ONLY THE LORD SHALL TAKE AWAY

Question : Who decides when to end a life?

Answer : NOT the life-bearer

You, dear reader, might wonder what has suddenly sparked this subject. It is the shocking, self-inflicted demise of a person whom I considered to be a rational, jovial and ambitious human being. I do not know the reason for this extreme step, but I am unable to come to terms with the fact that such an individual can actually go through with such a preposterous and callous act.

There cannot be a greater gift to mankind than the ability to perform any action at will - the freedom to make a choice, to love and be loved, to travel this beautiful world, to embark on a passionate dream, or to do nothing at all. And there cannot be a more blatant disregard for that pristine gift than to throw it away in a mindless, impulsive error of thought.

Also, our life is not ours alone to give away. We are just the bearers of this asset; it is much more a property of everybody else who has a stake in our existence. And since we are not the complete, rightful owners, we have no right to discard it without consent.

Of course, life is not always the joyride that we wish for, but a wave of crests and troughs. While we enjoy the crests, we often tend to resign in the troughs. I have travelled through fairly deep trenches, and I am sure so have you. All it takes to make our way up is a little courage, and a little faith. It is the plethora of such high and low experiences that is the basis of life. There cannot be perfect order in anything worldly; if there is, we would cease to exist - that is a fundamental law of nature. 

The prolific inventor Edison had a series of failures - professional and personal, before he could finally invent the electric bulb. If he had given up because of any one of those failures and chosen the quick escape route of death, he could never have touched the billions of lives that thrive today on his inventions.

If you ever find yourself harboring the slightest "self-destruct" ideas, perhaps you can remember these words. And who knows, it might help save a million more lives someday in the future.

THE NEW YEAR POST

A rope traveled the breadth of my waist and clung in tension to the mast of the motorboat. A parachute hung loosely over my head, fluttering in the wind. As far as I could see was the expanse of the blue sea underneath a light blue umbrella of the clear sky. With a little apprehension, I put on the life jacket and slithered my arms into the thick brackets of elastic but tough polymer fastened to the ropes that held the parachute to the mast. An uneasiness had descended in my mind since the time I had boarded the motorboat. I did not know how to swim. This was my first attempt at parasailing. I clutched the reins to the parachute tightly as I stood at the edge of the boat.

The ferryman pulled a lever, and the rope, as if suddenly emerging from a secret crevice in the floor, hurtled up towards the sky at an oblique angle, lifting me along. It continued its ascent until the people on the boat had reduced to tiny dots sailing in the vast sea. When it steadied, I could see other ferries and ships scattered across the shimmering water. I could see the bustling activity on the coastline, and admire Lord Murudeshwara's gigantic statue watching over the town with the sun forming a halo around its head. I loosened my grip on the acrylic and stretched out my arms, letting go of all fear and submitting myself to the calm wind. And then, hundreds of metres over the Arabian sea, I was flying. It felt great, as if I had been liberated from a long acting bond.

We all possess fears - of the dark, of ghosts, spiders and snakes, of burly monsters; of commitment, of loss or failure, of humiliation, heartbreak and despair. Some of them are apparent, some are buried deep inside our thoughts. Some of them can be overcome, others are simply invincible and at times render us helpless, clouding and conquering our ability to think logically. Fear often leads us astray, away from our deepest ambitions and our most heartfelt desires. At certain points in our lives, often unknowingly, we all fall victim to the prowling beast of prey that is fear. Days, months and even years after our timid surrender, when we realize the blunder we committed, we regret our actions. We wish we could travel back in time to go for that football game as a member of the school team, to take up that lesser paid job or internship that we liked more, or to speak the words we could never muster the courage to bring to our lips. Sometimes there is still time for corrective action. Sometimes, it's too late. It's just a matter of how far we have wandered, and when we come to know of it.


Fear is not invincible. We can defeat it. We should know it when we are being lured into its net. We should decide, then and there, if we can afford to take the easy route and give up. Or we can take it head on, and fight for a win.


The trick is to let go.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is my new year's resolution. To keep winning.

WHAT'S YOUR PASTIME?

Nothing can equal the warmth of human companionship. None of the numerous devices that reflect the achievements of modern technology are capable of producing the same effect as the familiar sight or sound of a friend or family. Not even the so-called 'social networks', which are a feeble attempt to simulate the essence of human relationships within the unrealistic bounds of an artificial computer screen. But then, something is precious only when it is irreplaceable. If the presence of a companion could be exchanged for a playstation or a facebook chat box, he/she would lose his/her true worth.

But as is often the case, we value something most when we are devoid of it; when we face a nagging dearth of it that constantly reminds us of its magnanimous influence in our lives. It is at times when we are alone, when we are surrounded by a swarm of strangers and a fleet of cranky, noisy, thoughtless machines, that we realize the futility of all artificial forms of entertainment and the indispensable bonhomie of a coterie. It is then that we look to fulfill the void left by the absence of a familiar face. When we find nobody to occupy that void, we turn to our own inner selves - our true interests, our hobbies, to give us company. We create pastimes that we can call on any time we want to. Gradually, they come to define us, and become an integral part of our identity.

Each one of us has his/her own way of nurturing this inseparable part of the self that manifests as a hobby or a special interest. In my case, I write. It is one of those rare talents that I enjoy engaging in. It saves me from boredom, for I take the refuge of words from my pen when threatened by monotony or loneliness. It is an eternal friend to whom I can confess feelings otherwise forbidden to be spoken of to anybody else, who helps alleviate the weight of a hard-kept secret. It breathes life to thoughts and endows me with a purpose, even though a brief one. It is a safe haven I can always turn to for shelter, an abode impervious to the heat of the burning sun or the numbing chill of a snowy winter.

Perhaps its only other equal is a long walk alone in the midst of nature’s serene endowments on a summer midnight, when the air is cool and the environs quiet. The shimmering stars overhead become my navigators - little patches of light in the dark sky that stay with me no matter where I go. The pristine stellar light from up above the heavens gives me solace and strength when I’m down and alone. It helps compose and gather my thoughts, and in the absence of all forms of sound other than the rustle of leaves in the woods or the song of waves in a flowing river, helps me find answers to cope with the challenges that confront my life every day. It reminds me that I live in a beautiful world, and that I can forget about anything else atleast for a tiny while.

These little pastimes, seemingly unproductive activities that apparently make no addition to intellectual “value”, have come to my rescue whenever I have heeded them, as they have today. And I am certain they will always be at my side, giving me company and wisdom and strength for all my life.

Today, I raise a toast.

To you, dear hobby !

NIRVANA

Most of what I have written about in recent times has been somehow connected to travel. I think a journey often endows us with new perspectives; it molds our perceptions of people and cultures, and of our own self. Travelling helps us explore the marvels of nature and find peace in its numerous embellishments. Sometimes it can transform the way we see the world around us, reconcile us with unknown truths and change our life in a manner which we might never have imagined. It is a necessary component of the cognitive process. A man, however literate, who has never traveled, has not completed his education. In the words of Saint Augustine :
“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”

If you are reading this post on the internet, or even know the meaning of the term 'blog', you probably live in one of the country's flourishing and rapidly growing cities, bustling with commercial markets and office complexes and automobiles plying on busy roads. You probably dress up in western attire designed by one of the major clothing brands, largely converse in Hinglish, listen to hip-hop rock music and spend your weekends in a pub or a cinema theater, if not in a shopping mall. There is a good chance that you do not know the name of your neighbour who lives next door. And you proudly declare yourself a citizen of 'shining' India. Well, that's pretty much what I do.

The original flavour of India, however, can only be found in its villages. They give us a glimpse into the lives of our forefathers and a peek into our rich and eventful history. They teach us that the charm of skyscrapers in a metropolitan city is dispensable. That we cannot live without the comforts of an air conditioner and a luxury car is merely an illusion. And that amassing wealth is not the primary way of life. If you have never seen life in the village, you are yet to understand the heart of India.

I do not clearly remember the last time I visited my ancestral village, the place where my great-great-grandfather established the family mansion that still stands as a shadow of its past glory. I was still in middle school at the time. And I probably would have never visited it again but for my grandfather's funeral ceremony.

The news had come as a shock. It was only days before that I had sent him a small present via the internet. I still remember the smile that used to light his face when he showed me the letters I wrote to him in my childhood days. A scholar of English himself, he would affectionately pat me on the back for my writing. I imagine he displayed the same expressions upon getting this last present from me. A few days later, when I woke up in the morning, I was told he had departed to the heavens. It was thus, he, who brought me back to my village after a gap of eight long years.

In those few days in the countryside, I saw that most of the people in the village were happy and content. They were self-sufficient and capable, and yet they did not seem to lack ambition. Everybody knew everybody else in the small village and in the settlements nearby. One did not require the television or the internet to while away time, for he would always be in someone else's company. One did not need the ceiling fan or the air conditioner when sleeping in the night, for the breeze would bring cool air laced with the scent of dew from the fields. There was no fear of theft or burglary, and people kept their doors open all the time just in case a guest would drop by. One would treat the entire village as one large family, and express genuine happiness or sorrow in the well being or misery of others.


In the evenings, I would climb to the roof and examine the village from above. Sometimes dad would take me around on a tour of the peaceful hamlet, walking through crop fields and fruit orchards. Sometimes I would go on a stroll alone. Almost every time, somebody I met on the way would ask me - "Tum Thakur jee  ke bete ho na?" and invite me for a cup of tea or a snack. More often than not, I gladly accepted. Small children stared and smiled at me when I wandered alone, trying to figure out the right direction on one of my random excursions. I would offer them chocolates in exchange for information, and they would happily oblige, scampering away grinning as soon as I placed a bunch of goodies in their hands.


I spent a major part of the day overlooking preparations for the grand feast that culminates the final ceremony. This included managing the supply of grains and groceries and entertaining guests who arrived unannounced.

In the absence of a pastime, my thoughts would often wander back to the city, and I would miss the fragrance of Gurgaon that I have unwittingly grown so fond of. I missed my little sister back in Gujarat. I sometimes thought of friends from Roorkee. I wished I could have seen grandpa before he left. But it is said you are never far from the people you love. Whenever I wanted to see them, all I had to do was close my eyes.

A fixed set of rituals had been scheduled for each day. The mornings comprised of prayers and daan-dharm and a feast was hosted in the afternoon or at night for the entire village. Every guest was well fed and served, irrespective of his or her stature. I was amazed at the sheer number of people who came to pay homage each day in that small settlement. And each one of them left with a smile and a blessing in return.

According to village folklore, a happy spirit displays its pleasure by summoning rain from the clouds. On the 11th day, after all the invitees had been served and after they had left for their own homes, I sat down in the pandal for lunch. As I started digging into the sumptuous meal of dahi-chooda, a faint drizzle began to fall from the sky above.

FREEDOM

On January 26, 1930, the Indian National Congress proclaimed the need for complete self-rule by the Declaration of the Independence of India, which read:

"The British government in India has not only deprived the Indian people of their freedom but has based itself on the exploitation of the masses, and has ruined India economically, politically, culturally and spiritually. Therefore, India must sever the British connection and attain Purna Swaraj or complete independence."

We still haven't attained 'Poorna Swaraj'. We are yet to achieve freedom from the shackles of casteism, dowry, infant mortification, child labour and other social evils that bind the society. We live in a time of economic disparity where the rich continue to amass wealth as the poor plunge into greater destitution. Some of our own chosen politicians, bureaucrats and industrialists continue to exploit India and its people as the British Raj did 80 years ago.

I, therefore, reiterate the call for 'complete independence'.