Sunday, 27 January 2013

Life of Pi', the movie, has an interesting statement coming out of protagonist's father's mouth at their family dinner table, 'What the science of thousand years has given us religion of ten thousand years could not'- something like that. This comes as a coincidence when I am helping a quicky Internet type research on disability history relating to India, where the axiom holds true. Interesting read of the many in Internet is Prof. Dalal's simple concise work DISABILITY REHABILITATION IN A TRADITIONAL INDIAN SOCIETY [download] I couldn't agree more that much needs to be known and done [link to other paper]

and, Bend writes the history of Disability in India in form of a time line:

First they just ate, in a jungle,
soon they started living in trees and caves, and started respecting the individual,
wore clothes, and soon became charitable,
some gazed at fire, some heard storms, so they became spiritual,
more joined and made it honourable,
sooner to become a wel-
fare state, making it governable,
now advocating equality for the disable-

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Put Indians to Pray

I think the time has come when the world accepts India as an ultimate religious body since the country is an ultimate conglomeration of God lovers and fearers. For the greater good of all kind I am proposing here a greater intervention. Don't confuse war, politics, or humanitarian programmes, but a religious intervention where the world decides that the sole occupation which India's people should carry out for their lifetimes is to Pray. Yes, only Pray, and do nothing else. They, of course can take out time for their basic chores and some deserving entertainment, even procreation, but now high time has come they stop acting as engineers, scientists, doctors, even competitive sports  and so on because most of us suck at it. There is something called 'ethics' as well, which Indians suck at too. So, let us world citizens make an unanimous decision, like clever human beings transfer One Billion Indians of worries of praying to God -  whatever reason we pray for: peace, composure, sins, luck - and save precious time. Transfer of this Trust to our Indian brethren can perhaps bring Godly sanity to rest of the world.

Aristorcrat and Brat Prolite-rat

1980’s in India, Bend recalls his childhood, and it took a tantrum from the big head kid Bend, a potential aristocrat then, who forced his parents to buy him the attractive looking candy floss he was seeing for the first time. The floss was wrapped around a thin and sinewy straw which was also used in making handles for flower brooms then; an important house commodity then and still, now mostly sold made of plastic. The dark and ragged poor man joyfully sold a sizeable piece of the pink cloud to kid Bend, bigger than his head, making some honest new paisa in return; so, a livelihood through this borrowed innovation. This probably a tribal man carried his establishment on a bicycle, and when selling his goods used to park it with its back wheel on a saddle stand. The English candy he made was sweet, and the first time it made contact with Bend’s lips, the fluffy mass surprisingly melted in Bend’s mouth leaving behind sweet residual particles much fewer than expected.

Thursday, 24 January 2013

No change for Candyman

Bend isn’t talking anymore with this Candy selling man in India. The latter is a strong one electorate but misinformed, unaware, and if he is not on any scheduled backward reservation list, maybe he just doesn’t cares. What matters even if he is a nice man, he loves his bicycle, mends his friends, waves at them when he sees them after a while, shouts loud, real loud, if he needs to, is rowdy, unclean, vagabond looking; and the worst, does not entirely agrees with his beautiful truth of being a poor guy. Perhaps, he is fine being ordinary. He dreams of becoming a rich man one day, and live like the masters he works for. He would like to join the army or become a cop too if he can pass the test. All this while, selling candy, he wants a family as well. And, in all his dreams there’s one most important thing required, money; and Bend hasn’t got any in his pocket for his candy, not even any change.

Tuesday, 22 January 2013

The hurt

An innocent girl and her friend,
walked the beautiful Delhi streets,
until some brutal youths kidnapped them,
in a bus within the city’s limits

Perhaps, Srinagar is safer then,
where every man on the road has a gun,
where goons dare not rape even a hen,
but then similar problems are there even

A collective desperate that they raped her,
beat her and then tear her hither thither,
intestines, blood and filth here and there,
reduced to a dead body somebody’s daughter

I can’t think anything sensible this hour,
my head is filled with daze,
could have been clearer less sour,
had my school taught a honest learning page on sex and rape

But I am learning now as time rambles,
the elected, executive and law-keepers thrive in shambles,
all can blame the society and its variables,
intelligent this time not to take upon themselves,
while the president was road trippin to bay of bangles,
citizen at Janpath beaten from almost all angles

anyhow, all waiting for time to solve it as always,
Now that it has been realized again,
certainly not forgotten because of the scar and its stain,
that although the road and streets are safe again,
we will walk in groups in this our nation,
or at least in two’s,
avoid talking to strangers not in aquaintance,
not still befriend the concept called freedom

now there be peace rallies against violence,
let'ss all walk shamefully with sympathetic candles,
flames saved from wind by one handed palm cap cups,
they are not meant to light a cigarette,
they are to signify a hope, a new start,

laugh it off a bygone unpleasant event,
happens every day and somewhere in our sub-continent,
law-makers better change for,
you and me and our big brother,
representative of us, paid by us,
take some genuine responsibility for the hurt

Thursday, 17 January 2013

Make it convenient for a man

Bend: Rather than remembering living at someplace as a failure and curse it for his remaining life, it is perhaps wiser for a man to remind himself that he’d quit it instead. The memories become worth.

Wednesday, 16 January 2013

Fluffy Mushy Mossy Mass,

do you remember that candyflass?
Bend cannot not help comparing the present Indian electorate with candyfloss; youthful pink, tender like wool, sticky silk, and perceptibly slimy. Available in India in its crowded bazaars and melas, the flass is a ruffle jumble worked like an old Anglican woman’s puff hair is rolled by a pair of dark, sweaty and smelly hands around a thin wooden stick or plastic to be politely served. Then contacted with the mouth the wool shrinks, surprisingly tiny, and not disappointing entirely, leaves a tease of sweet taste. While Bend hates return for his money here, the candyfloss is perhaps a fun recourse to bored children. The grownups like sugar too, and the candyman is selling them ferment, and some other is selling the post fermentation juice. Bend can see this love and dependence in sweet has penetrated into all- physical, psychological, mental and in some cases spiritual levels in to the society kids, grownups and the candymen themselves. All have wound their lives in the Fluffy Mushy Mossy Mass. But, not Bend.