100

Dear Readers, 

                     I apologize for not writing since quite a long time. Without sounding self-explanatory, all I would like to share with you is that over the course of the last 3-4 months my creativity was engulfed in a pall of gloom. My last blog which talked about the brutal ISIS depredations was followed by a feeling of utter disgust and anger at the state of affairs in our 'post-modern' world. Before I could recuperate and bounce back into activating my pen, my heart and mind were pervaded with a more distasteful, harmful and urgent concern raised by the calls of growing intolerance in our society. The final blow was delivered by the Paris attack and the ghastly reactions to the dreadful event pouring in from all directions. My writing lay crippled under an attack of opinion paralysis. 

                   I was frightened by all the hue and cry as my mind and heart were bombarded by innumerable atomic questions. I neither have the energy nor the inclination to sit down and indulge in a gory dissection of 'who-said-what' or 'from-where-it-all-began' or yet ( and this one is the favorite) 'who-stands-right-who-is-wrong'. I was disturbed as a normal god-fearing, god-believing and obedient citizen who watches the news on the TV and reads his editorials in the morning.and is worried about 'whats wrong in the society?' and why are all these horrible things happening? As a layman, I was scared when people were pointing out fingers and summing it up by saying that India is becoming intolerant. 

                        If you follow my blogs and read them all regularly, you would notice, how happy and hopeful was I sounding when I wrote about Bajrangi Bhaijaan in glowing terms. That exuberance was all lost and replaced with distraught and confusion after the 'opinion paralysis' of the last few months. I was reluctant to write about the killings, about history or about politics. I desperately sought refuge and my answers in literature and media and Universities. All failed me. Finally, the hero who came to my rescue was the one who usually saves many of us- the people.

                      One fine day, as I was preparing to settle down to a cold and chilly December night when one is left wondering about the loneliness and boredom of longish winter nights, I received a wedding invitation by post. The wedding was taking place in a Hindu household and the list of invitees included a Muslim brethren family who, I heard, had always stood firm with the former through their thick and thin. All the politician's, psephological strategists, TV debaters, Challenge you to stop this....!, 

                  

99

Dear Readers, 

                     Let the butchers know that this is not the sad wailing of a fearful soul but I sing and shall continue to sing loud in praise and in honor of an indefatigable spirit. 

               Thou art the ruins of the noblest man, 

               That ever lived in the tide of times, 

               Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!

                The blood from the mortal remains of Khaled al-Asaad did not just spill over the dusty plateau of Tadmur but it percolated deep down below to sow the seeds of millions and trillions of tiny offshoots of freedom and liberty. 

                      There are losses which touch you, which shatter you, which make you lose hope, which enrage you but far greater in intensity are the losses which embolden your faith and resolve and purpose of existence. Such a loss gives you wings to fly into the face of death in defiance of any brute force which attempts to bar you from your own self. 

                 For generations to come, for eons to pass by, civilizations and cultures shall hold dear to themselves the episode and the event of the shahadat or martyrdom of Mr. Assad, a devoted archaeologist and historian that the world was fortunate to have heard of. Glory to you Sir! Glory shall be your servant for infinity as you relish the honor and privilege of being a historian who stood smilingly at the intersection of history and manhood......I pay homage to thee...Salute from a fellow from the desert!

                In memory of Mr. Khaled al-Assad, the dutiful Syrian archaeologist and historian who was inhumanely murdered by ISIS jihadists on August 18, 2015.

98

Dear Readers,

                      Its been exactly a week now since I saw one of the biggest blockbuster movies of this year, Bajrangi Bhaijaan and I am still feeling the aftereffects of this soothing and thoroughly entertaining story directed most beautifully by Kabir Khan with a marked levity. The whole country is going bonkers on this latest flick of Salman Khan for more than one reasons and Sallu has not only satiated his die-hard followers but also won the hearts and minds of scores of critics and the new age cinema-buffs.

                    The theme of the movie is based on the common ethical, moral, humanitarian and behavioral values of us, the human beings. Set against the backdrop of India-Pakistan estranged relationship as neighboring countries fighting a futile war despite overbearing commonalities in culture and society, the movie is a touching story that appeals to human instincts and the goodness inherent in us all. For a change, It was very comforting to watch an imagined space on the silver screen where the characters across the border were simple, basic and natural. They were ordinary human beings much like the average Indians, behaving in a circumstantially justifiable manner. There was nothing demonic or superhuman about them.   

                            It is one movie which will go a long way in diminishing the hate-filled idiosyncrasies and misconceptions we harbor about the 'other' due to the constant war-mongering and misrepresentations carried out by the media and other organs of the establishment. It is a firm belief of the writer, that the awaam or the people on both sides of the border know exactly how close or far we are from one another..........

                     Also, it was a delight to watch my class mate from St. Stephen's College, Kunal Sharma, to act in the movie and make his debut in Hindi cinema. Kudos Kunnu!

97

Dear Readers, 

                     Some couples are indeed inseparable. They lead a life which truly defines companionship and complimentariness. When I was a child, an incident left an indelible mark on my pyche, an incident which highlights the axiom, "till death do us part". Me and my family used to observe a pigeon-couple in and around our house in the post-monsoon months of September-October when the cool evening breeze would blow over watered soil and one would be compelled to presume that the dreadful summers are gone forever, never to return. The two love-birds spent hours in each others company sitting perched on telephone lines, flying across the main road to the green parks and eating their meals together. It was a very interesting sight to watch them.

                           One day it so happened that a stealthy, hungry cat attacked the birds while they were busy frolicking and grabbed hold of one of the lovers. In no time was the poor pigeon killed leaving behind a ghastly sight- its feathers blown scattered into the air, its twisted neck lying in the cats jaw with blood oozing out and its wings completely damaged. Its partner went into a state of shock. After leaping into the air to fly away to safety, it returned to the sight of the killing and kept hovering above it in frantic search of the other bird. A few minutes later, it collided into a wall head-on and full speed in a suicidal frenzy ( as it appeared to me!) and ended its life too. 

                           What revived the memories of this incident was a recent loss in my neighborhood. An old couple used to stay in a claustrophobic 20'*10' rectangular shop in the colony's market area. They had no choice but to live in this window-less shuttered room. The old man had been a respectable clerk in a factory and had built a comfortable house for himself in the years of his full vigor but unfortunately, he was thrown out of his home by his own son on account of some forgery. Refusing to budge down and plead, he decided to shift to this humble dwelling with his wife and also started a cycle repair job from the same room. It was a very interesting sight to watch the couple spend time together happily despite the odds. 

                             I got to know that the old man died a year ago and was followed by his dear beautiful wife a couple of months later!

96

Dear Readers, 

                     The face of the globe is changing beyond recognition. Forest cover is diminishing and huge blocks of land are swathed with soul-less concrete jungles and gargantuan structures. Climate change is making matters worse. Speaking locally, our farmers have been hit below the belt this year with untimely rains and one of the worst bouts of hailstorm. It is saddening to learn about farmer suicides taking place frequently through out the length and breadth of India including in our desert state.

                   I know where your mind would be racing towards now. The land Acquisition Bill and its nationally engaging debates or more appropriately, "mud-slinging" shown all day long on TV news channels. Well! lets not get into the slush there. All I am bothered about is the question, So! where is the solution? what is the alternative? A few months back I was talking to a dear friend who hails from Uttarakhand, that lovely abode in the Himalayas. I was appalled as well as disgusted when she told me that Real Estate land sharks were now grabbing gigantic mountain-slopes and mountain-tops in the beautiful Shivaliks to erect their clumsy, ugly, cheap and shabby dwellings at the cost of lush green pine forests full of one of the world's richest bio-diversity hot spots!

                And so is the case everywhere, riverbeds turning into falana-dhimkana Dream Valley Housing society, the most fertile lands of our farmers being converted into the most repulsive 5 stars and natural landscapes like riverbanks or dunes completely defaced and destroyed. If there is no way we can go back to the old ways, then I would request our leaders to stop crying foul and boldly accept the fact that now, there is no going back and we have to adapt ourselves to a dying planet. Otherwise, let us pledge to plan a life where we are more in touch with our nature and surroundings. With all my heart and my soul I back the second option and wish that some Buddha or Muhammad or Gandhi leads us into the light........ 

               

95

Dear Readers,

                      Eventually I have reached this conclusion that people who study literature are beautiful souls and are gifted people in  more than one way.  The mere pleasure of their presence is so enchanting and influencing even though they not speak a word. All the novels, poems, letters, short stories, classics they read leaves inside them an unfathomable quest to understand the unknown, to predict the unpredictable and to gauge the unmeasurable. 

                    History is for the disturbed soul. A soul caught in the vicious circles of punarjanma, of Karma and wandering wild in the layers of time and space, trapped inside the prism of our multiple Universes. I always knew that deep down in me is an actor who loves to pretend and role-play in real life. I enjoy locking myself up in this cocoon and enjoying my privacy but my cozy winter hibernation is interrupted by these 'literature types' who just see through me. They lay me bare and are able to read through my gimmicks. The feeling is horrible. Nothing hurts an actor more than a mild chide pointing out his under-performance. 

                   Yet, one always waits for the next encounter. This is also for the reason that all that a cheerful mind wishes to display, to showcase ( to show the world through his eye) can be best understood by these receivers of human emotions. They don't judge you but take you as you are, just as they would receive any of the characters in the stories or study a chisel strike on a monolith. Its a joy to show them what you want to. But one has to watch out, because even here, it is they who call the shots.

94

Dear Readers, 

                     A small gathering of 11 people was organized by my dear colleague Vishal Vikram Singh, Assistant Professor, Deptt. of Hindi, RU today at his residence in the evening. It turned out to be a big step on the road to foster genuine debate and discourse on-campus and was a momentous success despite the humble count. We are all geared up now for stepping up public speaking and discussions in this hitherto dormant University plagued by insular and petty thinking.

                         The topic of the informal meeting was life and works of G M Muktibodh, one of the greatest poets in Hindi literature. His ideas on Existentialism, Progressivism and Marxism as reflected in his jolting poems formed the content for debating and it engrossed us all into the intricacies and finesse of his beautiful mind. Vishal played the perfect host impressing us with his impeccable house-keeping skills ( the apartment was spic and span) serving cookies and tea and making us sit on the floor on mattresses covered with cool cotton bed-sheets ( giving the feel of elegant and stimulating mushairas) . 

                           As the discussion gained depth and became intense, I felt as if I am gaining one of my lost nerves. After a long gap, I was a party to a vehement, informal, genuine academic deliberation, quite like those we used to have at Ganga dhaba, or on the roof-tops of Brhmaputra hostel or in the lawns of SSS-1 ( all located in my parent Uni, JNU). The reason why I am so optimistic about an otherwise usual tea party is that it has set the ball rolling. Coming days will be fraught with all that we cherish and long to understand: Marx, Piketty, Post-modernism, Literary theory, Ambedkar, Gandhi, Bentham, Chomsky, M.N.Roy, R.S. Sharma, De-industrialisation, Quantum mechanics, Eco-criticism, Raghuram Rajan and anything under the Sun. Knowledge and thinking shall spill all over the teachers and students here........  

93

Dear Readers,

                     Many of you would be aware that Professor Thomas Piketty's book Capital, has emerged as a major breakthrough in international academia and is the latest talking point in universities across the globe. I am not in any position to comment on the content of the book because I could not lay my hands on it ( which would explain why I chose to write a blog tonight) but none the less, it is comforting to understand that his analysis of capitalism in the present context resonates the ideas of Marx in many ways.  . 

                      I tried looking for this book in many libraries that I visited recently during the last 3 months. Unfortunately, I could not find the book. On my return to Jaipur, I personally visited the offices of the main librarians of two of the most distinguished libraries of the city and despite their repeated assurances, the book seems like a far cry ( I would not mention the names here lest I evoke any animosity which costs me dear on my reading tastes). Well! This brings me to the agenda here.

                        It is unfortunate that the higher education system of our country is in shambles presently and there can be no other parameter to judge this decadence better than the state of our libraries. There is an urgent need to overhaul the entire library system and public reading culture. Many of the Grand libraries are under-staffed, the books are not arranged in any comprehensible order, funds allocated for buying new titles and digitization are often goofed up and the most important works and titles are not traceable as in the above case. Worst is the scenario where the stacks are ornamented with sub-standard, pseudo-intellectual literature instead of the Classics which is highly detrimental to the mental health of students and scholars.   

                      As I often tell my students, universities should be the place for debate and dissent but how can this be plausible till the time the fuel of critical thinking is not provided to our dear, bright and promising students. The way from the Library to the street joints of intense public debating is a long one and will be desolate untill and unless our libraries are rich with books and literature igniting the young minds.....

92

Dear Readers,

                     Just when I am about to discard the radio for ever and become a disciple of the USB drive or the more upbeat and expensive source of music- the CD, the age old companion to tasteful ears, our beloved radio, doles out a song which can't be more apt for the occasion and the mood that one is in. I think it is this serendipity which keeps us listening to FM radio channels despite the loquacious chattering of idiotic RJ's who think they sound very charming the way they quack.

                      Imagine, you are driving back to home after a long day and are stuck in a horrible traffic jam where cars refuse to move forward. For a second, your eyes  waver into the reddish-orangy glitter of endless tail-lights sending your heart into wonderland and as you sink into the memory of a smile, the radio plays that song from Lakshya movie, "kitni baatein yaad aati hain..." Or how do we feel when it is a glorious sunny day in the month of February and we are driving in the countryside or on a well-planted boulevard, and the sound of "Meri sanson main basa hai tera hi ek naam" from Bobby Deol's Barsaat gets into our eardrums? It announces the arrival of the real Valentine moment for new found love in flickering hearts!

                            We have to upload our choice of music into the pen-drive and in the CD too we know which track will play when. The thing with radio is you never have a clue about what is in store? The expectation of an exquisite match between your mood and the kind of song you would want to listen fuels our desire to keep on trying our luck and listening to the radio. It is a sort of gamble that many like me have become addicted to. Hence, I am giving in to the temptation again.....