Tricia

Hey, this is for you! Rather, for the child in you..

Whenever we discuss our childhood, a nostalgia grips us.. Let someone ask us to speak about it, and we cannot stop speaking..

Below is one of the most famous Indian 'ghazal', a kind of oriental lyric, and usually passionate erotic poetry, written in recurring rhymes.. This one is about the innocent child we have in each of us, and the rains, and the childhood stories..

In India, we have three distinct seasons, monsoons being one of them. One of the most beautiful season, children enjoy it the most. You will find streams of water flowing alongside the roads, small children making paper boats and floating them in these streams.. Jumping in the puddles.. Splashing water on each other.. The heart in every child is alive.. The pure innocent souls absorb every bit of the heavenly pourings.. And these rains have been written about the most, in Indian poems, movies, articles, emotions, every where..

This song, trickles around the rains, but wraps you in its warm embrace of childhood love and affection, the fairy tales, the dunes, the memoirs that provide us the oasis in much needed times..

Link to the video of live performance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPQk2CMIKJE

I found this translation online, from the original URDU version.. Translation taken from http://albaal.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-little-paper-boat-woh-kagaz-ki.html

"Woh Kagaz ki Kashti - The little paper boat

Do take my gold, and my fame, if you must
You can have my youth if you so do will
But do give me back my childhood showers
My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

Do take my gold, and my fame, if you must
You can have my youth if you so do will
But do give me back my childhood showers
My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

She, who, lived here as old as the road
She, whom we children, called granny
She, who wrapped fairies in sweet songs
She, whose wrinkles of years so many
And who, try as much, could forget them
Her fresh long tales filling nights so tiny

My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

To walk out in the scorching heat
To larks and those jays and chasing butterflies
We'd marry our dolls and fight over it
High in our swings jumping far from watchful eyes

And those little trinkets of copper and bark
Those deep scarlet marks of broken bangles and cries

My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

To drag our feet over smooth high dunes
A castle here, a hillock there
Our innocence filling every picture and tune
Our life of toys and dreams
In a world of joy, relations none did prune

Wasn't it beautiful, that life of ours?"

(Thanks to Al-Baal Cafe)

Ba

The same thoughts lead me to another question.. But, this time it is abstract, though related.. Would Gandhi exist without Kasturba? Would Bapu exist without Ba? What if she would have left him right at the first instance in South Africa?

Didn’t I say in a couple of posts back: Behind every successful man, there is a woman..??

I never read Gandhi, though I have a lot of his books in my collection.. I never saw any movie of his complete, till an hour back.. I never met a Gandhian who preached Gandhi.. But, all this while, I never imagined Gandhi as singular.. The image was always accompanied by this subdued figure walking along..

Excuse me for a bit, did I use the word subdued? I assume I did.. And why so? What makes me think of it that way?

“You are just a human, it is tough for you.. More so, tough for us, for those who do not wish to be anywhere as good as you desire to be..” (Kasturba to Gandhi, the first instance in South Africa)

This speaks of it all.. But, still, another question.. Was Gandhi trying to be good? Or right? Or puritanical? And, if so, in whose eyes? No where am I attempting a doubt at the figure of millennium.. I am making an effort to understand the male-female chemistry. .The chemistry beyond the testosterone and estrogen.. The chemistry, that gives the man the strength to face the outside world, and his own inside world too..

But then, where does this strength exist for the Dalai Lama or for Dr. Kalam? Or for Gandhiji himself, after the Agakhan palace?

As of now, Richard Bach comes to help again, though not too satisfying.. I am trying to remember a quote by Paolo Coelho.. But till I find it.. Here’s what Bach has to say about it..

“I want to be very close to someone I respect and admire and have somebody who feels the same way about me. “ [that gives a meaning to my existence, strength to life..]

Who am I?

The doubt is not of his existence, the doubt is of the fact that how was that possible, in flesh and blood.. The despair is not about all the questions to him, the despair is about my own existence.. The dilemma has nothing to do with him, it is my dilemma: Who am I?

Am I the Darshan, the world knows? Am I the Dee Dee I love? Am I the Dee loved by the one? Or, am I still searching for an identity? And, if I am all of this, then again, who am I?

As a child, I grew up, pretty sure of what I wanted to be.. Then came a phase, I entered the life of experimentation.. Trials and errors.. Burning hands and tasting bitter-sweet aroma of actuality.. Played around with life, found myself in muddy grounds, on hard rocks, in deep waters, on lashing waves.. “Let the river flow”, that’s what I always said.. That’s what I always lived.. Then, why and what makes me think so much? To ask for vodka on rocks and raise a toast of wine, but still say water, whenever asked for my favorite drink.. What is it that made me suddenly stop the American dance on Saturday night and walk out in chilly cold for an hour? What prompts me to be a protagonist? To break all the societal norms and be involved in everything that was supposedly not meant to be, and still not able to involve myself 100%.. Stopping myself just before I took steps, not once, twice, but umpteen number of times.. Why? Why? Why?

I have always struggled between two identities.. One of being myself.. One of being accepted within the people I wanted.. The third phase came in, when I was myself because of someone else, but could not value the same.. Why has it been always a tight rope walk?? By the time the soul re-search starts, why is it ONLY me again? And, when I make choices, the ‘tug-of-war’ starts, and I find myself being dragged from one sphere to another.. And the third dimension to it is, something that I don’t even know how to express.. But for sure, none of these give answers, they just add on to questions..

Richard Bach simply replies..

“The simplest questions are the most profound. Where were you born? Where is your home? Where are you going? What are you doing? Think about these once in a while and watch your answers change. “

And, do I really want answer to every question?

“You don't want a million answers as much as you want a few forever questions. The questions are diamonds you hold in the light. Study a lifetime and you see different colors from the same jewel.” (Richard Bach)

Irony

A packet of chips, relaxed on a couch, chit-chatting with a friend, relishing a sandwich, eyes staring at the screen.. Perfect movie mood.. Red wine adding to the ambience.. And that toast of red wine is the irony.. Irony, because the day is: Martyr’s day, and the movie to which we raise our toast is: Gandhi (by Richard Attenborough).. The person, who never even allowed the smell of wine close by.. The person who led his life on principles, experimenting every bit of it.. Drawing closely upon his experiences, the picture of reality! Attracted by the worldly possessions, but judiciously thinking over them, to arrive to the decision of ultimate abdication; not to be a hero of ‘tyaaga’ or sacrifice, but to live up to what his life had proven to him. I find this itself an irony.. A life that is gifted to us once, says the same Indian mythology, the one that claims you give it up.. And, here was this man, who lived this irony in perfect sense, and proved, it was not a myth, but a realm of puritan existence!

Was he flawless? Was he gifted? Didn’t he have dilemmas? How did he live through? OR, as Einstein put it for my generation: Did he ever exist?

I am at split ends.. It is a question I need to answer for myself.. In the state of despair, in his words: “When I despair, I remember, that all through the history, the way of truth and love has always won..”

conclusion

Now that the Saturday night trivia comes to an end, I am supposed to complete the story..

There's not much to it after the realization. The realization leads to a desire to confess and let go off the negativity, not only with the individual, but with any and everyone whom I might have coerced in the "not so good" conversations.. That's it..

I had read this author in Marathi, Mr. V. P. Kale, and he started his book with an interesting paragraph. He said: "People write autobiographies to tell the world how much they suffered because of others. Imagine if everyone wrote about there sufferings cos of you, that one never mentions in autobiography.. So, I'll never write a lame story of suffering.." Not that I am thinking of an autobiography (that's hilarious), but the way my achievements have been acknowledged, recognized, and applauded, it is necessary that I accept my fallacies as well. Not only to the individuals of whom I might be guilty, but to all those, whom I might hold certain perceptions to!

And the thought that I am reading while writing this is: "Imperfection is what makes us interesting to others.." I don't know about others, but imperfection has made me interesting to myself, granting opportunities to improve!

Over and out.. :)

the outcome

Finally.. After the Saturday night trivia, return at 04:00 a.m. followed by a discussion, and then an elaborate chat yesterday, I have reached to a conclusion that I am conservative liberal!

I do not know what that means.. Nor it is political in context here.. It is all about the thoughts and the way I function! Mom of a friend of mine had used this phrase: "विदेसी बोटल, देसी शराब!".. It means, Indian wine in an imported bottle! Metaphor for mind-body co-existence! It was used for someone, who appeared to be outright outgoing and western, in Indian context, but was purely eastern by thinking. I always thought, I was completely western in thinking.. But to my realization, I am as similar to the bottle-wine comparison..

That was some soul searching.. phew.. ;-) But surely, it does resolves a haze around lot of confusing traits I have been wondering about myself..!! Some complicated soul that I am.. ;-)

Emotions..

If it would not had been for last night, possibly my last post would have continued further today.. The last night being propped in, I am gonna take a while before I sort out.. That to which I relate, and that to which I am alien..

Incidentally, I find the following two creations, that, as of now, resonate with the turnover in my mind.. Metta, lots to discuss! :)

हम कहाँ जायेंगे जज़्बात का शीशा लेकर
लफ़्ज़ पत्थर का तो हर शख़्स चला देता है|
- एन. पी. बजाज

(Where do we take these feelings, fragile as glass; each person deals in flint sharp words.. - N. P. Bajaj)

दूर जाना है बहुत्, मत देख आईना अभी से
अभी तो रुख़सार पे बहुत से रँग आने बाक़ी हैं|
- हबीब हाशमी

(You have many miles to go, do not glance at the mirror now; Your cheeks will turn several colours before you are through.. Habib Hashmi)