Spiritual Odyssey

As the weather or should I say the deadliest combo of fidgety pervading wind and the dense witchy smog intrude my new year, I feel like blogging again. The Gurgaon chill has left me no option but to share by cameo blissful stint in Godz own place at the advent of this New Year.

To begin with it was sheer serendipity that I landed, on a more modest note jhuk-jhuked there. It was a smoggy 31^st Dec dawn. Suddenly my phone beeped with a clarion call from Vrindavana. It was a friend on the other side. The conversation blossomed with a pervading and refreshing aura of the blissful entity followed by a delightful invitation to witness the New Year on the divine land. For a moment I was like “Naaaaa”. Suddenly something serene was invoked within and in no time I found myself browsing the indianrail.gov.in. By the time I made up my mind the departure of the “Centenary” oops Shatabdi was 90 mins away. Ritika emerged as an angel as she zoomed me to the dilapidated Nizamuddin Station shattering the myth of women not being so good in driving. (Strike 1)

It was 1.15 P.M and the train was about to depart in 300 sec. The queue for the current reservation appeared two meters longer than the esteemed train. I tried to persuade a few elderly representatives of the fairer sex which was reciprocated with an irksome and petrifying glare. Who says women are weak. I was almost bashed away from the queue. The armed personnel joined in and all I could do was run. Suddenly DDLJ splashed across my mind. The train started moving. I felt to be in Simran’s shoes running for her love. The scene was different for me though. In place of Raj there was a hugely tall, astutely robust man with a dark and thick moustache lending his Burj Khalifa like towering fist to pull me up. He splashed me with all “muft ka gyan”- being on time, etc, etc. (Strike 2)

I helped myself to a vacant seat besides a hugely corpulent and rotund lady justifying her Size 100 figure with non-stop hogging. You name it and she gulped it. Petha, Peda, Laddoo, Kachori, Barfi all vanished into her black hole like appetite and all I could do was gasp with the imaginary background score “Janm Janm ka Bhooka”. 30 minutes into the journey the TTE barged in her comfort zone, “Ticket Please”. She gave a deadly grin as if he has assaulted her, quickly splashed her ticket and got back to her hogging spree. It was my turn. I admitted to be ticketless which led to another session of “Muft ka Gyan”. For a moment I was like verbally assaulted. I stated my helplessness to which he demanded a towering fine. It took my best ever innocent look and a reasonable amount of unrecorded fine/bribe to calm him down. He agreed and asked me to move out from the other end of the Mathura Station or I would get caught for ticketless travel. (Strike 3)

It was 3.30 as I inhaled the divine air of the birthplace of the Lord and proceeded to Vrindavana to meet my friend. I stayed at an Ashram cum Temple with well equipped comfort and headed by an 82 year old lady living-in with an 85 year old saintly male. Yes u heard it right. They have been together for the last 30 years. Cute ehh. It was an amazing chemistry. The lady had hyper sensitive ears whereas the saint can only hear if you shout. Opposites attract you see!!!! It was a lunar eclipse that night and I was strongly instructed not to eat after 8 P.M and to sleep by 9 as it was required to wake up at 4 A.M. What a new years eve you see.

So I woke up to the first day of the new year at a time I hardly woke up any day the previous year. The temple was serenely decorated with all varieties of flowers and the celebrations began. It was a blissful start. Then I headed to the ISKCON temple. It is unbelievable what I saw; Old people above ninety years walk the holy Parikrama in the morning hours chanting Sri Radhakrishna’ s name with full vigour. It seemed as if the soul lives in this land with energy of devotion and age was just the external embellishment or talk of life.

With all blissful frenzy I reached ISKCON called as Angrez temple locally. Most of the life workers there were Canadians and Italians. I almost uncoded the secret of a happy life there. Every individual was dancing to the groovy Kirtans and the sound of the Mridangam with open arms embracing the Lord. It was so blissful. Then I moved to Baake Bihari temple and gradually survived a potential stampede. Loved the Makhan Mishri Prasad offered there. Yummy in every sense.

I gradually realized that Vrindavana is the sacred land where the breeze, the stream and every particle of earth is worshipped. The dawn starts with bells of the temple and ends with chanting of lord Radhakrishna’s name. It is an abode of bliss on this earth, where every sense and nerve of body with the soul has soaked in devotion.

As one walks down the narrow streets of Vrindavana , one often hears of the Rickshaw Pullers calling out “Radhe Radhe” to pedestrians to give way, unique in every sense. I was overwhelmed as even residents living in Vrindavana for a long period never failed to obtain the darshan of Radha Madhav and partake of the bhog – unmatched bhav. Every aspect of the stay at Vrindavana opened up yet another avenue of devotion, piety, simplicity and surrender as I returned back the same day. Every aspect of the journey is something I will cherish for a long time and yes all the ( Strikes).

As I ruminate in this chilly evening I realise that I lost my heart in Vrindavana.

Spiritually Yours

DevDC

The Death of Innocence...!!!

As the weather in the Rajdhani and the blessed neighborhood witness a much needed rain lashed weekend and a soothing romantic breeze, finally after a long gap I feel like blogging again. Pooja, dis 1s 4 u…

Yesterday as I was finally tantalizing my visual senses after a long break courtesy “Tere Mere Beach Mein” the concept made me bewildered. I got the trace of simplicity and an innate sense of friendship comprising the small town folk, a phenomenon very scarce in the metros. The gorgeous Priyanka Chopra rocked the show with her amazing confidence and her astute small town values. I just loved it when she stated that “Bareilly mein sab ek doosre ko jaante hai” and every1 turns out 2 help each odr at ny point of distress. The odr star on d show was Vijender, the Olympic medalist who made it big straight out of the “KHETS” of Haryana. I was nonplussed at his amazing confidence and his simplicity. He had no qualms in acceptin dat he dsnt lisn 2 English music coz he dsnt understand it. He said y should he b ashamed of himself coz many people cant speak Hindi properly.

The utopian self confidence displayed by both of dem stands testimony to their disciplined upbringing..They made it 2 d big league solely by virtue of their talent .The familiar mode of conversation represented a wide section of small town mentality which I could associate with, being from a small town. It triggered many questions within and I suddenly realized the supreme futility of innocence by degress, specially in d metros and as I ponder my association with this city over last 18 months, I find it worst effected. There is a strange phenomena of fake friendship in dis part of the country.I know,many people will disagree wid me but still dis judgement is solely based on my bitter xperiences in this esteemed city.

As I ruminate further, I also see the extreme movement of simplicity into oblivion courtesy technological advances. I will like to narrate some instances which makes me nostalgic and I m proud to have experienced such moments which has just been wiped away by the advent of modernization. I am sure that anybody of my age could relate with me. I m talkin of dose days

When gulli-danda and kanche (marbles) were more popular than cricket...

When we always had friends to play Looka Choopi and Pitthoo anytime..

When chitrahaar, vikram-baitaal, dada daadi ki kahaniyaan were so fulfilling ...

When there was just one TV in every 5 houses and people used to flock to watch Mahabharata

When Bisleris were not sold in the trains and we were worrying if Papa will get back into the train in time or not when they were getting down at stations to fill up the water bottle...

When we were going to bed by 9.30 PM sharp except for the "Suraag" and " Ek Se Badhkar Ek" day.

When Durga Pooja used to be the moment of the lifetime and when we used to await our new attires.

When Holi and Diwali meant mostly hand made pakwaans and Mom seeking our help while preparing them.

When we were exchanging comics and stamps n Chacha Choudhary, Nagraj, Doga and Super Commando Dhruv used to be our heroes..

When one movie every Sunday evening on television was more than asked for

When everyone lip synced to “Mile Soor Mera Tumhara”

When "Chelpark" and "Natraj" were encouraged against "Reynolds and family"..

When the first rain meant getting drenched and playing in water and mud and making " Kagaj Ki Kashtis"

When there were no cell phones to tell frens that we will be at their homes at six in the evening..

When we were not seeing patakhas on Diwali and Gulaals on Holi as air and noise polluting or allergic agents

The list can be endless...

On a serious note I would like to summarise with the fact that when we were using our hearts more than our brains, even for scientifically brainy activities like 'thinking' and 'deciding'

When we were crying and laughing more often, more openly and more sincerely...

When we were enjoying our present more than worrying about our future...

When being emotional was not considered as synonymous to being weak.

When sharing worries and happiness’s didn’t mean getting vulnerable to the listener...

When journeys were also important, not just the destinations

When life was a passenger's sleeper giving enough time and opportunity to enjoy the greenery from its open and transparent glass windows instead of some superfast /Ac coaches with its curtained, closed and dark windows.

Can anyone give me those days back…That’s what I call the death of “INNOCENCE”

The Longest Night of my life..!!!

It has exactly been 9 years, 7 months and 5 days to be precise. Now you must be wondering what the hell?? Frens!! I m talking about that night when I had the closest encounter with something called death. Yes you heard it right! The very thought of that marathon night makes a chill run down my spine and my adrenal gland to release all its adrenaline to combat the fright.

It was in Dec ’99. I went to Changlang, Arunachal Pradesh (AP) for a holiday with my cousin, Basu after my final term exams. For all those who are alien to this place, it is a small district in AP and set in the hills. The roads are quite steep and adorn dangerous curves all the way. Basu was working in the LPT station of Doordarshan Kendra there. He was allotted a room at an Inspection Bungalow right at a hill top. You can peep into the entire town from there. It was a huge mansion but strangely completely deserted. Not a single soul could be seen around. Like all the houses there, this bungalow was also built on a platform of wooden planks. It was kind of a raised platform and you can actually crawl below it. Strange Na..!! As I strolled around the place, an aura of mystery was creeping into me. The entire bungalow was in a dilapidated condition with broken window panes. I suddenly felt a strong urge of peeping into a room with windows wide open. It was a quite chilly evening with furious winds fidgeting the windows. As I neared to tame the panes, I heard a loud BURAN!!!!..Hey dats my pet name. It was my cousin who shouted with all his might to stop me from peeping in. As I turned back, I saw the words “Bhoot Bagla” inscribed emphatically into the walls with tarred ash. What the crap!!!!

Basu pacified me saying that it’s the outcome of the mischievous local Wangchoo tribes and assured me not to bother. I asked him why he resisted me to peep in. He then went on to narrate me a riveting and nerve wrecking story of Sonia who committed suicide right at the next room of ours courtesy burning herself. From then on nobody dared to enter that room and hence the tarred look. The local tribes complained of strange auditory experience every night coupled with helpless cries. Hence the fear compelled everyone to abandon the mighty mansion. Are u nutz…!!!! , I screamed. You have brought me all the way from Tinsukia to this crappy place of yours for a holiday. He tried to pacify me stating that the tribes are transpiring the rumours as they want to capture this mansion by scaring everyone out. I was not at all convinced.

It was a Friday night and hence started the longest night of my life. It was a freaky freaky Friday. My cousin has already sown all the seeds of extreme fear into me which I hesitated to reveal. In those parts of the country, dusk strikes quite early. It was evening by 4.30 PM. To my awe, it was a new moon night. It was so dark that I could hardly see myself. The mansion silhouetted with all the little light it had in the background. But I must admit the bungalow looked extremely fascinating against the dark tresses of maiden night.

Basu came back from his job early as I requested him so. We cooked a strange meal of boiled and mashed potatoes, pumpkins and reddish and topped that up with Ghee and Achar. Mmm Yummy..!!! I doubt u agree. Everything was normal by then. It was almost 10 PM. It was time for the Friday movie in Doordarshan, nd we were watching the scantily clad Zeenat Aman singing “Panna ki tamanna hai” to Mr. Dev Anand in the movie Heera Panna. I was getting axtremely bored specially watching all the strange antics of Dev Sahab.

I decided to call it a day as Needra Devi was seducing me to sleep. Even Basu thought of retiring to bed. We switched off the TV and decided to sleep. Basu makes it a point to keep his trademark Eveready torch by his side while sleeping. That night he somehow forgot. I went beneath the red Thai blanket to combat the chill. But all I could think of was Soniya and her mystery. There was an extension of the tubelight switch accessible from the bed. We thought of switching off the light after getting into it.

We had a tete-a-tete about the strange town of Changlang with the lights still on. He asked me to switch them off after sometime. As I moved my hands, the lights went off on its own. I thought there may be a power cut. But hang on, what the hell..The TV switched on immediately. We were like F***. What on earth made the TV on. Immediately again there was a silence as the TV went off. We didn’t utter a word. The lights started playing hide n seek for 30 secs until we heard a Zoop..There was no movement again in the luminity and darkness prevailed. I was scared like hell and Basu just scremed “Who’s there”. That’s it. These were the only words he uttered.

We had not even recovered from it completely that we heard a BOOM..I cant explain the astute severity of the sound. It was like a huge explosion. I was dumbstruck. I had no courage to scream. I looked at him for support. But there he was, scared like hell, fully stiff without uttering anything. I wanted to scream but strangely nothing was coming out. I tried with all my might but all that was coming out was reckless air. I can hear my breath. I was falling short of it. I could hardly breathe. I struggled to breathe and trust me the sound of my breathing was much louder than even I speak. Such was the severity. I wrapped myself up so much under the blanket that I almost folded myself to the size of a hanky. Even the greatest of gymnast would have failed to compete with me that night. I once tried to look out of the blanket but all I saw was extreme dark with the mighty branches of the wild tree through the window devoid of curtains.

Hey Krishna, Rama, Shiva, Ganesha, Durga Mata save me. I lost count how many Gods I tried to invoke. The only time I felt that having 33 crores of Gods by your side actually helps. The night was dragging at a snail’s pace. I could hear every tick of the stupid alarm clock but couldn’t dare to see the time. I was just praying that the night passes away and I get to see the day, which I was extremely unsure of. I promised to Bhagwaan jee that I m nevr gonna lie or commit any wrong. Just help me to get the reminiscences of dawn. I don’t know wen I felt asleep and when I got up I saw that I am alive.

I still don’t know what happened that night, neither I dared to ask Basu. We both kept mum and the first thing we did was to pack our bags and hurried back to Tinsukia. Basu left his job and even now the very name of Changlang leaves me into jitters.

I am lucky to be alive and survive the longest night of my life..

Scarily Urs

Dev DC ..

Yeh Chennai hai mere Yaar...!!!!!!!

Chennai, the very sound used to invoke my adrenal gland to release the fright, flight and fight hormone. I still remember the day I was confirmed for my internship in AL, Chennai. Although I was elated to undergo my summers at AL, I was haunted by the cardinal requirement of staying in Chennai. To add up to my agony there was not a single soul in Chennai whom I was acquainted with. So it was a kind of “Agyatwaas” ala Pandavas for me. Now as I am two days away of returning back, I feel like ruminating the amazing experience I had during the course of the last 13 weeks which shattered my wrong notion about Chennai.

The day was 22nd Feb. It was a pleasant Sunday dawn as I found myself surrounded by the witty auto drivers at the historic Chennai Central station. I definitely seemed to be a nice catch for them on a Sunday morning and all of them tried their level best to woo me to adorn their respective auto rickshaws. Finally I managed to escape from all the hustle and boarded an auto after a marathon bargaining session with one of them as I struggled to decipher the language. The drive seemed to be a run through history books as I zipped past several places of historical interest and finally landed up in Kodambakkam. For a week I was unknown of the fact that even the great Oscar winner, Mr. A.R Rahman stays in the same locality. It was only after he won the academy award that I came to know the fact, thanks to the hoopla associated with his achievement all over Chennai.

To start with, the weather was not at all salubrious and I had a tough time coping with the soaring humidity. But then I realized I was being hypercritical about it. Actually it was a brief stint in Bangalore for 10 days that raised the standards of my expectations and diminished my tolerance level. But, gradually I realized that it was not that bad. During my entire tenure the mercury levels hardly rose above 40. Even God helped me to cope with the heat by showering the much needed splash of rainfall during the advent of “Agni Nakshatram”, the supposedly hottest period in Chennai.

I witnessed few amazing things in Chennai .The passion and the love of their language and culture which has a cherished heritage is the one that binds the Tamil Diaspora together. I realized in due course that Tamil, one of the powerful Dravidian languages is perhaps the only example of an ancient language which has survived as a spoken language for more than 2500 years with its basic structure almost unchanged. The name Tamil is itself unique meaning "sweetness" and "coolness". Language and culture are two facets of the same identity, and language is a major cultural element. Culture is everything which is socially learned and shared by members of a society; it is an organized system of behaviour and said to be normative because it defines standards of conduct.

Perhaps the most pleasing of all is the respect shown to women. Women are quite sanctified here and they strongly adhere to their cultural roots. You have an entire one side of every public bus reserved for women. No guy hesitates to offer his seat to any stranded women. Even the pedestrians are also shown utmost respect with the traffic police extending full cooperation while crossing crowded and busy streets. The Brahmins seems to be very rich here. The sight of a Brahmin in his traditional attire riding a bike and sporting a diamond studded earring is a common sight in this part of the country. I have lost count of how many I have seen. Amazing huh..!!!!

Tamil culture is known for its hospitality. ‘Virundhu’ in Tamil means ‘Feast’, when guests (Friends, Relatives) are invited during happy ceremonial occasions to share food, love and laughter. ‘Sappadu’ means a full course meal, which can be either Lunch or Dinner. I had the opportunity to attend one of such lunch feast and boy I had a wonderful time.
During Virundhu Sappadu, guests sit on a coir mat which is rolled out on the floor and a full course meal is served in the traditional way, on a ‘Banana Leaf’ which is spread in front of the guests, with the tip pointed left.

The host will ensure that the menu includes as many varieties of dishes as possible and guests are served as many helpings as requested. The dishes are served in a particular sequence, and each dish is placed on a particular spot of the banana leaf.
The top half of the banana leaf is reserved for accessories, the lower half for the rice. In some communities, the rice will be served only after the guest has been seated. The lower right portion of the leaf may have a scoop of warm sweet milky rice Payasam, Kesari, Sweet Pongal or any Dessert items. While the top left includes a pinch of salt, a dash of pickle and a thimbleful of salad, or a smidgen of chutney. In the middle of the leaf there may be an odd number of fried items like small circles of chips either banana, yam or potato, thin crisp papads or frilly wafers Appalams and vadai.

The top right hand corner is reserved for spicy foods including, Curry, hot, sweet, or sour and the dry items. There may be side attractions such as Poori, Chappati, few of the famed rice preparations such as Ghee Pongal or Puliyodarai (tamarind rice) particularly if the family comes from Thanjavur, known as the rice bowl of Tamil Nadu.

Traditionally, sweets are eaten first. After having worked through the preliminaries, the long haul starts with rice. Sambar is added to rice and eaten with maybe a sprinkling of ghee. This is followed by rice with Kuzhambu and rice with Rasam. A final round of rice with curd or buttermilk signals the end of meals. Though there are varieties of kuzhambu, only one will be on offer in a given day. A banana may be served last.

Breakfast or tiffin includes idly(steamed rice cakes), dosai (a pancake made from a batter of rice) and lentils crisp fried on a pan, vada(deep fried doughnuts made from a batter of lentils), pongal (a mish mash of rice and lentils boiled together and seasoned with ghee, cashew nuts, pepper and cumin seed), uppuma(cooked semolina seasoned in oil with mustard, pepper, cumin seed and dry lentils.)

Lunch or meals consists of cooked rice served with an array of vegetable dishes, sambar, chutneys, rasam (a hot broth made with tamarind juice and pepper) and curd (yogurt).Tamil Nadu, especially Chennai, is famous for its filter coffee as most Tamils have a subtle contempt for instant coffee.

The making of filter coffee is almost a ritual, for the coffee beans have to be first roasted and then ground. The powder is put into a filter set and boiling hot water is added to prepare the decoction and allowed to set for about 15 minutes. The decoction is then added to milk with sugar to taste. The final drink is poured from one container to another in rapid succession to make the ideal frothy cup of filter coffee. The last process makes one wonder whether the brew could be bought by the yard.

I will also like to mention the frenzy associated with films and stardom here. People are simple mad about films. There are an extensive number of theatres all over Chennai and the Rajinikanth hysteria is mind boggling. I seemed to have developed a liking for few Kollywood actresses including Trisha and Tamannah. I also admire Chiyan Vikram, as he is called here. He is a national award winner and I await the release of his much talked about magnum opus “Kanthaswamy” as all of his fans.

I seemed to have fallen in love with this place specially the Elliot’s Beach in Besant Nagar. I just love to go there over and over again. I can be so very myself there. I never ever thought I will say this but perhaps I will miss Chennai. Yeh Chennai hai mere yaar... Bas Beach, Rajini aur Sappad…!!! Adieu Madras

DevDC…

The Spirit of Indianness..!!!

It was the "Good Friday" and as usual I was browsing through the channels of the TV set at my PG around 10.15 PM. As I was almost bored and tired of the repititive and monotonous array of programmes all across the channels I had a visual encounter with my favourite, Barkha Dutt hosting the show "The Buck Stops Here" at NDTV.

Considering the tense political scenario with the general elections round the corner the debate was centered around the communal hatred spreading across or I must say, manipulated by our fanatical political brigade to tap the priceless votes. It almost seems to be a fashion to shoot to limelight through hate speeches and assaulting the religious sentiments of minorities and even vice versa. The stupidity of Mr Varun Gandhi started this so called flurry of hate speeches.

But what amuses me the most is that even our fanatical political brigade cannot disrupt the integrity of our nation.Though the hatred springs up once in a while and we witness shameful events, the respect we Indians endow for all the religions in our country is commendable. No other country in the world has existed in such harmony for such a long period baring a few acts of indignation which we all Indians regret. The youth thankfully is far above the religious fanaticism and we have learnt to coexist in a majestic fashion unlike some of our religious extremists neighbours.

One point which I want to bring across to justify my stand is the majestic and glittering event that took place in Los Angeles but which was perhaps celebrated more in India than in any other country in the world. Three Indians won Oscars: A.R. Rahman, Resul Pookutty and Gulzar. Their victory set off a frenzy of rejoicing. We were proud of our countrymen. We were pleased that India 's entertainment industry and its veterans had been recognized at an international platform. And all three men became even bigger heroes than they already were.

But here's the thing: Not one of them is a Hindu. Can you imagine such a thing happening in our neighbouring country. Can you even conceive of a situation where the whole country would celebrate the victory of three members of two religious minorities? For that matter, can you even imagine a situation where people from religious minorities would have got to the top of their fields and were, therefore, in the running for international awards? On the one hand, you have our neighbouring country imposing sharia law, doing deals with the Taliban, teaching hatred in madrasas, declaring jihad on the world and trying to kill innocent Sri Lankan cricketers. On the other, you have the triumph of Indian secularism. The same people? Surely not.We are defined by our nationality. They choose to define themselves by their religion.

As you probably know, A.R Rahman was born Dilip Kumar. He converted to Islam when he was 21. His religious preferences made no difference to his prospects. Even now, his music cuts across all religious boundaries. He's as much at home with Sufi music as he is with bhajans. Who can forget his Piya Haji Ali and Pal Pal Hai Bhaari.

Resul Pookutty is an even more interesting case. Until you realise that Malayalis tend to put an 'e' where the rest of us would put an 'a,' (Ravi becomes Revi and sometimes the Gulf becomes the Gelf), you cannot work out that his name derives from Rasool, a fairly obviously Islamic name. But here's the point: even when you point out to people that Pookutty is in fact a Muslim, they don't really care. It makes no difference to them. He's an authentic Indian hero, his religion is irrelevant. And his acceptance speech was even more interesting in which he referred to the primeval power of Om in his acceptance speech.

Most interesting of all is the case of Gulzar who many Indians believe is a Muslim. He is not. He is a Sikh. And his real name is Sampooran Singh Kalra. So why does he have a Muslim name? It's a good story and he told it on aTV show some years ago. He was born in West Pakistan and came over the border during the bloody days of Partition. He had seen so much hatred and religious violence on both sides, he said, that he was determined never to lose himself to that kind of blind religious prejudice and fanaticism. Rather than blame Muslims for the violence inflicted on his community - after all, Hindus and Sikhs behaved with equal ferocity - he adopted a Muslim pen name to remind himself that his identity was beyond religion. He still writes in Urdu and considers it irrelevant whether a person is a Sikh, a Muslim or a Hindu. Let's forget about political correctness and come clean. Can you see such a thing happening anywhere else in the world. Can you actually conceive of a famous Pakistani Muslim who adopts a Hindu or Sikh name out of choice to demonstrate the irrelevance of religion.

India was founded on the basis that religion had no role in determining citizenship or nationhood. An Indian can belong to any religion in the world and face no discrimination in his rights as a citizen. It is nobody's case that India is a perfect society or that Muslims face no discrimination. But only a fool would deny that in the last six decades, we have travelled a long way towards religious equality. In the early days of independent India, a Yusuf Khan had to call himself Dilip Kumar for fear of attracting religious prejudice. In today's India, a Dilip Kumar can change his name to A.R. Rahman and nobody really gives a damn either way. So think back to the events of the last few months.

All I want to state here is that the time is ripe enough that we, the youth wake up and stop the virulent spread of this deadly virus called communalism. We have proved it in the past and we need to carry the spirit of Indianness forever so that no Varun Gandhi or a Vaiko can denigrate the very essence of Indianness which rocks.

We as Indians rock and we will keep rocking forever...

Regards

Dev DC....

Plight of "The Fairer Sex"..!!!

It was a hectic day in my office here in Chennai, courtesy the utopian tasks entrusted on me by my company guide. To do away with my loneliness, which knows me by name, I happened to call one of my juniors from my college in Bangalore. The conversation began in a light hearted mode and gradually got engrossed into complex mythological discussions. To my surprise, I discovered an ardent and a flourishing hue of religious extremism in him. I was deeply shocked and surprised when he said that his sister is a fervid liability for him and he wants her to be married off as soon as possible. He just wants her sister to walk down the aisle despite of her willingness to study further. He is worried about the huge investment in her wedding considering he hails from the “Great Bihar”.

I can well understand a senior citizen or the seemingly old orthodox fraternity to talk in such lines but this sort of a statement delivered by someone who is hardly out of his teens speaks volumes of the sad state of affairs in our country. He further expressed his hatred and his astute unwillingness to mingle with the so called lower castes (Neech Jaati). He cited an instance in his childhood where he happened to devour something offered to him by someone of a lower caste unknowingly and later puking it out after solemn realization. What can we infer from this scenario? Are we still in the uncivilized era? I feel our scriptures have to answer that. He justified his foolish and illogical stand for women and the lower caste citing instances or direct verses in our scriptures which project women as a butt of ridicule created to satisfy and serve their male counterpart. I was deeply agonized and startled after probing his viewpoint. He was certainly true and our so called scriptures posed a striking revelation, something which I have never ever imagined in my wildest dream.

When I started having a look at what our Holy Books have to say, I thanked my parents and the Almighty that I didn’t study them in my journey from a toddler to a youth, who knows even my thoughts would have been polluted. I also wish to present the devastating effects of the caste system on the educational, social, and economical status of Dalit women in modern India. My aim is to highlight the harsh reality of the suppression, struggle and torture Dalit women face every day of their miserable lives. The hardships of Dalit women are not simply due to their poverty, economical status, or lack of education, but are a direct result of the severe exploitation and suppression by the upper classes, which is legitimized by Hindu religious scriptures. Following are certain verses which I want to share with you so that you can also be aware of the extreme sad state of affairs and the plight of ancient Indian women:

Ø A man, aged thirty years, shall marry a maiden of twelve who pleases him. Or a man of twenty-four a girl of eight years of age. If (the performance of) his duties would otherwise be impeded, he must marry sooner. (Manusmitri IX.94)

Ø By a girl, by a young woman, or even by an aged one, nothing must be done independently, even in her own house.” (Manusmriti V.147). Her father protects (her) in childhood, her husband protects (her) in youth, and her sons protect (her) in old age; a woman is never fit for independence. (Manusmriti IX.3)

Ø Women have no right to study the Vedas. They have no right to know the Vedas. The uttering of the Veda Mantras is useful for removing sin. As women cannot utter the Veda Mantras, they are as unclean as the untruth. (Manusmriti IX.18)

Ø A Brahman, Kshatriya, or Vaishya Man can sexually exploit any Shudra woman. (Manusmitri IX.25)

Ø They (women) make a lie appear as truth, and a truth appear as a lie. The Mahabharata Anusasana Parva, Section XXXIX

Ø A damsel, whose menses begin to appear (while she is living) at her father's house, before she has been betrothed to a man, has to be considered as a degraded woman: by taking her (without the consent of her kinsmen) a man commits no wrong. Vishnusmriti 24.41

Ø Lakshmana (addressing Sita) said: It is the nature of women all over the world to be vicious, fickle, and sharp-tongued and to sow seeds of dissension. Valmiki Ramayana Aranya Kanda, 45.29

Ø A woman who has been unchaste should worship Siva in his calm aspect, Siva who is Kama. Then she should summon a Brahmin and give herself to him, thinking ‘this is Kama who has come for the sake of sexual pleasure.' And whatever the Brahmin wishes, the sensuous woman should do. For thirteen months she should honour in this way any Brahmin who comes to the house for the sake of sexual pleasures, and there is no immorality in this for noble ladies or prostitutes. Matsya Purana 70.40-60 (cf. Mahabharata III, 2.23)

Ø It is the nature of women to seduce men in this (world); for that reason the wise are never unguarded in (the company of) females. For women are able to lead astray in (this) world not only a fool, but even a learned man, and (to make) him a slave of desire and anger. One should not sit in a lonely place with one's mother, sister, or daughter; for the senses are powerful, and master even a learned man. Manusmriti 2.213-215 ( Can you believe this)

There is also a mention of something derogatory to women in the holy ‘Ramcharitamanas’ which is not worth a mention here. So can it be ever imagined that the scriptures of the oldest religion of this earth will propose something as awful as this. I am not only grieved but even ashamed of having such instances inscribed in our scriptures. I feel these scriptures have been manipulated by a certain class of the society only to rule the common people which encompass a major portion of the society. This self proclaimed superior class has designed the plight of millions only to empower themselves. For me God is somebody who resides everywhere in every human being. He is the source of internal strength and he is too glorified and mighty to be confined to a particular religion. He is the Almighty who do not discriminate the human folk on the basis of caste and gender. If He proposes such then He aint God.

All I want to tell is that a major part of the country is trapped by the Superior Minority Brahminical Hegemony which feeds us with all those mythological trash and divides us and rules us. I am not against Brahmins as a caste or community. As I refer the divided subcontinent and never trace the history from any cut off year, I insist upon that the Brahminical Zionist white supremacy is rather a phenomenon correlated to Manusmriti and Zionist Hindu Imperialism post modern Manusmriti.

The cast system divided the society and ensured the Brahminical hegemony in such a refined manner with surgical precision that any resistance whatsoever is immuned immediately. We may see it in entire North East, in Kashmir, in Uttaranchal and all over the tribal parts of the subcontinent as the nationalities are enslaved in a colonial set up of exploitation. All political parties, Left as well as right, are engaged in the persecution of the underprivileged and marginalized people. So all the anti people Acts are enacted and the Parliamentary soap opera is reduced into a Ramp show exposing lot of skin!

I believe until and unless we break the false Myths and come to address the historical reality we may not change the society. Since the society is not going to change in near future we have to ensure equal opportunities for the enslaved outcaste communities as well as the superior gender and the fairer sex, WOMEN. This Nation is bearing Brahminical hegemony for thousands and thousands years. Why the Nation is not ready to accommodate the weakest and deprived and persecuted majority population? That’s because the enslaved people themselves fail to distinguish between myth and reality.

Its high time we ponder over these and dont let this venom pass to the next generation...!!!

Always urs...
Dev DC

Raste raste..Kat jaaye haste..Or is it????
For the benefit of every Tarun, Dev and Hari visiting Bangalore oops Bengalooru and daring to drive on its roads, I am offering a few hints for survival. This realisation gripped me when I was zooming on my fren's bike on the roads of KR Puram, a suburb in Bangalore. This is strictly not applicable in Bihar, where life outside a vehicle is only marginally safer.

The road rules broadly operate within the domain of karma where you do your best, and leave the results to your insurance company. The hints are as follows: Do we drive on the left or right of the road? The answer is "both". Basically you start on the left of the road, unless it is occupied. In that case, go to the right, unless that is also occupied. Then proceed by occupying the next available gap. Just trust your instincts, ascertain the direction, and proceed. Adherence to road rules leads to much misery and occasional fatality.
Don't you get discouraged or underestimate yourself except for a belief in reincarnation; the other drivers are not in any better position. Don't stop at pedestrian crossings just because some fool wants to cross the road. You may do so only if you enjoy being bumped in the back.
Pedestrians have been strictly instructed to cross only when traffic is moving slowly or has come to a dead stop because some minister is in town. Still some idiot may try to wade across, but then, let us not talk ill of the dead.
Blowing your horn is to express joy, resentment, frustration, romance and bare lust (two brisk blasts). Keep informative books in the compartment. You may read them during traffic jams, while awaiting the chief minister's motorcade or while longing 4 d signal 2 go green..Mind u..!! u'l get plenty of 'em..N God bless if u happen 2 ride or drive 2wards the Electronic City in peak hours..U can be rest assured to finish reading a novel by the time u arrive .So y not keep a copy of Sidney Sheldon.. Occasionally you might see what looks like a UFO with blinking colored lights and weird sounds emanating from within. This is an illuminated bus, full of happy pilgrims singing bhajans. These pilgrims go at breakneck speed, seeking contact with the Almighty, often meeting with success. Auto Rickshaw, not the official carrier of common sense by any means, carries iron rods, gas cylinders or passengers three times its weight and dimension, at an unspecified fare. After careful geometric calculations, children are folded and packed into these auto rickshaws until some children in the periphery are not in contact with the vehicle at all. Then their school bags are pushed into the microscopic gaps all round so those minor collisions with other vehicles on the road cause no permanent damage.

Another very familiar site in Bangalore roads is Moped. It looks like an oil tin on wheels and makes noise like an electric shaver. It runs 30 miles on a teaspoon of petrol and travels at break-bottom speed. As the sides of the road are too rough for a ride, the moped drivers tend to drive in the middle of the road; they would rather drive under heavier vehicles instead of around them and are often "mopped" off the tarmac.

Leaning Tower of Passes: Most bus passengers are given free passes and during rush hours, there is absolute mayhem. There are passengers hanging off other passengers, who in turn hang off the railings and the overloaded bus leans dangerously, defying laws of gravity but obeying laws of surface tension.The Delhi BlueLine has got serious competition.

One-way Street: These boards are put up by traffic people to add jest in their otherwise drab lives. Don't stick to the literal meaning and proceed in one direction. In metaphysical terms, it means that you cannot proceed in two directions at once.

Least I sound hypercritical, I must add a positive point also. Rash and fast driving in residential areas has been prevented by providing a "speed breaker"; two for each house. This mound, incidentally, covers the water and drainage pipes for that residence and is left untarred for easy identification by the corporation authorities, should they want to recover the pipe for year-end accounting.

Night driving on Bangalore roads can be an exhilarating experience for those with the mental make up of Genghis Khan. What looks like premature dawn on the horizon turns out to be a truck attempting a speed record. On encountering it, just pull partly into the field adjoining the road until the phenomenon passes. Our roads do not have shoulders, but occasional boulders. Do not blink your lights expecting reciprocation. The only dim thing in the truck is the driver, and with the peg of illicit arrack (alcohol) he has had at the last stop, his total cerebral functions add up to little more than a naught. Often you may encounter a single powerful beam of light about six feet above the ground. This is not a super motorbike, but a truck approaching you with a single light on, usually the left one. It could be the right one, but never get too close to investigate. You may prove your point posthumously. Now dats wat u call geting Bangalored..!!!

Awaiting comments....

Dev DC