Haiku #11 – An Illogical Choice

Image Courtesy: slayerment.com

In this modern age,

Where science explains life itself;

Religion still rules.

Note: This Haiku is written in the Indian context where political leaders and pseudo-experts claim that cures to dreaded diseases are contained within religious texts without any proof.

Haiku #10 – Self-Destruct

Image Courtesy: indianajones.wikia.com

The world conspires,

Brings you knowledge and power;

To destroy yourself.

The Tale of the Yellow Assassin

He was the patriarch of the family. He had all the makings of a leader. Well-built and intimidating, he sent everyone scurrying the moment he let his piercing gaze fall upon them. His yellow-tinted skin appalling and yet evoking respect from a distance. He was one best avoided, given his space for he didn’t take kindly to an invasion of his territory. As distant as he was to his own, he was even crueler to those who managed to fly into his trap. Cold and calculating, he was the ultimate assassin.

But his time was waning.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Now there was a new baddie in town, in His town. They called him the Flyboy. He struck hard and fast, before anyone could see him coming. He struck from the shadows and went straight into the light. He had made a name for himself and carved a niche right into His back yard before His lieutenants even realized that he was a threat. The Assassin was not happy… at all.

But he waited as he always did. Calculating the odds and sizing up his opponent before deciding to strike for that was his hallmark and the reason that he still had the city in his control.

The Flyboy was a new-age gangster who liked to do things fast. He didn’t completely understand the intricacies of it all but relied on brute force to claim what he wanted. He was reckless and violent and a pain for everyone who came into contact with him. The city was getting restless.

And the Assassin still waited.

As was bound to happen, the Flyboy spread his wings too wide and the Police Commissioner snapped. He ordered the immediate cleanup of all organized crime in the city. He gave a free reign to every officer and issued everyone the ‘license to kill’. He wanted the city free of these thugs who thought they could do whatever they pleased. Well not in his town!

The ensuing rampage saw the brutal mopping up of everyone on the other side of the law, irrespective of rank. The Flyboy was riddled by bullets inside his own apartment after a firefight that lasted half an hour.

The Assassin’s house was blown up with all his lieutenants inside. All his safe houses were busted and his gang was sent to sleep with the fishes. The Assassin himself was killed while trying to flee the city.

He had waited for too long this time.

Cast

The Assassin: A Spider

The Flyboy: A Bumblebee

The Police Commissioner: The Author

Setting

Author’s Bathroom

Banned!

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

The government has decided that anything that does not conform to their version of morality will be banned; in the interest of the nation of course. Any manuscript, painting, photograph or film that does not uphold the standards that our ‘conservative’ government holds true, will be removed from the history books so that the innocent minds of the country are not polluted by it. Any reproduction, for commercial purposes or otherwise will be disallowed and anyone even held on suspicion of talking about such things will be beaten up by the ideological goons that may or may not have the support of the government.

The idea of the freedom of expression in this country seems to be quite skewed when one notices that things relating to artistic expression, depiction of reality and the cause of showing society the mirror are viewed as being obtuse, rebellious even. And on the other hand, things relating to the apparently ‘correct’ view of society, such as they are; that is sanctioned by the government, are given a free hand even at the cost of the resignation of the entire censor board.

I suppose if and when there comes a time in the history of a nation when those who seek to portray the truth have to leave it and seek exposure and asylum in foreign nations, that nation is not ready to face its own ugly reflection in the mirror of reality. That nation is surely going down a path where the government doesn’t want to show the truth to the people and when that happens, I think it means all is not well in that nation.

If our government is not ready to accept the reality of an abominable incident that took place in the national capital under their very noses and is not ready to accept a film showing the inequities and shortcomings of the state machinery and the minds of the perpetrators, the government needs a reality check and a break from trying to keep the ugly truth from the people.

And if the government still wishes to just ban anything that is worthwhile, go ahead. We will just download the stuff and then upload it again till everyone gets to see what you’re trying to hide.

The ‘Mardaani’ Problem

A Socratic Question that’s cropped into my mind is:

‘Does a Woman need to be referred to by a Manly adjective like ‘Mardaani’ in order to describe her as being strong or assertive?’

This question has been revolving around my head for a couple of days now since I read a couple of pieces where writers had used this adjective to refer to a specific “breed” of women if I may refer to them as such; women of a strong and assertive nature, who stood up for their rights and fought back against patriarchal society such as it is.

The battle raging inside is whether it is right to refer to women as being strong and (insert synonyms) by using adjectives generally used for men; the word in question here being ‘Mardaani’. How does calling a woman as such have effects on both sides of the scale is the question I’m grappling with.

I totally get the point of calling women ‘Mardaani’ in the metaphorical sense of the word as ‘being like a man’; Man here being the gender generalized as being assertive, brave and strong. This idea is mildly acceptable because it compliments women, as writers I've read have been meaning to do I presume. But the downside of this positive aspect is that it generalizes men as being all those things and that is frankly insulting. Not all men are the same and complimenting women at the same time as insulting men is not the way to do it, methinks.

Coming to the literal part of it, I wonder why a woman needs to be called a ‘Mardaani’ in the first place. I believe that a woman need not be referred to in this particular manner and so do a lot of women I've had the chance to put this question to. It is actually demeaning to women to do so. Feminists who attempt to portray women in a manner which is equal to men are actually doing the opposite by admitting that all these qualities are only in men and that women need to borrow this adjective in order to be complimented or praised.

By taking the basic premise of men having qualities that only some women do, these people are putting men on  pedestal themselves; something I’m sure they don’t want to do if they want to see women on an equal footing and not a rung under the other gender. Even I as a man find it disturbing that people and especially writers are doing this because it is the sacred duty of writers to make their readers think.  When using the word ‘Mardaani’, they put in the metaphorical sense and assume that it is done but what of making their readers aware that it is unnecessary to do this and thereby make them think of how they wish to see women; as dependent on the other gender so as to borrow characteristics or as having those characteristics by and of themselves?

And even though I have an opinion on it, I’m still looking for answers. A little help perhaps? The comment box is just below.

The Love of Real Books

There is a thing about books which makes me want to go back to those days when we didn't have a computer, only Doordarshan on TV and lots of books. When I was in school which wasn't exactly a long time ago in actual years but really ancient history in technology years, the only thing we used to do with a computer was either type in MS-Dos commands or play that car game that was a glitch in the Windows ’98. The rest of the time… we used to read – Real Books!

You know those things with either soft or hard bound covers, stitched down the middle at the back or stuck together with gum that hold real pages made out of paper and imprinted with ink? Those are called Books.

There develops a kind of emotional attachment to books that only a long-time reader can understand. Over time, it becomes difficult to spend free time without a book in the hand. It becomes impossible to take a coffee or loo break without continuing and finishing the chapter you began during breakfast. If the book is very good, it often becomes hard to even switch off the bedside lamp even though you know that you’re going to wake up so late that someone or the other is going to shout at you for it. You put on the lights in the middle of the night because you can’t sleep without reading those last two hundred pages which are seducing you from the table top. You cannot imagine a Sunday without a good book and coffee. Your vacation luggage consists of more books than the number of clothes you've packed. You take breaks from studying during exams by reading your novel and then forget all about the exams. You ultimately read so many books that there comes a time when you can hardly distinguish between what’s real and what’s not; it becomes Inception!

Some of us have this special place in our heart for real books. Now what with technology and all, it’s just easier to order e-books and they’re cheaper too it seems, but some of us just can’t manage to get the feel of a book while reading it on a steel-covered machine. We are that breed of readers who prefer pure-blooded books and I’m not against the Mudbloods or anything but reading in the harsh light without the warm glow of the lamp, holding hard steel instead of soft paper and feeling the scratches on metal instead of dog-eared pages don’t exactly appeal to us.

Well, I’m one of those who are orthodox in the ways of reading and I’m sure there are many others who prefer it this way.

Here are a few lines that just flew out at the end of the post:

The Way I like It

Ruffling pages, smelling sweet

From the age old dust of yore.

The musty scent of history

And weight of decades past;

Arouse In me a gentle lad

Who loves to lose it all,

To a few pages of print

Than to a machine of iron wrought.

How do you like your books; Real or Virtual? Do share your thoughts.

The Rise of the Machines

[People say that the answer to whether or not we are alone in the universe is the scariest, I beg to differ. I think that the answer to another question is much more frightening. One that is much more probable; not only probable but possible.

Will robots one day rise up against humankind?

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Now it may be that a number of sci-fi movies of such plots might have induced this paranoia, but assume for a moment that humans do one day decide to build computers that can think for themselves, rationally and without the buffer of morals.

Movies like the Terminator series, I, Robot, War of the Worlds and The Matrix all give reasons that are pretty valid to my paranoia struck brain, for an inevitable attempt at global domination by robots.

Another scenario wherein Artificial Intelligence might deign to take over the reins of governance on this planet is a loophole within the three laws themselves.

The fact that robots are already being used in war is not a great solace however great its merits might be. They are learning from us, what we know, what we do.

Beware, for they are coming not for you, but for the generation to come.]

[This is my article for the Youth Connect magazine. You can read the entire article here: A Horrific Scenario: What If Robots Stand Up Against Humans One Day?]

On Retribution…

I've always believed what goes around, comes around. You do good and good will come back. You do bad, that will surely come back. You do nothing; you’re dead weight on this planet. However, thinking about retribution all of a sudden, I penned down the verses below. These things happen when I go into these sudden episodes of words flowing into my brain. Some people call it inspiration, some people a muse, I call it both.

So, here is my poem on the age-old phrase, ‘Karma is a bitch.’

Karma is a Bitch

Coming back to haunt your dreams,

Your every moment;

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Karma is a bitch, they say.

Just because I can’t, she will.

She’s coming for you,

Karma is a bitch they say.

She has been lying in wait,

A stalker she is;

Karma is a bitch they say.

No matter how, when, where, why.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

She will strike, I’m sure;

Karma is a bitch they say.

When you did me wrong, she saw,

She smiled and waited;

Karma is a bitch they say.

And now that you are exposed,

She sharpens her scythe;

Karma is a bitch they say.

You cower and weep and beg,

She still smiles and swings;

Karma is a bitch they say.

-          Brendan-Anton R. Dabhi

The Parasitic Language

Quite an unusual title to a post, right? ‘The Parasitic Language.’ I’m sure that a majority of you reading this post right now came here hoping that this was a short story of some kind. I assure you now, well in advance that it most certainly is not. I also know that a lot of you will probably leave this page after reading the previous line which makes this line sort of obsolete but those of you who've managed to persevere till this point, I’m sure this will be worth it.

First, a slice of history.

Image courtesy: Wikipedia.

We humans developed language as a means to communicate since we seem to have lost the awesome power of telepathy, well most of us anyway. Every part of the world developed its own language and then each specific region in turn developed a dialect of their particular language. In time, we humans also figured out that we could use our hands for something other than hunting and killing both animals and people, thus the weapon mightier than the sword was born and the written word came into existence.

Skipping a few millennia we come to the age of expansion wherein the ‘civilized’ nations carried the burden of educating the rest of the ‘barbarian’ world with the concept of colonization and international trade (read: Forced Globalization). And in the race to be the mightiest world power, the British came out on top there came a time when it was said, ‘The sun never sets on the British Empire.’ Yeah, they were basically what USA was to become in the modern age, but more aggressively so.

The result of the above events.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Since the British managed to conquer various parts of the globe, they obviously became the rulers there and spread their technology, religion and the most important thing: their language. Over time, the English language became the primary language of governance and finance in most of the world simply because the Empire managed to survive that long. However, even after they relinquished their hold over their colonies because the natives had become smart, thanks to their education policies, the language was deeply entrenched in the society and refused to leave with its departing countrymen.

Unlike certain languages like Sanskrit (in the Indian context), English managed to stay rooted and blossom wherever it was sown because it had the ability to adapt. The scholars in England were smart enough to realize that to survive; the language had to adopt words from the cultures they were spoken in, simply because there weren't words in English to describe some things in their former colonies. Things that were either not found in England or not been recognized before. It was only this long-term planning that allowed this language to not only blossom but turn into the massive banyan tree that envelopes the world today.

Now, the point I’m trying to make.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Now it’s all hunky dory to have an international language that binds most of the world together and promotes everything from business to international relations. But I wonder if English is becoming a threat to the regional languages which with it co-exists. Again in the context of India, as far as I know, English is becoming a threat at least to a number of languages; to their spoken as well as written form. In this Age of Information, it is a almost a sin if one doesn't know to speak English. It has slowly turned from being spoken in compulsion to something that is a requirement if one has any sort of ambition. To not know even a smattering of English is considered illiteracy and a sign of incomplete and second–grade education.

Because of this situation, India is experiencing a dearth of candidates who opt for the state or national languages. One might expect that due to the rainbow of cultures residing in not only this country but the entire subcontinent, languages might have no fear of dying out. But it is frightening to see how fast dialects and whole languages spoken by a small number of people are on the verge of extinction. Is this what is survival of the fittest? It is not like other languages do not adopt words from other languages, they do so unofficially but since English has the advantage of having an institution of its own that constantly updates words into its lexicon, I fear there will come a time when this language will finally eliminate its competition to emerge as the one language of the world.

Haiku #9 – The Cost of Life

A haiku, a small contribution towards the awareness of an evil that thrives on sucking out the life of our society: our children. 

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

In poverty born,

Bred without bread, books, abode;

At a brothel sold.

Arnie and the Artist

Yesterday evening turned out to be a most distasteful one among many that I've had watching the Newshour. Arnie was interviewing Vishvas and the same was dominated by questions relating to his past career as a comedian and stand-up artist. Arnie had a lot of pointed questions about what the nation wanted to know, relating to the artists’ body of work.

It seems that Mr. Vishvas had made jokes on ‘sensitive’ topics like racism, sexism and religious fervour and admitted to them with the defence that they those comments were made in humour and as part of a script during a performance. It is therefore to be understood that they were not meant to hurt anyone’s feelings.

But, the Hand, finding no other reason to find fault with the Sweeper politician, had raked up his past and brought to light the blasphemy that he engaged in during his many performances as an artist. And Arnie, in all his wisdom about what the people of the nation want to know, engaged in a dubious and baseless debate about how a politician of his standing (which is none at the moment), could pass such remarks. This, despite the fact that Vishvas apologized on national television for inadvertently hurting anyone’s sentiments.

He also went on to add that though he had apologized, it did not mean that was wrong. He quoted many famous artists who had done the same and then reiterated that it was done in good humour and as a comedian only. But Arnie boy, adamant as ever to prove himself the advocate of the people, public prosecutor supreme and all knowing journalist general of the nation kept trying to shout him down and absolutely refused the defence of poetic licence.

Poetic licence, as given in the Oxford Dictionary:

[The freedom to depart from the facts of the matter or from conventional rules of language when speaking or writing in order to create an effect.]

Poetic licence, as given in the Encyclopaedia Britannica:

[The right assumed by poets to alter or invert standard syntax or depart from common diction or pronunciation to comply with the metrical or tonal requirements of their writing.

The term poetic license is also sometimes used in a humorous or pejorative sense to provide an excuse for careless or superficial writing.]

Now what part of that was not clear to Arnie, I know not. And though I believe his research team to probably be one of the best in the country; I’m disappointed that he would go out of his way to sensationalize something that the media might rather stay aloof from. At this point, I may even say that the channel may be compromised because of the way they have gone after an artist, instead of questioning the politician.

The Prodigal Reader...

Yours truly has been an avid reader for as long as he can remember.

Well, that’s what happens when one receives books for birthdays, books for Christmas, books for Diwali, books for Eid and more books in the vacations.  So basically, my people hadn't heard of video-games, movies, cricket bats and keyboards. No, books were the objects that I was surrounded with and every morning, I had to be dug out from under the books that had overflowed off my shelf and table, thereby coming to rest on my bed.

Apart from books that I received as gifts, I also got hand-me-downs from my older cousins. In fact, some of these books were so old that they had been passed down from previous generations. I also got bought books in book fairs and from salesmen and government office sales. I still remember the time when I entered a Crossword shop for the first time. Yes, exactly. I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. That day, my cousin bought me my first set of English Classics. It was the day I decided to graduate in English Literature (and I did).

But lately, there seemed to be a disconnect from books, I know not why. Living way from my books and multiplication of workload had driven me far from being able to read anything worthwhile. It so happened that my wish list of books started growing much faster than I could obtain and read them. My ledger was showing red for the first time. Of course, I had books stored in my computer, a lot of them. I still do, but I just do not enjoy reading them in soft copies, whatever their merits. Till I get the feel of a book in my hands, smell the musty pages, straighten the dog-eared pages and use a book mark, I cannot bring myself to read anything. Is that weird? Is it?

Well, the point is that now I've come back home for my semester break, I've reclaimed the library card that my mother was putting to good use. I've also cleaned my book shelf and taken an inventory of all the books I have and want (by the way, I collect books).

Reunited with my books, I've even abandoned my laptop and television. And as I select the book I’m going to read today, I say, “Long time, no see.”

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Haiku #8 – On Uttarayan…

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

The Kite soared above,

And then down she came crashing;

Killer? Homonym.

Haiku #7 – Ready Redemption

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Sins galore have I,

In acceptance lies the key;

Repentance absolves.

Sir Conan Doyle’s Curly Fu & Peanut!

The British Broadcasting Corporation’s ‘Sherlock’ series has garnered great support and has probably amassed a huge fandom since it premiered. I think this has taken place quickly and more so than other English soaps because each season has just three episodes which leave the audience begging for more. Even more so is the great initiative to bring Doyle’s most beloved character into the present age and still maintain the same amount of respect for the author’s original work. But then, the BBC is expected to do something new and that is why it is where it stands today.

Photo Courtesy: Google Images.

Now this may seem a bit funky because I read it in a feature on BBC’s website itself but it claims that Sherlock has obtained widespread acclaim from Chinese viewers too. It seems that when the British Prime Minister visited China and opened an account on a local social networking site, most of the requests he received were for the third season of ‘Sherlock’ to be released as soon as possible. This may and can be true, but with so many international issues at stake, would the most number of requests a Prime Minister receives be concerning a show? (China, you never cease to amaze me).

Let me now explain the title to this post. It seems that Curly Fu and Peanut are the names given to the characters of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson respectively by their fans there. Apparently, their names resemble the Chinese (Cantonese or Mandarin, I don’t know which) names to some extent.

Another interesting part of that selfsame article was where it was mentioned that people there also read homosexuality in the show. They claim to make out that the show reinforces a strong tie that exists between the two central characters to such an extent that may even be homosexual in nature. Now I, in my three years of reading Doyle’s work as a reader and in another three as a student of English literature have never even imagined that such a relationship may be hinted at, what with Watson getting married and Sherlock having a secret crush on ‘The Woman’. Well, it may be so in the show and maybe I've never thought of it like that but I’m certainly going to watch the previous two seasons very closely, not only for this factor but also for others which may have escaped me before.

And to the director of this show, I say, “Good show, old chap!”

A Christmas Realization

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way”, I can hear the choir sing as they move from one street to the next, spreading the joy of Christmas.

I go to the window of my first floor apartment and gaze upon the myriad of colours that stare back at me from the multitude of lights upon the neighbour’s giant Christmas tree. The silver bells, the little drummer boy, Frosty the snowman and Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer hang there in oblivious calm and apparent joy at the birth of the saviour.

It is no longer a silent night. Noisy crowds jostling through the lanes; trying to get home for Christmas, attempting to buy last minute items, getting last minute gifts and renting out Santa costumes.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

This winter wonderland hardly gives me any peace, so far away from home am I. In a different city, a big town. No mangers here, no real life plays of the birth, no family, just the loneliness of this room and the desolation of a lost Christmas in work.

Mother had called me, she had been crying. She said, “Please come home for Christmas” but I said I couldn't. Not if I wanted to keep my job. I needed the job, badly so. She cried some more then. I couldn't bear it and slammed the phone. Cruel, but necessary nonetheless.

It is starting to snow now. A White Christmas had been predicted but had seemed unlikely. This was a problem. How was I to go now? Yes, I’d decided to go the moment I put down the telephone. To hell with the job and to hell with this city. I could be a farming man once more, like my old man.  I’d called mama right back and told her, “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

Living in this strange city I've realized that there’s no place like home. My bags are packed, I’m ready to go. Oh little town of Bethlehem, I’m coming home.

And as for the weather, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…

Note: This is a work of fiction. It is integrated with a collage of Christmas carols in the spirit of the season. Have a very merry Christmas and a fruitful New year!

Haiku #6 – Knocking on Heaven’s Door

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

With empty bellies,

Standing under heaven’s door;

The Lord will provide.

Can a Writer be a Terrorist?

I know that many of you who have opened this post are very intrigued as to what follows. I’m sure many will vehemently disagree with what I have to say but I’m also sure that a select few will understand what I’m talking about here, which is very important because writers, I believe, have a moral responsibility to their readers. So I’ll begin from the point where I feel the line is drawn between voicing one’s opinions and inciting the mass.

It is quite common for writers, even more so than others, to feel strongly about issues that assault their region, state, country, religion, caste, community, etc... Sometimes, I feel that writers feel the utmost impulse in these cases to voice their opinion on the matter. It may so happen that the writer/s that have chosen to voice their thoughts in the public domain may do so very vocally, i.e. in a most precisely accurate or in a biased manner. In a very soft approach or in a very direct accusation. In an objective and distant style or in a highly subjective and opinionated piece of work.

It is all very hunky dory till the people feel that something should be done about the problem OR that it was time to take action OR that it was imperative that the government did something about the issue OR that the opposition party had to question the government OR a petition needed to be filed OR a candle-light march should be organized OR there should perhaps be a ‘Bandh’…

Till then it is all very good, but what happens when a writer’s work is so flammable that it ignites hatred in the people, either against one another or the government? What happens when, due to a single article or a book or false propaganda or misuse or misinterpretation, a writer’s work becomes a weapon in the minds of people, who are then turned into senseless monsters of rage?

Doesn't then the Writer become a Terrorist? Is he/she not igniting the fuel of anger in the public and whitewashing their brains into turning upon each other as animals? It may so happen that the writer’s work is misused by someone else as a tool of violence. This is seen in the case of major religions everywhere, since a lot of religious texts are misinterpreted to incite hatred against other people. In that case, I cannot say who is to blame. But if the writer, in all sense and proper frame of mind has written something that incites the readers to act against the law of the land or against humanity or against a general code of morality, then that writer can, in my opinion, be called a terrorist.

All I can say in conclusion is that some fervour, a little motivation, some morale building is acceptable, inciting hatred is NOT. Writing, just like teaching and healing is a sacred profession and is to be practiced with the utmost care, keeping the sensibilities of the society and age in mind. A writer wields immense power and with

"Great Power comes Great Responsibility"

Is this the Hand of God?

The recent tragedy in North India, the flood, the devastation, the loss of life in that region got me thinking about the expiration date of things. I know it sounds a little insensitive of me to put it in a matter-of-fact way but I can’t help thinking about this series of incidents from an objective angle. Is it so that everything must be destroyed and then renewed again through a new process, is it Nature’s way of saying that we went too far or are these natural calamities God’s way of wiping the slate clean to start again?

I thought about the God angle and as I thought, I saw even deeper into it and came to the following conclusion. There are many examples of floods destroying those places where evil had bloomed out of control and the people become so corrupt that it seemed impossible to remove those stains from their soul and so they were washed away or one can say that they were perhaps smitten by the Hand of God. I’m not saying that it should have happened but it seems that it did. Now, as I mentioned earlier in this paragraph, there seem to be many indications of such incidents to have occurred in the past as well as in contemporary times. I have noted only a few which came through the top of my head because I’m too lazy to research anything in my vacations.

So, first up on the list is the incident from the Bible. In Christian mythology, God washed away life from the whole planet once upon a time and just kept this man Noah alive, supposedly because he was a righteous man living in a rotten world. God, it says, literally made it rain till the whole world was flooded and people of all races and religions and languages and colour and creed were washed away because they had become corrupt and their souls could not be saved. So, apparently, and I’m just guessing here, God wanted to start things fresh but didn't want to go through the whole man-making process again, so he left Noah and his family alive.

From Plato’s work we get that the Greek God, Poseidon destroyed the island of Atlantis with a flood because the people had become too corrupt to save. There is an alternate theory that says that he was pretty pissed at the Atlanteans choosing to elect the Goddess Athena as their protector instead of him, so he caused the tsunami that in turn caused Atlantis to sink beneath the waves, but who knows? Greek Gods seemed to do whatever the hell they pleased, at least according to Hollywood movies, and you know, the fact that they were Gods… So yeah.

So this was history. Now coming back to the present. India has seen her share of floods but what happens when a pilgrimage spot is washed out? What happens when a place of worship is inundated and a lot of people who have travelled to pray – are killed? It is often hard to believe how these things happen, especially for a devout person (which I assure you, I’m not).

How can a House of God be flooded?

How can pilgrims, who have gone to pray, die?

So, you see what I’m trying to say here is that there is a scarcity of Faith, a sudden dearth thereof.

For example, when India’s east coast was hit by a tsunami in 2004, the Basilica of Our Lady of Health Vailankanni in Tamil Nadu, India, was flooded and a lot of people died too. Then came the questions that I mentioned earlier and the doubt and the questioning of Faith. But, if one were to compare what happened here with those ancient floods and the theory of corruption and the anger of God, it may seem plausible that the same may have happened here. I have been to Vailankanni and it’s a beautiful shrine, but on the other hand, I saw how the people had converted the house of God into a marketplace. I was reminded of another incident in the Bible which describes how Jesus flew into a rage and started hitting the merchants and traders sitting outside and doing business at the Temple of Jerusalem. Maybe this was history being repeated, who knows?

If you have managed to bear with me till this point, you will now notice that I've come a full circle to the point where we started. The floods in Uttarakhand may be the anger of God being directed at the place of pilgrimage becoming a centre for tourism and commerce. Everyone knows that a place of worship, especially one which is much hyped, is sure to turn into a tourist spot as well. I think everyone who is well informed knows the prices at which things are being sold in these religious places and even more so because of this calamity. With that, the ‘Marketplace in the House of God’ scene is replayed. What can one expect then?

Note: Through this post, I’m not propagating that floods at religious places should be a regular visitor. Nor am I insinuating that all the people who died or were affected by such calamities were sinners and deserved it. I’m also not inciting hatred against God (because that would be kind of stupid). These are just my musings on a flood well travelled and one of the possible reasons behind the same.

To know more about the marketplace in the House of God, I suggest you read this post by 

Yamini Krishna

 http://krishnayamini.blogspot.in/2013/06/at-their-job.html

The State Of Books: #2 – The Rescue

In the prequel to this post, I related the state of my college library and my thoughts as well as feelings about the same. I also mentioned that I would go ahead and relate the rescue of the books that some of us students attempted for the love of books.

So, it was all carnage and utter destruction when I first saw the library being dismantled. My only regret is that I did not take photographs of what happened there. It would have been more horrifying for you to see it for yourselves because apparently, “Pictures talk louder than words.”

The four of us and a few irregulars started picking up books from the great pile in the middle of the library and started classifying them according to their genres. And it wasn't like we only took care of English literature, we tried to get together all that was still intact and that could be repaired and used. We started restacking the shelves for those who wanted to buy the books and we picked up some books to buy ourselves, amongst them volumes that we had desired for years. Well, finders – keepers, eh? After all, we were only human and we also needed a little motivation to work in that pile of dust, rust, termites and falling cement that we used to call a library.

We went down to the basements to work as often as we could, between classes and even in the lunch breaks. It was a kind of longing to see the books put back in a place which they deserved or see them sent to a place where they would be treasured. Many of my friends also came and helped out occasionally, more in hope of finding some text or the other, rather than to do anything about the mess. But that was also for the best, for the more people who came down there, the more they used to buy books and take away.

After a couple of days of sitting in lectures all dirty, smelling and itching all over I decided it would be a good idea to get a napkin and a change of clothes. So I did that! Now I could go down there in all my free time and get back to the lectures all clean and fresh, albeit sneezing from the amount of dust I’d inhaled in that basement. Sometimes I felt like an archaeologist discovering things from the dust, cleaning them, classifying them and trying to restore them for future generations. Kind of gave me a sense of pride in what our group was doing.

Well, after a week or so, we had managed to save quite a number of books but we had lost a majority of them and none of us were too happy about that as you can well imagine. Now, we had to do one last thing; we had to collect books that would be useful to the English department and haul them there. The department was setting up a couple of shelves for this purpose to our delight and so we got working on which books would make it to the department and which ones would be sold off. In the end we managed to get a trunk load of books to the department and there they stand a proud reminder of our endeavours on behalf of literature.