Keep Calm and Vote We are Punjabis.

One day left for the greatest polling show on earth (well part of it). We, Punjabis always feel that the sun, the moon and the stars revolve around universe. It is just incidental we are Indians; first and foremost we are Punjabis. The trolling done on the net and all the social media sites is inevitable, but close to reality.

In my own village in the hinterland of Doab, AAP is making couples fight in their 70’s! . Our village hatti wala (corner shop for everything) is not talking with his wife of a good half-century as she is supporting the ruling Akali Dal –BJP combine and he supports the AAP candidate. They have become the talk of our village and this part of the larger constituency. They fight , hurl abuses, get very colorful against each others leaders and swear by them . They extoll their virtues and keep on promising that the leader is the chosen one. The Messiah of the masses !

The domestic spat has become the talk of the surrounding villages, where she cooks food for the family and he refuses to be served by him. So much so, that they don’t even cross each other. A new kind of independence is being seen, the wife is adamant to support the panth but the husband wants to rule the roost and wants to take charge of the traditional broom. Are we seeing empowerment or a change in the traditional way of life? The funny part is that where the Aam Aadmi party should be for the women, who want a change from corruption, rising inflation index, more jobs for their youth that is ready for the job market, they all feel that it is better to support one of the two evils rather than a new party that flopped and lost its chance when they were given it in Delhi.

The voter is not stupid, nor is it swayed; they will go with the time tested two parties and is now going to bury the hatchet with their lot. Of course, the revolution that we think is happening is limited to the virtual media, the urban cities. Right now in my village all that is happening is that Jeeto and his wife are not speaking. 

A Punjabi wife will of course be loyal to her party, she stands up to her husband but one thing she will never do is not cook a meal. So, while Jeeto serves himself, they both are content in supporting their parties. The trend is that openly a few of the younger lot are supporting the jhaddoo (the broom) to clean the corrupt system and to revolutionize the society and be rid of all the evils but isn’t Kejriwal also promising the same freebies that the sarkar is already giving under one pretext or the other. We need socialism, populist measures to be responsible for our citizens who are not on the same level but that can only survive if we have a capitalist model to generate the income!

Jeeto, is clever enough to convince people that he is a revolutionary leader and is going to clean the corrupt system and be the awaaz for the down trodden, but methinks it is just a way to ensure people keep on coming to his shop to get the daily dose of politics, and yes to keep on buying sauda!

The fact that daily sales at his corner shop have increased due to this colorful fight between them and that they are supporting two different parties is incidental.

Keep Calm, Its business as Usual, voting is incidental

The dance of democracy

The world’s largest democratic battle is being fought, the battle lines are drawn, stances taken, positions made and the contingents are ready. Anyone, who is an outsider, would see muck, drama everywhere. We, as Indians have sadly stooped so low that we have used all kinds of mudslinging grenades on each other. Nothing is sacred all can be used. We don’t stop short of anything. As, a citizen of this country, and as a woman do I feel pride in this elections? No. The length and breadth of this country is sacred, she is meant to be safeguarded but what are we fighting on … we are dividing on lines of caste, community, religion so deeply and so definitely that all the scars get green again. No one lets them heal, it’s like a scab that one picks and picks again, so that fresh blood erupts. In my own state of Punjab, what happens is that we bring the old ghost of ’84 again to haunt us? Why do you dupe the voters time and time again? Why don’t you address the issue of drugs, rampant use of chitta powder, bhukki? Where is the clean water? One scion of the ruling party who has jumped so many parties, made so many bed fellows that it is difficult to trust his ideology keeps on claiming he was the forerunner of RO water in Bhatinda, well Sir, where is the love for Punjab ? Aren’t we a part of it? Or did Bullae divide his love and was selective? Why are we all selective in developing our own havens? Did we do something wrong? Doab, the most progressive basin of Punjabis, has no leader to stand for it; I think I need to stand for elections! The newest entry into the scenario AAP has more jokes in its platter than the inevitable Santa Banta. A party, that is forming, which will be a force to be reckoned with in a few years time. The time for change is inevitable , such is the law of nature. Congress, an albatross is a spent force in the state and keeps on putting its foot in the mouth with irresponsible statements, and the ruling Akali -BJP combine is facing problems with the Punjabis asking about the lack of infrastructure the despair of roads and the menace of drugs. However, the edge is there, where the charisma of Badal will sway the rural voter to vote for a utopian mirage of a better future. Don’t we always live for hope? I always do, I always feel the leaves will change the flowers will blossom, and fall again. The problem with all our respected politicians and the bureaucrats is that we think we have time , but it is not so . A slightly abridged line by Buddha . However, I don’t want be slandered, maligned like the newest gaffe done by one of our tallest leader who in his zeal to promote a BJP leader changed the shabad of the Guru. Sir, be a sycophant, but to stoop so low to change the scriptures … well well they didn’t teach you so well ! We, still yearn for the things that matter the most , we still want roti ,kapda makaan and the ones who read this all have these basics but we are a bitter lot , we still don’t choose a better future but carry on embittered with a thorn. Sir, Madam , worry about Punjab , worry about India , she cradles us . The change my forefathers saw was not for this debt ridden, cancer struck , youth intoxicated in the dream land of drugs, a country where women are not safe to walk on , my state where girls are killed aborted ruthlessly because you never gave her the right Y chromosome to be a boy /man who would drink drive the fortune away but would have the right organ to light the pyre. I fear for the rise of right wing politics that would again put me in a minority … can I be a part of the saffron hindutava even if I am a Indian and a sikh and that too a woman? Would the RSS accept this ? I wonder , so much just like Alice in Wonderland …. About the Red Queen.

The Donkey and I

The world is a mayanagri, full of elusive, seductive, attractive objects that beckon the mind in attaining and we are constantly striving to attain them. The mind is a powerful organ that dupes, makes us believe that if we don’t have this particular object life wont be worth living. We all are caught up in this jaal. It is committed that the world and its objects are real. Maya is a strong belief in the existence of that which does not exist.

Once a washer man asked his son to go and fetch their donkey who was in the barn. When the son tried to fetch it, the donkey wouldn’t budge. The boy wen tot his father and told him that the donkey won’t come. “ Is the donkey tied up?” the washer man asked.

“ No. He isn’t and that’s what I don’t understand. The son replied.”

“ Well then, slap him on the rump to get him going “ the father replied in exasperation.

The son tried everything but the donkey doesn’t move after prodding, hitting him on the rump and even beating him with a stick.

The father decided to go along with his son to make the donkey move. The father came there, and he kept on looking and then he realized what the problem was. The donkey’s rope was attached to his halter but not attached to the post. He then wound the rope around the post, then unwound it and began walking out of the barn. The donkey realized he was untied, followed him.

People whose minds are fully convinced of the reality of the worldly objects, and the bondage they create are like this donkey. This world is not capable of binding either the mind or soul; the mind is in bondage simply because it believes it is in bondage.

It is this mind that makes us believe and tricks us to be on this path to keep on striving to attain the next level. To be free , to mold our mind and to get it in control can be done by meditation , jaap and continuous discipline .We  are bombarded by our senses that tear us in all directions and like the donkey believe that a routine has to be followed and then only we can walk .

Jaswinder was so happy , her marriage was finalised for saturday . It was a whirlwind rishta,  sarpanch sahib's son was here from Canada and he had seen her in the Gurudwara for the Baisakhi celebrations and well rest was history. A roka the next day , how could her father refuse after their pleadings, and insistence for her hand in marriage. Her father was a mediocre farmer , a couple of acres, a mortgaged tractor and dwindling prices and a loan that refused to go down and the college bills. And , Sarpanch sahib had promise she could carry on her Masters in  Canada. This was one thing her father had never compromised , education . Jaswinder , knew her dreams would be all true.

An NRI marriage, a life in Surrey , ( she had googled the area too) and then a job in her favourite line computers.  She found him attractive too, he was a cut sardar , with good looks and the way he  looked into her eyes ,when he had asked  if she liked him and wanted to marry him. The accent , iff that was too die for, and the funny feeling in her stomach . Was this love?

She didn't know what was she felt? she knew that he was someone he felt like embracing and kissing. If anyone knew her feelings, they would be like Tauba , tauba , sharam nahin aundi ( chaste Punjabi  that meant don't you have nay shame) . It was forbidden for a young girl of 22 to even have sexual feelings . The backward belt of Malwa , was not known to be forward in its thinking for the fairer sex. At best , if the girls were allowed to live , they were used as chips in the marriage market to cement and further the standings of the family . And, she was an exception , allowed to do her masters by her father. 

She had so much to do , rousing her self from the bed , she was going to the city , to shop for her clothes, and some jewellery to match her outfit. Her in laws had told her not to spare any expense for the wedding day and she was going to this boutique-wali who had promised over the phone the new magenta and orange lehenga .

The marriage was a dream come true , flowers and laughter, the mehendi on her palms and everyone had kept on raving about how pretty she was . Her tikka with delicate pearls had framed her forehead and the make up girl from the city had applied water proof mascara so she would not ruin her eyes.

Leaving her parents ,had been harder than what she had thought. Aman ji had hugged her and held her in his arms promising to make it easy for her. she had loved him for that . 

The Dance of life

An evening class in progress, the usual, dictation of words, somewhere the kids were learning the three letter words, and one set were trying to understand the necessity of tables. Business as usual, with the fierce sun filtering in through he canopy of trees in the front lawns where the classes are held everyday. The only difference was the advent of the mosquitos, nothing deterred them, well we all are used to those insipid macchars that bite and leave those angry swollen marks on one. But hey! We do live in the tropics so all was well.

Suddenly, a child started crying, gently at first as if she was trying to contain and then loud sobs. The teacher asked her what had happened and then she was brought to us.

Simran, around girl of 7, frail, her body balanced more with the ordinary pigtail’s that frame every girl child in rural India.

Simran complained of a stomachache, a severe one. On gentle prodding by Simer, who asked her whether she had eaten today. She said yes, I had. My mother had cooked food.

I took her aside and brought her in to the house where I asked her softly again, she said No, there was no food. Then I asked her whether the customary mid day meal was given to her at the government school. She said no.

I made her a sandwich, so that it would be gentle on her stomach.

When I came inside to make her a bite to eat, it shook me so much, made my eyes swell up with unshed tears, that we live a life so full of indifference thinking that all the roses are red, the glass that is seen is always full never empty or half full, living on optimism.

Do we, actually shut out the dirty, cocooned in our lives, entwined the superficial?  This is not to condemn or give myself sanctimonious edges over the others, just a reflection of where are we headed to. The path of progress that is built on the bellies of UN fed children is a sheer ode to the God of Mammon. We are progressing but inversely out hearts go smaller, hands go tighter, and we shrivel with lack of compassion, gentleness. The first reaction is, don’t be a fool, don’t be sucked into this, you should know better. Or, the fact that one cannot live life being an emotional fool, or how many can you feed?

I frankly have no answer but all I know is I have to follow my heart and it dances with the joy whenever I see a smile. The dance of life is peppered with many a stumble and a hop but in the end all that matters is that we die and ashes to ashes and dust-to-dust is what is left.

Maybe, if you all have a secret way to take the wealth so earned ahead you could share with me…

Thank You very much

Thank You very Much.

We organized a medical camp for the village folks; a lot of activity was planned. The whole village was abuzz with who was coming, which all doctors were going to see them, and the famous scano ‘, the ailments ranged from dil dhakda, to BP falling to knees not working and making noise when they walked. The other problems all centered on the famous Punjabi stomach; the various noises, the frequency and infrequency of bowel movement! And the presence of a mysterious wind that was causing them not to be healthy and made their lives uncomfortable.

The teams of Doctors were patient, equipped to deal with the nuances of the rural folk and their little problems. We went through a record of 250 patients. One, of them finds special mention; she walked in with her khundi, with fat fat glasses moaning away. She had a face criss crossed with wrinkles, a map made with age and time, etched with sorrow and happiness, hidden with mysteries of time. She was groaning away, so we let her bypass the efficient token system that had till now kept everyone in check and let us run the camp in a modicum of efficiency.

She was examined in great detail by the GP and it all boiled down to; you know the gas that plagues us all. It is one of the best-kept secrets of the human body. There is a whole verse in the ancient texts that imply if one passes wind all is well, and if there is obstruction well… we all know that familiar uncomfortable feeling! Passing wind is a past time in rural India and declares one to be fit and healthy. When she was given her medicines by the on the spot pharmacist lady, the old lady clutched on to her prescription and her medicines, and said in very clear voice,’ Thank You very much’.

I was stumped and smiled. This old lady wearing a faded brown suit, head covered in the usual thin fraying chunni, had just thanked us in perfect English. I stopped her, and asked her name. She is Rakkhi, wife of long dead Rakho. Rakhi was from the Angrezo de time and she remembered a few words, OK.  I was so happy to meet her the moment was priceless. We set ourselves to believe what we pre conceive and pre judge and think. Its like a game set match for us. Life means to open ourselves to all the experiences and to be open to receive the beauty . Closed doors only lead to closed heart s. Open and one day for sure , you will also hear the clear crackling Thank You very much …

The Illusory world

The world is always changing, nothing is permanent and everything is subject to change. Objects of the world are transitory; they all are subject to destruction, decay and ultimately death. Our own body for that matter, when we are young, we don’t really believe that we will ever become old, although we see people around us growing old. When our own old age approaches, we are surprised and disappointed. To escape this we use herbs, medicines, and cosmetics to delay the inevitable by keeping yourself busy. But nothing helps. That which you think you are is constantly slipping through your fingers.

In ones, relationship with others the situation is worse. The person you love, don’t care fro you tomorrow. Your children leave you, grown up married to their spouses and devote themselves to them. You are left alone with your own I-am –ness-which is undependable because it is constantly in flux.

This is why all the scriptures say the world is illusory, a mirage, a shining ness. It should not make one sad but we need to accept that this is how the world is.

Only, the higher truth, the one that creates the perfect balance in this illusory world is immortal and not subject to destruction, or decay or death. It remains unchanged, witnessing the changing states of all worldly objects, including you, me, and us, the mortal humans. Once you know the eternal Truth, that we all come with an expiry date, so pre-decided and all this running around for the elusive ness, will lead us to rise above success and disappointment. Instead of viewing the stream of change as destructive, we will be able to see it is a renewal … albeit a continuous one. Then one can enjoy and accept that the change is inevitable and without this the world would be a boring place to live!