Saket Suryesh's Blog, page 14

Please Let the Soldier Be

I decided to write on this matter, and had almost given it up. There were strong reasons for the same. The policy matters of Defense are pretty complex and then there are great minds who spend days on end to decipher, understand and explain it. The people who have spent a life time in uniform and are directly impacted by those policy decisions. I have neither the knowledge nor experience to talk about it. But then Rahul Gandhi wrote a letter to the Defense Minister, Manohar Parikkar. He knows and understands the matter less than me, even with his months of introspection in exotic foreign locales. I am sure about it and I have valid reasons for it. He has always been rich and therefore few thousand Rupees that is the bone of contention is not even a blip on his mindscape. Secondly the closest he has been to soldiering is when his dad, a commercial pilot was called on to service during 71 war, which he escaped by applying and getting annual leave at the same time. I felt I ought to write on it since I can claim to understand the subject better than him. Of course, he is the prince, that some would believe to have divine right to rule over the natives. I could not care much about his heritage, with descendants of Mughal King Bahadur Shah Zafar, as per news reports running tea stalls in West Bengal. The matter is complex so I go by the advise of Ray Bradbury, "Get the big truth first. If you get the big truth, the small truths accumulate around it." 
            He wrote on the back of vocal discontent of soldiers and citizens alike on matters that are military. In his letter, Rahul Gandhi asked the current government to be more sensitive to the soldiers. He wants to somehow communicate to the nation, and people who do not follow the news closely, that this discontent is arising out of the policy of current government. Decades of lofty electoral messages and petty politicking would have people believe his contention. It would truly seem as if we had a government ruling the nation for last six decades, a very patriotic, very nationalistic government, which loved and respected its soldiers. He would want us to believe as if suddenly we have, we the stupid natives, have elected and installed a government which cares nothing for our soldiers.
            Public memory is short and that is what his spin doctors would have made him believe. It however seems, they have made the prince believe that public memory is not only short, it is non-existent, and that if you keep on throwing muck at someone, at least some of it will stick. When we look at the upcoming American elections and the choices it presents to the electorate, we must be very, very worried about the role slogans and rhetoric play in a media driven politics, which amplifies nonsense and diminishes logic. Indians, as a society, by virtue of a philosophy historically, with logical thinking deeply entrenched, are good in separating wheat from chaff. However, things are changing. This emboldens a non-serious politician like Rahul Gandhi to ignore his own insensitive Khoon ki Dalali statement, translating loosely into pimping the martyrdom of the soldiers, on the back of Surgical Strikes. He seems to believe in the fact that public memory is short and the narrow selfishness we have shown on various incidents as a nation of late, AAP removing Congress from Delhi on the backdrop of promises of freebies and legitimization of the illegitimate, being an example.
            When Rahul Gandhi spoke after being ousted from Delhi that Indian National Congress should learn from AAP, we now are getting to understand, what that meant.  He has made Congress into AAP of a more dangerous kind, with deeper network of intellectuals under gratitude, editors on payroll, media with well-established political allegiance. He called it BJP’s chest thumping when the political leadership went as much as to claim the responsibility of surgical strikes and congratulated the military. This is not chest-thumping. This is owning up to the soldiers. Instead of pretending not knowing, which would have taken away the moral high ground and legitimacy of surgical strike. When the leadership officially owns such an attack, it is expressing its willingness to share the fallout, at the diplomatic level. It also differentiates our soldiers getting into enemy territory to extract revenge in the middle of the night from those who enter, like thieves, into Indian Territory, who when caught no one takes ownership of, like in Kargil. If there were other such strikes which happened in the past, disowned by the political establishment, Congress should answer for that instead of asking questions. This public acceptance also differentiates India from Pakistan, where Army takes decision on their own, and the elected political class merely follows the instructions given by the unelected military.
            Consider the case of OROP (One Rank One Pension). Rahul Gandhi and his party donned on itself the mantel of a crusader out to get OROP for the soldiers. OROP, to the best of my understanding, and I confess having very little of it, means a soldier retiring at one salary level at one point of time, has his pension adjusted to another soldier who retires at another time, when the paygrades have changed. This implies continuous readjustment in the pension. This would sound unfair unless we consider that retirement for a soldier is not a choice. Soldiers don’t retire, many of them are retired to keep the forces young. This is what OROP is, in essence. It brings load on the financial systems, but then if the soldier weren’t a soldier and was any other government employee, he would be working till he was sixty, and benefitting from all the pay commission increments till he was sixty, while as a soldier he retires when he is 30.
            It is all very noble of Rahul Gandhi, backed by his PR machinery to claim that Congress always intended to support OROP. OROP, for the uninitiated and editorial readers, it not a new thing. OROP was in existence for 26 years since independence. After 1971 Military victory, which elevated Indira Gandhi to the position of something like India’s Julius Caesar, a hero who went berserk, as we were to discover only six year later, in 1977, Mrs. Gandhi, Congress Stalwart and Rahul Gandhi’s Grandmother, was full of new-found confidence and surrounded by sycophants. Three years after the victory, which Congress still lays claim over, and six months after the retirement of venerable Sam Maneckshaw, the real military hero of the victory, Mrs. Gandhi ended OROP in the year 1973. So OROP was removed by the party, Rahul Gandhi is the Vice President of, and by his Grandmother, whom he invokes regularly as an heir to the legacy of divine rulers (Congress as a party believes that no matter what the family needs to lead it). With this in 1973, Army was brought into the ambit of third Pay commission. The third Pay commission, which was to decide on the salary of civil servants, took Armed Forces under its ambit, and separate Pay commission for armed forces was removed. What this pay commission essentially did was to increase the civilian pension which was 30% of basic to 50% and reducing the soldier’s pension to 50%, from 70% then. The Pay commission, which had Military unrepresented in the commission, supposedly brought parity, while one key fact which was ignored that the soldier got only 15 years of working life (and was retired by the time he was 35 years) while the civilian continued to draw government salary (100% of it) till 58 Years of age.
Some say, that insecure as she was, Indira Gandhi did all this to cut Armed Forces to its size, which was hailed all across the country after 1973 victory. It would seem some of that permeated down to the UPA 2 when the Defense Minister AK Antony did not deem it fit to attend the funeral of Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw, loved equally by the civilians and Armed Forces. Even Sam Manekshaw who was appointed Field Marshal, a life-time post, was denied of his salary and dues (totaling around INR 1.6 Crores) for 36 years, until the same was released with the intervention of the president APJ Abdul Kalam (another act which earned him disfavor of Congress resulting in Congress’ opposition to second term for the most popular president in the Indian history) which was given the Field Marshal on his deathbed, while the Congress kept on chest-thumping about 1971 victory on an off, using their own phrase. The governmental apathy to armed forces during UPA and Congress would be another topic, but is mentioned here just to illustrate the mercenary approach of the Congress, trying to use the finest of our institution to regain power, once thrown out of power by the citizens on the account of never-ending series of corruption cases.
KP Singh Deo committee appointed by Indira Gandhi in 1984, submitted report with 69 recommendations with OROP being one of them. This was the first instance the term appeared in the public lexicon. Three recommendations out of the 69 rejected by the government was separate commission for ex-servicemen, ex-servicemen finance commission, and OROP. Apart from one-time payment in 1991, as one time parity, OROP stayed on the backburner. Sixth pay commission further aggravated the disparity, when the recommendations were submitted in the year 2008.
Next came the matter of disability pension. In 2011, Committee headed by BJP MP, Bhagat Singh Koshiyari again recommended the implementation of OROP. UPA II government, then in power, led by the Congress, again put the report into back-burner. Congress was immune to the sentiments of people, safe and secure in its populistic schemes, which sought to buy loyalty using state welfare, and the knowledge of major opposition, BJP being less of an opposition and more of a Congress by another name. UPA 2 saw an overconfident Congress, with Sonia Gandhi and Family looking at the India at large, ruling which was something of the burden on a white man’s soul, as they went about the plunder with blatant arrogance, if one looks at corruption charges, they behavior of the government during Police action on Anti-corruption movement led by Ramdev and during Nirbhaya protests. Congress presumed themselves to be destined to rule and BJP to be an eternal opposition party, both destined to live happily ever after. Things swiftly changed as Narendra Modi emerged on the national electoral scenario and the unwashed masses turned out to be intellectually far more aware than Congress ever thought them to be. As clinical maneuvering began, with visits to the Jama Maszid, Congress suddenly discovered OROP. This happened after Haryana Rally of Narendra Modi in Haryana where he pledged to support OROP. The half-hearted calculations pegged the financial implications of OROP as INR 1065Cr. Now Rahul Gandhi writing to PM Narendra Modi is not only soulless letter as fallacious as it is preposterous if one looks at the time line of OROP. Since OROP was scrapped by Congress Government in 1973, it has been put on back burner, except for slight movement in the year 1991 (under Chandrashekhar Government) when one time settlement was proposed by Sharad Pawar Committee. Congress’ own record on its treatment of armed forces have been pathetic, not including Nehru era, where he on records, wanted Armed forces to be scrapped and felt Police could do its job well for a peace-loving democratic nation. Rahul Gandhi is so desperate to compensate for lack of intellect with lack of sensitivity that he chose the day a soldier was beheaded, to write a letter to the head of the government which has initiated rolling out OROP, while he himself represents the party which not only scrapped OROP, rather sat on status quo.
One can argue that why the soldiers have a problem with the first government which has shown its intent to address their concern and are vocal about it. It would seem as if things were better for last forty years and have gone bad rather than better, contrary to the facts. I would see two reasons for the same. One, some veterans might be getting instigated by the deep network of Congress, which we saw during editorials on missing JNU student and silence on the dead student and Award Vaapsi; two, possibly, for the first time in the independent history of India, people, army included, feels there is a government at the helm which is likely to consider their views. If it is latter, Narendra Modi government, instead of worrying, take pride in the love and trust soldiers are placing in him; if it is the former, it is important for the government to deepen the communication to counter the mafia-like grip of the congress on the intellectual-media cabal, with facts and data. This nefarious design came evident even on the point of change in the rank structure of armed forces. There could be have some mischief on the part of MoD which released news in such a way or the media which reported it thus. The clarifications came on 27th of October,2016, ( http://pib.nic.in/newsite/mbErel.aspx?relid=153023) making it unambiguously clear there is no tinkering with the ranks structure which remain as per the notifications of 1991, 2000, 2004 and 2005. If at all there was any discrepancy/ arbitrariness in these notifications released by earlier governments, one wonders, why protests now? It again indicates the two reasons I had just suggested.

There is a lot of voices urging the army to fight its own battle, more politically, more vocally. I feel a sense of unease with this. Military is a noble profession, where one human being puts his own life on line for his compatriots. It still is manned by human beings. It has all the reasons for eliciting deep respect, it has also have also equally big reasons to continue to remain worthy of it. India and Pakistan Army came from the same history. Pakistan’s political establishment made army a political tool. With great power comes great responsibility and with great power also comes greater possibility of absolute corruption. While as a nation, it is sad that we stayed deaf to the silent pleas of a disciplined force, during the rule of the political party which now intends to use the Army as a political tool to return to power; it is not right to urge army to abandon its basic nature of selfless nationalistic service and start sounding like a political outfit. The lessons are ample in Rome, in France, In Pakistan. We must vocally reject such sinister motives of the party out of power, and ensure that while we continue to treat army with respect it rightfully deserve, not let it become a mercenary force. Our soldiers do not protect our people and property; they protect something beyond that, they protect an idea of the nation. We cannot allow any change in the nature of our forces. Soldiering is an honorable profession. Not everyone needs to become a soldier, but we need to ensure that we earn his protection by the way we handle our profession, as a citizen. But soldier is also a citizen, and we need to watch his back. I will end with the quote by George S Patton- “A soldier is the Army. No army is better than its soldiers. The soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country.” Let this quote linger in your consciousness, word for word, sentence for sentence. 

A Husband's Views On Karvachauth

Today is the day of Indian, or should I say, Hindu festival of Karvachauth, much popularized by Bollywood. Initially a festival of Northern India, now it is widely celebrated. The festival is primarily of a day of fasting, observed by married women, praying for the long life of their husbands. As is the practice, the festival is marked by severe criticism every year by over-jealous atheists, fanatic feminists and bigoted secularist, who claim that the festival is patriarchal, regressive and anti-woman. If one considers those rants to be true, one would believe that there is huge amount of physical and emotional trauma that womenfolk are subjected to, in order to get them around to fast on the day.  However, if one were to visit any of the markets in Delhi, the scenario is quite contrary. You will find happy, joyous women on the streets of Delhi, excitedly visiting beauty parlors, with their husbands dragged themselves behind them, holding the kids as wife gets Mehandi to her hands- docile, bored, humbled and grateful at being granted additional lease of life by virtue of their wives abandoning food for a day. It, by any measure, is not a patriarchal event, it is a women’s festival, by the women, of the women.
            There are Twitter handles, strangely, of women, downright abusive to women observing the fast. Those are mostly the people who have truly understood what Voltaire wrote about Hindus as being so soft that they are almost incapable of defending themselves. The tradition of Hindu men and women makes a good podium for them to trample and stand over, in order to seem intellectually taller. An RJ on the new ‘love’ radio FM channel, 104.6 was running interview of random people who on air, were telling how it is impossible for them to stay hungry for love. Instead, RJ Jassi suggested how they were willing to undertake much higher degrees of sacrifices for love than staying hungry. She contended that those people on air were ready to undertake ‘severe’ sacrifices like one guy who agrees to accept a pet, if his girlfriend wants, another girl agrees to ‘accommodate’ her in-laws, if her man wanted her. All for love. I felt so glad that I come from another generation.
This is a generation that is so self-centered and incapable of any sense of gratitude. Any half-educated man and woman would pity the idea of sacrifice that these cosmopolitan boys and girls hold. Their idea of poetry is Archies cards and their idea of sacrifice is accommodating a pet animal. It is sad and depressing. As we go about killing faith, killing tradition, killing the spirit of India, we are further encouraging the decline of human sensitivity in our society. It is not about religion. Karvachauth is a day of fasting which symbolizes the year of sacrifices which builds marital relationships in India societies. It is this faith which makes divorces rare and continuity of relationship usual in our society. In some region, we have Teej, another we have Vad Savitiri, and in South, But Savitri. All these are based on stories which are not a part of Hindu scriptures. These all are based on the stories told from generation to generation, or folklores. These are celebrations which are the adopted by generations of Indians who find faith in them. It is absurdity to think that by negating such festivals you are coming out as a brave, progressive intellectual.
Furthermore, KarwaChauth is not Vedic, nor is it in Shastras. It is something of a thing of the people. It is a day of fun and frolic for women. Almost all married men I know, would rather if their wives did not keep this fast. It is essentially a woman affair, not patriarchal as people suggest. It is not the fast itself which is a sacrifice. It is a symbol and celebration of sacrifice, it is the representation of a faith.
   Every relationship is built up over sacrifices. Every relation infringes on individual space. Every relation, therefore, is a conscious decision to forego that individual autonomy, for a relation which is dearer to us, than our freedom. Every relation is the chain we chose. It is not only snobbish, it is hypocritical and annoying to find faults and make fun of other people’s faith. Poets have celebrated sacrifice in love and we always appreciated it. The same people who go and watch and even claim weeping to prove their metro-sexuality during Shakespearean tragedies like Romeo and Juliet, question the faith of observing women. Some are even abusive to the women who observe Karvachauth. This is worst kind of hypocrisy and worst example of accommodating diverse faith.
 It is not about the day. For me, it isn’t a day of sacrifice of food ending with sighting of moon (a bit similar to around fortnight of abstinence, a few days earlier which the progressive liberals would not dare to laugh at for the fear of backlash). It is remembering the sweaty, dusty summer day in 1994 when my wife now, held my palms hesitatingly for the first time, and as we, worriedly conceded our feelings to each other, from two different sides of social divide, and decided to sacrifice all we had and all we were, for being together; It is a remembrance of beginning of a life, in an unfeeling metropolis, thrown out of our respective homes; it is a homage of the sacrifice which she made as she walked into a home, which resembled anything but- a damp room, with a bed on the floor in an almost slum-like area of Delhi, at the beginning of the century. It is a homage to the sacrifices of the woman who sat alone in the year 2000, in the hospital that resembled death with its white, sanitized building, as her 28 year old husband struggled for life in the ICU after a terrible episode of heart attack, hastened probably by familial abandonment and too much of nicotine. It is for the woman who would ride crowded DTC buses to her office, while her husband waited to recover and get back to job. It is not a homage to the husband, it is a homage to the wife, to the steel-willed woman who held him up and years later handed him a soft pink Jasmine which was to grown into another woman someday. My wife doesn’t read blogs on internet, and possibly doesn’t have the time to vet the views of rebellious, shrill feminists.
She is a woman of her own mind, a feisty woman as they say, and we argue and we fight. But she is also the biblical woman who was made out of the spine of Adam and I am proud to say that she is my spine, she is the starch of my soul, which keeps my soul in shape. I had almost decided not to post it, but then I am posting this, in view of all the bile that is flowing degrading women who are observing this fast. I stand by my wife as she celebrates Karva Chauth and I will stand by her when she decides not to. I think it is absolutely unfair to laugh, at her faith, to denounce it and to not be proud of it. I might be making fun of her, but that is about me, this fast is about her. Karvachauth is about women, it is not about the men at all. We, men are accidental beneficiary, a benefit which could well be all fictitious. About whether there is any truth to the fact to the faith that it extends the husband’s life; well it is only as true as the Santa Claus of the Christmas, which is about to follow, and whose arrival from North Pole every mall in Delhi will celebrate, which every dissenting diva of Delhi will visit.
It is not about religion, you foolish intellectuals. It is about love. I only hope you had little faith. Not as much as me, but just a little to get on with your little lives. And I shall end this post with outstanding lines by John Keats: “

“I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.”   
Karva Chauth is about such love. Hope people could understand. In the mean time, I stand by women who observe Karva Chauth and I stand with the women who don't, of their own volition.

About Ramayana and Its Hero- Valmiki

About a fortnight back, I had picked up Valmiki Ramayanfrom the bookstore, primarily to read it to my daughter. That the weekend was to be followed by Dusshera and Valmiki Jayanti was not on my mind. Valmiki Ramayan is to my mind a great work of Indian Literature. It is the first big book I had ever read, sometime when I was in class IVth. It is considered to be first epic in the human history, first poetic story.
            The book was written in the backdrop of early human history. I would rather presume that it reflects the time when Human civilization was in the initial stages of moving out from the forests, with one set of people still staying in the forest, still away from the concepts of reading and writing, farming like Vanars; another who moved into agricultural world, still close to nature and counting on the early discover of fire to keep themselves safe, being on the periphery of the forests; and the third which was arrogantly destroying the old ways of life, negating the nature, and building the big, huge infrastructure, and shiny capitals of greed. Valmiki’s Ramayan is reflective of those times and his. He wrote it in the times when society was not yet broken into faultlines, Varnashad not yet become rigid as castes. In those days, a wise man was a wise man, a writer, like Valmiki, was a writer and not a Dalit writer. Brahmin was the one who sought the truth and that was the reason, once Valmiki wrote the first couplet of human history, he, Ratnakar, most likely a non-brahmin, was designated a Mahrishi (The great sage) Valmiki, by none other than Narada, the priests and guru of the Gods. It would be dishonor to Valmiki to celebrate him as anything but a seeker of truth, and the first litterateur.
            Valmiki neither claims to be a prophet, nor he claims the story to be true. Ramayana and Ram as the Hero of the epic, became close to Hinduism and people started identifying it with Hinduism. I am not saying that we must, as Indians, as Hindus, not take pride in it. I am saying more than Ram, we must take pride in Ramayan, and the great writer who wrote it. This duality between literature and religious book while initially propagated  and popularized it, later it also harmed it in some ways. This literary fiction and its faults were used for Hindu bashing. The fault-lines of Story Ramayan, which is a great work of art, has been used to discredit Hindus, Characters criticized as if they were real people, guided by current social conventions and norms, by competing faiths who were amused by the extent of acceptance of Hinduism in the absence of any decree, any deception or any force.
            It is a great book of fiction, a long story which carries several sub-stories within, masterly stitched together to resemble reality. It does carry the thought and sensibility of Valmiki as a writer. I am not writing this essay as any alternate reading, a fashionable term used by non-believers to define faith for the faithful. I am writing this as a tribute to possibly the first writer in the history of humanity. Possibly at the time when we moved out of the caves, and some of us still were in caves, Vanars; one set moved away from the Forests and established great, though grotesque cities of gold as a testament to greed, like Suvarna-Lanka (Golden Lanka) of Raavan and another civilization, stayed close to them, settling on the periphery of the familiar forest life, choosing a farming life, cattle-rearing and the pursuit of knowledge- those early days when we moved from pictures on the walls of the caves to alphabets and words. In those early days, Valmiki wrote this and thereby established an illustrious  line of individual which will someday have Ved Vyas, Yeats, Dostoevsky, Joyce, Virginia Woolf, Rushdie, Marquez and Dinkar and Chetan Bhagat. It is not about religion and let us not make it so.
            Like writers of  the later days, Valmiki was progressive and way ahead of his time. His Ram represented his thoughts and ideas in what he did and even in what he did not do. The story represents a conflict between the truly intellectual society and a brash, bragging society- selfish, self-oriented, boisterous Rakshashas. Ram, the Hero for Valmiki was one woman man (ek- Patnivrata). No, he was not writing for his time. He was writing for the times ahead. His time was not for monogamy. Ram’s father, Raja Dashrath, had four wives. Valmiki won’t make or have his characters make noisy protests about it. He doesn’t make it a propaganda like some modern writers would. He would carefully, craftily bring in Ram as the new-age man, who is committed to his wife. He sets an example of love and family by setting up Ram as a model for monogamy, in the age of polygamy. This was possibly revolutionary for those times. The fact that polygamy still continued till such time that it was made illegal by law, also indicates that unlike say a Quran or Bible, while Ramayan of Valmiki was a reformative and progressive story, it was that and nothing more, a story with a message.
 You don’t get killed, or cursed or go to hell for not behaving as Ram. It is like the love of Gatsby is moving, inspiring, close to the heart, but it is not binding on any man to love a woman thus and to die protecting her honor thus.
            Like any self-respecting author, he subtly places himself in Ram, wherever he wants to make a point. He quickly makes a point and gets out of it. Today, progressive intellectuals write about the moral dishonesty of our society which places the stigma of rape on the woman. Currently a newspaper is running a series of essays by eminent personalities to counter this. Valmiki wrote Ahalya Udhhar (the Redemption of Ahalya by Ram) thousands of years back on the same lines. In brief, Ahalya was the wife of Sage Gautama. There are various accounts of what happened, one says, Indra raped her, another says, Indra deceived her, by transforming himself into Gautama, her much older husband, another version says that she realized it was Indra but much later, and was by then tempted by Indra’s praise to her beauty. Whichever version we take, Valmiki, takes no side. Whether it was her fault, her foolishness or her folly, Valmiki refuses to paint her as a “fallen” woman. He calls her divine and while she is cursed by her husband to stay hidden from the world or stay excommunicated from the unforgiving society at large (if we translate poetic description with a more realistic explanation), Valmiki guides Ram, Ram- who is a part of the Divine, who is God’s own incarnation, to her, smiles at her and accepts her hospitality. This marks her coming back to life, her being a part of larger world which had stopped taking note of her, as a woman, as a person. I know, many would pounce upon me, on this, citing how Ram had treated his own wife, Sita after he rescued her from Ravana’s kidnapping. I shall come to it, and try to explain.
            How Ram gets together Vanars, Hanuman and other, together and as we find in the Uttarkand, even make them stake-holders in governance, in his kingdom is also another progressive idea for those times when the society was just forming and frameworks were just getting established. He takes the Vanvasi with him, gets them the stake in real power and even considers at times, Hanuman, closer than Lakshman. 
Then there is the instance of Shabari. Shabari is a hunter’s daughter. Moved by the plight of animal’s being killed, she goes under the tutelage of Sage Matanga. The learned sage teaches her, and while leaving the mortal world tells her to wait for Ram. She waits for years for Ram, plucking berries and tasting them for Ram. When Ram arrives, she, daughter of a Nishadh, a hunter tribesman, offers those half-eaten berries to Ram. When Lakshman objects, Ram tells him that Shabari’s affection for him is beyond all the various forms of prayers which people offer him, for it is simple, true and bereft of any pretension. With one act of his, Ram, the Hero created by Valmiki, demolishes the caste and class barriers. The fact that thousands of years down, we still had untouchability and it even sneaked into a popular translation of Ramayan (Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanas) also proves that Ramayana is not a Hindu religious text as many contend. If it were so, we would have ended both polygamy and untouchability thousands of years back. In Hinduism, even religious texts are not binding, at least not threateningly binding; this was only an Epic. 
There is a reason for trying to convert this story, this great work of literature, closely related to Hindu mythology, into Hindu religious text. It is thus identified with Hindu identity and lashed at, for the behavior of the characters in this story, which eventually evolves into Hindu bashing. This is something like blaming American Christians for the derogatory manner in which a character speaks about the black people in The Great Gatsby. It should rather go to the credit of such a great force of literature, and the inherent accommodation of contrary views in ancient Indian society,  that he could have such brilliant thoughts in such ancient an age. Raavana was a Brahmin and even his caste could not save him from the misfortune his arrogance brought to him. The Dalit scholars of today identify themselves with a Brahmin and oppose the one who supports the one worked with the tribals, smacks of their lack of understanding and their attempt at attacking a religion basis a work of fiction merely because it has characters from Hindu mythology.
            Another important point on which Ram is bashed and thereby, Hinduism is bashed, is the treatment meted to Sita by Ram, First as she has to walk through a funeral pyre after she is rescued from Raaavan’s captivity in Lanka, and later, when Ram abandons her on account of one of his citizen raising question about Sita’s chastity in long captivity by Raavan. Valmiki justifies the first incident in a political manner. Ram was to become the king on return to Ayodhya, and there was so much of bloodshed to rescue Sita. Ram wanted to prove that all that struggle, the loss of life, was not personal, it was for a larger good- liberation of people of Lanka from an oppressor, a tyrant. Being divine, Ram knew it well that Sita is chaste and pious and will not be hurt by the fire. In the time, when the King was the state and State was the King, through his protagonist, Valmiki tries to prove, that King is state as a patron, as a symbol of state, not as a person, as an individual, certainly not as a grieving husband. The king represents something bigger than his human form and cannot act on the basis of his human impulses and certainly cannot use the state machinery to fulfill his personal objectives. State resources must only be used for larger public good only. Through Ram, Valmiki establishes the democracy inherent in Hinduism, even in those days of Monarchy. This democratic aspect also comes into picture in the later abandonment of Sita by Ram, when she was pregnant. Many are up in arms against not only Ram, but Hindus for this act of injustice.
It was unjust. True. Even Sita could not understand this never ending expectation of people from its leader in a democratic world, and eventually refused to be a part of it. But then, Valmiki had established Ram as a model ruler. What could possibly his character in the story have done? Could Ram have left the state with Sita, and left the state to whom?. Where would that leave all the bloodshed and war and fighting? So many lives lost, for nothing? Eventually would a Ram leaving the responsibility of ruling a state which had set so many expectations on him as divine father, like an ordinary, family man, surrendering his lofty ideals for domestic duties be in line with the character created to present eventually a role model for governance- Ram Rajya? Would this have been in line with the character which Valmiki had so painstakingly developed? Can we imagine Lord Jim of Joseph Conrad, selling used-cars and flirting with girls? Sometimes the writer gets stuck with the characters he creates, in a way that there is no way out. Every writer knows that. The best of us will be able to disentangle ourselves with least damage to the character built with such labor and love. Valmiki does that. So when Sita is prays to the Mother Earth and is taken in, hounded by such repeated humiliation, He says even grieving Ram knows that she will be waiting for him in another world, away from the censorious eyes of people with narrow minds. Valmiki doesn’t justify those people who make comments on Sita, he is equally sad, as much as his hero. He sends a lesson to the society which derives voyeuristic pleasure imagining personal lives of their leaders. It is not a lesson for Ram, it is a lesson for the people of Ayodhya, who eventually curse Ram, after the gallant victory he had won for them, into becoming a tragic, Shakespearean hero, ending his days in a lonely, private purgatory, while performing his public duties towards the larger good.
Ramayan is not a story with happy ending. It was not meant to be. he first Shloka of Ramayan, considered to be first poetic words written in Human history, tells us where Valmiki wanted to go with the story:

मा निषाद प्रतिष्ठां त्वमगमः शाश्वतीः समाः ।यत् क्रौंचमिथुनादेकम् अवधीः काममोहितम् ।।


Translation: Oh hunter, may you never get your honor restored for a thousand years,For you have killed, an innocent bird, lost in love, mercilessly, without any tears.  

Having uttered these words, Valmiki discovered the beauty of written verse, and the first poetry dawned on human race in all its divinity. Valmiki then set on writing this great epic. It culminated out of sadness, after Valmiki saw two birds and the sudden killing of one of the two birds during their mating dance. He was moved and began writing Ramayana, it was meant to end in longing and sadness. He knew where his story was supposed to go, and that is where it goes.

Ram is good king, but he is not a happy king. He is a tragic hero who has sacrificed his love and family for a larger good. It is a sad story. Failure of Ram as a hero is the success of Valmiki as a writer. That is my opinion. It is a progressive story.  It is not a social essay, although like any good writer, Valmiki has placed progressive thoughts on monogamy, sharing of power, engagements with social pariahs, opposing stigmatization of women, casteism. 

Let us not judge him on religion and politics. Let us celebrate his writing and poetry and let us celebrate the society in which innovative thoughts were celebrated for thousands of years while the world about us was still settling the arguments through stoning and beheading. But it is not a religious work. If it has any connection with religion, it was about the direction an enlightened, emancipated, intellectual mind wanted it to go. I am not worthy enough to review the first epic of human history, nor intellectual enough to offer alternate reading. I offer this as my understanding and interpretation and as the tribute to the Grand Priest of  Poetry, Mahrishi Valmiki.   

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man- James Joyce- Book Review

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Some books are an act of education; they cannot be read in haste, cannot be understood in one read. James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man gives one such feeling.
It is a coming of age story of Stephen Dedalus. Nothing extraordinary about that. But then there a rich, slowly flowing lost river of philosophy which moves beneath the surface, turning an ordinary story of a boy growing up, encountering questions about faith, religion and sex, into an exceptional, extraordinary and engaging story. The story moves along the timeline, much in the manner of Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, where the writer is seemingly a passive narrator. Further, while this book is more of a philosophical essay wrapped around a story, Ms. Woolf’s book, on the other hand, is rather a Story primarily, with a philosophical touch. This book is blatantly philosophical, dwelling into the dangerous territory of religion and how a growing mind looks at God. It begins with his school, where young Stephen, like any other young kid is lost and unsure about most of the things about him and his own place with reference to the world around him.
The boy, Stephen Dedalus, a catholic, is a seeker of truth. The famous dictum of Socrates- A life unexamined is not worth living- notwithstanding, most of us pass through life in something of a drunken stupor. Some do however, ask question, and seek answers; the doubters, the naysayers. It is surely not an easy life. A philosopher like Socrates leaves us with the dictums and aphorisms, while a novelist like Joyce, wraps it into a delectable story of Stephen Dedalus. He is hounded by his question. It begins with child-like curiosity, and it is endearing, but his intent is not to establish the innocence of the child or to create empathy the Maugham did so masterfully in Of Human Bondage, where your heart breaks at the plight of Phillips as a little boy with club-foot in the school. Mr. Joyce is more in love with the theme then the characters which carry the theme. The writer shows such little love for the character that it becomes very difficult for the reader to be in love with them, even when you identify with them. Also, there is much little attention given to any other character apart from the main protagonist.  This is not to say that the writing is dry and drab. Rather, it is slow-winding, patience and poetic. That is why I love it, Hemingway always leaves me panting and gasping for breath with quick, short, sentences, one sentence almost chasing another. For me, it is Conrad, Woolf, Dostoevsky, where sentences float like Jasmines floating, rather levitating in slow, calm summer breeze. Mr. Joyce is up to my pace, diligently working on each sentence more like a poet than a prose writer. A great deal of action happens in the mind of Stephen, and interesting observations come our way, reminded me much of my own childhood thoughts about religion and God, always fraught with doubts. 
Look at this beautiful paragraph from child Stephen’s thought-He tried to thing what a big thought that must be (universe), but he could only think of God. God was God’s name just as his name was Stephen. Dieu was the French for God and that was God’s name too; and when anyone prayed to God and said Dieu then God knew at once that it was a French person that was praying. But, though there were different names for God in all different languages in the world and God understood what all the people who prayed said in different languages, still God remained always the same God and God’s real name was God.
Thus beautifully is revealed the innocent mind of a child who is so trusting, so faithful and yet not a bigot or a fanatic. The boy has a mind which asks questions and is all set to eventually rebel, throwing away a career in religion and opting for be an Artist instead. Are the two different? Isn’t all art a search of truth? Isn’t all art another form of religion, another system of spirituality? Stephen has all the making of a writer. He is a perennial doubter, he has the capability to put himself outside the world, in which he himself is a player and look at it from a different vantage point, even as a very young man. See how beautifully Mr. Joyce establishes this as he writes-   ..they passed a jovial array of shops lit up and adorned for Christmas his mood of embittered silence did not leave him. The causes of his embitterment were many, remote or near. He was angry with himself for being young and prey of restless foolish impulses, angry also with the change of fortune which was reshaping the world about him into a vision of squalor and insincerity. Yet his anger lent nothing to the vision. He chronicled with patience what he saw, detaching himself from it and tasting its mortifying flavor in secret.
We find here a child who has an intellectually enlightened mind and a writer who is in his formative days. He loves Byron and would not abandon his hero in the face of physical abuse. Oh, this innocent love for written word is so charming. Sadly, few have patience and affection for such words in today’s world. I am one old-fashioned word-worshipper and I loved when Joyce beautifully explains the restlessness of Stephen as a young man wandering across the infamous streets to sin, as he felt some dark presence moving irresistibly upon him from the darkness, a presence subtle and murmurous as a flood filling him wholly with itself. Gorgeous prose there. I read an excerpt of One India Girl shared by someone on Twitter- a blatantly explicit scene-  which doesn’t charm, doesn’t even attempt to titillate; rather which leaves one’s senses numb, and mind confused as to why book like that is not categorized as adult book. In contrast, I would beg one attention to an intimate scene between young Stephen and a Prostitute and how the affair is depicted here,
With a sudden movement she bowed his head and joined her lips to his and he read the meaning of her movements in her frank uplifted eyes. It was too much for him. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her, body and mind, conscious of nothing in the world but the dark pressure of her softly parting lips. They pressed upon his brain as though they were the vehicle of a vague speech; and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound and odour.
I love such prose, such respect of words. If some would think that actions are not as poetic as represented in these words, I would suggest they ought to be. I have an ancient soul in me and I love such writing as against the blatant pornographically explicit writing passing off as mainstream literature today. If such writings is not widely accepted by people today, it shatters my optimism in the current and future generations. Words is what separates humans from other animals and we must preserve our respect for words. I do hope that if exposed to it, people will like it.
            While the writings of Joyce, resemble closely to modernist writings of Ms. Woolf (latter found Joyce bore, sigh! Both wrote in similar modernistic style and hold your heart, both were born in the same year (1882) and both died in the same year (1941)) still in terms of the narrative that flows through the mind of the protagonist, it, in a way, also resembles Dostoevsky, whose stories grow in the minds of characters. Dostoevsky however goes much deeper into the minds of his characters- the feelings, the dilemmas, the agonie, while Mr. Joyce hovers a bit on the higher plane- at philosophical levels. That said, and also considering his odd design in terms of writing very unconventionally, for instance, Mr. Joyce does away with the inverted commas, the book makes an important reading for anyone who loves literature, for the sheer force of ideas which are packed in this simple story.  This is much easier to read, however, than, Ms. Woolf’s work, say for instance, The Waves (Read review here) but is also less engaging and charming than Ms. Woolf’s work. HG Wells, no great lover of Joyce, wrote in his early review of this book (March 7th, 1917, read New Atlantic Review here), “Coarse, unfamiliar words are scattered about the book unpleasantly, but he adds, …even upon this unsavory aspect of Swift and himself, Mr. Joyce is suddenly illuminating. .. 
The technique is fresh and new (or was at least, in 1917), writs Wells,… Mr. Joyce is bold experimentalist with paragraph and punctuations…He uses no inverted commas to mark the speech… The technique is startling but on the whole it succeeds..writes HG Wells. Read it for it carries a freshness of experience in terms of style and content. Read it if you love words exquisitely laid down adorn with some serious philosophy on questions of life, art and religion.

About Mahakali- The Eternal Mother

The strongest aspect of a woman, uncontested, unwinnable for a man is motherhood. Kali is the eternal, divine mother. She represents the silent darkness of the time when nothing was there, and from there, from darkness, from nothingness, she shaped life. She is every woman, every mother, which stands in darkness, so much so that she herself becomes darkness (Kali~ Darkness) and creates life, beholds life, births life and nourishes life. The light emerges from the darkness, and the colors rise from the lack of colors. She is the dark womb from where the feeble light of human life takes first breath. She is the consort of Mahakaal (Kaal-Death), Shiva- The lord of death, Mahakali. She is death. Hinduism celebrates life as well as death. Death being the moment, where we clean our slates and start afresh. Therefore, both death as well as life are intermingled, interconnected and interchangeable in their meaning. Death can be looked at as the end of life; can also be looked at as the beginning of another.
Shiva is absolute, eternal and the truth impersonated. Truth without strength is tame, it is empty rhetoric. Shakti (Power, Energy) is what renders Shiva (stands for conscience) a meaning. Shakti is His consort, his complementing force. when He is happy, at peace, she is Parvati- a calm permanency in His nomadic existence, representing the home; when He is young, in search of love, Shakti is Shailputri- his answer to his yearning, his passion, his love; and when He is doing His duty as the Sanharak- The Divine destroyer- Mahakaal, Shakti is Mahakali. There He is the father, the one who is easily infuriated, the Restorative force, the meditating sage sitting at the pinnacle of entropical dis-balance, guiding the universe into its inevitable decline into disorder, from where new world would emerge. Mahakali  is the divine mother, carrying all the fury of Her divine companion, including the Third Eye, which can see the hidden truth and which can destroy the falsehood at the same time. for the larger good of the world. Shiva and Shakti, Mahakaal and Mahakali together represent the violent force of retribution, the revenge of the meek, those who cannot fight for themselves. They reside in them, they reside in us. They are two but one. Kaal is also time and as master of the time, as time itself, they are eternal.
Shiva is the eternal man, the highest form of manhood and Shakti is the highest female form and at their best, they merge and both gender as well as individuality is irrelevant. Kali is not a woman, as much as Mahakal is not a man. They are both and They are neither. Kali is the primal force of womanhood. She kills to protect life. Kali, Durga, Pravati and Shailputri are different women and are the manifestations of same woman. They all, not one, breathe in all women. Worship of Kali is the worship of that eternal fountainhead of life, eternal woman form, which lives in all women today, which lived in all women always. Woman need to only search within to find the Devi she needs to become. She is not in conflict with man, she complements him. She takes his trident when she fights and He takes her Shakti or power, when He fights. MahaKaliis invoked by Durga. Durga, is a great warrior, but she is bound by the social mores, she is still social, within the society. Faced with Rakthbeej, the hidden enemy, who creates as many identities as many drops of blood falls on the ground. They are hidden, but they rise as one head of Rakhtbeej is cut and blood spils on the ground. Mahakali is then invoked. Mahakali is Shakti, She is Durga, which is devoid of societal bondage . She will not dress up as a tradition woman. She is a woman with a purpose and Her purpose is to kill, in order to protect her children. She lives on the fringe of social norms, or rather she keeps the nuances of societal living at a distance from her inherent free and furious spirit. That is how she is depicted, she dresses up like Shiva, anger and violence has darkened her skin. And she doesn't care about it. 

Hindu mythology is ripe with symbolism. Kali has four hands, one hand holds the sword and another a severed head. Head is old wisdom, pre-conceived notions, conventions, traditions, and ego in holding on to them. It is severed. It will come back in many forms, whenever you challenge the set order. Rakhtbeej will rise from unknown quarters. Wear a dark complexion, your attitude is your dress. You carry an empty skull-head which will hold the blood of Rakthbeej- representing the insults, the conspiracies so it does not touch the earth and takes a new life. (As per Legend, rakthbeej had a boon that every drop of his blood will create one more Rakhtbeej). Challenge the status-quo, challenge it all. What cannot be destroyed, cannot grow. In my opinion, this bias for change is the reason that Hinduism has survived thus far in face of all hostilities and not being expansionist political religion. Kali represents it. However, Kali is not a woman to full of herself to acknowledge the respect for order. She in the grip of the worst of her fury, which threatens to destroy the universe to a stage of no reversal, acknowledges love, acknowledges respect for her counter-part. She is not a woman, emancipated as She were, to cherish trampling over her man. She stops, She- the unstoppable, stops when she steps on Shiva. (Legend says, when having killed Raktbeej, she lost her track and went on destroying all that came along the way, Shiva was called on to stop her. Shiva, the Primal God, the God of the Gods- Mahadev, lied down in her path. And when she stepped on him, she realized how her own belief in herself, her emancipation, her violence rode on her head, and ashamed of herself, her tongue out of her mouth, she stopped). In today’s world of fanatic feminism, Mahakali, tells us the story of emancipated womanhood and of mutual respect. It depicts a world where Man and Woman compliments each other and are not at war with one another. Maa Kali is the way to Mahakal- The eternal Father, the One who was at the Beginning and The One who shall be the end. Only, there is no beginning, nor is there an end. 

Photo-Shopping Words- Lies, Damn Lies And Journalism

This essay has become too long, because I wanted to quote the references. Still, I suggest you read it in full. I quote Scott F. Fitzgerald here, to explain why you should-
We want to believe. Young students try to believe in older authors, constituents try to believe in the congressmen, countries try to believe in their statesmen, but they can’t. Too many voices, too much scattered, illogical, ill-considered criticism. It’s worse in case of Newspapers. Any rich, unprogressive, old party with that particular grasping, acquisitive form of mentality known as financial genius can own a paper that is the intellectual meat and drink of thousands of tired, hurried men, men too involved in the business of modern living to swallow anything but predigested food. For two cents, voter buys his politics, prejudices and philosophy.
It is an art to write Non-Fiction. It needs to carry the pretense of being objective and true, without being dull and boring. There is a wonderful book by Sol Stein he covers this part in great details. He talks about how dreary, factual piece of non-fiction can be brought to life with brilliant colors of life weaved around dead, soulless data. The writing in such case stands precariously on the thin boundary of fiction and non-fiction. I am an Engineer, or as they say, basically an Engineer. This essentially means I am not classically trained in the art of writing. This also means that my education in literature is ambiguous, arbitrary and essentially non-academic. My learning of writing is not limited by curriculum and my notes come from various sources. I came across the wonderful book Stein On Writing by Sol Stein in this process of trying to educate myself, which has this one full section on writing Non-fiction.
He mentions various techniques to bring impact and interest to dull reporting of plain data. He however, classifies as Literary Nonfiction. In the Indian context of media reports, almost all journalism is literary non-fiction. He writes- Literary nonfiction puts emphasis on the precise and skilled use of words and tone, and the assumption that the reader is as intelligent as the writer. 
However, in different context, it is also, at times based on the assumption that the reader is as dumb as the writer is smart. He says, “The nonfiction writer who becomes aware of the emotions elicited by cultural difference can use this power in representing people by well-chose class markers. Recently there was a big hullabaloo about noted journalist, who having seen the best days of adulation during Kargil, but now has come to  signify the worst of journalism to those who are termed as Right-wingers in Indian context, and who are largely kept out of public media, except for social media-Twitter, Facebook and  Independent Digital News media and blogs. This is what we usually call now media-spin or manufacturing the narrative- the class markers. She added to the description of Social media warrior, son of a headmaster to the reference she made to killing of Kashmiri terrorist, Burhan Wani, by Indian Forces. This is a perfect example of class marker.
The techniques of literary non-fiction cuts both ways. It serves the purpose of an interested writer by being present and at times, by being conspicuously absent. It creates interest, empathy, by being in the news and many times, by design, creates apathy and disinterest by deliberate absence. So while Burhan Wani was put into context, flesh and blood was rendered to a name, a terrorist’s name, Prashanth Poojary or Sujith, the RSS members (not termed as terrorist organization unlike Hizbul, which is a UN designated terror organization). They skip the details, the meat of the matter, and the victim is not humanized, thus the empathy neutralized, the concern is conflicted and the impact is numbed. It is not about lack of ability. The same set of big media houses manage both the stories, but the treatment they render to the two is totally different. If one really observes, it is pretty evident. There is no fault per se, in such blatant demonstration of leanings and biases, as long as one does not pretend to be unbiased and neutral. It is not the case of lazy reporting, nor is a case of lack of competence. How the other side of the reports are presented, tells us how the data is photo shopped to manufacture a narrative.
Going back to Sol Stein, he quotes a brilliant example, which I will take the liberty of quoting verbatim, before giving the example of media reports to bring the point home. He presents the report of heretic Queen of England, Mary Stuart’s execution. Here is how it would be reported in Indian media if in the current context, she were a Right wing supporter in India.
Mary Stuart came into the great hall, followed by her retinue. She climbed the steps to her chair, faced her audience, and smiled.
Now, using best of the techniques of literary non-fiction, here is how historian Garrett Mattingly writes the same even in The Armada:She entered through a little door at the side, and before they saw her she was already in the great hall, walking towards the dais, six of her own people, two by two, behind her, oblivious to the stir and rustle as her audience craned forward, oblivious, apparently, of the officer on whose sleeve her hand rested, walking as quietly, thought one pious soul, as if she were going to her prayers. Only for a moment, as she mounted the steps and before she sank back into the black-draped chair, did she seem to need the supporting arm, and if her hands trembled she locked them in her lap, no one saw. Then, as if acknowledging the plaudits of a multitude, thought the hall was very still, she turned for the first time to face her audience and, some thought, she smiled.
This is so brilliant. The man who wrote it had not seen the event, had no way of interviewing anyone who had seen it. Still he creates a lively event, interspersing it with his biases, which no one technically can question. We look what various phrases tell and the truth and untruth of those sentences. The little door, walked before she is seen- She is a demure, helpless woman. We don’t have an unbiased, neutral account from the audience of that time. We tend to believe, that the writer here has. The woman is not only defenseless, she is also religious. We do not know which pious soul thought, but as per the writer, someone did think that it appeared as if she was going for a prayer. She is alone and proud (only for a moment did she need a supporting arm), scared but dignified and brave (if her hands trembled as she locked then in her lap, no one saw). We don’t know if her hands trembled, for no one saw, still it is reported. This is so amazing.
Now let us see how wonderfully (or not) it is applied by the journalists in today’s context.
I searched through the internet and here is how the hacking of RSS activist, 27-year-old young boy, was reported by leading media houses. Times of India reported: “27-year-old RSS worker was hacked to death in front of his aged parents in Kannur district in poll-bound Kerala, triggering a blame game between BJP and CPM on Tuesday.” - Times of India:( http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/kochi/RSS-worker-hacked-to-death-in-front-of-parents/articleshow/51018079.cms ) What is most interesting is that the competing media house, reports the incident in exactly same words. 
- Hindustan Times
(http://www.hindustantimes.com/india/rss-activist-hacked-to-death-in-kerala-bjp-blames-it-on-cpm/story-ONC3NybFStDuLl8U6oGYZK.html)
- Indian Express
(http://indianexpress.com/article/india/india-news-india/kerala-rss-worker-hacked-to-death-in-front-of-parents/)
What stands out here? There are three media houses, supposedly competitors, used the same writer to report the incident. All used exactly the same words. Is it is case of lazy reporting that the news is just passed on as received possibly from common agency. But then, see how they defined the victim. A 27-year old RSS worker- which person in this world is such a unidimensional personality. There is no name, we do not know if his smile traveled to his eyes (another masterpiece borrowed from Barkha Dutt’s description of JNU’s Kanhaiyya Kumar charged with sedition for calling to breaking up of nation and freedom of Kashmir, by violence), there is no description. We have just read the description of the Queen who was sentenced to death in 16th century. But, no, no one writes what Sujith looked like because as a writer somebody has decided that the reader ought not to feel for him. The headline ends with the mention of “blame-game” between BJP and Communists. It doesn’t even say the BJP has “charged” the communists with the murder of “young” man. While blame-game is scalar, charge is vector, directed to someone. It hovers in air for a while and quickly drops down in dust like a dead leave. A blame-game has no owner and places the responsibility on both parties, even on the victim, by becoming a ripe target for a worthy kill.
Compare what we know about Sujith with what we know about Rohith Vemula. We don’t even track his story, we track even his parent’s story. So in Sudipto Mondal essay, it begins 18 years back. Essay begins with summer afternoon and Rohith’s mother- sweet child of one, and one feels overwhelmed by the hardship such sweet child faces as an adult losing a young son. And then Rohith’s diary is quoted, gorgeous, sensitive writing. He laments being treated as a political tool. We feel sorry for the loss of such a sensitive, thoughtful soul. And Sujith- we don’t know if he ever had a diary. (http://www.hindustantimes.com/static/rohith-vemula-an-unfinished-portrait/)
Another post in HT says about Rohith- He was a part of historical resistance by Dalit-Bahujan communities against oppression that erases our culture, silences our voices, takes over our lives and stigmatizes them. To call him a child is to deny this history. http://www.hindustantimes.com/india/sorry-smriti-irani-but-rohith-vemula-was-a-dalit-hero-not-a-child/story-4GTN0YiKWQO6oDwZfGktzM.html
Imagine borrowing the flow and erudition from aforementioned Rohith Vemula’s report to Sujith- He was a part of historical resistance to the subjugation of Hindu thought which Voltaire said was so peaceful and innocent, that it was equally incapable of hurting others or defending themselves, forcing it to shrink over the centuries across the globe, under the garb of conversions during Mughal and British rule and secularism in modern world. An attempt to position it as political killing is to deny this child this history, which he shares with the slain kids of the Sikh Guru.
We also find such marvels of brilliant journalistic fiction in the way they wrote about Kanhaiyya and his India-bashing group. Priyamvada Gobal wrote in Guradian how “Hindu” nationalist government faces challenge from Kanhaiya who somehow leads the “coalition of progressive forces”. Readers, readers, would you want to be a part of coalition of progressive forces or not? will yous still side with a Hindu nationalist government (as if this government did not take oath on the constitution with secular preamble)? Author is asking without appearing to be asking, insisting that you take side. https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/feb/17/india-kanhaiya-kumar-watershed-freedom-intolerance-bjp-hindu .
Kanhaiyya was the band-wagon which everyone rode, from Shashi Tharoor to Barkha, given the opportunity it provided to the Zamindars of intellectual space and written pages to hit at Modi, but the cake was taken by DU professor, who wrote- Umar sees himself as a person without borders. He does not want to remain imprisoned by nationalities. He reminds me of Rachel Corrie, a young woman from the US who, oceans away from her home in Columbia, stood before an Israeli tank to save a Palestinian house from being bulldozed. 
The good professor pretends to have actually raised Umar Khalid as a child since he knows his self-perception, or to have acted as his psychiatrist. But then, let not the truth interfere with journalism. The idea is to do a verbal photo-shop, to manufacture a narrative, to carry and agenda. Most mentioned above are old news, old reports. However, what prompted me to write this was an article by Rakesh Ankit in FountainInk “ History,as you like it” . It poses as a report of a BJP event commemorating Syama Prasad Mookerjee. It actually is an opinion piece. It seeks to insult the BJP supporters, embolden BJP haters and drive the undecided away from BJP. It begins mentioning the event to pay respect to Syama Prasad Mookerjee as selfless patriot. The next sentence, writer says- whether he was either of the two, we need to examine. Syama Prasad had at least to careers, as lawyer and educationist besides becoming a lawmaker, he writes. The intent clearly is not to inform, rather to create an image of non-serious, non-committed politician for the late leader. He forgets that most Congress leaders were practicing lawyers and writers and newspaper editors those days, even if we do not go into the shell companies of Rahul Gandhi. He hints that the death of Syama Prasad was not a conspiracy, not even an accident. It was because he was a man unused to street struggle, landed, mistakenly, somehow in Kashmir’s unusual circumstances, resulting in his death. He could not bear the shock the alien land presented to the Bengali gentleman.
The lines are dropped, hints are made, carefully, smartly, surreptitiously. Prejudices are abound, though craftily covered. See this- These challenges by the manly Englishman to effeminate Bengali- he writes, hides quickly, saying he merely quotes, Mrinalini Sinha. Why? he doesn't stop to explain. He even writes, pompously that BJP, whose ideological forefathers had no role to play in India's freedom movement, are trying to claim the credit when none is due. Again, he doesn't explain why? Ideological link of BJP should stretch well to Lala Lajpat Rai, Malviya, Tilak and even Arya Samaji Ram Prasad Bismil. But then again, let us not allow fact to interfere with fiction.
For instance, I quote some very smart sentences, to help you sample how brilliantly the writer articulated a bias,
“I gulp- what does Amit Shah read barring transcripts of taped conversations? Suddenly, I realize a policeman and a paramilitary shooter have taken position behind me.” He adds- “not out of interest in me but because the spot offers a 360 degrees view.” There is no pause. Still, the first part of sentence seems independent to the second, which is almost an afterthought. The idea of intolerance, arrogant power, lack of privacy (snooping), military state is immediately established. First sentence is a thought in writer’s mind, cannot be argued against on facts, second is false alarm, but still cannot be argued against as it is disowned by the author himself and discarded, once it has served the purpose. One immediately forgets that a reporter with such bile against the ruling dispensation is an invited get in a party function, which allows him to write a scathing piece and publish it in a well-circulated daily. Salute to the great piece of writing, criticizing something deeper than the Government, humiliating the ideology that makes the party in power. I wonder, if any right wing writer attended any Politburo meeting. If they did, Why did they not write like that? The line between truth and lie in today’s journalism is fairly thin, and gorgeous journalism is on one side of it, on the other is propaganda. There is no better name for it. 
Here is my tribute to Sujith, the young man hacked in Kerala and poorly reported by media (Click here to read)
My another write-up on similar subject - Nationalism and Intellectual Priesthood- Read Here

Post Uri Options and Attempts to Change Narrative

Most of us do not write for a living. Some who do, work with the words so long that words become their tool, their device for deception. They lose affection for words, the respect for words; for them words are weapon to control and rule over the world. They use them to manipulate the truth. But then, words are like guns. Guns don’t kill, people do. Words don’t deceive, people behind the pen do. Hyperbole is one such literary device which shoots in both the direction. War, or conflict, as they say, brings out the best and worst of us. It is true about our media as well.
Yesterday, there was a terror attack on a Military camp in Uri, Kashmir. As is the case with any conflict, it brought out the best and worst of us. Amid the din, with a numbing thought of eighteen caskets, wrapped in Tricolor, haunted most citizens. The government sat silent, except for perfunctory condemnation and assurance of definitive action. That was day one. People were too angry, too annoyed at the prolonged dithering on international policy especially with reference to a terror state right on our next door, a bankrupt nation, one-fifth the size of India, still propped up by the west as self-proclaimed guardian of Muslims across of world, irrespective of their nationality.
Writing anything against the public sentiment, overwhelmingly sad, furious and at the same time, frustrated was troublesome. That was day one. Day two, and the perverse play of politics came into play. Journalists began offering their advices ridiculing the possibility of military action. They weren’t worried much that most common citizens proposed non-military options. One Morning newspaper opened with the options to deal with terror coming from Pakistan. Hindustan Times proposed options available for India in the wake of this attack as below- (What Next? Read the HT Article )
Surgical Strike - Covert attack on Terrorist camps in Pak Occupied Kashmir. From readiness, from moral one-upmanship perspective, and to an extent, from technical feasibility perspective- this is a jingoist, but very difficult option. Further, in a country, where internal strife is causing so many death, and where US drones keep attacking with impunity, I don't think it will serve much purpose.
Hot Pursuit- Indian Forces going into Pakistan as retaliatory step. This was same as earlier one, only overt. The daily however, trashed its own proposition since unlike Myanmar opposing terror publicly, Pakistan has terror as official wing for aggressive diplomacy.
Diplomacy (Global) - Isolate Pakistan- HT clearly mentions this as attempt to isolate Pak globally by getting it declared as a terrorist nation. The option ignored our own role in this sanctions we propose others to impose on Pakistan. As we see, and have seen, Global powers are driven not by morality, rather by their own interests. It is hardly likely for them to their obedient stooge which allows them to trample on Pakistani sovereignty to pursue their design, whether it is about drone attacks or killing OBL. They are also going to see that the Pakistan envoy continues to enjoy hospitality and trade continues to flow through unilateral MFN between India and Pakistan.  No one can support you in your fight which you yourself are unwilling to fight your own fight.
Bilateral talks - Engage Civilian leadership of Pakistan. However, the article junks this idea, which surely is outlandish, but, and read carefully, it places the onus of impossibility of this impossible idea on Indian Government. It says this goes against New Delhi’s stated line. Thus implying that had India government not tied itself in knots, by its own public posturing this would have been a plausible option. This has been stemming out of a naïve Hindu hope of some goodness in all evil. It is foolish to treat Pakistan’s civilian leadership as separate from Army establishment of Pakistan. This Good cop- Bad cop act is just the face and we see even Pakistan is not much keen on continuing with the façade. So, an AK-47 carrying terrorist, becomes a hero for Nawaz Sharif and he calls the person out to destroy India a hero and calls for black day on his killing. It is absurd to continue treating civilian leader as last hope for humanity. Democracy in Pakistan is a sham; it is feudal and as blood thirsty as the military. Their job is to maintain goodwill and get alms for the military.
Other options they propose is back channel with Pakistani army, which is trying to make friends with your potential murderer, and aggressive posturing- Army mobilization like Operation Parakram, which is as absurd as it sounds, and which constitutes nothing but posing as a peacock until you get tired of it. 
Now, we have seen the options listed out here as only options available with Indian establishment against an enemy nation by a reputed daily. Barkha Dutt has almost gone on the lines of Digvijay Singh after 26/11. Malini Parthsarthy, another senior journalist is amused with the hullaballoo over 17 martyrs, since as per her, they join the army to die. Well, talking about what drives one’s career choices, one only wonders what drove these journalists to become journalists. Striving for truth or peddling the lies- they need to introspect. Slowly the machinery comes to action, a party releases statement linking attack with Kashmir, suggesting, India should begin talks with all stakeholders (which would of course, include those who felled these soldiers) on Kashmir. They are not wrong. The intent of terrorists is to get India talk of Kashmir and eventually leave it for them.  Barkha had earlier written an article on Government’s effort to talk to terrorists within constitution, provocatively asking- If not for greater autonomy, then what is the talk for? She should know, talk is about negotiation, and it need not go necessarily in one direction. My answer to her would be- talks could also be for lesser autonomy. The autonomy to the degree currently given has yielded no result. So obviously, case is pretty strong to have a negotiation around reduction of autonomy. Vajpayee doctrine has failed, there is no point in keeping revisiting it merely because it had better sounding slogans. As time passes, the failures of past begin to appear less pathetic, that is the case of Vajpayee doctrine. If yesterday were so perfect, today won’t be in such a mess. So please stop pleading for good old days, since they seem good only because they are not there.
There is sinister game of manufacturing the narrative happens. This has happened every time an attack happens from Pakistan. Debates will happen largely aimed at proving A) any one demanding visible action is a war-monger B) as a corollary to it, reject his or her plea for visible action, calling it war-mongering, and push for talks, more talks, people to people contact, exchange of art and culture. Essentially it is all a build up to prove everything a nonsensical demand of middle class, the non-public school citizens, and ensuring business as usual. The Industry flourish that way, interlocutors are appointed, money flows, until another attack. Hyperbole are used here. Hyperbole refers to the use of exaggeration as a rhetorical devise. However, it is not always used to build an argument. Sometimes it can be used to kill and demolish an argument. So the general demand of action on cowardly act of killing our citizen is converted into a hyperbole. It is pumped and pumped till it starts looking ridiculous, worthy of being dumped immediately. In a very interesting note by Christopher D. Johnson, he writes- “By pushing language beyond its ordinary limits, hyperbole devalues it, reducing speech to a shockheaded, arm-waving extremity from which no true, let alone clear, idea emerges.”  
The clarity of thoughts of most normal citizens on Twitter is amazing. The asks were easily doable and will be extremely, demonstratively and definitively scathing for Pakistan as a retort. Here is what common people sought on Twitter from Government as visible action-
1.      Declare Pakistan a rogue state. – Done. After frustratingly poetic condemning of Pakistan for terror acts, “Without naming it”, finally it has been done- Named and shamed.
2.     Send Pak Envoy back, recall Indian Envoy- Why have diplomatic relations with Pakistan. It is an enemy nation, irrespective and not because of Uri Attack. Burhan Wani was sworn enemy of India state, wanted so break Kashmir, which we say is integral part of India, away from India, and make it a part of theocratic state. Pakistan blatantly and brazenly supported him and his kind.
3.     Scrap Most Favored nation and End trade ties- We export around 3 Bn USD to Pak and import 0.6 Bn from Pakistan. Given the size of Indian economy, it hardly would matter, but coupled with two aforementioned points, will make the isolation complete. Post that when you go around the world, asking Us or Them, your words will make more sense. Close Wagah and Aman Setu. Maybe some Kashmiri apples will not reach Pakistani market, but let some apples rot to isolate our rotten apples. Then we can tell SAARC and other platforms we share, we will attend only if events are not in Pakistan soil. Make it a pariah for us. If we really consider soldiers as our brothers, how can we keep being civil to those who are not only killing our brothers, rather are quite proud and boisterous about it.
4.     Clean internal conflict zones like JNU.  Why not commemorating the martyrs by Government of India inside JNU, Jadavpur University and such places? Why not a parade commemorating the sacrifice of Uri at Lal Chowk? If we cannot manage that in our own territory, forget surgical strikes. If we are able to do this, we don’t need surgical strike.
The game of Journalistic industry is to keep it simmering. Ignore all these options, extend them to a hyperbole. Once it stops making sense owing to extreme interpretations, dump it; and present absurd options, which are impractical and eventually push the government into rejecting all of them. And thus, let the fun of track two diplomacy, and their own position of unchallenged thought-supremacy, continue. Using hyperbole, extremely practical suggestions are junked. I am an ordinary citizens- A small-time writer, the high priests of journalisms would say dismissively. But I observe, and I share it so the game is exposed, if not to all, to those who can take time to see the truth for themselves. It is high time someone did this, in however small way as possible. I can’t fight on border, I can’t possibly fight an election. But I can see, analytically and write. That I will. We need to be on our guards when we open the newspaper tomorrow. As George Orwell wrote- “But if thoughts corrupt language, language can also corrupt thoughts.” The cracks in the cabal is showing, but the cabal is still there. It controls the truth and I quote Orwell again- , “And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed- if all records told the same tale-then the lie is passed into history  and becomes truth.” Unfortunately in case of India, Party is the ecosystem of unhappy and scheming people whose established way of living as unchallenged, unquestioned feudal lords of public morality and public thoughts, who want to change the current government, whatever be the cost. Beware of their lies, lest it might become truth.

Madam Bovary's Eyes- Flaubert's Parrot - Book Review

Some books are very hard to classify and categorize. This is one such book. Officially, it is a fiction, a novel. In terms of genre, it should be put in the same shelf as Cakes and Ale by Maugham or The Ghost Writer of Philip Roth, both I have read this year. But then, maybe not. The two are totally fictional, in terms of all the characters contained in them, even though they do have a writer as the central character. But then, that is all that has to do with writing. I don’t think we ever consider the writer’s profession as a central point of those novels. Also the characters are out and out fiction. That is where this book is different. It is about the giant of French literary history (and now, of English classical literature)- Gustave Flaubert .
            The characters and references are all real. Julian Barnesthrows all his weight behind the genius who is the key protagonist in the fiction, follows the dictum of a perfect biography as mentioned by Flaubert in a letter in 1872, where he wrote, “When you write the biography of a friend, you must do it as if you were taking revenge for him.” Julian Barnes, although speaking through the character of Geoffrey Braithwaite, fights valiantly, with unwavering loyalty. Braithwaite is a British doctor, in his sixties, travelling to France, looking for Flaubert’s stuffed parrot, and tracing his life, through trains of France. But then this is not a non-fiction, and not a biography. We know it is not to be a biography, when early in the book, he muses, why not the writer as a person be left alone, and his work be allowed to represent him, once he is gone. He further writes about the impossibility of writing a biography of someone like Flaubert, when he writes, “What chance would the craftiest biographer stand against the subject who saw him coming and decided to amuse himself.”
            The story begins with Braithwaite searching for the Parrot, which Flaubert borrowed while writing “Un Coeur Simple (A Simple Heart)”. However, once he begins dwelling into it, the writing- the process, effort and the art of it begins drawing him into it. The facts become vain, and from then on it levitates, it hovers above the point where fiction, fantasy and facts merge. The writer becomes the muse. We notice this transition when Barne as Braithwaite quotes from the scene of death of poor Fe`licite` from Un Couer Simple. Flaubert writes there, “There was a smile on her lips. The movement of her heart slowed down, beat by beat, each time more distant, like a fountain running dry or an echo disappearing; and as she breathed her final breath she thought she saw, as heavens opened for her, a gigantic parrot hovering above her head.” Gorgeous prose, but Barnes doesn’t stand their clapping, like a schoolboy, his mouth open in awe; nor does he succumb to convert this into a literary analysis. He goes after the writer, and the writing. He touches the exact nib of Flaubert’s exquisite pen and swims through the ink from which such wonderful words would flow. He gets into the process and writes- Imagine the technical difficulty of writing in which a badly-stuffed bird with a ridiculous name ends up standing in for one third of the Trinity, and in which intention is neither satirical, sentimental nor coy. He doesn’t evaluate the plot, nor measure the worthiness of the waving of the words; his discerning fingers run through the silk of those words. At this point, one can visualize, the ghost of the giant of classical literature, Gustave Flaubert, his six-foot-one frame, out on the verandah of that house in Rouen, France, with Julian Barnes, sitting at his feet, his head resting on his knees, as Flaubert writes. He is Flaubert's companion, and we, the readers get a chance to look into the extraordinary talent which took to the “difficulty o of telling such a story from the point of view of an ignorant, old woman without making it derogatory or coy.” This, we know, is also the strength of Madam Bovary, and this is the strength of his writing and a testimony to the sensitivity of a writer's soul.
            This is a book on writing and Gustave Flaubert is a near-fictional teacher that Julian Barnes creates here, when for instance he writes, that – words came easy to Flaubert; but also saw the underlying inadequacy of the words. Then he goes on to quote Flaubert from Madam Bovary - Language is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for the bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity. It is a writer here paying homage to another writer. He acknowledges the solitude that the profession of writing, undeniably requires, when he quotes from one of the Flaubert’s letter, “If you participate in life, you don’t see it clearly: you suffer from it too much or enjoy it too much. The artist…is a monstrosity, something outside nature.” Barnes also writes at one point that the writer should walk into life only up to an extent, as someone wades into the sea, only up to the knees. My mind wanders to much popular stories of Ghalib being a drunkard and the truth captured in historical accounts of his life, where it is clearly mentioned that Ghalib, who wrote a lot about wine and drinking was a stickler of schedule and a disciplined drinker of alcohol, as I read - a drunkard can not write a drinking song.
            Julian Barnes love for Flaubert is hard to hide. He finds quarrel with Flaubert’s British biographer- Enid Starkie , who taught language at Oxford. She criticizes Flaubert, and this infuriates Braithwaite (Barnes, I would say). She finds Flaubert’s account of Emma Bovary’s eyes unreliable. She writes that unlike Balzac, Flaubert doesn’t build up his characters, by objective, external description; in fact, so careless is he of their outward appearance that on one occasion, he Emma brown eyes; on another deep black; and on another blue eyes.  Braithwaite is annoyed. He says that it is totally up to the writer if he wants to use the eyes or anything else, in particular, as a prop or a tool to build a character to carry the story forward. He argues his point brilliantly and could hold true for many writers, “In the writer’s moment of private candor, he probably admits the pointlessness of describing the eyes. He slowly imagines the character, molds her into shape, and then- probably the last thing of all- pops a glass eye into the empty sockets. Eyes? Oh, yes, she’d better have eyes, he reflects with a weary courtesy.
            Not to leave it at that, Barnes also has Braithwaite mention three references from Emma Bovary to prove the falsity of Enid Starkie’s observation. The one I liked best, I quote here, “Her eyes seemed bigger to him, especially when she was waking up and fluttered her lids several times in succession; they were black when she was in shadow and dark blue in full daylight; and they seemed to contain layer upon layer of colors which was thicker in here deep down, and became lighter towards the enamel-like surface.” We know here, not only has Flaubert, found a perfect reader, we as reader, have found the perfect writer. The critic, we know, here has counted the trees and missed the forest. 
This is a very smooth, quick running, witty book. Only part which disappointed me was that of Flaubert’s lover and Poet, Louise Colet. It to me, did not add to the story, and seemed to only be brought in to bring some sort of balance to unabashed affection of the author to Flaubert.

That said, this book is a book for the readers, and a book for the writers. We look at the work and writing of Flaubert through the eyes of Julian Barne and learn a thing or two about writing. And no, it is not a boring literary analysis, lesson in creative writing or historical biography of a great writer, as I said earlier. It is about heart and about eyes- the many-colored eyes of Madame Bovary. 
About the Book:Author: Julian BarnePublished: 1984Awards: Shortlisted for Man Booker PrizeGenre: Speculative Fiction (Amazon Link - Flaubert's Parrot )

A Writer's Recurrent Dilemma

Writing is fun only when I am in the process of writing, creating a world, conjuring some kind of magic. It is such a liberating feeling when the ink flows unhindered, words come tumbling over welcoming white pages. But at all the other times, my life as a writer is a life of absolute miserly. The periods are fraught with self-doubt, gasping in a sea of insurmountable emotions, searching for one write word, one perfect phrase. Some evenings are filled of such blankness of mind, I worry if I will ever write another word, let alone construct another story. The build-up to a story and the settling down after the release of a book- such miserable moments, and a haunting question, the Damocles sword- Will I ever write anything worth anything ever again?
It must be so very hard for anyone who is a full time writer. But even for someone like me who is not a full-time writer- one question keeps coming back- Will I be read? To quote J ulian Barnes from Flaubert’s Parrot , my companion on commute to the office these days- “Is there a perfect reader somewhere, a perfect reader?” as he comments on a critic of Gustave Flaubert’ s Madam Bovary, who questioned how Flaubert mentioned the color of Madam Bovary’s eyes. Writing is something which begins innocently as a little vice and eventually captures all your waking hours. One always wonders and is filled with self-doubt about the quality and content of one’s own writing all the time. My own stories are like my kids and I cannot not love them, but at times, I do pause and wonder, am I spoiling them out of false love, which they might be totally undeserving. I read further in Flaubert’sParrot , Barnes writes- “My reading might be pointless in terms of the history of literary criticism, but it is not pointless in terms of pleasure.” I close the kindle and contemplate- Will someone read one of the stories of The RudeTenderness of Our Hearts , close the book on his or her lap, and whisper to his or her own soul something such from behind her closed eyes?
This weekend there was a good half page write-up in the newspaper about the struggle of Rana Ayyub, a vehemently anti-government, angry journalist, and her self-published book. The story spoke about how her father invested money in her venture and how she was left along to fend for herself, with no help to promote her book. But then this was a half-page article in a national daily. She is a prominent journalist, got airtime on TV channels as well owing to her strong network of fellow well-wishers who continued to come on public spaces, recommending her book, lamenting how the poor lady was fending off all by herself. Nothing better than a poor celebrity. It is even inconceivable for those champagne-soaked  sighs lamenting over the imagined plights of the well-connected journalist to even contemplate for a moment the difficulty of an ordinary writer, who might have just written because he could not contain the words anymore. It is horrible. One cannot ignore easily the snide smiles of the people, looking at you, your professional commitment and proven caliber in your day job notwithstanding, as if you are some sort of moron, or a lazy escapist. One only hopes the perfect reader. For someone like me, it is even difficult. There are young people writing nowadays, what we call chick-lits. They are young, good looking, well-connected writers, who knows the ropes of the game and do know how to do it.

Promotions of books is so exasperating for me. You tell people about your book and you just hope they would just read what you written through so much of pain and difficulty, pushed in a metro, panting to catch breath as you settle down in the aircraft, staying awake on the weekend. Some read it, some don’t. Saddest is when people will want to get the complimentary copy, which is no trouble when your next day’s bread is not going to come from the royalty of your writing, but when you give the book and find that it lies unread. You want to ask them, “Why? Tell me why?Why can't you read the damn book and grant me the satisfaction of having been read?” but are constrained by manners and norms of society. You do not want to sound pushy, and you are thrown in the dark maze of self-doubt over your capability and adequacy as a writer. You, at such moments, want never to tell people that you have written; pledge to yourself, never to, in fact, in some weaker moment, write another word again. You want to be a Salinger and hide in anonymity and want to destroy all your work like a Kafka . You curse yourself for thinking these lines and for the blasphemous act of comparing yourself with such great legends. Time passes, you read The Great Gatsby and you realize that by your age, Fitzgerald had already put in his best work for the world to cherish after him and moved on to another. I think of book release, but I can never bring myself to do it- not on my own. There is an air of surrender. In Flaubert’s Parrot , Barnes write about a writer who found Flaubert’s letters, who he is certain to slip into anonymity, without having accomplished anything of literary value. I read it yesterday, “His air of failure had nothing desperate about it; rather it seemed to stem from an unresented realization that he was not cut out for success and his duty was therefore to ensure only that he failed in correct and acceptable manner.”  Why does it feel if he was writing about me? Will I give up writing at all, will no other true word will bless my pen? 
SBut then I read by evening W. Somerset Maugham , The Summing Up. He writes, “We do not write because we want to. We write because we must…We must go on though Rome burns. Others may despise us because we do not lend a hand with a bucket of water; We cannot help it; we do not know how to handle a bucket. Besides conflagration thrills us and charges our mind with phrases.” I know I will pick up the pen again and write again and push myself through the whole cycle of self-inflicted humiliation. I write because I must. I do not have a choice. I have things in my mind which are to be told. I must write.
( I have just published collection of stories - The Rude Tenderness of Our Hearts. It is available for sale on Amazon India (Amazon India Link) and Amazon.com (Amazon.com Link)

Surrendering to Love- Ghalib

Couplet-1
दोस्त ग़मख़्वारी  में मेरी, स'अइ फरमाएंगे क्या ज़ख़्म के भरने तलक, नाख़ून न बढ़ जाएंगे क्या।
(ग़मख़्वारी- Nursing, स'अइ- Efforts, नाख़ून- nails)
Translation: 
O dearest, your best efforts to nurse my soul,To my searing sadness, is no match;While my wounds heal, unknownst to thou,I grow cruel nails anew,Once again, ready to scratch.
Interpretation:The solaces of companionship, of fleeting friendships are not sufficient enough to ease the haunting emptiness left by loss of love. There is some inherent pleasure in self-inflicted pain, embedded in love. While friends try to protect me, rescue me, my soul remains beyond repair, as I keep on going back into my melancholic, sad solitude, as if I derive some pleasure in this self-inflicted pain. 
 *************** Couplet-2
बेनियाज़ी हद से गुज़री, बंदापरवर कब तलक हम कहेंगे हाल-ए -दिल और आप फरमाएंगे क्या।
(बेनियाज़ी- Disinterest)Translation:-
Your cruel apathy towards me, my beloved ladyship Has gone beyond the limits of my fragile forbearance;For how long shall I send the pathetic pleas of my heart?For how long should thou hide behind this cold, feigned ignorance?
Interpretation:-Ghalib complains about some kind of aristocratic apathy with which beloved treats him. It takes a rare communion of souls for one heart to connect to another. Unless the connection is made, the utterances of a heart means nothing to another. Language rides on the bridge that connects two souls and when hearts do not connect, the language fails. Ghalib was one of the most spiritual, mystical poet of all times. Truth and love are interchangeable and it would be unfair to use the term love in conventional terms when we look at Ghalib's poetry.
Couplet-3
हज़रत-ए-नासेह ग़र आएँ, दीदा-ओ-दिल फ़र्श-ऐ-राह कोई मुझको ये तो समझा दो कि समझायेंगे क्या।
(हज़रत- Gentleman नासेह- Preacher दीदा-ओ-दिल- Eyes and Heart फ़र्श-ऐ-राह- Spread in your way)
Translation:
O learned preacher, to my abode, with my heart and soulI should welcome thee;Pray tell, what wisdom the enlightened one, can bring For an incurable soul as me.
Interpretation:-The affairs of love is way beyond the understanding of religious scholars and hearts in love are beyond repair. These are affairs of heart, much elevated beyond the religious philosophy. Logic of life fails in the interpretation of logic of love. Loftiest of the religious wisdom will fall short as far as comforting a heart in love goes. In the next couplet, Ghalib further elaborates the failure of structured religion to define the religion of hearts.  
Couplet-4
ग़र किया नासेह ने हमको क़ैद, अच्छा यूँ सही ये जुनूने - इश्क़ के अंदाज़ छूट जाएंगे क्या।
( जुनूने - इश्क़- Passions of Love)

Translation:
The preacher recommends keeping mein custody, to tame my rebellious soul, I agree;Do tell me, this emancipated soul of reason, this passionate love, which simmers in my heart, Incarcerated in darkness, will it ever abandon me?
Interpretation:-The structured religion is now a captive of written diktats. Some prophets, some books, in one religion and other, initially written as a reportage of their own spiritual pursuit in search of truth, are now prisoner of their own rigidity. What was meant to be free-flowing brook is now stale, muddied pond-water, in which Nietzsche said, one would hear frogs croak. We try to find truth in interpretations, molding them to suit our sensibilities, never ever finding courage to reject them and search truth afresh. The courage to explore our souls to find our own truth, our own wisdom is in captivity of conventions. But Ghalib, ever a rebel, questions if these established wisdom, this steel-framed knowledge- unalterable, unquestionable, refuses to surrender his voice of new-age reason. One can feel a strange breeze of freshness, a rare manliness reflecting in this couplet. 
Couplet-5
खानाज़ाद-ए-ज़ुल्फ़ हैं, ज़ंजीर से भागेंगे क्यों हैं गिरफ़्तार- ए -वफ़ा, ज़िंदाँ से घबराएंगे क्या।
(खानाज़ाद-ए-ज़ुल्फ़- Prisoner of the locks of your hair; ज़ंजीर- Chains; गिरफ़्तार- ए -वफ़ा- Imprisoned by faith; ज़िंदाँ - Prison)

Translation:
I have long been a captive of your blessed locks, Why should I try escaping these chains?So long has my soul been a prisoner of your loveNo fear of a prison, in me, any longer remains.
Interpretation:-
What makes Ghalib stand apart is his unorthodox views, his courage, his intrepid interpretations of tradition and pronounced intent to break free of the past. He throws challenge to established wisdom, his unafraid, untamed, unyielding soul stands erect, refusing to bend. He celebrates his surrender of his self to a spiritual love, which rises above the squalor of tame wisdom, hands-me-down knowledge across the ages. He contradicts convention and embraces emancipation, and is not worried about what might come out of it. He says that he has now resigned to his fate, the hardships which comes with his emancipation. He has lived such for so long that he is unafraid. It in a sense, also reflects the loneliness of less understood and a surrender to a lonely journey for his mind scaling above mediocrity, his enlightened (therefore least understood)  soul which belonged to an age beyond its own. It has surrendered to the feeling, that haunting feeling that it has to pass through this world rarely understood. He resigns to his fate- the fate of every solitary genius.
Couplet-6
है अब इस मा'मूरे में केहत -ए -ग़म-ए 'असद'हमने माना की दिल्ली में रहें, खावेंगे क्या।     
(मा'मूरे - City/ civilization, केहत -ए -ग़म-  A famine of emotions, a dearth of feelings)

Translation: In this heartless city of yours, 'Assad' There is a famine of feelings,Which urges me to beat a hasty retreat;I shall still, if you insist, stay put in this soulless Dilli,Do tell, my friend, without love to feed on,
In this heartless city, what shall I offer my soul to eat? 
* Assad - Ghalib's Nom de Plume (Pen name)
Interpretation:-
The world around him is soulless. No one has time for softer emotions of a sensitive poet. Feelings are frowned over, love is outdated, emotions are rarely found appreciated. The abrasive society has killed all the nourishment for the soul. A kind of famine has befallen on the world and the soul passes through the world hungry for human touch. That is Delhi for Ghalib, that is every unfeeling large city for every modern man and woman. How is one to survive such a city, laments Ghalib.