PUBLISHED IN: INDIAN EXPRESS
Once again the city is revisited by the sensational Shakeereh Khaleeli murder case. There are views and counterviews about what should be an appropriate punishment for the perpetrator of the crime, Shradananda. As a group of media people were talking about the case and the people involved in it the discussion veered towards the beginning of the end of the life of a once beautiful woman. One journalist who had followed the case right from the start, and who was privy to privileged information said, “It is so sad how Shakeereh’s desire to have a male child led her to trust Shradananda, who had promised her a son and then led her to her grave.”
Here was a fine-looking lady, hailing from a prominent family and married into an equally important family and who had apparently lacked nothing in life. Yet it appears that she yearned for a male offspring. So much so, she was willing to give up all that was important in her life (including her daughters) and her life itself to fulfill that one desire. Why?
From where do some people acquire this belief that life is incomplete without a male heir? You might argue that things have changed –and yes, it has, but still we are a country that kills its girl babies. And if you think this happens only in the villages, think again.
There is a prominent business family in this city known for their classiness, generosity and business acumen. Eons ago when their highly educated daughter-in-law gave birth to a first-born girl child the entire family rejoiced. After a year the she became pregnant again. When she discovered that she was going to have a girl child, she aborted the child. The following pregnancies (yes it was more than one!) met with the same fate until she conceived a `male’ progeny. Why?
Would she have been thrown out of the house for giving birth to a baby girl the second time or even the third time? Would she have been ill treated for not giving birth to a boy? Did they ever tell her, look beti, you make sure you give us a grandson the next time otherwise….”? “Oh no, my folks are wonderful people,” she had said. Then what made her do what she did? “I don’t know how to explain this, the words are not spoken, but somehow you feel there is an inherent meaning hanging in the air that says, `We are happy with a girl child but we would be happier with a boy at least the second time around’. It is almost like a hidden code of honor –that if you don’t have a male heir you are incomplete. Many women in this country can sense this unspoken decree -it is there in that look, that tone, that body movement that says –you have had a girl, again! Above all it is there in your head –I don’t know how it got there but the thought is there –that I would feel complete or done my duty as a wife and daughter-in-law if I had son. For me both my children are precious. My daughter is given equal importance. But I still know that my husband feels happy to have a son.”
This misplaced and perverted desire to have a son at any cost has been ingrained in the minds of some of our men and women that they believe no family can be complete without a son. The urban communities might not pay the nurse to strangle the girl child minutes after her birth a la in the villages. The educated people might not abuse the woman who has given birth to second or third baby girl. But they have their own urbane ways of expressing their displeasure or their prejudice. I was once talking to a young girl who told me that she wished to become an engineer. I asked, “Then why are you opting for literature in college?” And she said, “Oh, that’s because my older brother got into engineering two years ago. And my family does not want me to pursue engineering since it would increase their financial burden. They’d rather spend that money on my brother to complete his engineering, that’s why I decided to do literature.” All I could say was, “Why don’t you approach the banks for an education-loan?” I didn’t know how to answer the numerous unanswered questions burning within that young girl.
A journalist acquaintance of mine, oldest among two sisters, has a father who hasn’t uttered a word to either her mother or his two daughters in more than two and half decades? He stopped communicating with his family the minute his second daughter was born. He blames his wife for not giving him a son. He is currently, holding a high post in a bank. How do you explain such preposterous behavior amongst educated people? Who do you blame? The society, the family, the individual? All I know is it is up to the individual to set this wrong right –damn the society! There are many angels that come down from heaven, some don’t make it while some make it but are not treated like angels! And I strongly believe that all angels are girls. Call me a feminist if you want!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
I'm not ok. R u nt ok 2?
PUBLICATION: INDIAN EXPRESS
Citizen’s Diary -2006
Here is a list of reasons why mobile phones should be wiped out from the face of this earth:
You can’t even pee in peace because the phone’s ringing and you `have’ to take that call –your mind is conditioned.
You can’t even pee in peace without the caller asking, `Where are you? Are you in the loo?” For heaven’s sake, what’s your problem yaar! Why don’t you just get on with it?
It brings out the beast in you. Especially when you are watching Saif and Vidya Balan playing the piano in Parineeta and suddenly the pot-bellied stranger’s mobile rings and he (who’s already usurped your armrest) says, `Ah baba, I am in the theatre, watching Parineeta…no, no you tell me, I am not busy at all…” BUT I AM. I am watching a movie and do you mind? You suddenly feel this urge to be Tom and Jerry and want to squish the pot-bellied stranger’s head right into the piano and watch the notes play on his head!
When your are ill your friends don’t send flowers but an sms -“Hw r u feelin?” Miserable, of course. Miffed at the impersonal attitude you don’t reply.
When your friends are ill, you don’t call but send an sms, “R u feelin ok?” And you feel miserable when they don’t reply.
You wish SMS hadn’t been invented at all, then you wouldn’t have made a fool of yourself by sending a loooong text msg proposal to that dishy guy who stole your heart only to receive a reply -`Sry, bt Im nt rdy. Bt tks anwy’. Face to face conversations always comes with in-built censorship based on common sense unlike text msgs. And you will instantly know that a guy who spells `Sorry’ as `Sry’ is just not worth the effort.
You have lost the art of communication, thanks to text messaging. You have been reduced to a mumbling Marlon Brando in God Father (at least he mumbled full sentences).
You realize you are getting on with age when it becomes increasingly difficult to decipher msgs like: Am, fln g8 or u r stpd or wtn 4u
You realize you are digressing when your written communications consist of words like rply, msg, tmrw, g8 mtng u…
During a busy day you take time off to wonder whether your burning auditory nerves has any connection to the news report that you read the previous day -`Constant use of mobile phones might cause cancer of the auditory nerves’.
At a lunch meeting you and your friend talk –not to each other though but to the little thingys that’s attached to your palms!
Your date spends more time looking at the mobile than at you –he’s waiting for that important call, you see!
The car in front of you is swaying and you think the guy at the wheel is having a heart attack. Not at all, he is simbly talking on his mobile, giving you a heart attack.
Above all I want mobiles to be banned because I am driven over the brink with Tom, Dick and Harry and Gita, Sita and Mita calling me constantly and harassing me to accept their free offers of credit cards, mobile cards, housing loans, car loans and other assorted loans! Don’t call me, unless you want to offer me George Clooney gift-wrapped!
For all the above reasons and more I want the mobile phones banished from this earth. But then I realize that the little silver box in my hand has also salvaged many situations in life. Like when my mother called me in the middle of the day, when I was miles away from home, to tell me that she wasn’t feeling “too well” and wanted to say “Good bye”. Thanks to my phone I was able to call for help quickly. Seeing my mobile in the car seat next to me gives me a strange sense of confidence and security especially when I am driving back home, alone in the middle of the night. It is at times like these that you realize that technology is a double-edged sword. You gain from it when it improves your quality of life and when you don’t allow yourself to be dictated by it. No other gadget has had people dancing to its tunes like the mobile phones. We have allowed ourselves to be ruled by it. It has made us more aggressive, insensitive, and impatient and above all ISOLATED! Think about it and you will realize how we have allowed ourselves to be isolated by a gadget that is meant to connect people! We have only ourselves to blame. Any one who is incapable of using technology responsibly has no right to use it at all.
Citizen’s Diary -2006
Here is a list of reasons why mobile phones should be wiped out from the face of this earth:
You can’t even pee in peace because the phone’s ringing and you `have’ to take that call –your mind is conditioned.
You can’t even pee in peace without the caller asking, `Where are you? Are you in the loo?” For heaven’s sake, what’s your problem yaar! Why don’t you just get on with it?
It brings out the beast in you. Especially when you are watching Saif and Vidya Balan playing the piano in Parineeta and suddenly the pot-bellied stranger’s mobile rings and he (who’s already usurped your armrest) says, `Ah baba, I am in the theatre, watching Parineeta…no, no you tell me, I am not busy at all…” BUT I AM. I am watching a movie and do you mind? You suddenly feel this urge to be Tom and Jerry and want to squish the pot-bellied stranger’s head right into the piano and watch the notes play on his head!
When your are ill your friends don’t send flowers but an sms -“Hw r u feelin?” Miserable, of course. Miffed at the impersonal attitude you don’t reply.
When your friends are ill, you don’t call but send an sms, “R u feelin ok?” And you feel miserable when they don’t reply.
You wish SMS hadn’t been invented at all, then you wouldn’t have made a fool of yourself by sending a loooong text msg proposal to that dishy guy who stole your heart only to receive a reply -`Sry, bt Im nt rdy. Bt tks anwy’. Face to face conversations always comes with in-built censorship based on common sense unlike text msgs. And you will instantly know that a guy who spells `Sorry’ as `Sry’ is just not worth the effort.
You have lost the art of communication, thanks to text messaging. You have been reduced to a mumbling Marlon Brando in God Father (at least he mumbled full sentences).
You realize you are getting on with age when it becomes increasingly difficult to decipher msgs like: Am, fln g8 or u r stpd or wtn 4u
You realize you are digressing when your written communications consist of words like rply, msg, tmrw, g8 mtng u…
During a busy day you take time off to wonder whether your burning auditory nerves has any connection to the news report that you read the previous day -`Constant use of mobile phones might cause cancer of the auditory nerves’.
At a lunch meeting you and your friend talk –not to each other though but to the little thingys that’s attached to your palms!
Your date spends more time looking at the mobile than at you –he’s waiting for that important call, you see!
The car in front of you is swaying and you think the guy at the wheel is having a heart attack. Not at all, he is simbly talking on his mobile, giving you a heart attack.
Above all I want mobiles to be banned because I am driven over the brink with Tom, Dick and Harry and Gita, Sita and Mita calling me constantly and harassing me to accept their free offers of credit cards, mobile cards, housing loans, car loans and other assorted loans! Don’t call me, unless you want to offer me George Clooney gift-wrapped!
For all the above reasons and more I want the mobile phones banished from this earth. But then I realize that the little silver box in my hand has also salvaged many situations in life. Like when my mother called me in the middle of the day, when I was miles away from home, to tell me that she wasn’t feeling “too well” and wanted to say “Good bye”. Thanks to my phone I was able to call for help quickly. Seeing my mobile in the car seat next to me gives me a strange sense of confidence and security especially when I am driving back home, alone in the middle of the night. It is at times like these that you realize that technology is a double-edged sword. You gain from it when it improves your quality of life and when you don’t allow yourself to be dictated by it. No other gadget has had people dancing to its tunes like the mobile phones. We have allowed ourselves to be ruled by it. It has made us more aggressive, insensitive, and impatient and above all ISOLATED! Think about it and you will realize how we have allowed ourselves to be isolated by a gadget that is meant to connect people! We have only ourselves to blame. Any one who is incapable of using technology responsibly has no right to use it at all.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Gimme back my old book store
I like to spend saturday afternoons in my favourite bookstore close to my house. There is a coffee shop attached to the bookstore. A few fancy wooden tables and chairs both on the inside and outside of the shop. Many a day I have enjoyed a tall glass of Vanilla milkshake or a cup of hot chocolate, sitting by the window and watch the world go by. It was a nice feeling to be surrounded by books. And if I felt like I would pick up a book from the shelf and browse through it as I sipped my coffee. I have thought to myself, `Ah, this is wonderful. Whoever came up with this idea should be lauded.' But now I am re-thinking. Is it a good idea afterall -to have a coffeeshop or a children's play area inside a bookstore? Me thinks, it is not. Especially after my experience this afternoon. Little kids turned into abnoxious brats running criss-cross inbetween the book shelves and screaming on top of their voices. There was a lady with a little kid perched on her hip, obviously wanting to buy something that would be of use to her tiny tot and which would turn him/her (i couldn't tell the difference) into Einstein. But she just couldn't decide what to buy. So she called someone, mentor of sorts i guess, and began reading out blurbs and pages and photo credits of the various books, over the phone and in the loudest, irritating voice as possible. "There are lots of pictures. Cats, dogs, elephants...but only few lines by each photograph. It is looking nice. But I don't think it is the right book for the child...." Then for godsake don't buy it. The back-n-forth went on for a long time. The lady was in no way perturbed by the stares and ugly looks that were directed her way by other people in the shop.Then there were a couple of giggly teenage lovers coochi-cooing in the loudest whisper possible....oh my God, give me back my old book stores where you could sit down or stand up and browse through books with no distractions and disturbances. The silence of the environment only added to the pleasure of being a book store. We have lost that eternal ingredient of a book store -silence- in these new age book stores. Awwwww!
Sunday, February 3, 2008
When do we become value-less?
If I give you a 1000 rupee note, will you take it?
Of course, I will.
If I take that note from you, crumple it a few times and then offer it to you, will you take it?
OF COURSE, I will.
Well then, I take the same 1000 rupee note, throw it on the ground, trample it, let my car run over it. Now the rupee is crumpled, battered and soiled. Will you still take it?
Of course I will. No matter how battered it is, a 1000 rupee note is a 1000 rupee note. It's value does not diminish.
Then how come, when we, as human beings, get battered by life, hurt and rejected by people, cheated upon and generally get tossed around, crumpled and soiled in life, believe that at the end of it all, we have no value; that we are worthless; that we have lost all that was good in us; that the spirit of love, fearlessness, adventure , goodness and faith have died in us???
How come we consider ourselves value-less because all that has happened in our lives?
No matter how much we get tossed around, how much we get crumpled or soiled, like the 1000 rupee note, I think we will always be valuable -and our intrinsic values remains; the goodness of heart, the spirit of adventure and fearlessness and the spirit of love will remain forever -making us highly valuable -like the 1000 rupee note.
Of course, I will.
If I take that note from you, crumple it a few times and then offer it to you, will you take it?
OF COURSE, I will.
Well then, I take the same 1000 rupee note, throw it on the ground, trample it, let my car run over it. Now the rupee is crumpled, battered and soiled. Will you still take it?
Of course I will. No matter how battered it is, a 1000 rupee note is a 1000 rupee note. It's value does not diminish.
Then how come, when we, as human beings, get battered by life, hurt and rejected by people, cheated upon and generally get tossed around, crumpled and soiled in life, believe that at the end of it all, we have no value; that we are worthless; that we have lost all that was good in us; that the spirit of love, fearlessness, adventure , goodness and faith have died in us???
How come we consider ourselves value-less because all that has happened in our lives?
No matter how much we get tossed around, how much we get crumpled or soiled, like the 1000 rupee note, I think we will always be valuable -and our intrinsic values remains; the goodness of heart, the spirit of adventure and fearlessness and the spirit of love will remain forever -making us highly valuable -like the 1000 rupee note.
Is Moral Policing the new cottage industry?
The moral brigade is on the prowl again. This time around they have aimed their guns at actress Shriya (of the Rajnikanth blockbuster Sivaji-the boss-fame). Apparently, she was dressed in an outfit that outraged the modesty of the "Hindu Culture" and which went "against ALL that the Hindu Culture stood for" during the celebration of 150 days (or more) jubliee celebration of the film Sivaji.
My curiosity piqued, I wondered, what sort of a dress was she wearing that outraged the modesty and disrespected a 5000 year old culture. A culture that survived all kinds of invasion from across the face of the earth and yet managed to stand proud and erect and strong till today was felled by a mere chit of a dress???? What sort of an outfit was Shriya wearing? I quickly turned to the newspaper that carried a picture of Shriya in the said outfit. It was a beautiful, dress with sphagetti straps, with just a shadow of her cleavage showing. Mind you her clevage was not seen at all -much to the disappointment of many of my friends.
Is this the dress that disrespected and "was against the Hindu culture"? The guys from the Moral Brigade need a serious brain transplant. Or better still they need to be transplanted to MARS. C'mon guys, Shirya was wearing more than what she was wearing in the film which ran to packed houses and saw men coming of the theatre drooling over their already wet bibs.
How come the Hindu culture is not affected when Shriya or for that matter some of women prance around, in minimal clothing, shaking their booty and more on a 75 mm screen? How is that these men go to the theatres and clap and drool over the heroines who are so skimpily dressed that sometimes even I, with my so called liberated views, wonder why they are even bothering with that scrap of hanky around their waist?
Above all I have just one clarification: Why is Hindu culture selective in its desire to be outraged? How come it does not get outraged or disrespected when 14 and 15 year old girls are raped? When women are pawed in public? When brides are burt for dowry? When women are killed by demented spouses? When men use women for their own sexual gratification? When acid is thrown to disfigure their faces just because she spurns a man?When women die of starvation? When young girls are married out at 10 and 11 to men old enough to be their grandfathers? When women are forced to sell their bodies to feed the family and keep them from dying of starvation? When women die during childbirth due to lack of proper facilities? When girl babies are killed within a few hours of their birth because they are considered to be a burden?
How come Hindu Culture does not get outraged or livid or disrespected by any of these atrocities but it does when Shriya wears a modest spaghetti strapped outfit?
What is the logic behind that? Tell me.
I am not even going into the history of the Hindu culture to prove to you how eons ago women would walk bare-breasted and the men of that era did not blink twice because they did not see anything wrong with it. I am not even going to try and explain to this moral brigade how, once upon a time, the same Hindu culture bestowed upon women great freedom ranging from choosing their spouses, participation in the political process, economic freedom et al. I am not going to go into any of these things because the moral brigade has no use of such arguments.
So, I shall ask them -what is the logic behind your action? Is it like a weekend hobby for you? Or is it part-time employment? Or do you freelance?
Or is it just that unemployment is so rampant in this country that moral policing has become a new found cottage industry in this country? In that case, I can only hold the government responsible....
PS: Ms.Shriya Reddy, you did look nice in that sphagetti strap dress. Can I have the name of the designer please? Would love to have a similar one in my wardrobe
My curiosity piqued, I wondered, what sort of a dress was she wearing that outraged the modesty and disrespected a 5000 year old culture. A culture that survived all kinds of invasion from across the face of the earth and yet managed to stand proud and erect and strong till today was felled by a mere chit of a dress???? What sort of an outfit was Shriya wearing? I quickly turned to the newspaper that carried a picture of Shriya in the said outfit. It was a beautiful, dress with sphagetti straps, with just a shadow of her cleavage showing. Mind you her clevage was not seen at all -much to the disappointment of many of my friends.
Is this the dress that disrespected and "was against the Hindu culture"? The guys from the Moral Brigade need a serious brain transplant. Or better still they need to be transplanted to MARS. C'mon guys, Shirya was wearing more than what she was wearing in the film which ran to packed houses and saw men coming of the theatre drooling over their already wet bibs.
How come the Hindu culture is not affected when Shriya or for that matter some of women prance around, in minimal clothing, shaking their booty and more on a 75 mm screen? How is that these men go to the theatres and clap and drool over the heroines who are so skimpily dressed that sometimes even I, with my so called liberated views, wonder why they are even bothering with that scrap of hanky around their waist?
Above all I have just one clarification: Why is Hindu culture selective in its desire to be outraged? How come it does not get outraged or disrespected when 14 and 15 year old girls are raped? When women are pawed in public? When brides are burt for dowry? When women are killed by demented spouses? When men use women for their own sexual gratification? When acid is thrown to disfigure their faces just because she spurns a man?When women die of starvation? When young girls are married out at 10 and 11 to men old enough to be their grandfathers? When women are forced to sell their bodies to feed the family and keep them from dying of starvation? When women die during childbirth due to lack of proper facilities? When girl babies are killed within a few hours of their birth because they are considered to be a burden?
How come Hindu Culture does not get outraged or livid or disrespected by any of these atrocities but it does when Shriya wears a modest spaghetti strapped outfit?
What is the logic behind that? Tell me.
I am not even going into the history of the Hindu culture to prove to you how eons ago women would walk bare-breasted and the men of that era did not blink twice because they did not see anything wrong with it. I am not even going to try and explain to this moral brigade how, once upon a time, the same Hindu culture bestowed upon women great freedom ranging from choosing their spouses, participation in the political process, economic freedom et al. I am not going to go into any of these things because the moral brigade has no use of such arguments.
So, I shall ask them -what is the logic behind your action? Is it like a weekend hobby for you? Or is it part-time employment? Or do you freelance?
Or is it just that unemployment is so rampant in this country that moral policing has become a new found cottage industry in this country? In that case, I can only hold the government responsible....
PS: Ms.Shriya Reddy, you did look nice in that sphagetti strap dress. Can I have the name of the designer please? Would love to have a similar one in my wardrobe
Road to Destiny
At what age does one get to know one's destiny? After years of listening to life coaches and reading what the pundits had to say on the topic of destiny, this is what I have come to understand of it -destiny is like a car, it does not go any place unless you drive it some place. But my problem is, I have the car, I am in the driver's seat, I also know that I am supposed to drive it -what I don't know is where he heck am I supposed to go! All my life I have been asking myself a single question -I know I am supposed to go somewhere but where?
All through my life, I have embarked on numerous journeys thinking that it would lead me to my ultimate destination -my destiny. But half way through either I would realise that I wasn't driving to the destination that I was supposed to or there would be road blocks and I would have had taken diversions only to find myself back at the starting point. So, righ now I am parked in my car, with the engine running, ready to undertake that all important journey that will take me to my destination -but I am thoroughly confused, it has reached a stage where I don't see any roads no nore, any well-defined paths there are none, just an ocean of empty land is all that is visible. Mistake me not, I am willing to dig my own road to traverse miles upon it to even get a glimpse of my destiny -it's just that I don't know where to begin anymore!
So, I ask again at what age does one get to know their destiny? When do you become sure of your destination that you drive your car confidently, tackle all the obstacles, take all the diversions needed but know for sure that you on the right path towards your destination? Or does one ever get to know one's destination? Or is it the case of the destination not being as important as journey itself? If it is the latter, one does get a wee bit tired of driving on and on and on without actually reaching anywhere or without even actually having a place to reach....Right now, I am TIRED.
I hope to God that I would find it in me to once again embark on a journey that would take me to my destination -my destiny. After all that is why I am here right? It would be awfully embarassing to go back and tell my creator, Sorry Sir, I just couldn't find my stop!
All through my life, I have embarked on numerous journeys thinking that it would lead me to my ultimate destination -my destiny. But half way through either I would realise that I wasn't driving to the destination that I was supposed to or there would be road blocks and I would have had taken diversions only to find myself back at the starting point. So, righ now I am parked in my car, with the engine running, ready to undertake that all important journey that will take me to my destination -but I am thoroughly confused, it has reached a stage where I don't see any roads no nore, any well-defined paths there are none, just an ocean of empty land is all that is visible. Mistake me not, I am willing to dig my own road to traverse miles upon it to even get a glimpse of my destiny -it's just that I don't know where to begin anymore!
So, I ask again at what age does one get to know their destiny? When do you become sure of your destination that you drive your car confidently, tackle all the obstacles, take all the diversions needed but know for sure that you on the right path towards your destination? Or does one ever get to know one's destination? Or is it the case of the destination not being as important as journey itself? If it is the latter, one does get a wee bit tired of driving on and on and on without actually reaching anywhere or without even actually having a place to reach....Right now, I am TIRED.
I hope to God that I would find it in me to once again embark on a journey that would take me to my destination -my destiny. After all that is why I am here right? It would be awfully embarassing to go back and tell my creator, Sorry Sir, I just couldn't find my stop!
Sons & Lovers
Sons and Lovers -By D.H.Lawrence. I picked up the DVD for two reasons. One I saw the name DH Lawrence -I love that man's twisted thinking and the ability to translate the dark void that inhabits human relationships. The second reason is in a way connected to the latter sentiment. `Sons and Lovers' is a passionate drama about the fragility of human relationships, about love, sex and the space between them'. It did not disappoint. I did like what I saw....including the umpteen sex scenes, which certainly does not titillate (anyway I was never fond of the bam-wam types and you see a lot of that in this film) but becomes an integral part of the lives of the characters. And that's what sex is in real life too -though the moral brigade might argue otherwise.
Back to the story -Intellectual Gertrude marries miner Walter and soon grows to resent his hard drinking, inarticulate husband. When eldest son Willaim leaves for a job in London, Gertrude pours all her love and frustrated ambition into her relationship with her younger son Paul. And so when Paul finally falls in love, an unspoken battle begins between mother and son as Paul struggles to make his own way in the world.
The ambitious Gertrude is an ill-fit in the marriage to a miner. Is it any fault of hers to be ambitious? Not at all. Yet you also sympathise with the hard-drinking husband. You cannot grudge him his pint after a hard day's work in the damp mines, in the dark belly of the earth. He is a man who bears his cross in life. He is justified in his actions. So is the wife in her feelings of frustration, desperation and disappointment. She then accepts her fate and turns her attention to her sons. They become the greatest love of her life. She exacts her revenge on the husband by turning the sons against him. The film beautifully portrays the relationship between the wife and husband, the mother and her sons and the father and his unspoken love for his sons; the sons and their confused love for their father.
The battle for affection and ownership over the relationship between the mother and her sons begin when they grow up and fall in love. When the eldest son dies, the youngest son Paul begins to carry an extraordinary burden upon his shoulders. Now, he not only has to live his life to please his mother but he also has to stand in for his older brother who died young and so did his mother's dreams for him. Paul has a dual burdern to carry. In the bargain a struggle ensues between what he wants and what others want of him.
He is unable to fall in love. For he compares every woman he meets to his mother. His mother does not help his cause by trying to keep her son's affection an exclusive property of hers. But she feels Paul's pain when he suffers in his relationships.
I is the story of zillions of parents and children around the world. Parents whose lives revolve around their children. Their love for their children is unsurpassed. They sacrifice a lot for their children. But is it selfless? No, it is a twisted form of selfishness. They live their dreams through their children. They nurture and give their all so that their children could become what they could never be. In the bargain they fail to realise that their children are individuals in their own right. Human beings who have their own dreams, wants, desires and life to lead. Unfortunately, the aforementioned parents don't see it that way. They see their children as their own property and become, unconsciously, dictators ruling over the lives of their children.
In the end everybody lives a painful life. The children are confused and caught between the love of their parents and the desire to lead h/her own life. The parents are disappointed and feels betrayed when the child rightfully walks away to tread h/her own chosen path. In all this the love and bond they share remains. Unfortunately it becomes a noose around their necks.
Sons & Lovers does not fail to read the gaps in between human relationships.
Directed by: Stephen Whittaker
Back to the story -Intellectual Gertrude marries miner Walter and soon grows to resent his hard drinking, inarticulate husband. When eldest son Willaim leaves for a job in London, Gertrude pours all her love and frustrated ambition into her relationship with her younger son Paul. And so when Paul finally falls in love, an unspoken battle begins between mother and son as Paul struggles to make his own way in the world.
The ambitious Gertrude is an ill-fit in the marriage to a miner. Is it any fault of hers to be ambitious? Not at all. Yet you also sympathise with the hard-drinking husband. You cannot grudge him his pint after a hard day's work in the damp mines, in the dark belly of the earth. He is a man who bears his cross in life. He is justified in his actions. So is the wife in her feelings of frustration, desperation and disappointment. She then accepts her fate and turns her attention to her sons. They become the greatest love of her life. She exacts her revenge on the husband by turning the sons against him. The film beautifully portrays the relationship between the wife and husband, the mother and her sons and the father and his unspoken love for his sons; the sons and their confused love for their father.
The battle for affection and ownership over the relationship between the mother and her sons begin when they grow up and fall in love. When the eldest son dies, the youngest son Paul begins to carry an extraordinary burden upon his shoulders. Now, he not only has to live his life to please his mother but he also has to stand in for his older brother who died young and so did his mother's dreams for him. Paul has a dual burdern to carry. In the bargain a struggle ensues between what he wants and what others want of him.
He is unable to fall in love. For he compares every woman he meets to his mother. His mother does not help his cause by trying to keep her son's affection an exclusive property of hers. But she feels Paul's pain when he suffers in his relationships.
I is the story of zillions of parents and children around the world. Parents whose lives revolve around their children. Their love for their children is unsurpassed. They sacrifice a lot for their children. But is it selfless? No, it is a twisted form of selfishness. They live their dreams through their children. They nurture and give their all so that their children could become what they could never be. In the bargain they fail to realise that their children are individuals in their own right. Human beings who have their own dreams, wants, desires and life to lead. Unfortunately, the aforementioned parents don't see it that way. They see their children as their own property and become, unconsciously, dictators ruling over the lives of their children.
In the end everybody lives a painful life. The children are confused and caught between the love of their parents and the desire to lead h/her own life. The parents are disappointed and feels betrayed when the child rightfully walks away to tread h/her own chosen path. In all this the love and bond they share remains. Unfortunately it becomes a noose around their necks.
Sons & Lovers does not fail to read the gaps in between human relationships.
Directed by: Stephen Whittaker
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Show me the money
Money will not buy you happiness
But it can buy you peace of mind...and some fancy shoes and bags.
Money is not everything
But it is definitely something....and some more.
Money is not important in life
And I am Maryln Monroe...and JFK rolled into one.
Money should never be one's top priority in life
But it should be a priority nevertheless....and it should remain there for the rest of your life.
You cannot take your money with you when you die
Who cares as long as you have some all the time to take it with you where ever you go when you are alive.
For the most part of my life I did not give money its due respect. I had given it the lowest position in the ladder of my priorities in life. And there it remained uncomplaining with a smug smile on its face like the one you usually find on the faces of people who think, "Ignore me, humiliate me, trash me -but at your own peril."
Only recently, life compelled me to look down the ladder and there I saw -Mr.Money, with a `I-told-you-so' look on its face. That's when I realised the truth and most importantly acknowledged the truth -that it is not necessary to either pooh-pooh money nor make it the Lord of your life. But it is important to understand its importance and give it its rightful place in your life.
From now on, I believe that we would be treating each other with great respect and would be of benefit to each other. Amen to that!
But it can buy you peace of mind...and some fancy shoes and bags.
Money is not everything
But it is definitely something....and some more.
Money is not important in life
And I am Maryln Monroe...and JFK rolled into one.
Money should never be one's top priority in life
But it should be a priority nevertheless....and it should remain there for the rest of your life.
You cannot take your money with you when you die
Who cares as long as you have some all the time to take it with you where ever you go when you are alive.
For the most part of my life I did not give money its due respect. I had given it the lowest position in the ladder of my priorities in life. And there it remained uncomplaining with a smug smile on its face like the one you usually find on the faces of people who think, "Ignore me, humiliate me, trash me -but at your own peril."
Only recently, life compelled me to look down the ladder and there I saw -Mr.Money, with a `I-told-you-so' look on its face. That's when I realised the truth and most importantly acknowledged the truth -that it is not necessary to either pooh-pooh money nor make it the Lord of your life. But it is important to understand its importance and give it its rightful place in your life.
From now on, I believe that we would be treating each other with great respect and would be of benefit to each other. Amen to that!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Mind is in a tizzy
Where did we come from?
Why are we here?
Where are we going to go from here?
Of all the answers that I have received for the above in the past three decades I am most comfortable with the following:
I came from eternity -I am an extension of the Divine Source or Energy (what you call it depends on whether you believe in God or not. But that is of no consequence to me. It is more comforting for me personally to think of the Divine Source or Great Energy as God. More real. But that's me)
I am here because I wanted to be here
I am going to go back home
Fine. I am here because I wanted to be here. But why did I want to be here in the first place? There should've been a reason right? Something here must have attracted me immensely to make me want to come here. Or I must have wanted to do something different and unique, something only I could do -that could've been a motivation for me to want to come here.
.....So there you are...I spend my life trying to figure out why did I want to come into this world in the first place? What was the reason? What was the purpose?
However, it is nice to know that I am going nowhere without finding that....or rather without fulfilling the purpose for which I came here...
Why are we here?
Where are we going to go from here?
Of all the answers that I have received for the above in the past three decades I am most comfortable with the following:
I came from eternity -I am an extension of the Divine Source or Energy (what you call it depends on whether you believe in God or not. But that is of no consequence to me. It is more comforting for me personally to think of the Divine Source or Great Energy as God. More real. But that's me)
I am here because I wanted to be here
I am going to go back home
Fine. I am here because I wanted to be here. But why did I want to be here in the first place? There should've been a reason right? Something here must have attracted me immensely to make me want to come here. Or I must have wanted to do something different and unique, something only I could do -that could've been a motivation for me to want to come here.
.....So there you are...I spend my life trying to figure out why did I want to come into this world in the first place? What was the reason? What was the purpose?
However, it is nice to know that I am going nowhere without finding that....or rather without fulfilling the purpose for which I came here...
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Observing life
I went for a funeral last evening...actually it was the eve of the funeral. The man of the house was lying in the mortuarty of a local hospital awaiting the arrival of relatives from Kerala, who rarely visited him when he was alive, but he would not and could not be given his farewell without the presence of the ubiquitous relatives.
So, there I was, standing next to the widow, not knowing what to say to her (I don't think I will ever know what to say to someone in such situations), squeezing her shoulders, hoping I was applying the right kind of pressure, which would convey my condolensces to her. Firstly, I wasn't supposed to be here. The widow was my mother's friend. Since my mother couldn't make it I was representing mommy dear and doing a very bad job of it. It was an akward situation. The wife didn't know what to say to me nor did I. So there we stood, she weeping gently and me breathing -yes, just breathing. Breath is the only thing that never fails you no matter what the situation is. It doesn't stop. The day it stops...somebody else would be standing there just like me...breathing and not knowing what to say, but breathing!
One often encounters humour in the house of the dead. It is not civilized or kind to laugh, so you just cough and shuffle your feet desperately trying to camflouge that little smile that is always trying escape through the corners of your mouth. I don't know whether it has happened to others or it is just me...I somehow tend to see things that makes me laugh or atleast crack a smile in the worst of situations. Some say that is a gift, I say it is downright uncomfortable -for me!
Once I finished squeezing the widow's shoulders and reached a point where any more `squeezing' would cross over to being considered `bodily assault' I quitely moved to the sidelines and began doing what I love doing -people watching.
As it is the case in India, there were many women surrounding the widow, consoling and comforting her. And again mouring in India is never silent -it is always loud, noisy and filled with sounds human chatter. So there were all these women, around a dozen of them, indulging in a kind of serial-monologue of sorts. The conversations were highly random. What happened? How did he die? Did you inform so and so? When are the relatives coming? Now what will she do? Oh he had a good death? Drink some tea? Who's gone to get the shamiana? We need more chairs. More people would be coming? Oh how did he die? I can spare some chairs from my house. Btw, you still have my chair.....
you get my point....it was thoughts, half sentences, full sentences, just a word...but there was a method to the madness. The aim was to fill the gaps. The silences. Because `silence' is a zone that the widow should not be allowed to step into right now. So, there she was, the widow, sitting in the middle of these cackling women. Sometimes what they said made her cry, at times she was forced to thing of practical matters which would take her mind off the tragedy. So the game continued.
It is in these conversations that you find a lot to laugh.
At some point the lady began to weep inconsolably. That is when the woman sitting next to her, in her mid forties, tall, clad in a cotton saree and still carrying the remnants of morning household chores on her...trying to console the weeping widow. "Don't cry," she said softly first. She repeated the same again and again. And each time the softness in her voice edged away. And finally, she told the widow sternly, "Stop crying. All this crying will not help you." What she said next made me chuckle. "Now all you can do is pray. Pray to God that you should also die fast. Pray that he takes you too. Soon." I am sure I saw the widow visibly go stiff for a moment. She was surprised and shocked no doubt. And I am also sure that I saw the widow slowly move away from the circle of this woman's arms and gently onto the shoulders of the woman on the right.
It was truly a comical situation....
So, there I was, standing next to the widow, not knowing what to say to her (I don't think I will ever know what to say to someone in such situations), squeezing her shoulders, hoping I was applying the right kind of pressure, which would convey my condolensces to her. Firstly, I wasn't supposed to be here. The widow was my mother's friend. Since my mother couldn't make it I was representing mommy dear and doing a very bad job of it. It was an akward situation. The wife didn't know what to say to me nor did I. So there we stood, she weeping gently and me breathing -yes, just breathing. Breath is the only thing that never fails you no matter what the situation is. It doesn't stop. The day it stops...somebody else would be standing there just like me...breathing and not knowing what to say, but breathing!
One often encounters humour in the house of the dead. It is not civilized or kind to laugh, so you just cough and shuffle your feet desperately trying to camflouge that little smile that is always trying escape through the corners of your mouth. I don't know whether it has happened to others or it is just me...I somehow tend to see things that makes me laugh or atleast crack a smile in the worst of situations. Some say that is a gift, I say it is downright uncomfortable -for me!
Once I finished squeezing the widow's shoulders and reached a point where any more `squeezing' would cross over to being considered `bodily assault' I quitely moved to the sidelines and began doing what I love doing -people watching.
As it is the case in India, there were many women surrounding the widow, consoling and comforting her. And again mouring in India is never silent -it is always loud, noisy and filled with sounds human chatter. So there were all these women, around a dozen of them, indulging in a kind of serial-monologue of sorts. The conversations were highly random. What happened? How did he die? Did you inform so and so? When are the relatives coming? Now what will she do? Oh he had a good death? Drink some tea? Who's gone to get the shamiana? We need more chairs. More people would be coming? Oh how did he die? I can spare some chairs from my house. Btw, you still have my chair.....
you get my point....it was thoughts, half sentences, full sentences, just a word...but there was a method to the madness. The aim was to fill the gaps. The silences. Because `silence' is a zone that the widow should not be allowed to step into right now. So, there she was, the widow, sitting in the middle of these cackling women. Sometimes what they said made her cry, at times she was forced to thing of practical matters which would take her mind off the tragedy. So the game continued.
It is in these conversations that you find a lot to laugh.
At some point the lady began to weep inconsolably. That is when the woman sitting next to her, in her mid forties, tall, clad in a cotton saree and still carrying the remnants of morning household chores on her...trying to console the weeping widow. "Don't cry," she said softly first. She repeated the same again and again. And each time the softness in her voice edged away. And finally, she told the widow sternly, "Stop crying. All this crying will not help you." What she said next made me chuckle. "Now all you can do is pray. Pray to God that you should also die fast. Pray that he takes you too. Soon." I am sure I saw the widow visibly go stiff for a moment. She was surprised and shocked no doubt. And I am also sure that I saw the widow slowly move away from the circle of this woman's arms and gently onto the shoulders of the woman on the right.
It was truly a comical situation....
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