Wardrobe Malfunction!

I don’t remember when, why and how did I pick up the habit of putting up trousers low but one thing that I remember is that it had been too early to be influenced by the fashion bug as it had not come in vogue when I was at school, and yes, the habit is that old for sure.
My low pants have always attracted sarcastic remarks from friends and relatives but hard skinned as I am, I did not change the way I wear my pants over the years. Even a woman I love(d) very much used to tease me for the way I used to wear my jeans, for they invariably hanged low from the waist and were oversize. Poor outfits were turn-offs for her and the way I dressed looked poor to her. I didn’t change and she dumped me. Well, I don’t mean she dumped me just because of my poor dressing sense; there must have been other reasons too. Let me not bore you once again with all those stuff.
Let me make it clear at the outset that my poor dressing sense doesn’t mean that I wear dirty or cheap cloths. They are almost always branded and always clean. The problem is with the way I put them on.
Let us come to the main story. My sister, brother-in-law and two niece had come to visit me in Delhi and one day, I went with them for shopping. I had to buy some cloths for sister and niece and we headed for Sarojini Nagar maket. The moment I ventured out of the house, my 12-year-old niece passed jeers at me. “Mama, why have you put on your jeans so low. It is not looking good at all and you are not looking like a reporter at all.”
I argued with her and made her understand that I am not known by the way I dress. I am a reporter and I am not made to make style statement, but to make statements, as is famously said of journalists.
We reached SN Market and my brother-in-law and nieces parted ways from me and my sister to move around the market on their own. My sister and I entered into a sari shop and asked the salesman to show us saris. The first question the salesman asked was what was your range. As my sister had come to visit me for the first time after I had got a job, I wanted to pamper her. I replied show us the stuff without bothering about the price.
The salesman started showing saris but he was not showing good stuff and the price of the stuff he was showing was less than Rs 2500. None of us liked the stuff he showed in about an hour, I looked around the shop and asked him to show a sari that was on display.
I had to ask him four times after which he showed the sari and both me and my sister liked the sari at first glance. I made the payment of Rs 4500 for the sari after a little bargaining through my debit card. Once I made the payment for the saris, the salesman started showing me saris that were more beautiful and higher on price range. To my surprise, he showed us more saris in the next 15 minutes than he had showed in the first one hour. I scoffed at him that had he shown all these suff earlier I would not have had to waste so much time and I would have bought at least one sari he showed later at one glance. It did not strike me then that it was because of my poor dressing that he miscalculated my budget.
It was fuzzy by the time we were through and decided to go to Dilli Haat as it was nearby and no visit to Delhi is considered complete without visiting the place. I had also been there with the girl I love(d) several times and I love to visit that place still whenever I get an opportunity.
We reached there and after eating some chaat-waat , we were loitering around in the haat. When my sister and niece were looking at some artifacts in a stall, I was standing a little away. A woman came to me and asked the price of some stuff on display. As I moved a few steps without replying and my niece and brother-in-law started laughing at me (my dressing sense) once again, the woman understood the error she had made and said sorry. I swallowed the humiliation as my folks made fun of me.
And then we decided to leave. As we headed towards the exit gate, a young man walked to me and introduced himself, “I am from Max New York Life Insurance.” Expecting that he would ask me to buy some life insurance policies, I listened to him. But the next line he uttered was like he poured buckets of water upon me. He said, “We are looking for people who would sell out policies to people around them.” Ashamed, I replied, “Sorry, I am not interested,” and walked on.
Now this time my brother-in-law started scolding me, “Why don’t you wear your cloths properly. Someone thinks you are a salesman, others think that you are unemployed. The way you dress forms an important component of your personality.”
Convinced beyond doubt and unable to bear so much humiliation in one day, we headed once again to SN Market and I bought a brand new Levis jeans.
So I finally changed the way I dress because of jeers and sneers of people in one day. The answer is a resounding ‘No’.
This time too the jeans were one size bigger than me and they too hang as loosely as other pairs do.
Well, I am convinced that dress is an important part of one’s personality and would like the way I dress to change. But the change has to be spontaneous; on it’s own and not induced by rejection and humiliation heaped by others.

An open letter...

Hello Bhatiya,
I don’t know you nor do I want to know who you are. But the scathing comment you left on my last posting warranted a reply and I was forced to write you an open letter for you had left me no other option by denying me access to your email address. And I hope you would visit my page once again to read the letter…
Anyway, your criticism was pinching and left me sleepless for some nights. The question reared its head in my mind if I had really crossed the line of decency by writing my exploits, which you said is good fodder for readers’ fantasy, and which are of course very personal and involves someone who is very dear to me. (I also wondered what made you stop short of calling my exploits a figment of my fantasy!)
It is not that your comment was any great; any person with average intelligence and education would have made same comment; for that that is the way your upbringing prepares you to comment on such things. It is only after you get some education in and exposure to literature, you become more open to the idea of sex and passion being inseparable parts of love.
Being a student of Sanskrit literature, I don’t need your help in classifying what I write. You can call it cheap because there is a lot of passion in it but then that is the limitation of your understanding as you cannot see the undertone of the posting which is full of love and the pain of its loss. Before I write something else, I would like to suggest you (for it costs nothing!) to read the Sanskrit classic of Kalidas, Kumarsambhavam, in which the great poet has vividly depicted the lovemaking scenes of Lord Shiva and Parvati. The depiction is so crude and descriptive that it is said that after writing that part of the Mahakavya, Kalidas earned the wrath of the Lord and fell ill. He had to do penance before he could complete the work. No doubt, Kalidas was a great scholar and his works are unparalleled in the History and despite being full of sexual overtures, his works are called classics.
Such examples galore in all the literatures of the world. And there is one particular reason why I cited this example. And that is that one meaning of the name of my character is Parvati. And I believe that by writing like that if Kalidas could not cast slur on Parvati or defile her, my posting too won’t affect the Goddess. Goddesses are like lotus, though in mud, yet beyond it.
So as far as your genuine suggestion of generating revenue by writing porn story is concerned, I would just like to thank you for your advice. I do write for a living but in newspapers and I am making good enough for myself. So you needn’t worry about that. My blog is my personal space in the virtual world and that I write just to give vent to my feelings and I won’t take suggestions from you on what to write, where to write. If ever there would be anything like what you suggested, it would be here only. So keep visiting my blog.
But the initial question still remains unanswered. What was it in your comment that made me go sleepless for some nights? Well, I wondered what was it in my writing that influenced a stranger, a non-stake holder, to write a comment like this. Had it come from some other quarters, it would have been understandable. Had it not been for the support extended by the friends, especially that of a lady, who posted her comment as anonymous, I would have removed that posting.
In retrospect, I conclude that if I can elicit such a scathing response from you, a non-stake holder, the purpose of my writing is served. Keep visiting the page for more action...
And your criticism is always welcome...


Amitabh Shankar

Kiss of life!

Amitabh Shankar


I wanted to gift myself an evening full of love and passion with her. She was to leave for her native place to attend her brother’s wedding the day after. It was about being for a fortnight alone, and it was impossible to live for a moment without her and her memory.
I wanted her to be with me for an evening and she was turning down my requests all the time. Writing an e-mail to her full of emotions was the last resort. My room partner used to call it blackmailing tactics of mine but I used to do it every time I felt like, without compunction. And I wrote one, she was subjugated and she obliged.
I left the office early and picked her from her office. She had to do some shopping, of some artificial jewelry, to match with the cloths she had to wear on her brother’s wedding. And we went to the South Extension. There she looked around the jewelry, she liked some but found the price unreasonable and decided to leave without buying any. I offered to gift her one but she refused to oblige and we left the place.
We decided to go to Pind Baluchi for dinner, a restaurant in Lajpat Nagar, which was probably sealed later. I don’t know if it is still running or not. We had a nice time over dinner. Being from a state bordering Punjab, she kept me telling about the Punjabi culture and the food and their dress and all.
After dinner, we headed to the JNU, the place which I like most and which is also a lovers’ paradise. Sitting on that Partha Sarthi Rock, earlier also we had enjoyed the serenity and the silence of that place. Fresh air and the peace of mind that comes with it adds to the romantic ambience. And this was the place where…
The security guard posted there did not allow us to go to the PSR saying you can go only if you have an I-card and we were not the students. So we decided to go on a walk on the campus. I parked my bike at a secluded place and we went for a walk after the dinner. It was late in the night and not many people were around. We took the east gate road, on which lives the vice chancellor of the university, and very few people take that road.
You need to go on that road to know how beautiful it is during night. The line of trees on both sides and the vapour lights which light up one moment and goes off another make for a romantic setting.
We were talking about everything; about love, relationships and ourselves.
“I don’t know why everyone I talk to proposes to me?” she said.
“When did Varun propose?” I asked.
“How do you know he has proposed to me?”
“I know, it takes just a little of common sense to know that.”
“Hmmm… He proposed to me last night through SMS. I don’t understand why everyone I talk to proposes to me.”
“Because while you ensure that you don’t carry anyone’s tag with your name, you get the tag of being available.”
“My being ‘available’ tag doesn’t mean that anybody comes and takes me along. I think I will have to stop talking to every man.”
“The man you won’t talk to will have his hands around your waist as I am having and you will walk with him alone on these lonely roads.” She giggled.
We had gone too far and she said we should return.
We were talking like always. My hands one her arms and I kissing her all the time on her cheeks, arms and neck. Somehow she left me behind and an idea clicked in my head. I went behind her and put my hands around her waist and lifted her. I was myself surprised by my prowess as her body did not brush against my body for a moment and I lifted her beyond a feet from the ground. She was so surprised that next morning she asked if I had really lifted her or she was just dreaming.
I put her down after few seconds and started walking along with her. Walking by her side was so exciting; I wanted to do all the wild things.
I caught hold of her chin and pulled her lips towards mine. She resisted, half-heartedly though, “Amitabh, Amitabh…” And the next moment our lips met. It was for the first time that I had planted a kiss on her lips. As we parted, she lowered her head.
It is impossible to read a woman’s mind. I don’t know whether she was angry or happy or what but I said sorry.
And as we were walking back again, I put my hands on her shoulder and our bodies pressed closer to each other, and closer … and so close that it ended up in a deep hug. My hands slipped on her back and ended up cupping her butts and then it rose to slip inside her T-shirt. It was soft and slippery like butter inside. Her hands on my back…
And in the dead silence of night, amid heavy breathing of two souls, the sound produced by the rubbing of the zips of jeans was quite audible in the forests of the JNU.
If ever I pass that road again, I still do hear the reverberations… I don't know if she too listens too those reverberations...

I am feeling like I have lost my place on the earth, where my heart used to rest, my mind loved to wander...

और सब कुछ जानकर अनजान हो तुम

अधर पर तुमने
हिमानी धर लिया
और सब कुछ जानकर अनजान हो तुम

दिवस बीता और बीती कितनी सदियाँ
अश्रुओं से बही जाने कितनी नदियाँ
पीर का सागर समाया हृदय मेरे
आँधियाँ तूफान आई हैं घनेरे
पर हृदय पाषाण तेरा नहीं पिघला
फिर भी मेरी हो, मेरी पहचान हो तुम

भावनाओं का समुंदर कितना गहरा
और मावस लगाती दिन रात पहरा
क्यों रूला जातीं बसंती ये हवायें
हर तरफ ख़ामोश-सी लगती फ़िजायें
इक अज़ब तूफान साँसों में समाया
डोलती रहती है पातों-सी ये काया
भूलना मुमकिन नहीं है इस जनम में
तुम ही मेरी हो, मेरी ही प्राण हो तुम

जब तेरे नयनों की भाषा तौल लाया
मेरे मन का गीत कुछ ना बोल पाया
तब ग़ज़ल इक शे’र बनकर रह गई
और मेरा कवि ये सब सह गई
दिल की हर तनहाइयों में तेरी छाया
श्वास में निःश्वास में बस तुझे पाया
तू भले माने न माने ये अलग है
तुम ही मेरी उदय औ अवसान हो तुम

क्या पता ये जीव कब तक जी सकेगा
विरह का ये घूँट कब तक पी सकेगा
मिलन की घड़ियाँ पुनः आये ना आये
और दिल ये बात सुन पाये न पाये

घर घड़ी तूफान भी सहता रहूँगा
सौ समुन्दर पार हो बहता रहूँगा
पर किनारा मिलेगा, यह ध्रुव अटल है
तुम ही मेरी नाव हो, जलयान हो तुम

An evening with my life!

And there I was, at The Rendezvous, the street side coffee shop behind the majestic building at the Connaught Place in the capital. There she was, waiting for me with a colleague of hers, a so-called good friend of mine.
As three of us had our coffee and indulged in mundane (rather frivolous leg pulling) talks, her boss called her up and ordered her to cover an assignment at the Press Club prior to the visit of the Chinese premiere. There was something sort of exhibition showing the atrocities of the communist regime of China on the innocent citizens of the country.
As the press club fell on the route to my office, I offered her to drop her there as I had enough time before I had to reach my office. And of course, did I want to spend more and more time in her company which I like(d) more than anything else on this earth.
Even as I dropped her at the press club, she asked if I was going to accompany her to the exhibition. Saying ‘NO’ was out of question.
The exhibition was on the first floor of the building and as we scaled the stairs, we found that there was nobody looking at us, as the staircase and the area in view was deserted. Emboldened and having been in the habit of doing this always, I put my hands around her waist. Surprisingly, she came closer whereas she would have protested me getting physically close to her at any public place. As we again came in full public view, I pulled off my hand and walked into the Exhibition Hall.
We received King’s welcome there. All the exhibitionists there surrounded us from all sides and were replying to our queries like only we could make their cause successful. The scene was strange. Having been a reporter, I have been to cover many assignments like that but never got that kind of attention. Being with a beautiful woman has wonderful advantages.
As they replied to our queries, she was sending some signals. Well, mind can not catch them but there are other sense organs which are efficient at doing that. She was standing so close to me that it seemed as if she wanted to tell the onlookers that she was with me, not only physically, but at a higher level. She was brushing against my body body every now and then.
As their explanations became boring, we left the place and again while coming down the stairs, she was cozy in my arms. I had a feeling that there was something wrong with the woman, the woman whom I loved like anything, rather more than anything.
As she sat side-legged on my bike and I was on the way to drop her back to her office, she asked at what time you have to reach office. I thought she would say that she would rather take an auto than bothering me and I said, “I have enough time, you don’t worry.”
She said she wanted to go to India Gate, which was only few hundred metres from there. I was getting late to office, I said, “I don’t have even that much time.”
As I reached the Le Meridien Gol Chakkar, I turned my bike towards India Gate. She asked, “Where are you going?” I replied, “Let’s go to India Gate for 10 minutes.”
Every moment spent with her was like a blessing, a boon, and I could not say no to that offer.
Reached the beautiful India Gate lawns which was shimmering under the moonlight, I don’t know if it was a full moon lit night or not but who gives a damn, when the moon is with you, in your arms. It was almost deserted and fuzzy, not many people were there apart from the two of us and few other couples. The preparation for the Republic Day celebrations was on and iron chairs had been stacked there to make sitting arrangements for the occasion. And a concrete platform behind them made for a perfect setting for a memorable date.
The romance was in the air, or was it within? As I rested my lips and my nose on her face, she looked at the shadow on the ground and exclaimed, “See, how beautiful it looks”
Unlucky as I was, I turned to look at the shadow but with me turning, the shadow was gone. I asked her to return the favour but she did not oblige.
Surrounded by the darkness, with a milky white woman in your arms, keeping the man (the animal) within me was impossible. I turned her face towards me slowly, and put my lips on her lips, she parted them and our tongues met, and went on a long journey…
"Amitabh, your mouth stinks."
"What?"
"It is smelling of cigarette's smoke." She giggled.
And then we kissed several times, my hands wandered all around on her body slipped inside her shirt. In between, she said, “Amitabh, I want to say something.”
Surprised I was, My God, what bomb she was going to drop? I rose from her side, sat on my knees in front of her and said, “Say.”
“Amitabh, I don’t love you.”
“I know. What else?”
“I feel I am attracted towards you.”
Like the words speak louder than action.
I held her by her shoulder and started kissing her, kissing her madly, everywhere. I was kissing her, my hands doing their jobs meticulously. Even as I tried to spread her legs, she said, "Amitabh, what are you doing?" "What do you think I am doing?" There was silence and once agaon I sat by her side.
As it grew fuzzier, I said it was too late now and we should go to our office now. “I am getting late.”
As we were walking towards our bike, I hugged her. “Amitabh, what are you doing at a public place like this.”
“Why don’t you come to my place with me, then?”
Silence again!

Parking on DND flyway!

Amitabh Shankar
amitabh.shankar@mid-day.com
I am thankful to my stars! I would either have been lynched by a mob or landed in jail Sunday night. Besides, I would have had to live with the guilt and the ignominy of having killed a five-year-old who had done no harm to me, or to anybody, for that matter.
Piyush (5), who had gone to visit the ongoing Global Village fair on the banks of the Yamuna with his family Sunday night, came in front of my bike on the DND flyway. I applied sudden brakes and swerved the bike. I somehow managed to save the life of the kid.
Nobody was injured in the accident, but it highlighted the utter apathy of the administration to the violation of rules on the DND flyway, which provides an access road to the Global Village. More than 300 cars were parked on both sides of the DND flyway where parking is not allowed. All the cars parked belonged to the visitors to the Global Village fair and they were blithely crossing the flyway, where the speed limit for vehicles is 80 kmph. At this speed, it is impossible to apply brakes in time to prevent an accident.
The authorities had blissfully shut their eyes to the violation. The tow away vehicles of the DND authorities were doing the rounds, without bothering about the parked vehicles. I asked the security staff of the DND flyway if some relaxation of rules was made to allow parking on the flyway. The security guard, who apparently had orders from his superiors not to touch the vehicles parked there, said, “The parking lot in the village is full, so the parking is being allowed on the flyway.”
Joint Commissioner of Police (Traffic) Qamar Ahmed, on being approached on the issue, said: “Thank you for bringing the violation to our notice. We will immediately take some action.” Nobody knows what happened later.
The Global Village had come up at the place without clearance from the environment ministry (‘Yamuna bed under siege’ - MiD DAY March 20). As of now, it is a sure shot recipe for disaster.



Courtesy: Delhi MID DAY

Gonna rape this world

Gonna suck the juices out of this world

Gonna treat her rough

It’s all she deserves

She’s so cold to me

Gonna rape this world

With my straight lines

Gonna straighten her out

Because nature is just history

Gonna test my bombs wherever I want

Gonna poon the whale

Gonna drain the swamp

It’s money to me

Gonna fuck with genes

I am what I am

Much more than a God

Much less than a man of industry


-By James ~ Greenpeace

Bhandaridah

This is the place which shaped me. Here I was born, not only biologically, but in a broader sense. The values and ideals, for which I still live, have been inculcated in me by this hamlet. I really miss the scenic beauty of this place, with the Damodar flowing in one side, and hills on the other. Far away from the maddenning crowds of the city but affected by the dirty politics, run by small time goons, which is prevalent in every small place.
Well, I am now feeling nostalgic about the place and I don't want to stop writing. I miss, every thing about the place, my friends, my school, the beautiful small temple by the side of Damodar and sneaking out of house with friends to take bath in the polluted waters of Damodar and being scolded by my father if caught. Well, playing that gulli-danda and glass pebbles and running away at the first sight of any of our school teacher. This is the only place where i have been myself in true spirit. Where I have fallen in love, where I have cried without the fear of someone finding me crying.
This is the place from where I have received my best gifts and this is the place where I have lost my biggest treasures. This is the place which I call mine, though I I don't belong to this place...

An excerpt

An excerpt from a book I recently read, liked and modified:

"Forget me," she says.
"How do I?" he wonders.
"Have friendship with some other girl," she advises.
"I am not in sinc with myself. How do I make friendshipo with someone else," he ponders.
"Even my friends have started complaining that I am not my natural self when I am talking to them. I look like I am lost somewhere even when I am in their company. How do I make a new friend in such condition."
A friend advises, "Erase all her memories, delete all her messages, all her e-mails. Everything that reminds you of her."
"Will that serve the purpose? How will I deface her from my memory? I have her in my nostrils. I had captured her fragrance at the very first meeting and every time I inhale since, the air in my lungs reminds me of her. Should I stop breathing?
"What do I do of the heart, the soul and the body that she has touched? No amount of scrubbing would erase the imprint she has left.
"What do I do of the warmth of her hugs that has heated me so much that I can withstand the most wintry weather without anything else to cover my body?
"What do I do of her taste that has molten on my tongue and still lingers? Everything that I eat becomes more tasty as it is mixed with that taste. Should I stop eating?
"And should I go killing all the cats that crisscross my path? An animal I hated, being superstitious. But I have grown a liking for it. The shrewdenss in the eyes of the cats when it looks at things reminds me of amazement with which she used to look at the feline. I never missed an opportunity to draw her attention towards a passing cat whenever we were together."
He says, "What do I do?"
"Time heals," she replies.
Does time remove the mark of the wound too," He wonders.

Love Exploits - I

AMITABH SHANKAR


Read the other day: To love someone is madness, to be loved by someone is a gift, to love someone who loves you is your duty and to be loved by the person you love is life.
Well, I have been thinking over the meaning and importance of love in life since my adolescence. As an adolescent I used to think love is the essence of life. Love makes the world go round and I had it for a brief period then which came to an end unceremoniously after her father was transferred. Though we were in contact for some years on phone and through letters, she was married off at a time when I was not standing on my feet, I was still an unemployed man and her parents were in a hurry to marry her. The frailties of middle-class prevailed over me and I didn't have the courage to ask her to wait for some more time. This left me with a sense of guilt inside me and it deepened when some years after her marriage she called me and told me that though she couldn't have me in her life, she still loved me.
It took me about 10 years to get over my first attachment with a girl. Then entered the second girl. She is beautiful, intelligent and matured. Lives life on her own terms. Too independent and very practical.
The moment I saw her I knew, I loved her. This is the kind of girl I would like to live the rest of my life with.
After some initial turbulences, she came close to me. We became friends and on the first given opportunity, I told her my feelings about her. She didn't accept my proposal but we shared beautiful moments together, afterwards. We went on long journey inside ourselves together, sitting at secluded places in Delhi where the love birds perch. Tried to know each other and also learnt a lot about ourselves from each other.
The more I knew her, the more I was attracted towards her. The more I was attracted towards her, the more I loved her. Her strength of character and firmness of determination left me spellbound.
But the impact of our proximity had opposite impact on her. The more she knew me, the more she found me unattractive and lesser she loved me. She found me weak, too sentimental, clingy, possessive, even mentally sick and inhuman. Finally, she shunned me.
I am once again footloose. She has got a better companion. I still long for her. She repents for having been with me. I cherish the beautiful moments we shared together, she hates them. But can she wipe them out of her mind? Can she wish them away?
Anyway, this cannot be the end of my love story. The world is small and the roads are well known. I do believe that we will cross each other once again in the journey called life. Right now, I am wondering how will the story unfold then...

THE HORIZON...

AMITABH SHANKAR

The Horizon. The meeting point of the earth and the sky. An illusion. A beautiful illusion.
The horizon has always fascinated me since my childhood days, and reaching there has been my secret fantasy. Standing on the bank of the river Damodar at Bhandaridah, I always used to look, across the river, at the eternity. Somewhere far away, it looked as if the earth and the sky met. Across the river, across the woods and across the hills, they meet and that I believed was the resting place of the sun when it sets. Even then the cynic within that innocent child used to wonder if they actually ever meet.
The fascination with that meaningless creation of the Almighty was repressed deep inside as I grew up and got involved with the more mundane things of life. Having come to Delhi, the metropolitan city, and having been lost in the labyrinthine of a dense concrete jungle, seldom did I find time to look at the sky above, leave alone looking at the horizon, which has been blurred by the skscrappers.
The fantasy had been relegated to oblivion in due days, but for a beautiful twist of fate. I was left alone at a rock on the Jawaharlal Nehru University campus. Alone, all alone I was, with my world by my side and the horizon, my secret fantasy, ahead. It didn't take me any effort or persuasion to plunge into that long journey, which I knew, might never end. The loneliness of the path and the challenges en route didn't deter me. I believed I will have my world for the company and the hardships of the road would be worth it.
I set on the journey then itself, lost in myself, hopeful of reaching my destiny and sure of the support of my world. Soon I realized that the paradox of this journey is that the more distance I cover outside, the deeper I travelled inside. Hardly had I covered some distance that I found that my world is nowhere in sight. My world probably could not muster the courage to come with me beyond some steps, foreseeing the hardships on the road and the worthlessness of the journey ahead.
I was left bewildered but I am still going ahead. Assuming that my world has either lost the way or just couldn't match the steps with me, I am moving on, with a firm faith in my heart that we will be united once again we reach the horizon. With each of us beautiful stories to tell each other about the experiences of our journey. And when on the way did we feel that the journey would have been more beautiful together.
But the cynic within is once again rearing its head. Reaching there is a chimera, the earth and the sky just don't meet. Or do they? Only nobody has been able to reach there.
Anyway, it's simply impossible to end the journey at this point. I am moving on...

An ode to love!

AMITABH SHANKAR


Two journalists fell in love and got married. Though I knew both of them by their names earlier also, it only happened recently that I got to work with the woman and I meet the husband often as we cover the same beat, for different newspapers.
A friend of mine always used to wonder what did they see in each other that they got married. The friend has a strong belief that people marry in romanticism and once the romance is over, life becomes hell for those who go for love marriages.
The question always looked frivolous to me. What the hell do you see when you are in love? Don't you know that love is blind? And that's it's beauty. But I always looked the other side when this question was raised.
Now about eating habits of the couple, the woman is pure vegetarian, doesn't eat even onions and her husband has always been a non-vegetarian. Looks like the meeting of the north pole and the south pole.
Because of her taste and upbringing, the woman never cooked non-veg items. She couldn't even stand the smell. Because of his taste, husband didn't like the monotony of eating green vegetables daily and lost his appetite.
And then this happened one day. A guilt feeling dawned upon the woman that her husband was loosing health because of her callousness and thought to do something about it. She left office early one evening and headed directly to Karim's in Nizamuddin. Unfortunately, that day being a Monday, the famous non-veg eating joint in the capital was closed. She was disappointed because she knew that her husband was a great fan of the food from that place. But the heart, she didn't lose.
Called up a colleague to ask which other place should she visit to get good non-veg items. The colleague guided her to Kake-da-dhaba in Connaught Place. She took a bus and not knowing exact location of the dhaba, alighted at wrong bus stand and asked her way to the dhaba from the pedestrians. She had to walk for over a kilometer to reach there.
Then began the biggest ordeal of her life. The meat hanging from the ceiling, she couldn't look at, the smell she couldn't bear. She asked the person manning the counter for the menu and didn't know what to order.
She told the person to give her the best non-veg item there. That didn't solve her problem for the person told her that it's a matter of personal taste. Every item here is fabulous.
She somehow ordered for some sort of chicken. The waiter packed it in a polybag and gave it to her but how could she hold the polybag which was touched by his 'dirty' hand. She picked up another polybag and held it herself and asked the waiter to drop the food in it and fastened it tightly, as if the cock would jump back to life from the curry.
Then she called her husband and asked him not to eat outside. She has a surprise for him, she said.
She reached home at 10 pm, cooked rotis, curries for herself and her father-in-law.
But the worse was yet in store. How would she serve the chicken without heating it again? For heating it, she would have to touch it. There she lost her patience, asked her husband to go to kitchen and do the rest of the job himself. Till now the husband was oblivious of the surprise that was pending. When he went inside the
kitchen, he smelt fishy when he saw the polybag. He opened it and his nightmare came alive. There it was.
He threw the entire polybag in the waste-bin. Called her wife and asked her, "What made you think that I will eat non-veg item brought by you? You don't have to do all this." And all the four eyes were wet. They had their dinner of rotis and curry together.
A small gesture, a little sacrifice and lots of happiness.
Isn't that love? The meeting of the earth and the sky, the horizon...
And I am feeling jealous of them...

Creativity Censored!

AMITABH SHANKAR

Why the great Indian painter MF Hussain has to live in exile? Why there is a furore when cartoons of Prophet Mohammad are published in a newspaper? Why are books banned and why fatwas are issued against writers like Salman Rushdie and Tasleema?
Simply because they were able to express their imagination in their works, which hurt the religious sentiments of few religious fanatics. For having painted gods and goddesses in nude. For having expressed the frailties of a closed society in words and showing it a mirror.
If you don't like your face, break the mirror. Is that the solution? No, nor is going under the knife the solution.
Nudity is beautiful and it is the most celebrated state of being, everybody would agree. Everybody is a voyeur in private. So why do people get furious when it blooms in expression as a piece of art. Haven't our Gods been depicted in nude earlier. Does MF Hussain's being an alien (Muslim) make him ineligible to paint Saraswati? Who knows the religion of those who built Khajuraho, which is celebrated by one and all.
Freedom of expression is guaranteed by the Constitution of India to its citizens except in some extra-ordinary conditions like putting at risk the security and safety of the nation and damaging the peaceful fabric of the country. And if the works of an artist are genuine but it infuriates the public and they go on a rampage, it is the state's responsibility to control them. And if they can't, it is their failure. Banning something is not the solution.
Why there must be a censor board to clip the wings of creative people? Why not our people should have the freedom of choice as well, to see what they like and avoid what they don't?
Not that I have always been a champion of freedom of expression but now I think that the creativity should be unbridled.
I always feel that Hindi literature, of which I am a great fan, has lost too much just because of the restrain of women authors. They don't come out as openly as their male counterparts do, there are social pressures upon them. They haven't been able to jot down their feelings in public for the fear of being stigmatized by their family and society. And those who have dared, like Ismat Chugtai, have done a great service to the literature and to their readers by offering them to in read something about the female mind first hand.
Can't more women shed their prudishness and write something honestly so that lesser mortals like me get to have a peep in their mind and heart, which I think is unfathomable.

Professional Hazard: Liking criminals!

AMITABH SHANKAR


Call it professional hazard.
After having covered the crime beat for about two years, I have started sympathizing with the criminals.
Not that I condone their heinous crimes but I sympathize with them.
No, I don't want to become Mahatma but I am overwhelmed by his statement: Hate crime, not criminals.
Try to understand them. What made a criminal out of a man whose moral values are the same as are ours, who lived with us and among us? Did he fail the society or the society failed him? Isn't it the failure of the society that it wasn't able to make the conditions available to him in which he could have grown as a law-abiding citizen, like the rest of us?
Every criminal is a subject of research. His educational qualifications, the place where he was born or brought up and the kind of society he lived in, whether he was a habitual offender or has just fallen apart, are all matters of interest. What was the first crime he committed? Was he caught or not? What punishment was meted out to him when he was first caught? Was it proportional to the offence he had committed and what was done to rehabilitate him then itself?
And then I have a feeling deep inside that all of us are criminals. It is just that we haven't got caught till now and our offence is not big enough to make headlines.
And then there are crimes because there are laws. Once I was talking with the investigating officer of a case in which a man had attempted to commit suicide after stabbing the love of his life. The police officer said that the girl was living with the man for the past one year and had promised him that she would marry him but on the day of the incidence, she refused to marry him on the pretext that she couldn't marry against the wishes of her parents. The man tried to cajole her to marry him and also threatened her that he would commit suicide if she doesn't marry him. The woman didn't relent after which he stabbed her and attempted to commit suicide. Luckily, both of them survived and the man was booked for the offence.
The police officer said had it been the man who had done what the woman was doing, he could have been booked for rape. Wasn't the man raped depending on the same logic? Why do we have different laws for different genders? Emotional abuse is no less serious than the physical abuse. Period.

The travails of a journey called Life

AMITABH SHANKAR


Life is a journey and people meet on the way. The destination people don't know and though so many people have traversed its path, not many have learnt its import. I don't mean that I have learnt it, I just want to learn it and I am wondering if someone can guide me.
I cannot believe that life is meaningless.
How and why do things happen in one's life, which are unexplainable and not understandable, is still a subject of speculation and conjecture. Some people believe that there is a super power which controls our lives invisibly and we are just like puppets. That's why we need to assert ourselves and take the reign of our lives in our own hands. We need to become the maker of our own destiny.
For doing that we need to know so many things but the biggest knowledge is self-knowledge. Knowing yourself, and it is easier said that done.
I do believe that people are microcosms of the universe. They are the reflection of the universe and there is no process in the universe which is not taking place inside the body, the mind and the soul. And by knowing these three components of your existence, in isolation with each other as well as in unison, you come to know of the universe. If you control yourself, you can control the entire universe. By knowing yourself, you become one with the Almighty. Rather, you become the Almighty.
Why do we do the things we do? Are we solely responsible for our acts or even at that stage, there is another force which compels us to act the way we do? Then why do we have to bear the fruits of our actions? These are the questions which have been puzzling me for some time. I have sought the answers, sifted through my mind and thought process, and have not been able to reach any conclusion.
In Srimad Bhagwadgita, Lord Krishna tells Arjun, "Everything that is happening is pre-destined and don't have the arrogance that you are the doer. You are just enacting the role given to you." But then if everything was pre-destined, if everything had top happen, why was Arjun disenchanted at the first place? Was that too pre-destined so that Lord Krishna may show his erudite by delivering the gospel of Gita which is also called the nectar of all the Vedas.
Often do I think that these are just hollow words with no meaning, just to justify the inaction of a nation of lazy people doing nothing. But then often do I have a feeling that I don't have control over my actions, my feelings and my destiny.
I don't decide who gives me company on my path to the journey called life. They come on their own, I know they too don't decide for themselves, and leave on their own.
Some of the co-travellers give you pain when they are with you, some of them give you pain when they leave you. Or do they just give lessons?

Continued

I, Me, Myself

By AMITABH SHANKAR

Great people are born ahead of their time, I was born when my time was past.
I was modelled to live in older times, when the ethics were different and virtues were appreciated. When being gentle was not considered a vice. But it was not to be. I, therefore, consider myself older than I am, and it reflects even in my looks.
The consequence is that my dearest one calls me too sentimental, clingy and what not. She called me even mentally sick and went on to say that I don't love myself. "I don't love myself" - Can there be a bigger slur?
A man not capable of loving hismself cannot love anybody else, it is a statement of fact. The person who said this is one with whom I have passed the most beautiful moments of my life, whom I have loved more than my life. For I believe not in the eternity of life but in the eternity of moment. One moment lived well is worth more than 100 years of life just lived.
Whenever she was in trouble, she found me waiting. Even then she knew that I was not there for her but was there because I couldn't help myself being there. I was helpless when it came to her.
I wanted to be with her, in her company, making things easier for her all the time. Above all, I wanted her to be mine, I don't know what she thought but I had never made any bones about my intentions. One may say that my love was selfish, it wasn't true love but then my love was self-love. I needed her because I loved her. And then she said I didn't love myself.
Not that I want the old world order to return, so that I become younger. I just want to grow up. Shed the middle-class family values which taught me to consider people as emotional beings. They are not, not at least in the capital.