Rashika. (Part 2)

The soft breeze carried an awful odor. It was sickening, damping and distressing for Rashika. She knew separation is essential. How funny it was! The very fact the separation tears apart the most fundamental essentiality of life, yet is becomes essential. Rashika never carried a watch. The time was however fleeing for Ashok. The repeated glances at his watch made the atmosphere tenser. Seeing him do this, she smiled for a second recalling how important it was for baba to carry the watch each day to his shop. She knew the golden dial HMT was the best thing to hide and bargain for a small prize. Rashika has always observed little things within Ashok. She never drew a parallel between him and baba, but his little habits always reminded her of him. The most fervent being her love for both of them. Unconditional it was.

The winds gained speed gradually; it shook the most profound roots from its very foundations. There was no one around. Shelter was the common search to shield against the flowing dust and upcoming storm. Here, the storm lied within and shelter too, lied within. There was no running from here. Neither of them wanted to confront the very nature of separation to each other. The existence of togetherness was the best thing to happen, and for now the only way out was to feel this warm fellowship as long as they could.

Baba too never wanted to confront detachment, for he silently left for heavenly abode quietly on his bed. That was years ago. Rashika had gown tough since then. She never turned a rebel or a nonconformist, but lived on her own terms. The very lane her mother avoided, she explored more and more of it. She explored Shyambazar though the streets and through the books from library at the university.

(pic- https://www.oldindianphotos.in/2011/04/netaji-subhas-chandra-bose-statue-in.html)

She traveled through the lanes which were built on recommendation by the Lottery commission back in 1817 when the British decided to explore the native areas of old Kolkata. She imagined falling into the Maratha Ditch, which was dug up back in the 18^th century to trap the Maratha soldiers. The ditch gave an identity to the city as it journeyed through Barabazar to the outskirts of Maidan. The five-point crossing where she walked up to everyday reminded her as how the lifeline of the city was linked through this pivotal point. No wonder baba was equally fascinated by this crossing.

The statue of Bose symbolized the connection of citizenry, brought together for revolt to throw off foreign yoke. She began complaining about the dust on the statue herself just like baba did.

 Every day she travelled to the university in a tram. She loved to see how tram made its way through the busy lanes linking Shyambazar to college square. For two decades this tram had been the lifeline of the city only to be later replaced by motor vehicles in the late 1920s. Development had reached this place and so it served as the pivotal point for spreading of revolutionary ideas for it brought far off minds to this place and again dispersed them. 

(pic-https://phototravelings.blogspot.in/2015/10/trams-in-kolkata-india.html)

The city was her identity, her symbol and her heritage. It represented rebellion, chaos and placidity too, all the emotions that webbed her at times.

The shop back in Kolkata had turned into a gleaming readymade garment shop after being sold off to some rich merchant who once wandered around the streets selling clothes. He had saved enough to afford the shabby shop and turn it into a modern store with enormous decorated hoardings displaying its identity. The glass panes were removed and replaced by new translucent gates made of thick glass embodied by steel fittings. Rashika passed several times from there but never cared to glance through the entrance. The security guard at the entrance was vigilant about every passer-by. He welcomed customers with a smile. The customers had now changed with the city and the times. There was a ‘no bargaining’ sign outside the store. The customers never complained of exorbitant charges by the shop. They happily paid what was asked for.

Rashika was 13 when baba left. She remembers baba being carried on the fragile wooden bed, roughly made. His body crossed through the cinema halls which were once a hub for women from all around the city to come and watch Bengali movies. It was taken through the narrow lanes to Nimtala Ghat where the funeral pyre was lighted reducing his existence to ashes only later to be dissolved in the river.

(pic- https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Nimtala_Ghat_Street_-_Kolkata_2016-10-11_0780.JPG)

 That day was profound in her memories for it was that one single day when she did not visit the temple with her mother other than the days of sickness. Her mother stopped praying. Her sorrow was released through the channels of blame. A few idols would be blamed for lifetime. Rashika never blamed those figures. She simply stopped going because her mother didn’t go and later because she never developed immense devotion towards anything as such. Her adherence was for the person who cared to place some lozenges in her hand. She still carried that devotion.

Life had its own way of turning things. Time is perhaps not always responsible for it. The changes that are accompanied by time are responsible. Rashika took to reading newspapers. She read how Kolkata was changing and how she was a part of that change every day. The city was now being refurbished; torn between the narrow walls of heritage and modernity. Yellow taxis had declined replacing modern white cars. The street lights gleamed turning night into day. It hardly made anyone realize that darkness had fallen upon. The terracotta design architecture was lost between high rise buildings. 

The fluctuations of monsoons either delayed the rains or poured heavily at times. She knew it was EL-Nino. The newspapers described it. She even knew how the political dynamics were changing. Violence was heating the atmosphere. He right as a citizen was in regular question. She knew of the war in Yemen, the floods in Sumatra and the end of dictator regimes replaced by placid democracy. She could locate places and capitals on maps. She knew how satellites and launchers traversed the farthest of stars.

Every now and then the house was cleaned and the sight of tailoring machines brought moisture to her eyes. She had never been able to detach herself from memories irrespective of the tenderness of her age when the tragedy struck. Mother was adamant to move back to their native village but Talib uncle’s request had never let that happen.   

Rashika. (Part-1)

Rashika spent her childhood days strolling around the streets of her locality. Every now and then baba arrived with a packet of orange flavored lozenges which were then not available in sealed wrappers. Baba owned a tailor shop nearby. He loved to stitch but Rashika was never happy that his profession was that of a tailor. Rashika had always seen him talk about trams more than of clothes. Since 20 years, the tiny tailor shop standing amidst the busy lanes of Shyambazar had always seen flocks of customers coming in and out. The opening pavement on the opposite side was flocked with bus commuters. The tram depot was nearby and every time Talib uncle passed round the corner, he used to ring his bell and wave at Baba from the driver’s cabin.

There was a small road on the immediate left of the shop that divided the lane into two halves. Rashika always took the right lane with her mother everyday to arrive at the small temple situated at the old junction where buses came to halt. The other lane was always a mystery for her. Mother had strictly warned her not to venture there.

 Baba had a thing with excessive brightness. He never liked the government install large helium bulbs across the street that divulged into four wide roads. He never complained about it but it was just that his face showed a gloom every time he watched the light flash across the streets turning the colorful scenario into deep white texture. Perhaps baba liked the yellow ones more. Baba was always concerned about the dirt on the statue of Bose riding his horse erected at the junction of the four way intersection. When Rashika said her Baba to clean it himself, baba smiled at the child and handed her another toffee. It was his own way of answering Rashika. Everytime.

(pic-http://swarnalidreams.blogspot.in/2012/03/guest-3-meet-swastik.html)

The three attendants at baba’s shop never complained no matter how busy it got especially during the festive season. Readymade garments were already making a mark but the shop managed well with passing years. The tiny shed over the shop needed urgent repair. The entrance however was well maintained with glass cabinets displaying the finest fabric in the market. The entrance had a glass panel door so as to avoid overcrowding during peak seasons. Baba thought it wasn’t needed anymore. There was hardly any crowd like before. Rashika however loved the glass panel for she always used to peep inside before entering the shop. Whenever baba noticed her glancing through the translucent pane, he rendered a smile.

Customers now had different preferences. The old folks were busy crossing fingers over the cotton roll to check the quality, some people on the counter were bargaining for a deal, then there were college teens who had applied for some job and were searching formals. Kids were less in number now. The new attractive market that had developed over the walking lane flashed big fluorescent white lights over shinning, colorful garments of kids. Parents preferred those shops now. When baba took Rashika to buy a frock on her birthday, she refused to buy from those shops and told baba to stitch one for her. Baba again smiled with the toffee in hand. She was gifted with a red frock draped with ribbons on the sides which she always held between her fingers while walking. Her mother had warned her not to use the frock everyday for it would get smeared in dirt. Rashika never cared. Baba had gifted her that frock. Let alone baba decide!

Entangled Little Beliefs

My chance encounters with outspoken people have been like a deportation trail. The foreign country freshness has done no good and the fear of being in exile in an alien land arrests my freedom opposite of which was the primary reason of my travel. I have a general regard for people who leave me utterly confused. It is simply fascinating to feel that the other person feels my inner turmoil and inability to reach a decision when there was a crowd outside waiting to pass. My partner panics and holds me.

I remember some great man say not so grateful things about life. He rendered opinions of simplicity, coherence and adherence to institutionalized values of life. My confusion lied as to what happened when the norms deviated? When the norms broke and were not able to find their way back? On my question the man pointed- “Change is the way of life”.

Indeed change is the way but not the change that is desired on the premise of calculative efforts and setbacks. The change can only become a change when the deviation is clearly understood. My change is subjective to the fact that those incorporations are something which I demand and not what the world pronounces. I never believe in this change.

Friendship lies in the richness of character and not in terms of monetary calculations. I was utterly confused when again some great men wrote on friendships, those existing between the walls of lavishness. Even the tragic stories of friendships were found in intellectual spheres and their reference was drawn from after-thoughts when the tragedy had occurred. Why give a sad ending to everything? Is it not unfair that mere knowledge of an existing phenomenon gives one the authority to exercise it in their words and writings?

My house is getting a renovation. There are three daily wage workers who adhere to their religious duty of shifting goods from one place to another. It is such monotony to execute the same thing over and over again.  Brick by brick is laid on the cemented spreads. The bond is to be ensured strong and so has to be the foundation. The wage workers spend a significant time of their day at my home. I deliver them cold water every few hours on demand. I have never seen them together except when they sit for food. The food is simple yet shared. The food lacks nutrients but is wholesome. The entire break is filled with smiles and exchanges of laughter. This is how they work. Their intellectual sphere is limited yet this feeling is so well developed. Neither knows of values, principles and socio economic criterion to judge the basic premise of life written by those great people, but simplicity and affection is well developed in them. This is also not an intellectual disability, for it hardly takes the mind to evaluate affections; love develops simply and so does respect.

Such confusion is rendered to me by people whom I encounter on a daily basis. I do not stand here to evaluate their learning’s however I do so when I am perplexed and diverted. It is simply fascinating to think of those grounds where I can challenge their convictions. However my respect towards them is in the regard that their knowledge is profound and subtle and also for the fact that their contribution to my perplexity completes my thought processes. I simply love the fact that my turmoil and panic at times involves introspection of simple things.  

A scam that bought humanity to shame

A scam that bought humanity to shame
The flood that occurred in Uttarakhand in 2013 left 5000 people dead and millions homeless. There were thousands of children who became orphans and countless number of parents who, even after months kept on searching their lost children in the valley. The army reacted to this instantly and this followed by help from NDRF and many other organizations. The largest role was of the army which saved countless lives.
After such a long time the issue of the flood is back for something that has put everyone to shame. An RTI has revealed that the government officials who were assigned the job to look after the rescue operations and their functioning have submitted forged and manipulated bills to recover the stay cost and operation cost during the floods. 
The documents showed the officials billing the state exchequer with Rs. 194 for half a litre of milk! They stayed in hotels that were on rent for Rs. 7,000 per day.  The government officials allegedly distributed relief funds twice to same persons. This is not the end; they purchased 1,800 rain coats from same shop for three consecutive days and even submitted fake fuel bills. Some even supplied the documents that claim the rescue operation vehicles had numbers that were originally of scooters. The most shocking of all is the fact that the officials claimed to have begun the relief operations six months before the tragedy actually struck. Was it a time machine all along with them!

The highlighted number is that of a scooter. These were used in the rescue operations.

So these are our officers. These officers were on the mission rescue millions in the valley. I was wondering that the greed within these people is so much that they do not care about humans anymore. Their lavish salary and handsome benefits being provided by the government has failed to satisfy some who carve more and more.  

The entire probe is now being handed over to the CBI. But the question is “What is to be done with them?” And the awaited moment will be “What actually happens to them?”

Irani and Astrology

Recent pictures of Smriti Irani visiting a Vedic Astroler was flashed on media screens and on social networks. It fetched a vast criticism from lot of pseudo-secular janta and the so called rationalists. If the matter is taken deeper, it is seen that the congress people and leftists are mainly involved in the criticism of Smriti Irani. The congressmen forget their beloved Chacha Nehru too had consulted an astrologer to fix the time of official declaration of free India. They prefer to remain silent, I guess on this matter. The links of BJP and radical Hinduism is not new. Since time im-memorial, the seculars have shouted links of saffron terror being promoted by BJP and this issue was like a dog finding a bone after a prolonged hunger.

These secular people give the long “kasmeen and waasta” of developing scientific consciousness and rational mindset. Yet, on the other hand they work endlessly to plead the minority community for votes and encourage caste-based politics.

The basic question arising here is, “did Irani do something wrong?”

No! she didn’t.  First it was her personal visit and for that no one can be questioned. It is never a matter of debate.

Secondly, Vedic astrology is science too. The wrong notion lies in the mindset of the people that it can predict one’s future. Astrology analyzes the planetary motion of the solar system and tells the situation of a person and prescribes stones or remedies to balance energy fields around the body so that it is in harmony with the planets.

How can a planet influence and individual energy system?

Tide is influenced by the movement of the moon. If a small sized object can influence the movement of water bodies all over the world then it is very possible for a planet to do so on an individual.

Vedic astrology is true?

 Rishi Bhrigu had worked endlessly to develop this. Immense calculations were done to develop it and so it can predict the current situation of a person and may help to develop a better future. However the question of marriage, love, life and death matters are generally not held true by many. Babas and sadhus who claim to do so are “Dhongis”. In the time when the world is getting more and more into Vedic Cosmology, Ayurvedic science, Vedic mathematics and related areas of reserch; the scope of research on Vedic Astrology cannot be ruled out.

The topic of Smriti Irani visiting an astrologer is a self-issue and is being much hyped in the media who have always worked endlessly to deframe images of people determined to do something good.

                                                                    Learn to Live first

                                                                  And then to Achieve

Hundreds of youngsters these days are more obsessed about their results and ranks rather than anything else. For them a failure is a doomed life and success marks the beginning of the next struggle ahead. This fail and pass things has become a mess in which a student is stuck. He has his highly expecting parents and teachers on one end while he is unaware of the other end. Their high expectations and comparisons with the highest at time somewhat seems to make the mediocre students an outcast. What for? Success? Money? Or simply bullshit?

A student is misplaced most of the times, and this is what leads to failure. This is the case when a lion, placed in a green field devoid of animals, dies. In the case of the lion, it dies once while a student dies each day under stress and pressure of a wrong direction, or rather a direction which ceases to attract him. The meaning of a student’s life is to earn ranks and score marks. Gosh! Sometimes I think about the generation which we are leading into. I never see a child, these days looking up at the blue sky blindly imagining the clouds, silently hearing the chirpings and feeling the cool breeze tingling his senses. These days a student sees only the fat dusty books, hears the unending lectures of the class and has a constant feel of fear and insecurity.

I never understand as to what they are going to do after a few years. Life is a golden chance given to live for 60 years. This life is to learn, to enjoy, to develop and to explore. All small and big things make this life. Career is necessary but pondering over results, fear of failure and developing jealousy is actually adding rubbish to this journey. We are all born for a reason, but later on that reason becomes an aim of sitting quietly in a packed up cabin, rubbing the hands over a mug of coffee and busy typing endless documents. Is that all what we need? That is becoming a functional machine? No Human…

Of course life doesn’t end if one misses to make it to the IIT or a better college. Life is very vast, endless to live if we understand the reason of our birth. The reason is propagating humanity and love to others. The reason is to make the world one, with hands in hands trying to connect every soul and explore each other truly and deeply. Of course a scientific temper is necessary, but this should be to explore things at depth and not to make fast bucks and secure positions. Happiness is everyone’s goal but this doesn’t mean that we keep on stretching ourselves and give others a minimal space.

A visionary for prospect is needed. That visionary should be developed through every brain and should be visible to everyone’s eyes. Failure is nothing; life goes on, endlessly until the winds of death wraps us. There are numerous arenas to develop and divert the brain. There are very many things to be worked upon, to research upon. We need to realize where our inclination lies and then choose accordingly. Then we must proceed to discover the prospects of the thing before it’s too late.

Book Review- The Disappearance Of Tejas Sharma… And Other Hauntings

Horror and supernatural genera has fascinated people around the globe since ages. Undoubtedly short stories of the supernatural have been a great entertainment. Talking about Manish Mahajan’s book, there are twelve stories which discuss the supernatural in different plots and themes.

Beginning with the narration, the stories stand strong and powerful. A very lucid flow has been maintained with the text, which makes a reader develop interest as he proceeds further, thus making him more engrossed. The language is quite powerful, that the magic which a supernatural genera author creates to intensify terrible feelings.

The stories really bring out real horror, it all seems to move on naturally, and that’s the best part of the book. The author is completely acquainted with the reader’s imaginations, as some of the stories like Begunkodor Ghost Station, Her Unkempt Promise, The secret in the Photograph, Burn the old Papers and The Disappearance of Tejas Sharma are really chilling and Spooky. They are brilliantly crafted. As a reader proceeds with these stories he gets into a complete vacuum and begins to explore the deepest form of horror. The rest of the stories are also fine.

However I must point out two things; one is the price- it’s should have been a bit low. Secondly about the story ‘The Valley Of The Dead- it was good but I think it lacked a story-like form.

However these can be ignored as the book is really brilliant and gives the readers, a real feeling of the supernatural. Looking forward for your upcoming books.

Cheers!