Kabuliwallah

On my way back from school, as I turned the corner of our dusty street, I came face to face with a familiar grin. Each wrinkle marking each eternal day of his life, Kashmiri’s long bearded face had broken into a toothy grin. ‘Of course, it’s Ramzan!’ I suddenly remembered. ‘Time he came for his annual trip.’ Aslam, simply called ‘Kashmiri’ by me and my siblings for as long as my memory goes back, seemed to live in a timeless time. He could have been 20, for his youthful laughter and twinkling eyes, or he could have been 80, for the tired lines that made horizontal patterns on his face, like fence wires. Sometimes I wondered if those lines were a map that he consulted everyday in the mirror, as he groped his way around misfortunes.
Every year, Aslam Kashmiri visits Delhi in the holy month of Ramzan, in the hope of earning a few hundred rupees by running errands for the families who knew him here, cleaning the masjid and some charity that people raised for him. After Eid, he would return to his family in the Dark Valley. He never called it so, but maybe he did. I do not remember why it stuck in memory as a ‘Dark Valley’. Maybe it was because of what I once overheard my parents say about him. Kashmiri had an old mother, a wife and two daughters at home, the elder of whom was roughly my age. His first born son was killed by a troop while playing in the street one day. No explanations were given, none were asked for. Just a few memories and some tears from a father who buried his own beloved son. And then, there was life. Back on track. ‘The Mare will come to my doorstep soon, Bibi’, he said one day. Kashmiri told me about the Mare of good Fortune that clip-clopped in the valley when good tidings were about to reach someone’s home. ‘What does it look like? Does it talk?’ I asked him. ‘No! One must not try to see it! That is important. If you hear the hooves of the Mare, you will be blessed with joys. But you must never try to see it.’ ‘Fine’, I thought. ‘As long as it’s bringing you some golden gifts.’
And sure enough, the following year, he brought us a present of a bagful of small walnuts that he grew on his small patch of land in the valley. ‘I have a little baby daughter, Bibiji!’ His eyes were dancing with joy when he handed the bag to my mother. ‘Did the Mare bring her? She must look like a fairy then!’ I piped up. ‘She does’, he replied. He took out a walnut from his pocket, broke the rock-hard shell with his teeth and fed me the kernels. ‘Kashmiri, how are your teeth so strong?’ I asked him, awed by the fact. ‘Bibiji, I rub my teeth with the raakh of these very shells. Haven’t you seen how Shaffo beats the metals with his iron hammer, and they obey his will?’ Shaffo the ironsmith made tools and pots of metal in his dingy little shop, the walls of which were always covered with soot. The analogy was lost on me, though, and I wondered how Kashmiri would look if he had teeth of that metal. Two years later, Kashmiri returned in December during Ramzan, with the news that his youngest daughter, (‘Fatima, we had named her’ he said) got hit with an iron pole when riots had suddenly broken out in the market where he had taken her to buy groceries. Fatima did not survive the blow, but Kashmiri did. ‘Did he try to glimpse the Mare?’ I wondered, but did not dare to ask because I could sense the grave air around him.
He returns every year, with his ‘salaam’ and wide grin intact, exactly the same as the year before. As he finishes his evening meal after breaking the fast, prayers constantly pour from his lips unabated. Our verandah echoes his words ‘May Allah reward you with the fruits and delicacies of paradise, for every meal that you feed me here.’ He rolls up the mat and leaves for the masjid where he sleeps at night.
The only other memory I have of being blessed with such fervent words, is that of a beggar who once arrived at our doorstep one freezing January night. He was hungry and cold, he said. I grumbled but got out of my warm quilt and took a little gravy and a piece of meat on a chapati for him. Never before had I seen a man eat so hungrily. After eating he thanked and blessed me with a heart wrenching voice that brought tears to my eyes. I could hear the Mare’s clip-clopping hooves.

“Religious Views: I’m spiritual”

Most profile pages on social networking sites these days carry this particular response, to an admittedly personal question. ‘I’m spiritual’ seems to be the hep thing to say, the politically correct thing too. Most ‘secular’ people would rather be called spiritual than assert any inclinations towards religion. Perhaps in these times of religious fanaticism and the skepticism any religious identity is subjected to, being ‘spiritual’ and not ‘religious’ is a clever standpoint. It conveys a secular orientation that steers clear of any leanings towards religion as an institution. One wonders then, whether this situation is snowballing into a phobia, an unfounded aversion to religion altogether. Spirituality is of course believed to be linked to a healthy, wholesome living. For many who live life in the fast lane, it is a make-believe source of comfort, one step to ‘save the soul’ in this stampede called life.
Religion in this scenario is relegated to a position of an unwanted tag of identification. Worse still, in this process it is left to be distorted and manipulated by a handful of fanatics who then claim a monopoly over it. Religion thus turns into an overpowering force beyond the control of ordinary, normal people. It is used as a tool to serve the personal ends of a small group. Quite a potent tool, too.
Given such distortions that the concept is subjected to, it is hard to recognize religion as a potentially positive force in one’s life. Setting aside the common markers of religiosity like praying and fasting (which do lend a certain kind of order and discipline necessary to life, but never mind), religion is a system beyond these tokenistic features. It is a whole way of life, if perceived in its holistic sense. It is a system that is not limited to abstract notions of love, harmony and piety, it goes on to provide a clear roadmap, answering all those ‘how to’s and ‘where from’s. For instance, it takes care of every aspect of one’s daily life- right from personal care, relationships, eating habits to communal living and even civic sense. As a system of values, religion provides a positive context for an individual’s life, prescribing the protocol for the individual’s interactions and for the society as a whole. Compared to these features of religion, spirituality appears to be slightly more abstract, though it is a necessary part of religion itself. Claims to piety and religiosity have been subjected to skepticism in this age of critical thinking, and rightly so. All institutions need to be revised over a period of time, to check unwanted elements that seem to get attached to them. Religion, like civilizations, evolves with time. It must be given its fair chance to survive in its true form.
The new age idea of spirituality fulfills certain purposes today, but at the same time, religion might also hold solutions. Instead of the off hand ‘I’m spiritual’, a chance should be given to ‘I’m spiritual and religious’. Religion has undoubtedly been the most inflammable issue in world history. It is one institution that is tainted with the blood of millions killed in its name. But that divisive force masquerading as religion must be shunned and disposed of. There might just be a religion beyond the politics of power that the world has seen for centuries. It must be given a life rope to hold on to, because it might just hold the key to many of the problems that societies today are grappling with.

Jagged Pieces

Tonight I am this sky
Darker than the inky sea
Not seen, not heard in a million years.
Darker than this emptiness
This hollow, shriveled self.
I am all the stillness outside
I am all the darkness in my veins

Groping to hold on to something
My fingers clutch the bitterness, so cold
It swallows me whole, yet it is elusive.
Now one image to behold, just this once?
No! A million shards it is.
Jagged pieces, each one a souvenir of an affliction
One failure after another,
Despair leading on to despair.
Hacking my soul with the sharp edges
Clawing at this self I had made
Piece by piece,
Illusion leading on to illusion.
I’m wretched now, bleeding a black blood
That runs in a burning river
Viscous, acid, poisoned.

I sit in this hell,
Is it the darkness or am I gone blind?
A hell beyond any hell.
And I wait.
Maybe I’ve been waiting all along
Maybe everything, everyone is waiting for that End
Some more deceived than the others,
But all like me, worthless dust
Raised to selfhood, yes, but dust nontheless.

Reserving Equality

‘Reservations’ has become a controversial word in the past few years in India. It doesn’t just concern the haves and the have-nots; it has much to do with power and politics. To put a complex phenomenon in simple words, reservations is not just allotment of seats to some people and blocking others from accessing them. There is a cycle that includes minorities, national integrity, vote banks and the development policy of the country.
This issue has been hotly debated on the national level and a crushing opposition has risen against it. Political parties have risen in protest of the bill on the grounds that it is ‘un democratic’ and it promotes ‘gender bias in favor of women’. There is also a sudden concern about voters being forced to elect ‘undeserving candidates’. These arguments may sound valid to some, but on a closer look, things aren’t so simple. Despite claims of ‘equal rights and opportunities’, the ratio of women parliamentarians to their male counterparts has been pitiably low. When half of the country’s population is comprised of women, reservation of 33% of parliamentary seats for them hardly seems like ‘gender bias in favor of women’.
Agreed, mere representation in the Parliament is not ‘The Solution’, but it is a good starting point for many reasons. To begin with, a minimum level of representation, even if tokenistic, at least puts across a message that half of India’s population does have a voice on the political stage, and has its representatives in the Parliament. As far as the question of ‘undeserving candidates’ is concerned, there are ways to counter such problems. There is always a possibility of ‘undeserving people’ enjoying power, and it is not restricted to the case of women alone. It is the responsibility of the legislators to ensure that no undeserving persons gain access to positions of power- be it men or women.
As Rajasthan CM Vasundhara Raje Scindia has recently informed the media, Rajasthan has successfully implemented such measures within the state and its administrative structure today has a strong representation of women. Reservations and special benefits for the girl child and for women in education and employment sectors, has yielded fruit in the past. So why not go a step further and include them in the legislative processes of the country? The proposed ‘quota within quota’ is an excellent means to ensure a more equitable representation. If women from minority communities get opportunities to access lawmaking, it would definitely be a laudable achievement for India.
Women’s reservation is needed today for many reasons. Its not because women are inferior than men in terms of education, skill or intellect. It’s just that they have not had sufficient opportunities to display and utilize these talents. Indian women do not need reservations to reach the parliament because they would otherwise be inept to do so, but because they have not had the means and resources to reach those heights. Its high time the law making body recognized these facts. It is my strong conviction that women do not seek the sympathy or the crutches of gender politics. What they seek is the recognition of their potential and a chance to use it to empower themselves. Those seats in the parliament are deserved equally by men and women, it is just the difference of who actually gets the chance to access them and prove their worth.

5 Things I Really, Really Aspire To

1. The sort of intellect and charisma I've seen in a certain teacher of mine.
2. The ability to sound scary sometimes. This is something I've got to get.
3. The ability to recognize people for who they are, preferably by the first two meetings. I've misjudged people plenty of times- and paid for it.
4. More self reflexivity and a better ability to introspect.
5. Less of dependence upon the opinion of others.

Shipwreck

Like broken pieces of glass
Gathered in bleeding palms
Life sobbed in silent corners
Unwanted, unseen, lost.
Pieces of sunny dreams
Pieces of bright colors
Pieces of lonely ramblings
Of unrequited hopes
Pieces of haunting laughter
Pieces of preserved tokens
Pieces of broken promises
Of painful old memories
It bleeds in anguish, it cries in vain
Arms outstretched, never to be reached
Sinking in the vast abyss
My shipwreck of a life.

Under the Scanner

This can be read as a sequel to my article on narcissism. But this is not just about the rampant self-obsession that seems to have taken over everyone. With all that social networking and publishing and putting yourself up for the whole world to see, comes a dangerous fact- you're more vulnerable than you think. I was hit by this fact by a recent experience, come to think of this- anyone who sees me and just knows which college or university i belong to, can within a couple of hours get all my personal details. Just by a few clicks of a mouse or just a couple of phone calls. Isn't it scary to know the whole world has access to your privacy, so quickly, with no security hassles to face and without you knowing any of their details, unless they want you to know?
Believe me, I'm one of those people who are really, really particular about their privacy. I may not have much to hide from the world, but I happen to be really fussy about how many people know even my real name! Let alone my e-mail ID and my cell/land line number. I take all possible measures to secure my personal information, be it at social networking sites (this is one of the reasons I've permanently logged out of all these) or be it the info I give at my college or workplace. And yet, people are able find out any information about me that they require! This fact leaves me so vulnerable and insecure.
Websites and databases may promise you any amount of security and privacy, but there are always methods to counter these ‘security’ measures, you know! I do not know if I’m part of a minuscule minority who feel this way, or maybe I’m the only one in this world who sounds so paranoid about their privacy, but this is something that really concerns me now. There are people who freely broadcast their lives on the internet or public spaces, and it’s their right to do what they want. But there are people like me who are simply not fine with it, and therefore we find survival on the internet a rather challenging prospect! Of course I cannot live without my e-mail ID and my blog; this is the only way in which I can stay in touch with certain people I know. No one can refuse to give their personal information at institutions or workplaces either, its so much of a necessity now. But it forces one to think what impact this will have on our society in future. I know that so much of free and easy access to information is good in one sense, but what if its endangering individual security? Are we then going to build up even more complex systems of security, and then are the hackers going build up even more sophisticated software to counter these measures? So where are we exactly heading, especially at a time when we spend around as much of our time in the virtual world as in the real one? Are both these identities inevitably going to clash and affect even those who want to keep away from them? These are questions that must be pondered upon by all virtual world, and also real world, individuals who presume they are safe and secure, while they are under an unknown gaze 24X7, where a scanner can track down their life history and details of their every day lives with a single press of a button.