Song of submission

A blinding light emanates
rises, bright, surprises!
The other, my opponent stands in awe
disbelieving
the truth he was seeing
I felt my being elevated
my power satiated.
The sound of chains clanking
His breath caught
He was panting
As I stood oblivious to his chanting
He knelt down, pupils dilating
Inside he was fighting
demons unknown.

On Drama

To be or not to be…somebody else…To breathe move and behave like another…To speak as does another. Drama is to let go and indulge one’s senses in the process of becoming another. The soul plays a central role.

Drama is an opening, a vent for the soul, the dramatist to use his body emotions and feelings to the optimum. Drama helps obtain a kind of solace. Forgetting the self in the in-depth exploration of another’s being.

Drama is the height of energy. It is to suck power indefinitely from one powerful happy memory. The dramatist is at ease with himself and the world. The senses have merged with those of his surroundings in developing a high sensitivity to the vibes of nature.  To act is to emphasize the emotion and exaggerate the expression. It is to radiate a sense of contentment and in return receive a reciprocation of the same from an audience. In doing justice to the act is to show the viewer’s how to feel with the character. Drama is concentration, to revel in attention and the sacred space that is the stage. This is how I now perceive drama.

When darkness preys- Goth tale

The carriage was moving at full pace now. The streets were dimly lit by light from the lamp posts; the night was a pitch darkness that was creeping fast behind them. A young woman was the sole occupant, a fine figure of English aristocracy. Miss Eliza sensed she was being followed but by who or what remained unclear. The driver Mr Beatle, it seemed was unusually quiet. The clock struck twelve adding to the eeriness of the atmosphere. Her heart began to race as she clutched the piece of paper in her hand, as if for dear life.

Miss Eliza awoke early that morning only to find her new husband limp and lifeless in bed. It was then that she knew what she must do. The prophecy, they were after it…and now that her husband was dead, she must guard it with her being.

She stirred where she sat on the velvet sheets as if waking from a deep trance. The last of the clock’s chimes died down as the carriage came to an abrupt halt. A tight fear gripped her being. She found herself looking back, her face white with panic. She opened the door and stepping out, saw Mr Beatle a hundred years old, his skin paler than snow. His face contorting as if in pain, he limped aimlessly around what appeared to be tombs. A graveyard…Suddenly she knew what had happened; he was now their victim as she would soon be if she didn't get to the cathedral and hide there until daylight.

A forgotten friend

I remember the very first time I set my eyes on an envelope…

Bundles of them could be found in the mailbox at the gate outside my house. As a child I had always been curious about the contents of these envelopes that came ever so often. They were in all sizes, packages large and small, thick and thin. They came in different colours some orange some yellow some blue and still others white. Few would have the words “CONFIDENTIAL” written across them. I used to imagine they might contain maps to a secret treasure island on uncharted seas.

 But the most exciting part of the envelopes was the stamps that were attached on their top right hand corners. The stamps spoke so much about their respective senders. Exotic stamps would come from different parts of the world. 
Then there were the not so exiting inland letters. These contained nothing per se. But one could save paper and money which would otherwise have gone into buying stamps and paper to write on. Then there were the postcards sent by relatives and friends on vacation. Whenever I found a postcard I would look at the picture (usually a breath-taking one) with envy and close my eyes hoping that by some magical force my whole being could be transported there. I have never failed to send postcards on any of my vacations since.

I did not receive envelops containing letters from anyone until I was 12. However, the memory is still fresh of the very first time I did. 
My name and address were scribed on its top. I felt its smooth edges and then, I couldn't help but take one quick sniff of it. The paper was so crisp. I didn’t want to crumple it let alone tear it in the process of unravelling its mysteries. My first letter came from a total stranger. Someone who had read something I’d written for “Tinkle” a children’s comic book  I used to subscribe to.

In today’s times with the advent of email, Facebook (an entity in itself), telephones, Skype, etc. the letter remains a forgotten friend. The joy of a letter’s tangibility…To know perhaps that a loved one’s hand moved across the smoothness of the paper, the ink so fresh even a smudge can be found somewhere between the margin. To know that all their thoughts were, during the span of writing the letter, directed at you and you alone makes it ever so much special. Long after a persons dies; the letter remains and the memory of the person’s feelings are thus preserved.

I still insist on letter writing as nothing can be compared to the joys of reading what is written by our own hand. It does take extra effort to buy envelops or stamps and take a pen out to write, but the person at the receiving end is left feeling tantalized. So I encourage you all to take a break from typing out short emails but instead take some paper. Write something inspirational, funny, or a few words of wisdom. The recipient can in this way keep going back to your letters whenever they feel like.

The letter contains a part of one's memory. A piece of his soul... Writing only acts as a medium to convey those thoughts in the most comprehensive way that ultimately aims to appeal to the emotions.

Cartoons of yore: we want them back!

One morning I was scanning the newspaper casually when my eyes fell on a Garfield comic strip. I found it very amusing indeed. I experienced a sudden nostalgia about the cartoons of yester year. Back then cartoons belonged to the time when “Cartoon Network” was the King of children’s television in India. I remember growing up eating straight from the palm of great cartoon shows like Looney Toons. We missed growing up on Sesame Street, the Muppets and Barney and friends, unlike most American kids because Kermit channel was soon removed from viewership. Every phase of my growing up years had a cartoon to suit it up until the age of puberty. Ask any boy in college if he misses watching the Swat cats or Johnny Quest and he’ll reply in the affirmative.

Gone are the days when the Flintstones could take a kid back to the prehistoric times or The Jetsons transport him to somewhere in the future. What happened to the weirdest family in cartoon history? The Adam’s family could make your hair stand on end. Nobody remembers Top cat-the swaggering alley cat that always wore a purple hat? What about Josie and the Pussy cats and how much little girls loved to groove to their tunes? Probably the title for longest surviving cat cartoon would undoubtedly go to Tom and Jerry (by MGM) the present corrupted version of Tom and Jerry tales is not even close to the original nor is the other version shown on Indian Television named "Chuha Billi Police chor". When was it the first time any of us had an insight into a sailor’s life? It had to be after watching Popeye the sailor man. 

I could mention some more cartoons that need to be raised from the dead. We live in a world that is constantly facing environmental threats today. Now a cartoon like Captain Planet could really impact young minds to want to save the planet! 

The road runner show brought countless laughter to everyone in the family. There are so many of us who miss Acme products. The days when we used to come across Powerpuff girl merchandise in the markets seem so long ago because all we can find anywhere now is Ben10 pouches and lunch boxes. Suddenly there seems to have been an indigenization of Cartoon network. After they changed their logo everything changed. There was an invasion of cartoons like Tenali Raman, Chota Birbal, Vikram aur Betaal and the like. Parents felt this move was good so that children could now learn about Indian mythology and culture. But some of the episodes seemed as if they were mocking it. Another factor that led to the decline of Cartoon network in India was the introduction of several Japanese and Chinese cartoons. Lots of other cartoon channels today show Ninja Hattori, Kemon achi, Doremon etc. One finds these shows on Nickelodeon instead of old time favorites like, “As told by Ginger”, “Hey Arnold”, “Wild Thorn berries” or “The Rugrats” anymore and this is disappointing. Even shows like “Keenan and Kel”, “Drake and Josh” and “the Amanda Show” came to an abrupt standstill, much to the dismay of poor fans.

How many of us haven’t forgotten what Pogo once used to be? When it first came into being we had shows like “Round the twist” and this really cool science program. You don’t need me to illustrate what’s become of pogo now do you, what with the advent of Takeshi’s castle (laughs.)

Disney channel has also succumbed to this unnecessary change. It is no longer what it used to be when it first came to India. No more craziness of suite life of Zack and Cody, no more exhibition of Raven’s super confident self in That’s so Raven and no more Phil of the Future or Lizzie McGuire which used to rule the channel at one point. Then there was the double life living Hannah Montana that had several episodes with endless repetition. This was later joined by Wizards of Waverly place and suite life on deck which wasn’t much of a hit. Everything has vanished in mid Disney air now. All we see when we turn it on is lots and lots of Phineas and Ferb and believe me we are sure to get bored of that too.

The question is why did all this happen? Someone should worry about what the kids of this generation get to watch. It’s not fair that some of us got to watch great cartoon while the others sufficed with below average ones. Besides we learnt a lot from watching television that may come in handy at any time anywhere. I believe that people have thus far underestimated the importance of good children’s T.V. nobody knows what happened and nobody has bothered to find out! All we want are quality cartoons that will make kid’s imaginations go beyond this world that can show them the true potential and power of imagination. Even if we have to resurrect them from the past two decades!

A day in the life of a construction worker

I woke up one morning and on looking outside my window witnessed an interesting scene. The empty site next door that had been full of weeds and unwanted grasses was now cleared completely. In the center of the clearing was a brick structure with one tiny window. Since it was early, I assumed this must have happened over night. Just when I was wondering if there were inhabitants within, I saw from behind the brick house black smoke rising. I noticed there what seemed like three bricks set close together in the middle of which lay a heap of burning firewood. Atop this simple stove was placed a brass pot that looked so old and used it reminded me of a piece in an antique shop. The pot contained some lentils that were being cooked to perfection by none other than the woman of the hut. She looked like she was in her late 20’s. There she sat squatted on the ground, in front of the little furnace in what might have been a comfortable position. I was busy noticing all this when, I heard the sound of teeth brushing, the source of which was the woman’s husband. Next the man was to wash up. The bathroom consisted of half of a metal shed behind which he hid and bathed hastily with a little less than 1 small bucket of water. It made me wonder how many buckets I’d use for my own bathing purposes. Soon after this he got hold of an oxidized plate and went to the hot stove for some breakfast. In the meantime, the lady had gone into the hut for a while. When she next came out she was carrying in her arms a little infant girl, followed by a toddler and an elder boy around 7. They began to play in the heap of sand which lay in one corner of the clearing that was also acting as a resting zone for a couple of stray dogs. This made me realize the joy children get from small things.

In a few seconds I could hear the sound of a cement mixing machine coming round the corner past my house to where the empty site was. Only then did I understand that these people were construction workers who had come from a nearby village to earn a livelihood for their family. It wasn’t an easy job at all. The man now wore his dhoti in half around his waist and some cloth to serve as protection from the harsh sun of the day ahead of him. The woman was busy attending to the needs of her smallest child inside the hut, while the two kids continued to run around noisily around the construction site. I knew that she would soon have to begin cooking the mid-day meal for the others involved in the work. But this was just one family. At the next instant a truck load of people, men and women arrived from the village to work. I noticed one old man with grey hair came past my pavement onto the site. He had so terrible a cough that I thought he must have tuberculosis. But then I saw him pop a cheap cigarette (beedi) in his mouth. This action was followed by a series of cigar puffing and coughing alternately. I pitied him. If only someone showed him the bad it was doing to him.

It was almost noon time now and the sun being high up in the sky, one would have to stand on his own shadow at this time. They had all lined up together, each carrying a sphere-like hollowed vessel on his head and walking towards a pit where they would dump the contents. This continued for another hour or so. I saw them move as their legs glistened with sweat, their dark skin appeared greasy. But they never tired and the women worked too. Helping one and other, old women and young women were passing heaps of sand in strangely shaped vessels to lay the foundation of a house-that they would neither live in nor watch other people lead their lives in. Their work was mechanical and steady. I began to wonder where they would migrate to next, what they would build, what would become of them.

But as the aroma of freshly cooked food reached their heaving nostrils, their thoughts came back to the present. So what if they would only get a bowl of porridge or some dried bread or even some more lentils? But wait, this time it was a little different, they were getting some real food for a change. Somebody generous had supplied them with a gunny bag of flour and another of rice. The women suddenly turned into kitchen goddesses. They worked together and prepared a scrumptious feast of chapattis, dal and rice. That afternoon they ate like there was no tomorrow.

granny's kitchen

Granny’s kitchen is a woman’s paradise

Stocked with bags of wheat, flour and rice

In the oven a chocolate cake bakes

That with love and honey my dear granny makes.

On the ceiling is a small fan that runs

To clear the aroma of freshly baked buns.

She has whole sets of spoons and cutlery hung

Used to make music when songs are sung

Her kitchen is half the size of our hall

But as its Goddess in it she stands tall

The fridge is always filled with goodies

Three types of cheese, chocolates and jellies

I love to go in there looking for food

That never fails to get me in a good mood

My granny’s kitchen! There’s nothing like it

You’re sure to like what you find in it