Category: Writing

There is no such thing as generation gap. Heck, the whole problem is about my previous generation coming too close to me. Forget gap, there’s a generation overlap at my home. My parents are all over me, all the time, for everything. Generation gap my foot!

They say that the ‘phenomenon’ of generation gap first occurred in the 1920s, due to the older generation having just fought in the war finding it inappropriate that the younger were out at dance halls and listening to jazz music.
Which dance bar …er…I mean dance hall did I ever go to? And hey, my dad fought no world war – not outside my mom’s territory anyway.

But I guess my parents couldn’t have borrowed the reason for their panga with me from the 1920s. They only look old, Ranjib-ed and bose-d; but they are actually quite young. Young enough to be able to always keep me on toes with the thought of having a sibling. A sibling? Now, at this age? Aw, come on, I’m 17. I can’t have a baby bro or sis who is 18 years younger to me. Now THAT would be what I call generation gap.

But hey, that was like giving birth to a new topic. No, no, no; I don’t want to talk about anything but the age-old yap called generation gap.

Ever since I was born, my parents have been on my case. My mom, of course, had started taking control of me even earlier than that! If only my dad was someone better, I would’ve ‘formed myself’ within my mother, hearing his pearls of wisdom. Or maybe he deliberately kept me away from becoming Abhimanyu and getting killed within a deadly ‘Chakravyuh’. Oh my God; yes, my dad’s an angel! Or else, at 17, I had only one more year to go!

But hey, wait a minute. Maybe my dad’s not such a God after all. Maybe he’s a sadist. He wants me to live longer. No, no; he wants me to live longer WITH HIM. Heck, even a moment with him feels like an year anyway. “Zindagi lambi nahin, badi honi chahiye”, babu moshai’s late friend had once said. With so much suffocation around at home, “na toh meri zindagi lambi ho rahi hai, na hi main bada ho pa raha hoon”!

I have seen so many households where dad is a friend and mom is almost a girl friend. (Eew! Doesn’t sound too pristine, does it? I know.) But at my home, mom’s just a stuffing machine (stuffs food, clothes, morals, time-table and other pukes into or onto me, depending upon her mood) and dad’s a recovery agent (”give me your report card”, “give me those books with pictures in your bag”, “give me your teacher’s number” and other diarrhoea).

So you see, I either get pumped in or get frisked out. One way or the other, there is at least one hand on me – generally around my neck.

And then they say I don’t understand them. Heck, I want to understand you mom, dad. But for that to happen, I’ll have to be able to see you. You guys remain far too close to me. Two generations Bose-s are almost glued to each other. Give me some space guys. Give me some gap within generations. Show me that there is, after all, a thing called generation gap.

What is eventual justice; and who decides that? While it may not be a subject of much thought in instances where there is a ‘clear’ demarcation between the ‘black’ from the ‘white’, the issue becomes a serious food of thought when a couple of people decide upon abstract issues like morality, ethics, sensibilities. Is it fair to have a world where the ‘assessment of the selected few’ is deemed more evolved than that of others? Alas! There’s no other world.

Suppose Dawood Ibrahim were to be caught tomorrow by sleuths of the Research and Analysis Wing (RAW), India’s external intelligence agency, would it be fair to eliminate him at the first opportune instant or would that be legally (or constitutionally) and morally unsuitable?

The answer – at least in public forums – HAS to be a resounding ‘no’. “Why, we have to have faith in the system and allow the law to take its course”, the appalled humanists would argue, before adding, “and if he is found guilty, he should be hanged”.

And if the reaction does not surprise us, it is simply because we are ‘conditioned’ to follow a certain method and format of humanity and humanism in life. Everything between our birth and the eventual death is confined within that ‘conditioning’.

And yet, doesn’t the approach say something like “the men in khaki do not have the mandate to kill him with gun today, but the men in black can have the mandate to kill him tomorrow with a rope”?

Don’t get me wrong here; I’m NOT, under any circumstances, advocating the so-called ‘encounters’ by the men in khaki. We are not talking about the, again, so-called D Company and its long list of ‘legally and morally unsuitable’ acts. In fact, the issue here is not even crime and the best mode of answering it with ‘appropriate justice’. The issue here is about our ‘conditioning’ in life. Conditioning about abstract and thoroughly contextual entities like ‘justice’.
Before we move any further with the topic, and because justice – at least from one perspective – is a subject of philosophy too, let’s see what has been said on the subject by one of the early thinkers. In Human, All Too Human (Menschliches, Allzumenschliches) – a book by philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, originally published in 1878 – Nietzsche challenges the notion that ‘the world’ treats everyone fairly:

“One common false conclusion is that because someone is truthful and upright toward us he is speaking the truth. Thus the child believes his parents` judgments, the Christian believes the claims of the church`s founders. Likewise, people do not want to admit that all those things which men have defended with the sacrifice of their lives and happiness in earlier centuries were nothing but errors. Perhaps one calls them levels of truth. Basically, however, one thinks that if someone honestly believed in something and fought for his belief and died it would be too unfair if he had actually been inspired by a mere error. Such an occurrence seems to contradict eternal justice. Therefore the hearts of sensitive men always decree in opposition to their heads that there must be a necessary connection between moral actions and intellectual insights. Unfortunately, it is otherwise, for there is no eternal justice.”

There is no eternal justice he said. Many – and I subscribe to that school of thought – have interpreted the word ‘eternal’ as not only from the perspective of time but also from that of (geographical & cultural) location. For we believe that the problem with a ‘consistent conditioning’ – i.e. a steadfast belief in one set of methods and morals – is that it often does not take into account the varying nature of conditions. And with that, we also mean the ‘conditioning’ of the men involved in the judicial process too.

If you are born in Varanasi and have grown up along side the various Hindu scriptures, beliefs and reverences, it is possible for you to smell blasphemy at the smallest deviation from the normal etiquette towards anything related to Hindu religion (or Sanatan Dharma, as the original and true name goes). And then, if you happen to be the Chief Justice of a High Court and are listening to a public interest litigation (PIL) with regards to ‘perceived notion of hurt sensibilities of Hindus’, there are chances of your going a bit harsher on the alleged offender (more likely to be a painter, filmmaker, musician etc) than what an atheist would have. It holds true for a person of any faith or background.

Point being, a Judge too, after all, is a human being. Her psychological make-up and the ability to arrive at a judgement is invariably shaped by her family and social conditioning.

Morever, since every individual is shaped up by a varying family and neighbourhood conditioning, how can every one come up with the same assessment of a worldly happening? For a Judge who has grown up in poverty, theft of a daily wage earner’s bicycle would be just as big an offence as the theft of a Mercedes benz of a businessman. But for a Judge who has grown up in swanky C G Road or S G Highway, the bicycle theft would be a minor case of ‘routine happening’. So, in case of a team (or ‘bench’ as they call it in legal parlance) of three Judges, the ‘truth’ is decided by a vote – with the majority vote deciding the ‘justice’.

Now how different is it from the saying ‘might is right’, or the more scathing “jiski laathhee uski bhains”?

The closest analogy for that would be the fact that some people may not have voted for BJP in Gujarat, others may not have voted for Congress at the center. But the party which gets the majority vote gets the “right to rule” – or right to form the government anyway. But is that right correct? But if that is not correct then what is the alternative? Because not in the next ten trillion light years would every individual of a state would vote for the same party.

Does that mean that as in politics, a judgement based on merit or a judgement by any human on a fellow human being basically reflects the truth that there is no alternative (TINA)?

Yes, that’s precisely what it is. If we don’t allow fellow humans to judge us and mete out justice, there would be absolute anarchy. Allowing the chosen few – who, at least in judiciary, come through a rigorous process – to play God is a small price to pay to make this world go round.

So, just as “history is what the historians wrote”, justice too – in a way – is what the chief justices read out. Does it make sense? Well, you are your own judge here.

It was a bolt from blue for this Kitli Times (KT) reporter. Lying on the table was an invitation for nothing less than the wedding of the century!

“We, on behalf of my younger brother, Shri Amar Singhji, invite you to the wedding of Shri Amar Singhji’s nephew with Shri Amar Singhji’s friend’s company’s brand ambasaddor. We request you to kindly come in time and show this invitation to Shri Amar Singhji’s black cat commandos. RSVP Shri Amar Singhji’s elder brother”

What turned the heaven into the 9th one was the fact that this KT reporter was the ONLY reporter from the whole of India to have been invited to the wedding.

Anyway, in my best shervani and carrying the card in my hand – in such a way that every loser and his uncle could read the content – I reached the venue much before time.

Suddenly a couple of commandos jumped down from within the trees at the gate and pounced on me. One of them twisted my hand behind my back kicked my handsome behind with full might. Other punched in the stomach, slapped me and kicked me away from the gate.

“Pata nahin hai, Shri Amarsinghji ko media waaley pasand nahin hain?”

“Arey, lekin unhone his bulaya hai”, I tried to explain, amidst feeling the pain in my posterior.

Before they could pulp me further for opening my mouth, the gate opened. And out came Amar Singh, with his patent smile.

“Arey kya hua? In logon ne tumhare saath bhi koi majjaak kiya kya?”

“Majaak?!”

“Arey yaar, aisa thoda-bahut toh ho jaata hai majjaak-majjaak mein. Isi baat pe ek sher sunata hoon:

Atal ne kaha beheji se, aa sakhi haath milayen
Humne kaha aap to bas apni-apni ghadi milayen

There are a few things that you HAVE to do if you want to be a reporter. Listening to Amar Singh’s shayari is one of them.

Anyway, we soon went in. Amar Singh’s elder brother, bhabhi and nephew were doing some puja at the lawns of Jalsaghar – within an air-conditioned pandal of course. There were 101 pandits saying mantras; each in a language of his own. It was then that I understood the meaning of ‘wedding of the century’.

Anyway, across and behind the pandal was the house. THE HOUSE! How many millions have died wanting to have one look of the house, and HIM in it. But I, a humble KT Reporter was invited to the place. Hail Kitli, hail Cha and …”hailo to all”. The last one was my greeting from across the pandal to anyone who cared to see me in my torn sherwani!
As with everything related to the marriage, the news of my presence spread like a wild fire …amongst news persons, all of whom wanted to be inside at any cost.

Never to shy away from creating drama, a crowd of about 5000 media people gherao-ed the main gate, all shouting “gaddar ko baahar nikalo” and “KT Reporter tum peechhe hato, hum tumhare saath hain”.

And what followed next became the Breaking News of all channels:

“Jab hum sabhi hai-hai ke naare laga rahe thhe, tabhi WOH, jee haan, HE himself, woh bahar aaye aur hamari taraf muskura kar wave kiya. Really, what makes him stand apart is his humility, even at this stage of his life. Is par pesh hai hamara ‘Vishesh Karyakram’ – “AB: Ab Tak Humble”.

The pooja seemed to be getting over when, suddenly, all hell broke loose – this time inside the Jalsaghar. HIS neighbour’s son was caught using his mobile for filming …the pandits! Suddenly, from nowhere, again, Amar Singh’s commandos got down to their business. The boy was first serviced in his backside and then a little warmth was pasted on his stomach, cheeks and nose.

The moment it got over, HE personally came to the boy and apologised. “Woh hamare guards nahin, Amar Singhji ke commandos thhe, jinpar hamara control nahin hai”.

All this while, I was getting curious about not having cited the bride and groom even once!

“Amar Singhji, yeh dulha-dulhan kahan hain?”

He started smiling. He looked around and whispered: “Woh to India mein hai hi nahin.”

“What! But today is their wedding!”

He looked around again, smiling all the while, and dropped the bombshell: “Haan, toh shaadi to shaam ko hai na. They will be back from the honeymoon by that time.”

“What!”

“So, does anyone, I mean ANY one know about this?”

He gave this wicked smile:”Not even bade bhaiya.”

It was too much to handle for me. The last I remember was the news about Abhi arriving on the ghodi in the evening. People told me that he looked ecstatic. And ready for more.

Bade log, bade log.

We boys start noticing girls around Class 9 – only to find them “oh so weird and not fun at all”. But only till we reach Class 12. Because after that,  girls become the only reason why we want to succeed or why we failed! Such a drastic turn in a matter of two years; as if life was not full of issues already for 17 year-olds.

But what I have recently realised (after getting into a city-based science college) is that I too have a heart. (Eureka!) A heart that keeps on writing poetry for anyone who would ever care to read them. Fortunately, when you get a forum like League, you are sure that thousands of people would be reading your poetry (or whatever they were meant to be). I mean no offence to people who have got published in this magazine thus far. It’s just that I am naturally offensive. Particularly to girls. Oh God dad, why do I look like you!

Anyway, as I was saying, I recently realised that I have a heart that loves writing poetry. Before I move ahead on the topic, here are a few lines:

I am what you want me to be,
You are what you want to be,
What kinda nonsense is this,
Everything’s what YOU want to be?

Anyway, the thing is, while my heart loves writing poetry, other people’s hearts don’t love reading them! My dad used to say that this is not a fair world. Oh God dad, why do you always want to be right?

Fortunately, unlike as in school, when you are in college, you can be at other colleges during your own college hours! And with such tight traveling schedules across the various colleges of the city, you do learn a thing or two about life.
Generally the first learning for people like is that of the extreme insignificance or our selves in comparison to the big university campus dudes and dudettes.

And the 2nd important learning is that almost everyone thinks the same. YES! Except for a few cousins of Salman and Kareena, most of the college people seem to be wanting to be someone else. Of course, even if we all go through the exchange program, I doubt if anyone would ever want to be me. But then, that’s partly to do with the fact that SHE (the idea of a feminine God is infinitely more appealing) doesn’t make them like me anymore. Ahem!

Anyway, moving around from one college (canteen) to another has taught me that women are the same everywhere. And that they look the best in two seasons – monsoon and Navratri. While Navratri is a bit far at the moment, here’s one from me for girls in monsoon:

Either you hurt us or we get hurt
The sum total is always our hurt
But this ain’t about sums & totals
It’s about monsoon & your t-shirt

Reminded you of John Keats, eh? Well, monsoon does inspire me to write some heart-crushing poetry.

And why not, monsoon is such a lovely season. We can wear the same clothes for three months and God would keep on washing them for you! The more philosophically-inclined say that you can cry in the public and the world wouldn’t know. I have feel something similar; with my nose replacing their eyes. The flow is kept the same!

When I was young, I used to laugh at men who would sit outside ATIRA and other such places with their girlfriends during rains. I could not understand how girls can ever score over playing football in muddy grounds, amidst heavy rains. But now, when I’m a lot wiser, I still believe that girls can never score over playing football in rains! It’s just that you can’t always be playing football, right? And you can’t always be playing for your own self.

After school, playing sports requires inspiration. And my inspiration this month is to be able to go out in rain with a girl; make her sit at the edge of the ground and play football. Sigh!

Sharir to nashwar hai, iska kya moh. Sharir ke sukh ki chinta na karke hamein aatma ki puja karni chahiye.

Every morning we get to hear some version of the above. It would not be too off the mark to say that the human body has always been the favourite ‘whipping boy’ of most of the real and wannabe spiritual or religious gurus.

But does our body, which stands for everything that we are and which allows us to stand (metaphorically speaking) in this world, deserve this kind of tongue-lashing?

To know the truth, ask those gurus if they can willingly, at that moment, leave their body and talk to you through their souls!

Jokes apart, the human soul needs a home to survive in this world. That home is human body. If there were no ‘body’, the soul would have simply spread across the whole universe, quite like air. But isn’t it the virtue of only God to be present everywhere?
Clearly, however much the spiritual and religious gurus downplay the role of body in the big picture, the truth of the matter is that just as body without soul is a dead body, soul without body is actually a dead soul.

Funnily, hedonism with body as its epicenter is increasing just as fast in India (the average age of losing virginity is decreasing the passage of every year) as the pursuit of the ‘higher’, spiritual existence sans the role of body! It seems to be becoming increasingly fashionable to talk of soul as an entity that needs the most attention. And so is the belief that its all about the soul. “Mind over matter”, is what goes around. But never comes around, if you allow me to add so.

So where did all this contempt for body come in a country that had given the world the whole idea of Kamasutra?

Though there are of course many references in old Hindu scriptures (and also in holy books of other religions) about the ‘ultimate task’ of leaving the body and being one with the supreme (attaining Moksha or Nirvana), those references can hardly be ‘blamed’ for the modern day fetish for running down the body. Simply because very few amongst us have read those scriptures anyway!

I always like to talk of more recent times. Times that are documented by neutral agencies’ and which can be related to our present times. Going by that, I think, one can partly blame  India’s struggle to retain its character in the face of ‘alien’ onslaught for the entry of tirade against body in our daily subconscious.

It is a common knowledge that socio-politico-religious leaders (including Mahatma Gandhiji) used to frequently exhort their followers to give up ‘bodily happiness’ in order to not only put up a spirited fight against the ‘pollution / dilution of the original culture’ but also to attain a higher form of life for all.

How wrong can an approach – if it were as above – be? Because, while on one hand you are depriving your body of the pampering that requires, on the other your body sees its opposite number putting itself under no such compulsion.

The greater the contrast became, the harder the stances got. And now, it has almost become the Body Vs. Soul scenario.

But think about it, a body without soul is called a dead body and a soul without a body is called the soul of a dead person. So, is there a lesser one?