New Year Resolution!

Chasing the Monsoon

Working in a village, isolated from the world, I read Alexander Frater's 'Chasing the Monsoon' by the dying light in the evenings. I was transported to Thrangali, my tiny village by the River Nila in Kerala.
Our school breaks were in May-June unlike the other schools which had it in the hot months of April-May. So, June was always a lonely, dreamy month...My little brother and me, we learned to keep ourselves happy with such fantastic games of childhood, and also to dream in solitude. Towards the end of May, everyone would start grumbling about how hot it was becoming and if only the rains would come down to cool the earth...And then, on June 1st, inevitably by about midday...the distant sky darkens and down comes the large drops of the year's monsoon. Soon, the courtyard becomes a network of torrential streams, whirling past the high steps to the house. All morning, in anticipation of the rains we kids were rushing about with old newspapers making paper boats not wanting to miss the chance of sailing them over the rain streams.
That afternoon and the ones to come were spent happily racing our boats, fragile yet brave...All this play would surely end in a bath and a dance in the rain...
In the evenings, tired out from play I'd sit by the large windows with a favorite book in hand and daydreams...Weaving stories watching the rain, the fields and thinking of the swollen river across the railway line...
The evenings gradually creep in, darkening to darker shades of black...the dripping green foliage, the heady smell of freshly damp earth, the chirping insects setting up a chorus...No electricity...hopefully till the next day. The lamps are lighted...And the short lived white ants fly suicidally towards the lamps...
Then some wise guy from the evening 'sabha' at our house suggests making a bonfire in the courtyard so that all the tiny lives attracted by a bigger, glorious death rush over to it...I'd rather not, but my voice is tiny, sleepy and they want to go on discussing marx and parallel cinema and intellectual capacity building and small-scale rural industries without getting ants in their mouths...
I go to bed, and I sleep dreaming of a huge fire in hell(so I presumed) towards which lots of men and women are flying to...I start in my dream and the scene in my dream changes to a dark forest with a girl sitting under a huge red flowering tree...

Sabse Khatarnak Hota Hai Hamare Sapnon Ka Marna

There is nothing more dangerous than the death of our dreams.
These lines by the Punjabi Poet Paash are what Safdar Hashmi lived by. How do Safdar's dreams survive today in the changed context?

Safdar Hashmi was born to Haneef Hashmi and Qamar Azad on 12 April 1954 in Delhi. He spent his childhood in Aligarh and finished his schooling in Delhi. He did his M.A. in English literature from Delhi University. After short stints of teaching in the universities of Garhwal, Kashmir and Delhi he worked in the Press Institute of India and then joined as the Press Information Officer of the Govt. of West Bengal in Delhi. In 1984 he gave up his job to work full time as a political cultural activist.

Safdar, a founder member of Janam, was a brilliant theoretician and practitioner of political theatre, especially street theatre. A versatile personality, he was a playwright, a lyricist’ a theatre director, a designer and an organizer He also wrote for children.

His film scripts were much acclaimed. He wrote on various aspects of culture and related issues in journals and newspapers. Safdar was a member of the C.P.I. (M). His creativity and ideology were inseparable. In recognition of his contribution to the street theatre movement and to the growth of a democratic culture, the Calcutta University in 1989 conferred on Safdar the degree of D.Litt. posthumously

On January 2, 1989, the convenor of Janam, Safdar Hashmi, died in a New Delhi hospital following a murderous attack on Janam activists the previous day by anti-social elements patronized by the ruling vested interests. Janam was performing Halla Bol in Jhandapur, Sahibabad, in support of the workers’ demands led by the Centre of Indian Trade Unions (CITU). People from all walks of life – workers, political activists, artists and intellectuals – came together spontaneously in a massive, unprecedented protest against this brutal murder. Today, Safdar’s name has become synonymous with street theatre and the progressive cultural movement in India.

My memory of Safdar is of a book lost somewhere on the paths of my childhood. It was a children's book with lots of poems and sketches in it...I remember falling in love with the writer, who was only a name and the book to me.

To be Continued...

The Mirror, Sylvia Plath

THE MIRROR

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike .
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Sylvia Plath

Small joys keep me going...

"No matter how much madder it may make you, get out of bed forcing a smile. You may not smile because you are cheerful; but if you will force yourself to smile, you'll end up laughing. You will be cheerful because you smile. Repeated experiments prove that when man assumes the facial expressions of a given mental mood — any given mood — then that mental mood itself will follow."
Kenneth Goode
This is what I try to do each morning...I get up, smile...I smile at the new leaves on my money plant, I smile at the cat at the water well, I smile at myself trying to multitask; cooking & reading...I just smile, so that I go through the day smiling at what life has to offer me...
I try to believe that the world is a good place to be, I try to look at everything with gold tinted glasses, I see abundance, of beauty, of nature, of friends, of joy...
I enjoy beauty hunting...i.e, enjoying the scenary when on a detour...the detour can be deliberate too...
Do I sound like a hopelessly happy person when there are wars, poverty, garbage and problems all around the world? Well, about all the problems of the world, I can only learn more, personally try not to contribute to them, try to spread word, tell kids the truth, act in time and take a clear political stance on every issue I am aware of...
I don't have to be an unhappy person because of them, but I'm a sad & angry one because of them...This sadness and anger is what drives me forward to try, to make the world a better place to live for atleast one person...I think like Anne Frank when she said, "How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world." I'm not waiting...
I'm in love with life...
"Love the earth and sun and animals,
Despise riches, give to everyone that asks,
Stand up for the stupid and crazy,
Devote your income and labor to others...
And your very flesh shall be a great poem."
Walt Whitman

Cleopatra

"For her beauty, as we are told, was in itself not altogether incomparable, nor such as to strike those who saw her; but converse with her had an irresistible charm, and her presence, combined with the persuasiveness of her discourse and the character which was somehow diffused about her behaviour towards others, had something stimulating about it. There was sweetness also in the tones of her voice; and her tongue, like an instrument of many strings, she could readily turn to whatever language she pleased."

Plutarch, Life of Antony (XXVII)

I’ve been obsessed with Cleopatra since I was a dreamy kid…immersed in the worlds contained between the pages of my constant companions, books…

Don’t laugh at me now, but I compared myself with her, in all innocence, I swear. At that age, I never associated her charm with physical beauty…To me she was a very intelligent, ambitious, and strong woman…And her speech and knowledge was her allure…

Even now, while I realize that most of her fame is connected to a turbulent life of love affairs with the most influential men of her time, I find it plausible that she was a very strong and capable ruler. When she came to power at an age of 18, she was highly educated, spoke several languages and was mature beyond her age. Her abilities were evident early on as she helped Egypt survive a severe drought and launched lucrative economic reforms.

Cleopatra's famous alliances with Julius Caesar and Mark Antony were as political as they were personal. Through them, Cleopatra shrewdly secured her throne and preserved Egypt's status as an independent nation for more than 20 years, despite the increasing power of Rome. To judge from her appearance on her coins, she was not a beautiful woman in any conventional sense. But the most interesting aspect of her image in Arabic texts is that of a scholar who made significant contributions in the fields of alchemy, medicine and mathematics. She is shown conducting courtly seminars attended by scientists from different fields, at which she contributed to the discussions as a polymathic scientist.

In the words of the traveler and historian Al-Masudi (AD 956), "She was a sage, a philosopher, who elevated the ranks of scholars and enjoyed their company. She also wrote books on medicine, charms and cosmetics in addition to many other books ascribed to her which are known to those who practice medicine." Cicero wrote in the first century BC, "Her character, which pervaded her actions in an inexplicable way when meeting people, was utterly spellbinding. The sound of her voice was sweet when she talked". The realization that personality, charm, and sexuality are all parts of actual beauty is not a new notion. Plutarch makes this distinction in his first century piece, The Life of Marcus Antonius. He reports that her beauty is not insurmountable but she has an inner spark, which draws men to her, especially Marc Anthony. She is a powerful, intelligent, sexual woman, and is in some ways physically beautiful as all women are.

Cleopatra's beauty or lack of it has been through great debates, through the ages, but somehow I feel it’s quite unnecessary and irrelevant since we’ll never know precisely whether she was physically beautiful or not. And not being beautiful will not take away the adventure of life she had. Her death is also fascinating as it is a brave attempt at remaining undefeated in life. Fearing that she would be forced to live as a slave in the land she once ruled, Cleopatra decided it would be better to end her life. According to legend, the former queen asked that an asp, an Egyptian cobra, be delivered to her in a basket of figs. The asp was a symbol of divine royalty to the Egyptians, so by allowing the asp to bite her, Cleopatra is said to have become immortal.

And immortal she is, in the inspiration she has been to playwrights and movie makers, and thus living on in our minds.

A Bee Amongst Kurinji

Bee-ing and Seeing

The Nilgiris – various colours come to mind with the name. Green of the lush treetops, blue of the sky and the water bodies, red of the blooming trees and the setting sun. But the Nilgiris are said to owe their name to a single colour – the profusely spreading purple-blue of the flowering shrub, Strobilanthus Kunthianus, called Neelakurinji in the local tongue, which blooms in the shola grasslands.

In the genus Strobilanthus, in the family Acanthacea, there are 40 odd Strobilanthus which are known as Kurinji in the local language. Most of the Strobilanthus species grow at altitudes greater than 1500 m above sea level, and have a flowering cycle of 8 to 12 years. The species Strobilanthus Kunthianus, endemic to the Western Ghats, has over the years become legendary due to its unique pattern of massive flowering once in twelve years.

On its own, Neelakurinji is a modest flower, nothing which litterateurs would be eloquent about. But then, this modest flower has provoked numerous odes along the long path of history. Why?! The splendour of the delicate Kurinji lies in its gregarious flowering, the bluish purple bloom spreading out as far as the eye can see - is a truly euphoric experience and a rare treat.

The flower possesses sweet nectar for the delight of flies, birds, animals and people alike. How each of them takes their share of the honey is another matter. The bees that produce the famous Kurinji honey are the most privileged ones. They can tumble in and out of the flowers as they wish, moving from flower to flower. Men have to wait for the bees to make honey for them. Either naturally on rocks and trees or in bee boxes put up in the anticipation of honey making bees. Ironically, though the Kurinji-filled slopes had swarms of bees on the flowers, none visited the bee boxes put up by profit minded groups.

For the Muthuvas of Munnar and the Todas of the Nilgiris, indigenous communities whose lives are intertwined with Kurinji lore, the flowering of Kurinji is auspicious and there are taboos that prevent them from destroying the plant or its withered twigs until the seeds mature ten months after the flowering.

The wondrous Kurinji with its inbuilt mechanism of keeping time has always evoked a sense of curiosity and enthusiasm among nature lovers. However, deep concern is another emotion that should be aroused in nature lovers because human intervention is robbing the flower of its natural habitat at a rapidly accelerating rate, through encroachment and the introduction of non-native species in the high elevation grasslands. Plantations of tea, cardamom and timber have devastated the range of pristine forests home to this rare bush. Vast stretches of virgin rain forests have been drowned by some hydro-electric projects.

Now the Kurinji survives in the few valleys and gorges that remain undisturbed. Another threat witnessed this season was the indiscriminate collection and destruction of bushes, stocks and flowers of Neelakurinji by some unaware and unruly visitors who were proud to claim that the Kurinji flowers would not wither in flower vases for two months at least. In addition to habitant destruction, such impudent activities may prove to be serious threats to the long term survival of this important member of the biodiversity of these mountains.

An immediate effort is needed to save what little pristine grassland remains, not only for the sake of the Kurinji but also for the animals that depend on the habitat, such as the bison and the endemic Nilgiri Tahr which will disappear into the mist. Conservation of the sholas is not only for the protection of the biodiversity of this region but for the water security of the plains as well. Many rivers in Kerala and Tamiln Nadu originate from the shola grasslands. We are dealing with more than just pretty scenery. The Kurinji has become a symbol for the biodiversity of the Western Ghats, an indicator of the health of the zone, its flagship species.

P.S: The boxes barely yielded half a kilogram of honey at the end of the season while the natural yield of Kurinji honey in the vicinity was tremendous!

Wanderlust

I'm starting this blog with something... I've not written...but felt deep within me...

The Wanderlust has lured me...
The longing grows and grows...
The Wanderlust has got me...
I've tried to break it's spell - in vain...
Imperious it calls,
The Wanderlust, and I must follow it...
For there's no cure,
When you listen to the lure,
Of the Wanderlust...
The Wanderlust has taught me...
It has whispered to my heart...
Things all stay-at-homes will never know...
Haunting, taunting that's the spell of it...
But I'll shoulder my pack in the morning...
And I'm going because I must...
For it's so-long to all,
When you answer the call,
Of the Wanderlust...
The Wanderlust has blessed me...
I've walked with eyes open to the wonder of the world...
Wild heart, child heart, all of the world your home...
Glad heart, mad heart, what can you do but roam?
The Wanderlust will claim me at the finish for its own...
For the Wanderlust has ruled me,
And the Wanderlust has schooled me,
And I'm ready for the darkest of trails...

Adieu,
The Wanderer