Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Does the devil become a little better in his own eyes and in the eyes of everyone around after acceptance of his badness? Or is he the devil anyway?
What remains of the God in light of this self realization of the devil?
Is it possible that the devil is not bad after-all or is it being devilish if he thinks of these lines?
What if God made a mistake in judging the devil, being the busy man (?) He is?
Does the devil have self respect? Do we think he is entitled to some?
How is man bothered anyway.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
She had been hearing of the honour killings for sometime now. At first in her Social Behaviour classes at the college and she was overwhelmed at the irrationality of the honour saving behaviour which those related by blood could resort to, only till the recent deaths in her conscious present made them utter reality for her. Her mother had been slyly hinting about the possibilities of honour killing in the most educated of families. What did she mean, did she mean us or them? Weren't both the families aptly educated? and adequately HUMAN not to honour-kill. Sakshi was discontent, about the various discouraging factors which one had to accost in a life where one opted for "love marriage". Such beginnings and what possible end. She laughed in her mind. Then laughed again at the possibility of marriage itself.
Things in white and black are good. But at times gray is not the sophisticated choice. Its merely remains a colour people are bound to pick. Sakshi was funnily, for her friends, still single on all the social networking sites, where mentally she could have been married for 4 years now, vouched a close friend from work. Although Tarun would have been petrified of the thought of mental marriage, she knew that he too agreed of the non-substitutibility of Sakshi in his life, which of course was a tiny green pasture in Sakshi's love life, life being an encompassing term. Two years in B School. 5 Before that in law School. They were good and glued. All through Sakshi maintained at home, it was yet another friendship turned closer friendship. But now opinions swelled to part ways: either think of her as a rebel who is going the honour killing way or she is just a little too characterless to be hanging out with random men, not even intending to get married. it was about time she let them make an opinion, black or white, with white signifying no purity at all.
So, Sakshi wondered, which way is the safe way- to be the rebel, open the reality to the acid rain of taunts, drop the camouflage of friendship, howsoever close and face it- "it" to include things ranging from prima facie rejection at Tarun's hands to assaults of potential honour killing OR assure them that hell, she is so not going to marry everyone she dates, a Tamilian Anna at that, naah and therefore be looked down upon as the 'slut'.
She prayed her forefathers to cast some knowledge about her highly coveted class/caste about what was more dignified to be, not to be.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Some time spent, some money too.Some efforts made, may be meant it too.
Few songs related, I hear them over. Still sound good, though occasion is over.
The unkept blue room haunts me quiet. Are we still on, or is it over quite?
Tear wet pillows are hard to dry. Has exactly our 'thing' really gone 'that' dry?
I had laughed to tears, on Friday right? And now are we nearing, the last rite(s)?
Didn't we hold hands in the rail that night? And mushy phone talks and the other 'goodnight(s)'?
We are still happy, to self I console. But this remains, realization sole.
Oh tell me, how long will my footprints last? Or was that day was indeed our last?
Liberated women do seldom agree,that their soul too hurts when theirs' disagree.
My heart aches much, this noon I say. "And I m pained too", Won't you say?
While you decide what I mean to you, I ought to ignore hyperlinks leading to you?
As judgment I await, if I invoke interest anymore. This is not a Sunday I can take anymore.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Lucy. Like getting tired of the treacle toffees. But you can always stop and begin again.
Myself. That is what the Romans did. They used to eat enormous meals, and when they couldn't eat any more, they took something to make them sick. Then, when they were empty, they began to eat again. But I don't call that being civilized. Do you?
Lucy. No, I don't.
Myself. After all, pigs do that, although they haven't the sense to be sick afterwards.Lucy. And pigs are not at all civilized.
~ From A Dialogue on Civilization, By C E M Joad.
I feel today like those over-eaten treacle toffees, Roman food and Pig-feed.
Over-eaten, abstained from/repulsed with, good to be eaten again.
Says much about me. Says much about the Romans and Pigs. Says much about eternalness of worth.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Probably she was never passionate enough to show her detestation against Western World and make India learn a lesson like he was. She might have known, that siyasi taluqqat with India are strained, but would she have been happy with his justification of being a freedom fighter?
May be. Women like to see in their men, the patriotic stint, even if with unfounded roots. And of course, discreetness comes as a part of any patriotic mission. "I shall, see a better Pakistan, inshallah. And then, my Azmal felicitated."
The clippings show on NDTV. One circled in red.
"Freedom fighters at a place shall always be viewed as terrorists otherwise. Isn't it? But, why are they calling him Kasav. Another secret he had kept, of being renamed? Do i know him even?"
"Azmal Kasav said he wanted to live, the only terrorist caught alive." The black sheep. Kala Bhed. Not man enough. Seemingly looks of approval of family members no longer last. Each drag of hukka with each repeat of the news telecast, made eyes redder veins more popping out.
Then the polygraph test. Compromised bloated face pictures. Denial by Pakistan of any links. "Where is my Hero? Wasn't he a revolutionary? Was he never in fact was one?"
Beaming with pride, with Sasha and Maliya on side, she holds for him the Lincoln's Bible. And smiles at her 47 year old kid as he fumbles in repeating the oath. She is the First Lady. But more importantly, Mrs. Michelle Obama.
The smiles, the kids, the wardrobe, THE husband, the media, the speeches, the support, the public displays of affection, the rallies, the midnight brief (only possible!) talks with Barrack, the interviews. The planned course of action towards being the Lady of the House (White House.)
As on Swearing in ceremony, Barrack gets emotional at the traditional Kenyan Singer's piece, unshowingly of course (I could never read his expressions and have always found just one word to describe it: composed) she siting from behind, places her olive green gloved hand on his shoulder. She is his wall.
Her wedding gown design, Hawaian honeymoon destination, her fashion designer, are sought after. I always have wanted a Chocolate Icecream tasting kiss after i knew her, about her.
The two women who have strcuk me in the recent times. One hypothetically possible and one could not have been more real. But placing myself in their shoes, i felt the oppositeish.
Well, there has to be an end to every long blog.
At the end of it, its just intriguing and the more i emphathize, the more i get fascinated.
The pride, the knowledge of Your man causing pride, the cognizant lasting pride and the ephemeral confused one, followed by dark shame. The issue of the woman being instrumental in the man's journey to fame, whether concluded or unfinished.
I could be them. Either.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
But the side table does not have nappies, nor lukewarm bottles of milk.
The drapes are bright red, the cushions the perfect green.
Only a pair of moving morning shadows, not nothingness, its serene.
A wall for our family photos, the showy umbilical bit.
Frozen smiles, captured at a time, while they were still at it.
I love my cane rocking chair, he does not like it much.
We don't have Grand-dads and Grannies, fighting for it as such.
Cooking is always a cake walk, Pasta, Pizza and all.
But it took a Sunday and Sanjeev Kapoor, to teach me Ma ki dal
Dissents are not perennial, but if we ever have a strife;
I get to end it easily - 'Don't shout, I'm not your wife'.
I am happy in my autonomy, my issues, i do decide.
I practically have a husband, always by my side!
We tailor-made matrimony, to keep 'bliss' sans the vows.
No liability, least accountability, as each other we espouse.
A life of chosen conveniences and i m glad I remain a 'Miss.'
Yet as Life in living is perfect, somethings are amiss.