Thoughts we want to always erase!

 Sometimes while climbing up a staircase, or walking down the street market, sudden and abrupt thoughts pertaining to everyday personal and social life hit your mind, the kinds you want to suddenly note down or think about for a little more than a fleeting few seconds, but let them go passe because there is neither the time nor immediate & direct relevance to ponder over these snippets of subconscious activity of thought and conscience. Here are some of mine, which I happened to sort of remember -

1. The art of begging

Looking at the local-station side beggars of Mumbai, I wonder if begging was an organized profession. If it was, it had all structural and behavioral aspects to it like any ordinary organization - There were timings, the office timings during which there was maximum footfall at the stations, there were focus areas, the stations which saw extraordinarily large numbers of people boarding and getting off the trains, the right communication, whether to say "aap ki jodi salaamat rahe" or "uparwala aapko bohot dega" or "khaana khaalungi beta", the target audience, an ability to pin point who will dwell down their pockets, the advertisements, whether to look handicapped or beaten or famished or simply pregnant and finally the account keepers & controls, handling collection, counting, division and distribution of salaries.

It may come across like a very cruel thing to compare begging to a profession, but it seems very likely that it either has or is shaping into one. I wonder if someone could do a dipstick research on it and understand how it really worked - whether it is a machinery in place or whether it is what it is supposed to be - impoverished, ill-fated people begging for their daily survival with no place in the world to go to and no ambition of a possibility of a better life for themselves and their children.

2. Last few minutes of my life

Articles of abrupt hanging of Afzal Guru, reports of 12 year old being shot at five times by army men and more citing of this genre of news compels me to try and imagine what those last few minutes of life during which the sudden demon of death had appeared would have felt like. What could be the thoughts and what could be the questions that came to the mind of the person who was facing death? Could he have felt like it was a nightmare? Could he have lot his mental stability? Did he feel disoriented? Did he give up, feet helpless and want to cry? Did he want his mother to come save him or visualize his beautiful wife? Would he for a split-second cursor through the possible scenario at his home when his death would be communicated to his family? Did he want to remember God? Did he want to attack? Would he be desperate or simply compliant? Would he think whether he deserved it? Would not a 12 year old be mighty scared? Would his belief in human compassion and general faith  have not died a quick silent death before his own mortal one? Would this not be a true example of failure of humanity once again? How could we then expect people to be born and grow up to have a sane mind and quite composure? Who are we? A bunch of nations or people or their governments? What do we compose of? Political systems or human interactions? What are our priorities? Business or Happiness?

How I burnt my Lohri

Many years earlier, I think almost six; a small enthusiastic wish in me had died. The funny thing is that a lot of wishes followed suite. However only this particular one had hurt as much. It was winters of 2007 and I was nearing towards the end of my first year of engineering in Jaipur. Year is a misleading term as the session had started only in july and till January it was a period of some 7 months. So basically I had been away from my perceived reality for 7 months, a period which wasn’t enough to turn me into a master socialite of the pathetic social systems that had existed around my college and home there in Jaipur. But I will talk about it some other day. 

Today on 13^th of January 2012, as I hear the drums and dholaks being beaten on almost every third street of Mukherjee Nagar in North Delhi to celebrate Lohri, a section of my heart wants to leap out of the balcony, swing open the door and let my feet do what they love doing the best..dance to the tunes of raw beats in heavenly cold winds of Delhi winter while going around the clumsily created fire by families and children. Roast pop corn and nuts in it while trying out different steps of the famous Punjabi Bhangra. And the other section of my heart, stops me, locks my feet with the invisible chains of pain and helplessness that I had suffered 6 years back at the event of Lohri. It was being celebrated by my friends and neighbors right across the street…I too had been invited and needless to say I had gladly accepted the invitation. But little I knew that I would be locked inside my house at 9 pm to only be able to catch infrequent glimpses of flames rising up in the air…to only be able to hear people dance and cheer as I stood stuck to the wooden door which locked my freedom and independence to be and live. Now I realize it had meant a lot more than not being able to celebrate Lohri. It was a symbolic lock my on freedom, to try, to travel, to move out, to talk, to share and to basically just live! For 4 years till I finished my engineering degree and moved out of my habitat, which ofcourse was home in a lot of ways, but also hell, in many others. I remember how I used to pain to look at a star studded sky. I used to miss looking at the dark, sometimes barren, sometimes adorned sky all those years. Irony being, I had grown up staring at the sky whenever I had found an opportunity, which I did in plenty till I was with my parents. I remember the time I used to finish studying at 12 in the night and then stand by my window and stare at the sky till 2 am. It used to freak my mom out! She had often found me sitting aimlessly in my balcony at supposedly wee hours of the night. During the day, she didn’t mind me staring at the sky though. I remember how blissful it used to be to sit on my recliner by the window, hold a book, read, stare and just sleep off. Such comfortable, cozy afternoons I could never experience again. Sometimes I wish I could relate everything I have felt about these small-small things to someone, someone who mattered, like my parents but then had I told them everything, they would perhaps not been able to bear the pain than my heart has soaked in it all this long. People have often criticized me and judged me according to their understanding of right-doing and wrong-doing. It is however strange that they never took context into account. I don’t blame them really. Maybe I am the mysterious wrong-doing woman that men claim every woman wants to be. Getting back to the trauma of Lohri, today I can make the decision to step down and celebrate this festival, but those memories haunt me. They ask me to punish myself for not breaking loose then, by not breaking loose today.  So even as I hear people dance and kids cheer and clap, I am going to shut my door to the world, put myself in front of something that passes my time and close my eyes to tell myself- Yes it did really happen to you!