was going to be easy. Where do you think all those smart, funny lines came from? As one walks this path we suddenly are faced by the desert where you wonder whether you will ever see the light. It is the point where one wonders whether all the seeking will ever bear fruit. Anguish, despair is the sign of the times and one is tempted to give all up and take the easy way. But, trust the maker; he sure has bigger plans for you.
This is all due to faith which carries you forward .Remember faith can move mountains. A student once complained to his teacher that the manta was not working. The teacher replied, just do your work and let the mantra do its work. It all happens on a subtle level, no electric billboards flashing the signs like a Las Vegas strip! Pawan Bal a sikh by birth but swears by the carols and the prayers she learnt knee high in England. It is not important what you say or what your religion is, it’s the faith which carries you forward.
Rupali Singh, swears by the fact that doing her path albeit in hindi but reading the Sri Guru granth Sahib shows her the way every day. Thus progress is there and that is what matters. The vehicle to the destination is immaterial.
In the end we experience the sweetness, the true flavor of the honeymoon stage but now it is grounded by knowledge because we have faced our inner demons, the darkness which threatened to engulf us, drag us down and have moved forward to gain wisdom, strength and compassion. Compassion is the true meaning of this transformation. This is what is lacking in this world and causing strife at all levels. Dr. Kalkat , quotes from the famous line “Aval Allah NOOr uphai, kudrat ke sabh bandei”. The crux of love is to realize that God is love and that these divisions, demarcations are all figments of humans to rule better. Religious divisions, caste based lines are a blot to humanity. We need to go beyond all forms and merge into oneness.
This will allow us to act in the world with greater balance, stillness and with more clarity and love.
It would be fruitless if there is light awakened in one but the practice is not there. Simple, practice it in your daily life with your loved one, the person at the door, the sweeper and of course the hired help who are always there to make our lives easier. Human love is grasping, clinging but divine love helps us as we start doing self less seva . Just remember to be kind to others and to greet them with humility. This grace is the biggest change and it can come only in the form of forgiveness from within.
Ravneet sangha
This phrase has stuck in my mind and a dear friend who is an older brother too, advised me to write of things which are happy, of pleasant things rather than letting people, incidents affect me and in the heat of the moment write nastily which was against the grain of my nature.
I wonder whether the goodness people see in me is there or is just an illusion, a mirage which when one comes close to will disappear.
Remember the mist/clouds which gently touch one cheeks romancing taking one to another plane. Well as they say I am, rambling. Just blame it on the increasing years. Coming back to my original thought love is a mystery. We all have experienced it in some sort of way at some point of time, hit by Cupid’s arrow and feeling that one cannot live without the other. Well, sorry to disappoint you folks not talking about the chemical reaction or the crazy rush of adrenalin which gets the heart pumping and fuzzes one’s mind.
I am talking about love, the intense love for God. The most ancient traveler in the world is love, Swami Rama often told his students. This great Indian mystic, yogi said that bhakti is the intense love for God. It is a deep yearning to experience love in its purest and highest form to unite with that which is eternal and unchanging. We are forever engrossed in our worldly relationships, especially our near and dears. WE do not love others for their own sake but rather for the Divine Self that resides in them. In fact, the ancient practice of namaskar was started; as it was a salutation where one was bowing in respect to the One’ness which resides in the other’s soul.
The only way we can transform one is through the three stages aptly classified as the honeymoon phase, the desert phase and the state of surrender and grace.
When one gets married, we all go through the perfunctory period taking off to celebrate the union by a honeymoon where we explore each other’s mind and all is rosy , dewy and it seems the world is colored by whatever rainbow color you fancy! Similarly, the path to God is the same where the initial rush is the same where we experience love, sensations of joy light, upliftment and inner peace. It seems the world changes for the better and we face the inner sweetness which resides in us. This transition is always with external help, be it a teacher who is essential and it would be foolish to say one can do it by themselves. This is also the period where there is a danger that one’s ego will supersede or be supreme. Quite, a catch-22 situation, a juxtaposition of humility and ego-rise.
The beauty in this phase lies that we offer whatever we can externally to HIM. There is no need to suppress ourselves. This is via prayer, rituals associated with worship. Sufis dance and abandon themselves to Him. Those swirling dervishes become one with him, and awaken their anhad naad. Some read, write poetry. Do not be deterred every step brings you closer.
One prays chants, meditates, contemplates and does jaap of mantra. Prayer is of two kinds, one which is egocentric where we focus on path which will for us .Remember , all those deals made with God when examinations were approaching, the Prasad at the temple, the extra coconut ,. We actually end up bribing him so that the result in the future is in our favor, Well stop, doing this, pray genuinely. A heart felt prayer which comes from within. This prayer is sacred, beautiful pure and innocent. Do not laugh and say innocent… how does this fit in? When we pray for strength to face our problems and to solve our day-today problems with a calm balanced exterior. Such prayers are always answered. Mister Eckhart Tolle, said,” if the only prayer you say in your entire life is Thank you’, that would suffice. So say thank you, it doesn’t cost much, gives a smile and if it is heartfelt and again you are the winner!
Chanting helps one to rope in those wayward thoughts and emotions which keep on running helter-skelter and you think one is going through a perpetual state of PMS.Contemplation is what keeps us going on this path, we need to continue to exercise those grey cells to discriminate, to separate otherwise the vortex of emotions suck you in and you cannot move to the next level. Jaap, is important as this repetitive recitation of the Holy Scriptures, words at a fixed time and at a designated place is what grounds us. It is the gravity which keeps us grounded. None of us want the honeymoon phase to end, but hey nobody said living life was going to be easy. Where do you think all those smart, funny lines came from? As one walks this path we suddenly are faced by the desert where you wonder whether you will ever see the light. It is the point where one wonders whether all the seeking will ever bear fruit. Anguish, despair is the sign of the times and one is tempted to give all up and take the easy way. But, trust the maker; he sure has bigger plans for you.
This is all due to faith which carries you forward .Remember faith can move mountains. A student once complained to his teacher that the manta was not working. The teacher replied, just do your work and let the mantra do its work. It all happens on a subtle level, no electric billboards flashing the signs like a Las Vegas strip! Pawan Bal a sikh by birth but swears by the carols and the prayers she learnt knee high in England. It is not important what you say or what your religion is, it’s the faith which carries you forward.
Rupali Singh, swears by the fact that doing her path albeit in hindi but reading the Sri Guru granth Sahib shows her the way every day. Thus progress is there and that is what matters. The vehicle to the destination is immaterial.
In the end we experience the sweetness, the true flavor of the honeymoon stage but now it is grounded by knowledge because we have faced our inner demons, the darkness which threatened to engulf us, drag us down and have moved forward to gain wisdom, strength and compassion. Compassion is the true meaning of this transformation. This is what is lacking in this world and causing strife at all levels. Dr. Kalkat , quotes from the famous line “Aval Allah NOOr uphai, kudrat ke sabh bandei”. The crux of love is to realize that God is love and that these divisions, demarcations are all figments of humans to rule better. Religious divisions, caste based lines are a blot to humanity. We need to go beyond all forms and merge into oneness.
This will allow us to act in the world with greater balance, stillness and with more clarity and love.
It would be fruitless if there is light awakened in one but the practice is not there. Simple, practice it in your daily life with your loved one, the person at the door, the sweeper and of course the hired help who are always there to make our lives easier. Human love is grasping, clinging but divine love helps us as we start doing self less seva . Just remember to be kind to others and to greet them with humility. This grace is the biggest change and it can come only in the form of forgiveness from within.
Ravneet sangha
Monday, January 10, 2011
Diary of a Punjabi woman
It is dawn in my village nestled outskirts of a sprawling city of Punjab; one of many trying to break into modernism and desperately failing like an aged prostitute who tries to mask her shortcomings by too much paint and cosmetics. How, I wish we had remained let our own identity be….
Fog lies on the landscape of Doaba, penetrating cold that seeps into one’s marrow. As the sky brightens, the outline of the surrounding landscape unfolds. My village’s landscape comes in the fore like a woman who hesitantly picks her veil and shows her hidden beauty. There are a couple of huge sprawling houses which dominate the misty skyline of my pind but the rest are the multi-storied haphazard structures of layered rooftops, draped with wires and all sorts of kundi connections and the laundry! The brick and concrete intermingles with the thatched roof and the occasional mud-plastered mixed with cow-dung thatched roof woven with bamboo sticks. Winter permeates and a mildewed atmosphere is everywhere, no matter how affluent the house is. The harshness of winter is stark, sparing no one. The sky changes from steel gray to faint translucent turquoise promising a warmer day but the aquamarine light has black silhouettes.
As another day begins, the village splutters into life, the morning sounds are heard. The daily sound which makes this cosmos is the same here and I think just the language changes but all over the world the flow is the same.
My village grapples with deep and volatile frustrations of poverty and hardships which threaten to ignite into violence and upheaval, simmering discontent is seen on the faces of my happy go-lucky villagers who try too hard to eke out a living faced by shrinking land-holdings, dwindling water reserves and invisible electric supply. Desire and anger both forms of fire, are incited and suicidal battles are fought in the name of religious hatred and imaginary boundaries are etched out tempting the balance of power in this beautiful state of mine.
I wonder whether the so –called custodians have ever taken out time to even visit their constituencies when not spruced took like a newly-wed alluring one with the mystique and promise.
When the sirens of the elections beckon they come back laden with tempting gifts and beguile us with promises of utopia. Hiding behind these masks of congeniality are the destroyers of the moral fiber of our society. We get corrupted, are corrupted but here I would like to just put forward one of the steps in the ladder which led us to this peak.
I got married into a traditional family of agriculturists based in this beautiful village nestled and cocooned in nature in proximity to the city but yet so far that it seemed that we all existed in a world of our own. Punjab, which is so dear to me and to every self-respecting Punjabi faces problems which seem to spiral out of control. Every politician, big, small, fat, thin fit or not so fit has cried himself hoarse from every platform that he is THE Angel Gabriel out to save Punjab from the clutches of the rest. I wonder when, we will all collectively start doing something in reality, rather than being loud gasbags. I could write hosannas and pages or even earn a doctoral thesis over ‘doing something’ but sadly the problems would still remain. The moral fiber of us is dead long buried under the debris of accumulated materialism and the nonchalance which is in our genetic framework now. I mean if you are reading this you are comfortable in life have everything going, if even if you would say, Oh lord! The prices, my budget is all astray! We would all blame the ruling party and take sides with the other party, but would willingly shell out money for the next car or the lighter shade of grey toosh shawl...
It’s interesting to note that I myself am guilty of this and read the paper cover to cover but do we do something to correct and trust me I procrastinate. Forget this for another time (see guilty, again).
Love, the most mysterious wonderful chemical reaction which strikes us all at one point of time has gripped my village. There have been numerous cases of love which are sprouting, every kudi / munda worth of his her hormones was surging ahead with lurve the wonderful feeling. Was it because of the increased financial independence or the fact that we were in the age of self proclamation of desires. The era where one loves silently purely has given away to increasing overt displays of affection and that was what was happening here. The local chaiwallh daughter’s who was happily married in the next village happened to come back for one of the routine visits which all girls make back to their parents. Well, she was walking to the fields next to the chappar on the outskirts where the ‘ ghora wala baba’ had his samadh. This was a lonely place which was knowingly not visited by the male inhabitants of village as all the women went there to do their business. It so happened, she went by herself that night with no one to give her company , except the crutch of the new generation the mobile phone blaring the new item song..Rajo, was walking back when she passed Satish who used to work with her in the cold –storage. He was easy on the eye, and a smooth talker. They started talking and one thing led to another. Easy accessibility over the phone and visits to the village led to an explosion of romance which made Rajo realize what she was missing in life. She wanted romance, love, excitement, escape from the drudgery of daily work, the lure of the forbidden love and the sexual tension she felt with Satish which was missing with her husband. She ran away from her husband’s love to be united with her one and true love. According to the latest reports, she ran at night and the next morning the pair was missing. Well, all hell broke and the case was being registered. Rajo’s mother was crying and lamenting the fact that her daughter had been born, she wished the the dai’ had killed her the day she was born. The chaiwallah wanted to kill his daughter because she had run away with a boy form the lower caste, the mohalla was all aghast over her running away. The poor cuckolded husband was ready to take her back, if she came back and denied everything. He was of modern thought you see, twelfth pass and agreed to give her another chance, being fair and all. What he had planned for her later was for another day, another thought...
Rajo was hiding with her lover with whom she thought she would have a better life, true love. The case when brought to be discussed in the panchayat meeting was more on the lines that the girl should be brought back and taught a lesson. I wonder, what teaching a lesson is. I don’t think we need to go in to the details of the new fangled emotions which are more on lines of a sexual buzz temporary and which fizzle out leaving one to face the harsh reality of the after morning.
Rajo yes had run away, yes she had committed adultery, yes she had runaway with someone of the lower caste (by the way Punjab does not still have castes tattooed on their foreheads). We do not have invisible numbers which are visible to our same caste brethren; yes she was guilty of all charges. She was the scarlet woman of our village and everyone was wondering about the audacity shown by her and no one said it but it just spelled one answer.
Actually, it was not wonder, it was the certain fate which was spelled out but was not spoken out aloud. The next morning, the pind was abuzz that Rajo had been brought back and then somebody had seen her near the chappar..
How did the girl and the young boy mysteriously die and how did they ever hang themselves on the peepal tree adjoining the samadh is a mystery. Mind you, this happened in daylight, where everyone is going to work, to school, the whole village is in motion. Women are coming back answering nature’s calls, men are standing in clusters scratching their groins and munching some twig doing their dental hygiene bit. It seemed my entire village was out in broad daylight basking in the mild feeble winter sun which was trying to break through the fog which has enveloped us.
Was it some sort of code where the bodies were found hung, next to the samadh where every Thursday young girls came to worship, light diyas, give parsad so as to make a good match?
The sad part is that we all have become so hardened and just live our lives so sheltered in our security zones that if someone has died or has been killed ; what difference does it make. Oh by the way, this was duly reported in the vernacular paper, my pind made headlines, albeit for one day.
It is dawn in my village nestled outskirts of a sprawling city of Punjab; one of many trying to break into modernism and desperately failing like an aged prostitute who tries to mask her shortcomings by too much paint and cosmetics. How, I wish we had remained let our own identity be….
Fog lies on the landscape of Doaba, penetrating cold that seeps into one’s marrow. As the sky brightens, the outline of the surrounding landscape unfolds. My village’s landscape comes in the fore like a woman who hesitantly picks her veil and shows her hidden beauty. There are a couple of huge sprawling houses which dominate the misty skyline of my pind but the rest are the multi-storied haphazard structures of layered rooftops, draped with wires and all sorts of kundi connections and the laundry! The brick and concrete intermingles with the thatched roof and the occasional mud-plastered mixed with cow-dung thatched roof woven with bamboo sticks. Winter permeates and a mildewed atmosphere is everywhere, no matter how affluent the house is. The harshness of winter is stark, sparing no one. The sky changes from steel gray to faint translucent turquoise promising a warmer day but the aquamarine light has black silhouettes.
As another day begins, the village splutters into life, the morning sounds are heard. The daily sound which makes this cosmos is the same here and I think just the language changes but all over the world the flow is the same.
My village grapples with deep and volatile frustrations of poverty and hardships which threaten to ignite into violence and upheaval, simmering discontent is seen on the faces of my happy go-lucky villagers who try too hard to eke out a living faced by shrinking land-holdings, dwindling water reserves and invisible electric supply. Desire and anger both forms of fire, are incited and suicidal battles are fought in the name of religious hatred and imaginary boundaries are etched out tempting the balance of power in this beautiful state of mine.
I wonder whether the so –called custodians have ever taken out time to even visit their constituencies when not spruced took like a newly-wed alluring one with the mystique and promise.
When the sirens of the elections beckon they come back laden with tempting gifts and beguile us with promises of utopia. Hiding behind these masks of congeniality are the destroyers of the moral fiber of our society. We get corrupted, are corrupted but here I would like to just put forward one of the steps in the ladder which led us to this peak.
I got married into a traditional family of agriculturists based in this beautiful village nestled and cocooned in nature in proximity to the city but yet so far that it seemed that we all existed in a world of our own. Punjab, which is so dear to me and to every self-respecting Punjabi faces problems which seem to spiral out of control. Every politician, big, small, fat, thin fit or not so fit has cried himself hoarse from every platform that he is THE Angel Gabriel out to save Punjab from the clutches of the rest. I wonder when, we will all collectively start doing something in reality, rather than being loud gasbags. I could write hosannas and pages or even earn a doctoral thesis over ‘doing something’ but sadly the problems would still remain. The moral fiber of us is dead long buried under the debris of accumulated materialism and the nonchalance which is in our genetic framework now. I mean if you are reading this you are comfortable in life have everything going, if even if you would say, Oh lord! The prices, my budget is all astray! We would all blame the ruling party and take sides with the other party, but would willingly shell out money for the next car or the lighter shade of grey toosh shawl...
It’s interesting to note that I myself am guilty of this and read the paper cover to cover but do we do something to correct and trust me I procrastinate. Forget this for another time (see guilty, again).
Love, the most mysterious wonderful chemical reaction which strikes us all at one point of time has gripped my village. There have been numerous cases of love which are sprouting, every kudi / munda worth of his her hormones was surging ahead with lurve the wonderful feeling. Was it because of the increased financial independence or the fact that we were in the age of self proclamation of desires. The era where one loves silently purely has given away to increasing overt displays of affection and that was what was happening here. The local chaiwallh daughter’s who was happily married in the next village happened to come back for one of the routine visits which all girls make back to their parents. Well, she was walking to the fields next to the chappar on the outskirts where the ‘ ghora wala baba’ had his samadh. This was a lonely place which was knowingly not visited by the male inhabitants of village as all the women went there to do their business. It so happened, she went by herself that night with no one to give her company , except the crutch of the new generation the mobile phone blaring the new item song..Rajo, was walking back when she passed Satish who used to work with her in the cold –storage. He was easy on the eye, and a smooth talker. They started talking and one thing led to another. Easy accessibility over the phone and visits to the village led to an explosion of romance which made Rajo realize what she was missing in life. She wanted romance, love, excitement, escape from the drudgery of daily work, the lure of the forbidden love and the sexual tension she felt with Satish which was missing with her husband. She ran away from her husband’s love to be united with her one and true love. According to the latest reports, she ran at night and the next morning the pair was missing. Well, all hell broke and the case was being registered. Rajo’s mother was crying and lamenting the fact that her daughter had been born, she wished the the dai’ had killed her the day she was born. The chaiwallah wanted to kill his daughter because she had run away with a boy form the lower caste, the mohalla was all aghast over her running away. The poor cuckolded husband was ready to take her back, if she came back and denied everything. He was of modern thought you see, twelfth pass and agreed to give her another chance, being fair and all. What he had planned for her later was for another day, another thought...
Rajo was hiding with her lover with whom she thought she would have a better life, true love. The case when brought to be discussed in the panchayat meeting was more on the lines that the girl should be brought back and taught a lesson. I wonder, what teaching a lesson is. I don’t think we need to go in to the details of the new fangled emotions which are more on lines of a sexual buzz temporary and which fizzle out leaving one to face the harsh reality of the after morning.
Rajo yes had run away, yes she had committed adultery, yes she had runaway with someone of the lower caste (by the way Punjab does not still have castes tattooed on their foreheads). We do not have invisible numbers which are visible to our same caste brethren; yes she was guilty of all charges. She was the scarlet woman of our village and everyone was wondering about the audacity shown by her and no one said it but it just spelled one answer.
Actually, it was not wonder, it was the certain fate which was spelled out but was not spoken out aloud. The next morning, the pind was abuzz that Rajo had been brought back and then somebody had seen her near the chappar..
How did the girl and the young boy mysteriously die and how did they ever hang themselves on the peepal tree adjoining the samadh is a mystery. Mind you, this happened in daylight, where everyone is going to work, to school, the whole village is in motion. Women are coming back answering nature’s calls, men are standing in clusters scratching their groins and munching some twig doing their dental hygiene bit. It seemed my entire village was out in broad daylight basking in the mild feeble winter sun which was trying to break through the fog which has enveloped us.
Was it some sort of code where the bodies were found hung, next to the samadh where every Thursday young girls came to worship, light diyas, give parsad so as to make a good match?
The sad part is that we all have become so hardened and just live our lives so sheltered in our security zones that if someone has died or has been killed ; what difference does it make. Oh by the way, this was duly reported in the vernacular paper, my pind made headlines, albeit for one day.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Diary of a Punjabi woman
Diary of a Punjabi woman
It is dawn in my village nestled outskirts of a sprawling city of Punjab; one of many trying to break into modernism and desperately failing like an aged prostitute who tries to mask her shortcomings by too much paint and cosmetics. How, I wish we had remained let our own identity be….
Fog lies on the landscape of Doaba, penetrating cold that seeps into one’s marrow. As the sky brightens, the outline of the surrounding landscape unfolds. My village’s landscape comes in the fore like a woman who hesitantly picks her veil and shows her hidden beauty. There are a couple of huge sprawling houses which dominate the misty skyline of my pind but the rest are the multi-storied haphazard structures of layered rooftops, draped with wires and all sorts of kundi connections and the laundry! The brick and concrete intermingles with the thatched roof and the occasional mud-plastered mixed with cow-dung thatched roof woven with bamboo sticks. Winter permeates and a mildewed atmosphere is everywhere, no matter how affluent the house is. The harshness of winter is stark, sparing no one. The sky changes from steel gray to faint translucent turquoise promising a warmer day but the aquamarine light has black silhouettes.
As another day begins, the village splutters into life, the morning sounds are heard. The daily sound which makes this cosmos is the same here and I think just the language changes but all over the world the flow is the same.
My village grapples with deep and volatile frustrations of poverty and hardships which threaten to ignite into violence and upheaval, simmering discontent is seen on the faces of my happy go-lucky villagers who try too hard to eke out a living faced by shrinking land-holdings, dwindling water reserves and invisible electric supply. Desire and anger both forms of fire, are incited and suicidal battles are fought in the name of religious hatred and imaginary boundaries are etched out tempting the balance of power in this beautiful state of mine.
I wonder whether the so –called custodians have ever taken out time to even visit their constituencies when not spruced took like a newly-wed alluring one with the mystique and promise.
When the sirens of the elections beckon they come back laden with tempting gifts and beguile us with promises of utopia. Hiding behind these masks of congeniality are the destroyers of the moral fiber of our society. We get corrupted, are corrupted but here I would like to just put forward one of the steps in the ladder which led us to this peak.
I got married into a traditional family of agriculturists based in this beautiful village nestled and cocooned in nature in proximity to the city but yet so far that it seemed that we all existed in a world of our own. Punjab, which is so dear to me and to every self-respecting Punjabi faces problems which seem to spiral out of control. Every politician, big, small, fat, thin fit or not so fit has cried himself hoarse from every platform that he is THE Angel Gabriel out to save Punjab from the clutches of the rest. I wonder when, we will all collectively start doing something in reality, rather than being loud gasbags. I could write hosannas and pages or even earn a doctoral thesis over ‘doing something’ but sadly the problems would still remain. The moral fiber of us is dead long buried under the debris of accumulated materialism and the nonchalance which is in our genetic framework now. I mean if you are reading this you are comfortable in life have everything going, if even if you would say, Oh lord! The prices, my budget is all astray! We would all blame the ruling party and take sides with the other party, but would willingly shell out money for the next car or the lighter shade of grey toosh shawl...
It’s interesting to note that I myself am guilty of this and read the paper cover to cover but do we do something to correct and trust me I procrastinate. Forget this for another time (see guilty, again).
Love, the most mysterious wonderful chemical reaction which strikes us allat one point of time has gripped my village. There have been numerous cases of love which
It is dawn in my village nestled outskirts of a sprawling city of Punjab; one of many trying to break into modernism and desperately failing like an aged prostitute who tries to mask her shortcomings by too much paint and cosmetics. How, I wish we had remained let our own identity be….
Fog lies on the landscape of Doaba, penetrating cold that seeps into one’s marrow. As the sky brightens, the outline of the surrounding landscape unfolds. My village’s landscape comes in the fore like a woman who hesitantly picks her veil and shows her hidden beauty. There are a couple of huge sprawling houses which dominate the misty skyline of my pind but the rest are the multi-storied haphazard structures of layered rooftops, draped with wires and all sorts of kundi connections and the laundry! The brick and concrete intermingles with the thatched roof and the occasional mud-plastered mixed with cow-dung thatched roof woven with bamboo sticks. Winter permeates and a mildewed atmosphere is everywhere, no matter how affluent the house is. The harshness of winter is stark, sparing no one. The sky changes from steel gray to faint translucent turquoise promising a warmer day but the aquamarine light has black silhouettes.
As another day begins, the village splutters into life, the morning sounds are heard. The daily sound which makes this cosmos is the same here and I think just the language changes but all over the world the flow is the same.
My village grapples with deep and volatile frustrations of poverty and hardships which threaten to ignite into violence and upheaval, simmering discontent is seen on the faces of my happy go-lucky villagers who try too hard to eke out a living faced by shrinking land-holdings, dwindling water reserves and invisible electric supply. Desire and anger both forms of fire, are incited and suicidal battles are fought in the name of religious hatred and imaginary boundaries are etched out tempting the balance of power in this beautiful state of mine.
I wonder whether the so –called custodians have ever taken out time to even visit their constituencies when not spruced took like a newly-wed alluring one with the mystique and promise.
When the sirens of the elections beckon they come back laden with tempting gifts and beguile us with promises of utopia. Hiding behind these masks of congeniality are the destroyers of the moral fiber of our society. We get corrupted, are corrupted but here I would like to just put forward one of the steps in the ladder which led us to this peak.
I got married into a traditional family of agriculturists based in this beautiful village nestled and cocooned in nature in proximity to the city but yet so far that it seemed that we all existed in a world of our own. Punjab, which is so dear to me and to every self-respecting Punjabi faces problems which seem to spiral out of control. Every politician, big, small, fat, thin fit or not so fit has cried himself hoarse from every platform that he is THE Angel Gabriel out to save Punjab from the clutches of the rest. I wonder when, we will all collectively start doing something in reality, rather than being loud gasbags. I could write hosannas and pages or even earn a doctoral thesis over ‘doing something’ but sadly the problems would still remain. The moral fiber of us is dead long buried under the debris of accumulated materialism and the nonchalance which is in our genetic framework now. I mean if you are reading this you are comfortable in life have everything going, if even if you would say, Oh lord! The prices, my budget is all astray! We would all blame the ruling party and take sides with the other party, but would willingly shell out money for the next car or the lighter shade of grey toosh shawl...
It’s interesting to note that I myself am guilty of this and read the paper cover to cover but do we do something to correct and trust me I procrastinate. Forget this for another time (see guilty, again).
Love, the most mysterious wonderful chemical reaction which strikes us allat one point of time has gripped my village. There have been numerous cases of love which
Monday, January 3, 2011
An interesting status update of a dr. turned rebel turned activist who has shaken the entire administration of Chandigarh from self-induced slumber … Dr. gaurav chabra ‘karma’ who was lamenting over the condition of anemia in India. To quote him, “My idea of treatment of Anemia is NOT dispensing iron pills or supplements and nor is it restricted to creating awareness for prevention alone. I see cure in ‘Food” alone. It seems out of the domains of prescribed teaching at medical school, at present but not for long. More doctors have to step out of hospitals to treat diseases of society and politics. That would actually be true preventive medicine!”
This started a series of comments on a popular networking site where yes, preventive medicine is the answer and some like Divya Kaul say that we have all forgotten the basic structural support of life – food and water. The activist looks down upon doctors whose main aim is to publish papers bring laurels and forget about the real change which they can bring about in the tiers of society. Another aspect which was highlighted was that one section of the society is willingly adopting or trying to be fashionably slim according to the hoohah created by fashion magazines, the media and the crass commercialization of life which is sucking us into a downward spiral. It is fashion for some but ‘ majboori’ for the rest. A fashionably thin, with a willowy figure, wan cheeks supporting a mega-carat ring will not eat to maintain her figure but a poor woman will stare out at you with her brown eyes searching your soul for her next meal.
The Indian society is a study in contrasts- where one hand we have the slim, anorexic woman who depending on your yardstick is willowy or wasted. The fashionista label is spreading here too…, its mainstream is fuelled by international designers like Dior, Burberry, Armani who promote the waif- thin look. When was the last time you saw a fat model wearing a Burberry trench coat? Nope, never. This under-fed, scrawny look is achieved by eating carrots, ruining ones metabolisim, following some new-fangled diet suiting your body-type. Do you realize the more complicated the diet, the more expensive it is? Imagine a world, where one is paying to stop eating? John Lennon must be turning in his grave!!!
This pressure starts from the very young starting at 10 yrs... And extreme cases are diagnosed at Fortis where nasty comments, peer pressure, opposite sex remarks turn healthy girls into sticks. The androgynous look is preferred fuelled by the television, and the access to internet .On the other hand, we have the rest of the society for whom scraping together the next meal is impossible. Just imagine the next time you order in the pizza the bill is equal to a month’s ration in villages of Punjab. And, this is your prosperous Punjab.. A land of plenty. According to a survey done by the PSWC along with the Civil Hospital authorities, girls from the ages of 9-12 yrs were anemic to the extent of 72% with an hb of 6.2 avg.
This was due to diet, poor living conditions, giving preference to the male members of the family. Brothers come first, you see. This is a fact, which stares at all of us but we just turn a shoulder. The poor are anemic due to poor dietetic awareness, and the main culprit poverty.
It would be wonderful, if realistic solutions can be found for this condition.
The author would appreciate answers which can be implemented for a practical long-term solution and not the usual castle in the air suggestions
This started a series of comments on a popular networking site where yes, preventive medicine is the answer and some like Divya Kaul say that we have all forgotten the basic structural support of life – food and water. The activist looks down upon doctors whose main aim is to publish papers bring laurels and forget about the real change which they can bring about in the tiers of society. Another aspect which was highlighted was that one section of the society is willingly adopting or trying to be fashionably slim according to the hoohah created by fashion magazines, the media and the crass commercialization of life which is sucking us into a downward spiral. It is fashion for some but ‘ majboori’ for the rest. A fashionably thin, with a willowy figure, wan cheeks supporting a mega-carat ring will not eat to maintain her figure but a poor woman will stare out at you with her brown eyes searching your soul for her next meal.
The Indian society is a study in contrasts- where one hand we have the slim, anorexic woman who depending on your yardstick is willowy or wasted. The fashionista label is spreading here too…, its mainstream is fuelled by international designers like Dior, Burberry, Armani who promote the waif- thin look. When was the last time you saw a fat model wearing a Burberry trench coat? Nope, never. This under-fed, scrawny look is achieved by eating carrots, ruining ones metabolisim, following some new-fangled diet suiting your body-type. Do you realize the more complicated the diet, the more expensive it is? Imagine a world, where one is paying to stop eating? John Lennon must be turning in his grave!!!
This pressure starts from the very young starting at 10 yrs... And extreme cases are diagnosed at Fortis where nasty comments, peer pressure, opposite sex remarks turn healthy girls into sticks. The androgynous look is preferred fuelled by the television, and the access to internet .On the other hand, we have the rest of the society for whom scraping together the next meal is impossible. Just imagine the next time you order in the pizza the bill is equal to a month’s ration in villages of Punjab. And, this is your prosperous Punjab.. A land of plenty. According to a survey done by the PSWC along with the Civil Hospital authorities, girls from the ages of 9-12 yrs were anemic to the extent of 72% with an hb of 6.2 avg.
This was due to diet, poor living conditions, giving preference to the male members of the family. Brothers come first, you see. This is a fact, which stares at all of us but we just turn a shoulder. The poor are anemic due to poor dietetic awareness, and the main culprit poverty.
It would be wonderful, if realistic solutions can be found for this condition.
The author would appreciate answers which can be implemented for a practical long-term solution and not the usual castle in the air suggestions
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