Wednesday, October 2, 2019

Man is a rational being.

Man is a rational being. 
This was hammered into my small brain so many times when studying basic tenets of capitalism. But today I feel it’s more or less a codeword for being selfish. It ultimately means — man is a selfish being. 
It’s not an accurate assessment. Like so many other formulaic statements about human nature, this too is a partial assessment. 
On the contrary I feel, Man being cooperative and social is quite obvious, albeit he may be selfish at times. Think about it — we are a product of 4 million years of evolution always competing for survival with species far more stronger and able bodied than us. There were so many beings — but we survived and adapted ourselves to varying environments. It simply couldn’t have been possible without selfless cooperation— despite the phenomenal brain power attributed to humans. 

So how could we cooperate so long? Evolution of language of course would have helped. But it needs more than a language to cooperate. For sure many animals survive and communicate, even today, without highly developed language. 
It was the feeling of fraternity— of being brothers. And how to kindle that feeling? By imagining that we are all one big family. That might have been the basis of tribes. But as human settlements spread out there would have arose different tribes. With growing population and competition for food, there would have ensued battle for survival among the tribes.
So definitely it would have forced us to think beyond tribes. As just being limited to tribes might have hit the law of marginal utility. 
Hence next logical thing would have been to enjoin the tribes. How? By invoking that we are all from same father — God. So irrespective of tribal differences we are brothers. 
However over the time, as is the wont, these religions would have splintered on details of the “one” fatherly God. 
It needed a bigger force to bring heterogeneous believers together. 
And that came with gradual changes. From Charter of Charlemagne to treaty of Utrecht, Treaty of Westphalia, Glorious English Revolution, French revolution and American Revolution— we slowly arrive at the concept of Citizenship and nationalism. That we no longer are responsible to one God  or one King —but we belong to our one nation-state. We are  Indians, English,American etc. 

And now we again are staring at a situation when this is not enough. There are bigger survival threats like Global Warming, Life threatening diseases, extinction of flora and fauna— all of which knows no borders of citizenship and nationality. Need of the time is to even overcome the new tribal barrier of — nation state.

Sunday, September 8, 2019

In search of

In relentless search 
That all are
But what is it
That we search for?
Unstopping from morn to night
Seeking every phantom
To be real
Since eternity 
Frantically grabbing 
Every time but air

Thursday, August 29, 2019

Meeting a veteran

Meeting people from different walks of life has been the hallmark of my stay in USA so far. Today I met a man named Edward. White. Young. With skinny haircut, like a military veteran. I could see his biceps and triceps menacingly trying to escape from the confines  his right short shirt. A very young courteous man. Usually I have observed Uber drivers here, do not load your luggages. But he volunteered to, as I had loads of them. Held door open for me. 

All set. Ha asked what I do. I told him.
While loading in my luggage I observed that the trunk was full with other bags. 
I asked “are you too travelling somewhere? Because I see lot of bags there”
“No actually, one of the trips I did  was to airport. And the guests bag was overloaded and his other bag burst open. He requested me to drop it to his mom’s place. And he tipped me additional 25$”
“Oh vow! That’s so kind of you Edward”. 
“Thank you. Actually it is also on my way home.”
“And where are you heading to from airport?” He asked. 
“Am heading to Nashville. I got a new job there” 
“Oh great! Many congratulations”
“Thank you Edward!”
“I can see your biceps bulging out. Do you work out a lot?”
“No just the basic stuffs. I don’t do gym stuffs. I do push-ups”
“How many do you do?”
“300-500!”
“My God! How do you manage to?”
“Well I do it multiple times throughout the day. Morning I do 150. Somewhere noon when I am bit free I do next batch and evening I do another set. I don’t look for a specific place. If I am driving and I find a vacant place, I park, and do push-ups on walkway. Just try to be fit” (he was far too humble. Could see him being coy!)
“That’s excellent. Great inspiration man”
“Oh thank you very much sir!”
I asked “Do you drive through out the day. Is it your main job?” Assuming many drive only part time. 
“Actually am marine corps veteran. I have a day job and work for federal agency. I am doing this because I have an additional expense of 7000$ coming up. My dog is ill and it needs surgery which will cost that much of money”
“You are a very kind man. But was your dog always like this? Or did it meet with an accident. How long did you own it?”
“No, we picked him some 11 months back from a rescue centre where they put all unwanted dogs. It had this problem since then. It just got aggravated. May be someone handled him rough, might have just thrown him during transportation or might have met with an accident”
“Hope you get enough money Edward, for this noble cause!”
“Thank you sir”

“So are you an American citizen sir?”
“No far from it. I am from India”
“Oh I hear many Indians face problem in getting work permit here”
“Yeah. Too many ppl wanting to emigrate, you see”
“Yeah. How is it with Pakistan? What is the issue?”
That came out of the blue. Wasn’t expecting this. 
“So do you have time and do you want to get into this!”
“Sure! Why not?”
So my tongue kept working all the way from 1890-1947! History Indian partition  in short. 

He sounded interested. 
“So what is the problem now?”
... kashmir ... blah blah ....

I changed the topic “So what is your day job like?”
“Like I said I work for federal agency after my retirement from marine corps. Go after criminals. Help federal agency. Not a direct police or fbi but one of their foot soldiers who keeps eye on problem cases like felony etc”

“Is it an uniformed service?”
“No”
“Do you have to get involved in hand to hand combat?”
“We are trained to”
“What is your opinion about backlash against police for violence against African Americans especially?”
“Oh yes it is sad. Situation is bad. Unfortunately many do end up like that”
To balance the situation I said “one of my friends gave me a different perspective. He says policemen work under stress and they get shot many times over and never make it to newspapers. “
“Yes that is also true.”
“But Edward I think you would agree if I say African Americans do get a raw deal. They get killed and their killer policemen never get punished.”
“Sadly that is also true. I do not disagree. They end up in jail for longer periods of incarceration unlike whites for a similar crime.”

“So when did you get into military service?”
“When I was like 16 year old”
“And how long was the course?”
“Two years. “
“And how was the experience?”
“Too much of hardwork. No academics. All physical training”
“How about officers? Do they also go through the same?”
“No they have different route. It’s bit more academic. How is it india?”
“Well the place I come from has a very reputed military training academy called national defence academy. It has both part academics and lot of physical training. But they all go onto become officers. Most start as lieutenant commander ”
I further probed “Did you ever get an opportunity to do on field work outside United States?”

“Oh yes! Been to many places. Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Switzerland, Spain but more in Middle East”
“So how was it in Afghanistan? Of course a very naive question, still want to hear it from you”
“Oh it’s terrible that we are now negotiating with Taliban. It’s a big insult to veterans like me and many others who were fighting against them. We are like ‘what did we really gain?’  We don’t get anything. No strategic advantage, no diplomatic mileage. And we lost so many lives there”
“No I meant what was your experience on field”
“We didn’t even have proper barracks. We were living in makeshift shelters there”
“How was the food?”
“Food was ok. But middle eastern food was the best I ate so far. Afghan elderly men who were our interpreters vis-à-vis locals, had some very interesting stories to share. “

By the time I would have liked to know his interesting stories we reached airport. I requested if he would pose for a selfie, I would be happy. 
Politely declined, “ I don’t want to end up on social media. Wouldn’t be good for my career!”

Tuesday, July 16, 2019

Lost somewhere

From a distance 
I can hear him sighing 
Watery eyes
Tears dripping down his cheeks. 

An young lad that he is
Lost in a strange land 
Lost from himself 
Lost from his kith and kin. 

Paths lead to more paths
Labyrinth that it is
But no goal at sight
He makes a goal on the path he stood 

Toys of clay
That will wither to clay 
One day
Knows that, he too

Yet it’s good to be busy
He thinks
All around he sees people 
Busy in the game of existing 
Willingly he participates, too

Yet in the din of silence 
He can hear his lament 
Pathos of pain
That stirs his soul

Saturday, July 6, 2019

Chaldeans

The other day I met a guy who was grilling steak on company’s grill. He looked every bit immigrant. Mostly west Asian. His name on the badge he wore appeared as Bach Khaalki something like that. He looked at me and smiled. 
It was all smoky and smelt grilled beef everywhere. It was shiny and sunny outside. He made a small talk about weather. I responded. Asked him if he thought it would rain. 
“Oh about Michigan nothing can be said for sure”
“Where are you from?” Out of curiosity I asked. 
“We are Chaldean”
I stumped. Chaldean? Never heard of it before. For a moment I thought might be some Native American ancient tribe either from USA or Canada. Such was my ignorance. 
After a moment on a pretext of call on phone, I moved aside and quickly googled to save myself from embarrassing situation. 
Google taught me they are the Christians in Iraq who spoke the language Jesus spoke — aramic. Last existing tribe of that ancient era who were the first Christians of the world. 
Armed with this information I went back to my new acquaintance. Ever smiling, as if he knew me from past life, I asked him straight “I am sorry I didn’t get you, when you said you are Chaldean. What is it? Where is this place”. 
He said exactly the same things google taught me, but in interesting way. He said they are Aramic speakers. I probed him further. 
“Do you still speak Aramic at home?”
“Of course yes” with a smile and pride. To prove his point he spoke in Aramic asking, how am I doing. It sounded more like Arabic to me. I told him so. 
Yes he said it sounds more like that. He informed me aramic like Arabic is Semitic language. 
He said they migrated some 40 years back when Saddam Hussein unleashed atrocities against Chaldean Christians. He and his tribe found second home in USA. He misses his home. 
To my astonishment he felt bad that Saddam was hanged. He said here (in USA) every Tom Dick Harry carries a gun and unleashes violence but rarely get death sentence. Mostly they end up in life sentence. And fierce independent ruler was hanged under a rigged up legal system. 
I pointed out the contradiction that they (his tribesmen) were persecuted ppl under Saddam. To which he countered that “ he was better I feel now compared to present regime. It wasn’t this bad!”  
It was getting long and interesting. I had other boring office meetings lined up. Bid him adieu and went in

Saturday, May 18, 2019

Paneer!

Today while returning from Friday prayers, it was an old man, apparently, who came to pick me up (Uber cab). Bald hairs. Appeared White in complexion. Would have taken him to be local American. 
His name was Gagik. I waited for him at the other entrance. He was bit irritated it seems when I called him up. I guessed he must be at the other side of building and went and met him. 
Said hello. Exchanged pleasantries. 
Then he asks me “what nationality “ in accent not American. I guessed, he too must be immigrant. 
“Indian.”
“Are you a moozzlim?”
I was bit apprehensive. 
I said yes. 
“Do they have moozzlims in India ? Or how is it pronounced moozzlim or mazzlim?”
“It’s Muslim. We have quite a small percentage of Muslims in India. “
I asked how about you?
“I am an Armenian. Do you know Armenia ”
“Yes. Somewhere in Turkey?”
“Yes. Yes” smiling. 
I asked how long have you been here. 
“29 years !”
“Quite a long time.”
“Yes it is.”
Out of blue he asked do you eat meat ?
“Prefer veggies but can eat meat.”
“So you can eat meat! I love meat. Goat meat is my favourite. “
“So what cuisines do you have in Armenia ? Which is most popular dish?”
And wait ... you will be surprised. 
He said PANEER!

**had to google and feel bad that paneer is not native Indian thing. Sigh! It has its roots in Turkey/Armenia. And they too call it paneer**

Sunday, May 12, 2019

Wind blew away

It was a seasonal wind
that blew away the portrait on wall, leaving it astray
In last rains, these walls were not as wet,
I wonder why, this time, it is damp?
It has cracked
And it flows down as, tear flows down a dry face

These rains used to sing on this rooftop,
It would leave messages on the windowpanes,
Now it sits out throwing its childish tantrums, outside these closed windows

Come Noon, it is like Chess Set with no pieces in it
Neither anyone to make his move,
Neither comes day, nor night dawns,
Everything has stopped

What a seasonal wind it was
that blew away the portrait on wall, leaving it astray?

Sunday, April 21, 2019

On life

Sometimes life is like a game of dice. Every time u expect a figure and something else is rolled out. Upside down, downside up, topsy turvy seems to be the rule of life. The moment I feel that I have understood, I understand that I really have not understood. The moment I know that I know her(life), I really know that I still don’t know her (life). As mysterious as Sherlock Holmes’s investigation, as unpredictable as Earthquakes…the mystery continues, supposed to be true predictions continues…
The game of dice at times, when drawn on graph over multiple players and time would resemble spaghetti. Not knowing the start, neither the end. Each intertwined with the other. As Fitzgerald, translation of Omar Khayyam’s Rubiayyat
Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
 Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
 And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
 I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
At least he  was a man of wisdom. He had the courage to accept and proclaim to the world, we are nothing special, but just being moved around like dust which moves in wind or like water flowing aimlessly, being pushed and stopped by forces of nature. But mere mortals like you and me, believe that we are after some esoteric aims, like that of Alexanders and Napoleans of the yesteryears, albeit in milder ways. We push ahead, day dreaming that we are doing something great, but in actuality we are all just being slaves to the biological and societal forces. We learn, go to school, make friends, aspire to ‘be someone’, we marry, we mate, raise kids, educate them, help them with their studies, make arrangements for their wedding, and finally take care of their kids and help them to school, and in few years, life’s Grammarian puts a period/fullstop to our life. And there it ends…People around would mourn for some time, yet soon to be forgotten. And there the dice stops rolling. Neither winning nor losing would matter. King and the pawn both would be treated the same.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
 “
*mighty Jamshyd, a mythological Persian king,
Bahram, a king (AD 420-438) in the Sassanian dynasty of ancient Iran renowned for his skill at hunting:

नहीं हूँ मैं

दाइम पड़ा हुआ तिरे दर पर नहीं हूँ मैं 
ख़ाक ऐसी ज़िंदगी पे कि पत्थर नहीं हूँ मैं 

Lying perpetually at your doorsteps, I am not?
Shame on a life like this for I am not a stone. 

If first line is not read with a question mark it can also be interpreted as poets desire to be just a stone at believers door. 
क्यूँ गर्दिश-ए-मुदाम से घबरा न जाए दिल 
इंसान हूँ पियाला ओ साग़र नहीं हूँ मैं 

Why should I be afraid of perpetual circulation (or pushing and shoving around?)
After all I am a human being not a goblet/decanter. 
(Goblet used to be passed around in mehfils)

या-रब ज़माना मुझ को मिटाता है किस लिए 
लौह-ए-जहाँ पे हर्फ़-ए-मुकर्रर नहीं हूँ मैं

O! Lord why does the world keep erasing me?
I am not a letter written by mistake twice on the slate of the world.  
** I am not a redundant being regardless of how world treats me.

On Religion

Despite all its criticism religion serves one important purpose. 
There is inequality, injustice, misery, disease, death etc. With such instability and unpredictability religion and belief in God gives some sanity and purpose to the life of masses. 
For person from Abrahmic faith it helps him when he starts thinking that this world is an examination— a testing ground. You do your good work refrain from sin and you will get justice in after life. 
Fro person from Indic faiths it helps him when he starts thinking that he will meted a good life in the nextlife. Whatever he is suffering is from the bad accumulated karmas of the past. 
It might look lazy and not being productive but it gives a relief to the believer from all these worldly troubles. 
Life in itself is meaningless.  It gives a meaning to the believers life. 

Love and Conservatives

“What if I tell you there is no life after death?” quipped Imran. 
Rehana looked upset. Clouds of doubt started descending on her that she made a wrong choice. After all wasn’t his father a Haji. And didn’t he talk about Islam and exhibited his piety. 

“Ah! I was just joking, honey. Just wanted to see how you react? Of course there is life after death and a long and permanent life. How can our fathers and forefathers be so wrong with their age old held belief?” Imran tried calling to cover up the obvious faux pass he just committed. 

Rehana breathed a sigh of relief. “After all he isn’t an infidel” she thought. 

It’s been a month that Imran and Rehana started seeing each other. Their parents were “progressive” and they “allowed” them to meet each other. 

What is my crime?

I’m in state of delirium. In a state of hallucination. May be it’s the fever. But something from the soul is gnawing at my wretched heart. A deep sense of frustration mixed with guilt. I feel like Raskalnikov. Having committed a worst crime which has no redemption on this earth. 
What is it that raises its ugly head. Nearly knocking off my soul from its temporary prison. 
Am hallucinating. Of fighting with a monster ready to grab me and push me to perdition forever. Of a tunnel with no light at the end. Groping in dark, in eternity. 
What is my crime? 

Great expectations

Am left numb speechless moist eyed, as I finished second part of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens . 
Human emotions and thinking can at times be way too parochial and ungrateful. We weave our own meaning to life. We ascribe ideas to situations and people— the notions which may not exist in reality. Pip sought meaning to his life by clinging onto the Havishams. He thought his benefactress was she. Out of that he also imagined Estella to be destined for him. In the process he left away all those lovely people who cared for him. 

And all this while he abhorred and feared the actual benefactor, of course he never knew it was him!
Such a brilliant portrayal. And such ironies of life. And so in-depth study of human mind. 

Excerpts from Das Profundis

In response to ur post on suffering 

“Suffering is one very long moment.  We cannot divide it by seasons.  We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return.  With us time itself does not progress.  It revolves.  It seems to circle round one centre of pain.”

....
“sorrow is the most sensitive of all created things.  There is nothing that stirs in the whole world of thought to which sorrow does not vibrate in terrible and exquisite pulsation.”

“Where there is sorrow there in holy ground.  Some day people will realise what that means.  They will know nothing of life till they do,—and natures like his can realise it”

“Suffering is permanent, obscure, and dark
And has the nature of infinity.”

“I have hills far steeper to climb, valleys much darker to pass through.  And I have to get it all out of myself.  Neither religion, morality, nor reason can help me at all.”

“To regret one’s own experiences is to arrest one’s own development.  To deny one’s own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one’s own life.  It is no less than a denial of the soul.”

“Society takes upon itself the right to inflict appalling punishment on the individual, but it also has the supreme vice of shallowness, and fails to realise what it has done.”

“sorrow remarries us to God,”

“Clergymen and people who use phrases without wisdom sometimes talk of suffering as a mystery.  It is really a revelation.  One discerns things one never discerned before.  One approaches the whole of history from a different standpoint.  What one had felt dimly, through instinct, about art, is intellectually and emotionally realised with perfect clearness of vision and absolute intensity of apprehension.”

Excerpt From
De Profundis
Oscar Wilde
https://itunes.apple.com/in/book/de-profundis/id498734605?mt=11
This material may be protected by copyright.

सवाल

पहाड़ों के साये में 
अपनी ऊँचाई का एहसास होता हैं
योद्धाओं के द्वन्द के बीच
अपने छोटे छोटे अनबन के क्या माने?
एक बूँद की क्या वजूद सागर के आगे ?
आख़िर छः अंधे कब हाथी को टटोल के समझ पाए ?

Friday, April 5, 2019

STRANGERS

Let us exist now, like strangers, With smile on face, let us conveniently hear out each other's lies. Amidst those gaps of silence filled with sighs Let us flow back to the past. Now what? With that question, let our eyes bid adeiu to each other. Let us part our ways from now on. Promising selves, not to turn back again to catch a glimpse, Let us turn back for last one time.

Dried flowers..

That sublime moment when you chance upon an old, long forgotten, moth-eaten, dusty book in your attic. You carefully open it. You see You recognize your writing. Probably the notebooks you maintained in your adolescence. You turn its pages. And somewhere in the middle of the notebook you discover a dried fossilized rose. The flower which you plucked from your garden. That which you wanted to gift Her. You remember your palpitations then. How you spent a sleepless night before planning each move. How that night was endless. You reach school. But find that she is not in today. You wonder why? Her father left with family to a distant place, was the reply you get from her friend. That flower -- which blossomed but still did not reach its finality. You observe that page and notice few wrinkled spots which were tears once. Strange. Both tears and petals coexisted safely in that book.