Of Why India is Resigned to Mediocrity

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When India attained its independence, not many gave it even a twenty percent chance of retaining a successful democracy for long. Even fewer believed that the nation of this size could hold up and not break down into fragments drawn by the lines of communalism, casteism, regionalism and language barriers. The reasons of defragmentataion were more than the chances of sticking together. The leaders of the time, chacha Nehru, Iron Man Patel, J.P took these chances and through painstaking work stitched this nation together.

To an outsider, India is and always was an enigma. Its own citizen fails to understand it completely. A Harayanavi is as adept in understanding the ways of a Madrasi as a Rajasthani is of a Bengali. But to hell with it, in the inside we are all Indians. The core fabric from which one is woven reeks of an Indian odour and that makes us unique in our own way, different from the world at large.

Now that we have stayed as a nation for so long, what have we accomplished? We haven‘t attained the level of living that we can associate with a socialist nation. We sure haven‘t had the advancement in economy to be called a capitalist. We have tried hard to follow a middle path and failed miserably in the process- we neither have the economic growth nor the standard of living and yet we act like snobs looking to conquer the world.

Let‘s just look at the facts. Our education system has failed miserably, the number of people living below the poverty line in the nation is mind boggling, the democratic system is in shambles, inflation is rising by the day, the rupee is on an all time low, the number of infant deaths makes your heart skip a beat, the grains rot away while people die of hunger, the black money stashed in foreign banks is the GDP of many a small nations.. the list goes on.

Come to the people living here. And this, my friends, is the hardest part to digest. We, the people of the nation are so proud of our past and what a name India was, the sone ki chidiya, some of us still pat ourselves in the back for it. Seriously? The educated class seldom goes to vote and then sits comfortably in the living room complaining on the deplorable state of things. The lower class is so downtrodden that it sticks on to whatever hope it sees on the horizon. The middle class is so obsessed with making money that it forgets living in the struggle to amass it in its banks. The upper class doesn‘t care. The old is just too tired of having made it so far. The youth is just good enough to make a page on an issue on a social network and thanking himself on doing such a noble cause for the society. One class of children is just too obsessed with becoming engineers of doctors to think of anything else. The other class has it laid it down by their fathers- a politician‘s child will become a politician, an actor‘s actor and so on- if not, unees bees ka hisaab hai.

Our constitution makers were so hellbent on giving no one a lot of power that they reduced everyone with a little power. China was not so different from us fifty years ago but now has the might to make the US bow. We had the world‘s third largest railway network before even the second world war and still never had an industrial revolution. The bubble of economic prosperity came through the reforms in the regime of P.V. Narsimha Rao. Before and after that, we haven‘t had a single policy that facilitates growth. In the time when the governments were a single majority, it never happened. We have a collation for some years now and will continue having it in the future, what can one hope for?

Our nation has always followed the middle path. Didn‘t align to either Soviet or the USA. Couldn‘t succeed as a socialist nor could become a capitalist. Is not the poorest of poor but can never be the richest of the rich. We just are what we have always strived to be, knowingly or unknowingly. Mediocre.

Dying soldier – part I

image

I’ve got minutes left,
An hour at max.
Tell everyone I loved them,
To remember me, when I am laid to rest.

And you my love,
I have my thanks to say.
To hold me when the world was black,
When everything good seemed at bay.

I look back and I see it all,
What could have I done different.
A solitary reaper may one lament,
The wrongdoings I didn’t get a chance to pay.

What would I not give,
To have you again in my arms.
Touch you, kiss you, feel you,
Breathe with you each breath.

Haven’t said it enough as I may have liked,
Haven’t said it enough that you deserve.
You are the one I have always loved,
Every fleeting second of each passing day.

And I hope you forget,
Me not being perfect.
I am sending a kiss sealed by the wind,
Let it rest a while on your cheek when it gets there.

Me. I’ll be happy by the thought,
Falling like a man,
Defending like a hero a soldier lives to be,
Smile caressing lips till I’m dead.

What can one say, the Mahatma is long dead

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Thank the Lord they cremated him for good,
Ponder a little, if only you would.

It would have hurt even in the grave,
To reside in a land, lived in by the dead.

There was a time when the industries were set,
The second five year plan was carved for the nation at unrest.
The capitalists then acted as socialists,
The major offices all were state‘s.

With all the trust chacha Nehru stood on,
Realizing the dream of a sovereign republic live long.
The Chinese betrayal took his life,
But worse was Kashmir on a hinge, up to debate.

We have made a progress since then,
Hundred crore scams the norm of the day.
With the nation now guided by a spineless center,
Who can show us the way, the common man banters.

They dystopia is looking down,
Malice in its eyes, carrying a frown.

We now settle the disputes by force,
Justice is nothing till it all does down.
“see! The riots in Gujarat were a mighty show,
Now the Muslims are afraid to strike any blow.“
Such (pitiful) views are endorsed by the party leaders,
Fills your eyes with sadness and throat with hunger.
True, the state is since riot free,
But the destruction left in the wake is for all to see.

The democratic cycle is completing a full round,
Tibet question still looms, as does the Himalayan crown.
The rage of the naxalites is still rampant,
The demands of Nagaland and Telangna still effervescent.

These were the same problems we had in the sixties,
Made much progress, really, have we?
Bending our backs to please the communist neighbour,
As the world celebrated year last, the year of the dragon.

So please don’t get me wrong when I say,
I am sure as glad the Mahatma is dead.

Fear and Love

Gilmour makes the transition from someone beyond repair to come back to life, only to head straight – to the shining sun in his epic track “coming back to life”. Many would treat it as a weakness without trying to comprehend, without taking the prospective of the other, coupled with the self. When you lose something very close to you, is it possible to go to life as it was before you shared your existence with it? Shutting down the book and try climbing the ladder to the next chapter might be termed as closure, but what happens when even closure isn’t enough?

I had been living alone before you came. And I have been living alone since you left. And trust me; one doesn’t need to be a nuclear scientist to spot the difference between the two.

Paranoia, for the exile, is the pre-requisite for survival. One might find it hard to relate to, but I understand the words, the meaning it tries to portray, and the message it tries to deliver. For I have been in exile for the better half of my life, hiding not from people, but the self.

One should never judge a person unless he has walked in the other’s shoes, shared the path and felt what the other is feeling. And there were some who walked beside me, expressed the fear in their eyes. The others, like me, hid it in their smile. You might have wondered why I smiled like a buffoon the first time I met you, kept smiling the entire time I felt your presence by my side. I even smiled at you when you walked away. Every smile grounded a different implication, but the root was the same, I smiled from fear.
I liked you since the very moment I laid my eyes on the lady walking down the park, gliding feet, dancing in the dew carefully preserved by the blades of the green grass. And it took the courage of almost every fiber of my body to hold on to the fear of rejection and ask you out. But when this transition of being attracted to you to falling in love took place, I cannot really point out. One minute, I was impenetrable, I had shielded myself from anything that could cause a disruption to the way I lived my life. The next I knew, my heart was beating outside my chest, exposed to the elements. The only fear I felt at the time was the fear of not seeing you again. My heart stopped whenever I came home to find you gone only to kick-start itself again when you returned. For a change, I smiled because I believed in it. For a change, the only fear I felt was of someday not smiling that smile.

When you try to live your life according to a big plan, it’s impossible to account for all the contingencies. And it’s difficult to stay sane when you see that the plan is on a different route from where you stand. Nevertheless, I was happy. But sometimes to calm the nerves of mutiny it was a necessity of drown them in some whiskey, or a little scotch, and hold them with a joint or two. Misery loves company. It treated me kind. The only key was being gentle.

But sanity is growing ever too costly when you’re not around. I will take it if you accuse me of being selfish, that these are mere excuses to indulge in these, which I term as the innocuousness of what is left of my sanity. True, I do it for the self. But more importantly, I do it for you.
All our lives, we keep looking for indulgence. We give all our energy to get to that elusive big red cherry and oh! life would be so much more simple, so much more fruitful if only we could get to that cherry, even hold it for a while. We concentrate so hard on the protagonist that we neglect to pay any attention to the plot or the hidden subtexts. And what happens when we do get to that red cherry? We are ecstatic, no doubt, but for how long does the enthusiasm last? When does the euphoria give way to fear? The fear of not being able to hold on to it anymore. And what if we never make it to the red cherry? Do we live our entire lives in fear of not achieving the goal we set out for?

I have seen them all. And I have felt them all. And if you ask me about the fear I fear the most, it is the one of facing the truth. All our lives, we keep running for the truth, chasing it, acknowledging it, begging for its revelation. One feels that the truth shall set the self free. I say that there’s nothing which enslaves more than the truth. Accepting the truth means the end of hope, the end of the journey. But if you keep running away fearing the truth, you become too easy a prey to the evil of living a lie. I tried walking the on delicate rope of the middle path, but somewhere down the line, the boundaries have been washed in the mist. And I fear if the path I am on will take me to the future or some place in the past. Or will it take me back to where I started from in the first place?

We put too much energy in dealing with our fears of being wrong, of being proved that what we did was in fact, not right. But out beyond the ideas of rightdoings and wrongdoings, there is a field, and I hope that I’ll meet you there. Loving you has been the most profound, intense feeling of my entire life. And it breaks my heart that I have to end it. Not because I cannot face my fear of dealing with the truth, I’m beyond it, I’ve lived my fears. But for I realize, for all the fears I’ve been left with, the only fear I wish for is the fear of losing what we had together. Being with you will require one more effort, one more life, one more starting from the scratch. I have to be born again. But to be born again, you first have to die. Goodbye.

Inspirations: a book (omega minor(Paul Verhaeghen) ). a series (californication). and a living creature.

Sense (unconditional love)

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He smiles,
she laughs.
Feeling each other,
They touch.

Lost in embrace,
They try and remember,
What is it that’s so hard to forget?
If she could only shut it out,
As he tries to kill it off,
Forget conscience,
In the safety of others’ arms,
They smell.

Oblivious to the world,
She kisses the other,
on the neck he feels.
Shivers,
Feels his pulse rising, he.
Takes her into his arms,
Pinned to be one,
They hear, the heartbeat of the other.

The night was reaching its climax,
Or was it the day?
She couldn’t care less.
The moment belonged to her,
And no one else.
He was ecstatic,
No one could hold down what was his to own.
Treading along the wanderlust,
Bodies against bodies,
Lips against limbs,
On the taste, they feast.

Slept peacefully after making love,
Molding it, perfecting it to their wants.
She wakes up,
Tries to feel him by her side.
He sits there,

Smelling her body,
Listening her breath,
Stroking tenderly on the soft breasts,
Tasting the morning air, bringing promises and fears alike.

Was there a sense that something was amiss?
As they stood up,
Hand in hand,
Took their walking sticks.
For all he could sense, he couldn’t see how beautiful she looked.
For all the feelings her heart could take, neither could she..

dard muskuraata hai

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writer’s note:
while reading it, please give proper emphasis on the two parts separated by comma. “dard” and “muskuraata hai” isn’t meant to be read as “dard muskuraata hai”.

Bolta hai kucch mujhse,
Par kehte kehte chup ho jaata hai.
Door se aanhein bharta,
Dard, muskuraata hai.

Darta hai unn deewaaron se,
Patthar ki buni lakeeron se.
Khaamoshi mein sehta, aage badhta,
Dard, muskuraata hai.

Sheeshon ko dekhta,
Todkar, unke tukde nihaarta hai.
Khud ki parchaayin se bhaagta,
Dard, muskuraata hai.

Peshaane pe lakeerein,
Aur aankhon ke aansu chupaata hai,
Par shabdon ka mohtaaj nahin ye,
Dard, muskuraata hai.

Sharmaata hai,
Phir mudke chala jaata hai.
Phir door se dekh,
Khilkhilaata,
itraata hai,
Dard,
dard muskuraata hai.

His Monologue

“What kind of idea
Does submission seem today
One full of fear
An idea that runs away.”

I went to her, poured my heart out. It was the hardest thing I had to do. Harder than facing my parents after getting arrested for drug abuse, but that’s a different story altogether. She heard me, she was all smiles. Then, she broke my heart. It was the only one I had got. I was a fool. I wanted to create a pseudo reality in which I could connect to another person. For the world is but dead on the outside. I see people and I see people laughing, and I see people smiling, baring their off white and yellow teeth in that plastic smile of theirs, and I cannot comprehend but the futility of it all. I thought that it would be good to connect, it would be good to get a hang of what normal humans feel, a psychological analysis in which I am the subject itself and I am the analyst. Their isn’t no conflict. I shielded myself from these before. For, paranoia, for the exile, is a prerequisite of survival. And I am nothing but an exile. I am a child in the body of a man. I make mistakes, but making amends without a repercussion isn’t allowed in the society we live in today. We try so hard to fit in, fit in the social pathos, make a name in something which we have created. Can the society exist without us? In trying so hard, we forget ourselves and this saddens me. People fighting over regions saddens me, people fighting over religions saddens me. Their exists a common misconception that people fight because of conflicting interests. The reality is quite the opposite. People fight because they want the same thing, the same piece of the cake. If they fight for dignity, or self respect, or just for the sake of fighting, it’s okay, but fighting over a piece of land and in which region it belongs, incomprehensible.
Coming back. Forgetting her will take time, I cannot hate her, try as I may, for when you try to despise the woman you love, the love becomes a cruel, solitary vice. The worst I can do to myself is have a conflict with my own mind. I have to have a clear vision and a clear mind. And the eye has to stay dry to see clearly.
I have visited those shoddy dark alleys where I can pay for flesh, feel the contours of the anatomy which they say is so desirable, but they never come close.
The things you lose forever- those are the things that stay with you.I won’t never judge her, because I believe that one should never judge a person, and certainly, never judge himself, before you have seen that person in all possible circumstances, before you have seen himself in all possible circumstances.
So what I remain with is empty handed truth. And. The only truth we have is the one we are capable of believing.
They say the truth shall set you free. I say there is nothing that enslaves you more than the truth. Truth makes you lose all your freedom. Accepting the truth implies the end of the dream, the end of hope, the end of journey. I was a dreamer, I wanted to understand the eternal question: What, after all, is love, and how much are we willing to pay for it?
After years of beating around the bush, I finally understood the question, the answer will require one more effort, one more life, one more starting from the scratch. I have to be born again. But. To be born again, you first have to die.
Goodbye.

Heart Breaking Champagne

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“Sometimes it’s better not to touch your dreams, take it from somebody who knows” – Hank Moody

Irate dismal dreams,
Broken in stages,
Caught me off-guard, this,
Heart Breaking Champagne

You can move away,
But you’ll always be around.
How you manage to touch me,
When I don’t want to be found.
I still wake each morning,
With coffee and cigarettes.
Kiss the morning air,
Where you used to be near.
Feels so helpless, this,
Heart Breaking Champagne

I walk alone,
Each day and night.
When I look in the mirror,
See condescending eyes.
You were my dream,
And I your chaperone,
How come I’ve been left,
To crash all alone?
Can I manage to escape, this,
Heart Breaking Champagne

Deep rooted guilt,
The therapists say,
One drink would be enough,
To slide in the blade.
To sleep every night in the same bed,
Where dreams were made,
And dreams came to an end.
It kills me in places, this,
Heart Breaking Champagne

Come near, come here,
I’m alone, cannot bear.
The gut’s wrenched but I put up a smile,
No one’s here,
But this,
Heart Breaking Champagne.

“City, You’re Next”- ManUnited

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You don’t tell us to go away,
Chelshit learnt this the hard way.
We made the Blues suffer the blues,
For the draw must hurt as much as it would to loose.

Now the Scousers were in our path,
We being Nineteen Titles and a fucking world apart.
Looserpool won’t shut their mouth for a bit,
So at the Theatre of Dreams, we made them taste shit.

And City-Shitty, here we come,
You’re our neighbours, but be very alarmed.
For you would suffer more than the rest,
Laid to rest, by a bullet at chest.

Be My Valentine

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A long sigh,
A sly smile,
Walked up to me and asked,
Would you be my valentine?

Beautiful eyes,
Concealing secrets divine,
Long hair- brightly shine,
Could I be her valentine?

Does my face say it all?
That one is single and bear no more,
The pressures of the society cave in,
To get a date even if it kills from within?

Not there yet, told myself the year last,
Being single’s liberating, the motto of past,
Do I have to follow this stupid trend,
Asks me to the self, again and again.

There are so many better things you can do on a fourteenth night,
Watch some movies, fill your mind with delight,
For the others don’t know what they’re missing,
They are only on their dates, dancing and kissing.

One should be above that, the mind reminds the self,
Stupid pleasures, cupid the silly pest,
I’m so better off driving the highway alone,
The drink and the joint’s better than the partner in your arms.

I think of all this as I consider her proposal,
Not bad looking is she, could I do better?
And all those years of singleness come crashing down my eyes,
I fall to my knees and beg yes! I would be your valentine.

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