Guns Roses n I

Circa 1988.

We are travelling in a car in Delhi; my cuz sitting up front with the driver, me behind. And he keeps replaying 'Paradise City', looping the tape back to the beginning and stopping exactly when the guitar takes over. Just the clear, strong sound of the percussion vibrates through the car (it was equipped with the state-of-the-art Sony system) and as much as I liked to believe then that it was irritating, I can admit now, that I turned into a fan that winter evening in Delhi.

Guns n Roses. I got hooked to their music and yes, I do have the cuz to blame!

In the all-girls convent I went to, most of my friends were listening to Wham, Madonna and the like. Pop music was 'in' and I found myself strangely alienated because I loved hard rock, a bit of metal, soft rock and I also listened to the popular music of the time.  But if there was someone in class who had tapes of GnR, Aerosmith, Deep Purple, Iron Maiden, Metallica, Bruce Springsteen etc, it was me.

And it was, yes, you guessed that right, all because of the cuz!

Circa 2012.

When I first heard that GnR were coming to India on a three city tour I was instantly transported back to those days, when we, the first of the MTV generation, would sit glued to the idiot box watching videos of songs we'd only heard before! And we saw Slash actually strum those chords, and Axl, well...Axl...the archetypal bad boy of the 80s and 90s, was irresistible. His voice, his long locks of hair, his....well...suffice to say that if you loved hard rock, you'd definitely like Axl.

And here was this opportunity presenting itself to me. All I had to do was find someone to babysit the children, travel to Mumbai and decide what to wear!!!

So after much hemming and hawing, I finally made it to the Guns n Roses, Appetite for Democracy tour, Mumbai concert on 9th December.

I watched him for three hours. strutting about on the whole stage. He hardly stood still, kept running about, kept singing, kept entertaining us. But what struck me real hard is that he has mellowed. This was a not-so-hyper Axl, so different from his younger avataar.

Yes, 25 years can age anyone, and it is not easy, not easy to watch your icons look old-er; not easy to see their long locks disappeared somewhere, not easy to see the bags under the eyes, the sagging chin, the expanded waistline.... Somewhere it makes you aware of your own aging.

His voice still sounded the same....and he still held us in thrall the whole time! The way he looked at us and said, "I've been waiting 27 years to come to India"....and while I thought, "Oh Gosh! Why didn't you!!!" my knees turned jelly...

I walked out with a lump in my throat and a resolve, that I will allow my children to see their idols and icons perform LIVE any opportunity I can 'afford'. Because we must be able to live the experience of our adulation in its entirety. 

Blue on White

Blue on white
Little squares, many scribbles
Love, fondness, desire
distance, desperation, memories
...a time of recklessness...

Blue on white
Little squares, lay scattered
as she snipped apart
through the center, through the being
of her aching heart... 

Joy of Giving Week is back

The Joy of Giving week starts tomorrow, October 2nd.

Many cynical people do ask, how will it help to spread joy for just one week, just as the the act of switching lights off for one hour during Earth Hour invokes very adverse reactions from people... To them all I say, "At least do it for one week/hour..."

During the Joy of Giving week, NGOs, corporates and individuals like you and me reach out to those not as privileged as us to spread the message of hope and joy... Its not much I agree, but its a small baby step in the right direction and for that, it gets my full support.

Last year we had organised a Day Out for patients of Ataxia in Pune. What a feeling it was to see those who had not stepped out of their homes for simple pleasures like watching a movie in almost 10 years!

This year, I am supporting a few JoG exercises from the outside due to work pressures. But have resolved to continue following the JoG cards here on Vivify and keep my children in touch with their humane side too.

Reservation Quota for an "Indian"

The quota issue has raised its head again (I won’t say ‘ugly head’ for fear of being chastised as privileged-educated-middle class-drives a car-has a maid-kids study in private school-nondalit-Hindu and who knows what else) and I have serious issues with the “let us reserve for those who are needy/underprivileged/minority/victims of casteism” simply because the other side (not necessarily the opposite of the adjectives that describe the “need reservations” group) is unrepresented and therefore, ignored.

To understand what I am getting at, all you would have to do is go to the Tehsil office in your district and observe the queues for ‘domicile certificates’ and hear what those standing in the queues, who are not natives of the state, have to endure.

Today the reality of an Indian like me (of Marwari origin, born in Delhi, raised in Kerala, married to a Tamilian Brahmin, lived across the country courtesy spouse’s service in the Armed Forces, now stationed in Maharashtra, and who can speak 6 Indian languages with absolute ease) is that my identity has become restrictive.

Simply because I cannot respond with confidence to queries regarding region, home state, mother tongue etc with an emphatic “I am an Indian” and leave it there. It is not enough.

“Ha ha…yes I know. We are all Indians. But really, which state do you belong to?” I am often questioned by incredulous acquaintances who also announce rather alarmingly when told the truth about my multi-cultural upbringing, “Really? Baniya from Kerala? But you don’t have a mallu accent at all!!!!” the blame of which I usually shift to the missionary-run school I attended through my academic life in uniform that insisted we speak in English all the time. “Yes, but still, your English has no malayali accent…”

Ok I admit I do feel a cheap thrill when I am told that my accent carries no traces of my education from Kerala where the accent is the butt of several thousand jokes. But that is where it ends, because inclined as I could be (or should be) to be known as a Keralite minus the accent, I am keener to be known as an Indian.

Sadly that is a card that is not working and as time goes by, it is getting tougher for our tribe to survive.

I have to belong to some place in India to qualify to be part of a socio-cultural or socio-economic group. As an out of work journalist, I am not part of any socio-economic structure any way and my socio-cultural identity was long ago snatched after it became mandatory to “belong” to some state in the country.

So while I “must” technically belong to Kerala (on paper; the heart is a different matter altogether), I do not, because I don’t vote from Kerala not having lived there for over 23 years. I do not belong to Maharashtra, where I currently live, even though I vote from here, because I have not resided here for fifteen or more years (to claim domicile). I cannot belong to Haryana, where my father grew up because we no longer have any property, friends, relatives or bonds there and furthermore I have never lived there.

Despite all this, I have managed to trundle through life proud of my unique identity as an Indian who did not base her allegiance to a region/state to feel a sense of belonging to her Motherland.

But this I reckon (practical as I am) will not be of much help to my children, who from a very young age have been questioned, amongst others, by class teachers about religion, caste and home states (to which we have continued emphasising a zealous “Indian” as an answer), and who will have to make a choice eventually because when we seek admissions into colleges, universities and the like, our ‘regional’ orientation will matter as much, if not more than our sexual orientation.

It will matter a few years from now when my daughter needs admission into a college, and where the existing sundry reservations would mean one of these three choices: either she scores a 120% marks to get a seat through merit (the cut offs for colleges are getting distressingly unachievable), look for a reservation category that we fall under (so far there isn’t any), or compel her to make a different career choice.

So, finally, after years of being subjected to religion-caste-region questions I have come to the conclusion that people like me, who are a veritable cocktail of the cultures that makes India what it is, need to have our have our very own reservation too.

There must be a reservation for those whose hearts beat for India and who do not stake a claim on any particular region, language or culture as their own – who are Indians first and Indians forever; a reservation quota for “Indians” in academic institutions, government jobs and the like.

Now that I have my ideology clear, all I would need to do is focus my energy towards finding the perfect poster boy, celebrity, mouthpiece who could be suitably instated chairperson of the movement and who will passionately vocalise our “feelings”. A dharna, march, bandh etc can follow later (those will be part of Plan B).

Please wish us luck!

Moral Policing - Pune Nightclub Incident

I have a problem with this phrase – Moral Policing. Because these two words, that briefly mean, “the effort of a select few individuals to ‘protect’ India’s ‘culture’ against ‘western influence’”, can cover all manner of sins.

Case in point is the rounding up of 300 individuals who were partying in a nightclub in Pune, their subsequent detention and the harassment they went through for over 12 hours, being held, without food or water, at the venue.

This nightclub, which has a restaurant attached, located in the suburb on the Eastern side of Pune is known amongst party goers as a hip place to hang out in, where the music is good, the dance floor large and the crowd that comprises of mostly techies and working professionals, (which would qualify in clubbing parlance as a ‘safe’ crowd,) a place devoid of hooliganism, where groups of women (unaccompanied by men) can have fun without the fear of groping, or soliciting.

Pune rural police that swooped down on the club say that the party organisers didn’t have requisite permissions and a large quantity of ‘illegal’ foreign liquor was being served. The party continued way beyond midnight and while rumours were agog about the presence of narcotics there is no concrete evidence so far to prove that guests were using drugs.

So far, it doesn’t seem like the guests at the party were indulging in any nefarious activities other than drinking, dancing and having fun. And this is where the problem is.

This was no rave party nor a private party; the attendees paid Rs 1000 per couple as an entry charge for a night of dancing that was advertised on a radio channel too.  It was a typical Saturday night out for over-worked professionals who like letting their hair down.

Unfortunately what we are witnessing is that lawmakers are entrapping themselves in these dual roles – one of law enforcers as the police and the other of morality enforcers as moral police.

If the organisers were flouting rules (such as closing time) or didn’t have requisite permissions, why were 300 guests detained and held for hours without food or water? If the police suspected underage drinking, why were those who are of legal drinking age not allowed to leave?  The onus of serving liquor to underage guests lies with the organisers, then why were others detained beyond a reasonable time?

The media meanwhile, indulged in hyperbole so typical of the moral brigade terming the action of the police a “raid”. They went berserk on the so-called statistics of the so-called raid – “There were Iranian nationals at the party” – (Is there a law against foreign nationals enjoying an evening out?); “The party was even attended by 110 women” – (What does “even by women” imply? That women cannot have fun in a nightclub?); “Some boys and girls were found in compromising positions” – (Compromising position? Have they been inside a cinema for a matinee on a weekday, where the cover of darkness hides a lot more than a compromising position?)

Hypocrisy is the benchmark of moral policing – the same brigade that has a problem with smoking, drinking or dancing but won’t bat an eyelid nor raise a furore when a porn star turned actor is the chief guest at Dahi Handi celebrations in this very same city.  This moral police won’t save the dignity of a girl being groped in public by lascivious men, but will mind if girls mingle with the opposite sex at their own free will. This same bunch of people who claim to uphold the culture of our land will stand by and do nothing when two young men are stabbed and killed for standing up to their girl friends in Mumbai.

Moral Policing – actually sounds like the only implement that these select individuals have to mete out their fanatical, hypocritical and diabolical ideologies on the youth of this country. The detention of these guests is an unfortunate occurrence and must be condemned by all those who believe that as long as they function within the ambit of the law, their right to have fun should not be violated by anybody – not the “police”, not the “moral police.”

Where is Home?

I have mixed feelings about the exodus of our brethren from the North East going back to their respective states after the reprehensible attack on some of them in what would perhaps be the most cosmopolitan cities of India, Pune and Bangalore.

I do not for one moment condone their reaction - that of leaving these cities that are part of their Motherland to return to their "homes".  Yes, when there is a presumable threat on the lives of ordinary people based purely on their state of origin, it is but human to pack up your bags and head home.

When I think deeper, the feeling I really have is that of envy. Because these, my fellow citizens, have a place called home to go back to.

I am a marwari who was born and raised in Kerala and who has lived more than half her life in several parts of the country (courtesy that husband was in the Defence). So ask me what is home to me and I don't have a better answer than India.

My forefathers belonged to Rajasthan but had migrated to Haryana long before my father was born. Does that make Haryana home to me? A state where my father no longer lives, nor has any family, property, or connections...is that my "home"?

I was born and raised in Kerala where my father chose to move to, to earn his living almost 45 years ago. We have blended in enough to speak the language and adopt various facets of their culture and cuisine....to the extent that comfort food for my siblings and I is avial and red rice. But since we don't look like them we are branded as "non-Malayalis".  Even if I, as a young adult introduced myself to a class full of students in Delhi University as a Keralite, the reality is that we are not treated or considered as one of them. And perhaps we never will. So what then is "home" for us - my parents and siblings?

Today I live in Pune - a city I have chosen to live in for the last six years. But just because I cannot speak Marathi as well as the locals, or because I drive a car that was registered in Delhi, I am a "non-Maharashtrian"... So I have to accept that this, my favourite city in the whole world, is not "home" to me either.

When Raj Thackeray, at the peak of his anti-North Indian rhetoric had urged us to go "home", I often discussed with my South Indian husband, the absurdity of it all. Where would I go, if push had come to shove and if all North Indians REALLY did have to go back?  I had no place called "home" to go to...

I am just an ordinary Indian, who has grown up to emulate the languages and cultures of all the places I have lived in. For me, India is home....which is clearly not enough. When such threats raise their ugly heads time and again, its the ordinary citizen like me, a marwari-malayali who lives in Maharashtra, displaced, without a concrete 'identity' or home state, who has no where to run or hide.

Because today clearly, in our land of diversity, it is not enough to call my Motherland my Home!

Yes, I envy my North East fellow citizens because when they felt the pressure of threat they decided to return to their "homes"...leaving behind their colleges, careers, job opportunities etc. They have a place where they will not be discriminated against on the basis of their religion or looks. They have a safe haven, where their loved ones wait for them.

While the rest of the country laments this unnecessary 'migration' back to their homes, I can only see the silver lining. Lucky them, I say!

Joy of Giving - Card 34 - We made paper bags

When every word you type begins to sound like an excuse, we must stop and reconsider what we are about to express.

My absence from the blog world and the Joy of Giving, which looking back I now realise was over a month ago, has been quite inexplicable, even to me. I was and still am going through a phase of turmoil, which (this being my blog, you'll just have to read about it) boring as it may sound, is a sort of identity crisis one faces when one is out of a job (out of choice) and therefore with much time at their hands; which despite their best efforts and intention, is spent largely pursuing 'relaxation' and 'leisure', but which at the end of the day makes them want to run away because they realised they didn't really enjoy the so called sabbatical or break...simply because they never thought it would leave them feeling so useless and unproductive.

So a lesson learnt the hard way is that people like me are incapable of actual relaxation until we believe in our hearts we've earned it. Strangely, for the four years of virtually non-stop, almost-workaholic life I led, I now believe a 15 days break (including the ten glorious days I spent in Bhutan) would be 'enough' for me; and now that I have ended up extending to SIX months, I am almost crying out of boredom and the monotony of having "nothing" to do!

Phew! Now that I am done rambling, which any of you who are still visiting my blog (after my disappearances, I won't blame you if you've removed me from your blog reader too), have just had had to put up with, I can get down to the actual reason I began writing this post.

We made 15 paper bags. Yes, finally we did. The daughter, the son and I sat for less than an hour and made 15 bags out of newspaper. We did use a lots of stapling pins and some tape. All in all, it made us feel immensely satisfied. Tomorrow we will try and hand it over to a store-keeper who needs them and will put them to good use... 

Joy of Giving, sorry to have neglected you for a month, but I am back!

Find Yourself

Find Yourself

a random day to enjoy
the pouring rain, sipping chai
biting into a khaari on a highway
close to your heart

a morning so inspiring as
the Sun's rays filter down
from its celestial abode
pink and blue and grey

huddled close to a fire on a cold
winter night, that flushes freezing
cheeks and noses and ears under monkey caps
to a red warmth

a terrace that you can climb, spread
a blanket of comfort, lying and gazing
at the twinkling sky, watching the stars
and nothing else

a soul you can sleep contentedly with
holding hands under the quilt
or kissing when you stir from a dream
blissfully "one"

a reason to smile joyously
for no reason at all...

Find "yourself"
for life can keep moving
events passing you by
halting for no one...

until one day
someone you love
dies and
you die with them....

Joy of Giving - Card 34

Ever since I began the Joy of Giving exercise way back in September 2011, strangely and coincidentally, the cards picked out for the week, almost always reflect a thought in my mind, or offer me a way ahead for something I've been struggling with. It is strange because the cards are picked out at random, by my children.

The Joy of Giving card for this week is For Our World.

The reason why this card is important is because I have been wondering how I can help those shopkeepers who cannot afford paper bags in place of the villainous plastic bag. 

I am strictly against using plastic bags for any reason whatsoever. Here's why. To the extent that I actually 'return' plastic bags given to me by well meaning storekeepers. 

I believe that the first step to reducing plastic consumption is to say NO to it at every level, even when it comes to lining your garbage bins.

Pune Municipal Corporation banned the plastic bag in January 2010 and it gets my goat when I see people taking one from their neighbourhood kirana store for 2 biscuit packets! Why can't they just put it in their purses or backpacks instead of taking a plastic bag? Why can't they just bring their own bag?

So I've become the neighbourhood meanie. When I see someone asking for a plastic bag, I ask the shop keeper really loud, "Are you still giving plastic bags? Isn't it banned?"

Most often storekeepers are stunned and sheepishly reply, "Kya karen madam... Logon ko chahiye rehta hai.... What do we do Madam? People need it..."

To which I usually say, "If it is banned you cannot give it. Corporation has imposed a penalty of Rs 15,000 on shopkeepers who do it..."

Sometimes shopkeepers say, "We charge them money Madam...." and ask the customer for a rupee for the small sized bag (this practice has the approval of the Ministry of Environment and Forests). Often when they have to "pay" customers walk away without one, miraculously finding place in their bags for their goodies...

I also find brown paper bags a complete monstrosity. What is the point of doling out paper bags that are also cause of environmental degradation (cutting down trees???) 

However, I make small concessions for bags made out of newspaper because they are recycled and (usually) made by the underprivileged who earn some money making them. The only problem is that buying these bags costs the shopkeepers more money than plastic bags so most don't keep them.

To honour the Joy of Giving Card 34, I have decided to make 50 paper bags and give it to the shop keepers in my area who cannot afford to buy them - the cobbler for example.

Wish me luck my friends and join in too!

Join in the journey. Here's how! 

Go to the page titled Joy Of Giving where I have posted all the cards selected so far. Those of you who'd like to start this exercise from the beginning, just follow the cards in the order they are posted!

OR

To join the Joy of Giving right away just follow the cards every week as they are posted on the blog.

Please REMEMBER to post your experiences in a public forum - your own blog, note on FaceBook - or leave your story in the comment section of this blog. Do remember to tag me in your posts...

To know how it started click here.

To track the Joy of Giving through the past thirty three weeks, click here

DO spread the message of this unique movement. Encourage your friends to start following the cards and spreading joy...

Joy of Giving - Card 33 - Rahmath's Organ Donor Card

Rahmath has been one of the most consistent followers of the Joy of Giving and she has kept up the rhythm by signing her very own Organ Donor card.

You can read her post here... So the Path- Joy of Giving - Week 33

If you're inspired to carry an Organ Donor Card download it and express your wish to donate your organs after your demise.

All the best!