an obituary

A crowd collected near the electric post. Death of a government employee. News buzzed around, percolating through barriers, of brick and mortar. Who? When? How?

Somebody, whom the localites recognized, he, who was working for the telephone department. The serviceman, had gone up the pole, encountered an electric shock from a live wire, fell, face down.

People from the neighbouring shops gathered. An auto, passing by was called for, the victim was shifted to a hospital.

Later, aunt told me that the man died on the spot. A man whom mother recalled, who had helped her, many a time, when the telephone at home, had to undergo repair. A person, like you and me.

A thread of blood lay on the tar, breaking off here and there. Sand was scattered over it. In order to make it easy for us to forget the gruesome sight. Not crossing that patch, some avoided it, lest it'll bring bad luck. A woman, shivered, on recounting the experience.How could she even think about somoething else? it occured right in front of her.

Live wires hanging in mid-air, helping the cause of death in a cruel manner. The victims, you and me. The by-standers, you and me. We, who think that death cannot approach us.

Officials, came and went. Policemen appeared. A case will be filed. Compensation offered to the suffering family, a stipulated amount for a life.

Caused by negligence, on our part. A life lost, easily, within minutes. Life will go on, as usual. I'll go to college, learn Ionic Equilibria, the vegetable vendor will supply vegetables. Electricians make house-calls, the tv will churn out doles of rubbish, mother cooks as always. Afterall it is an obituary of a commoner, nothing more.

God bless!!

emergence of the indian short story

This post will contain excerpts of introductions. Plural, because, the book contains two introductions. A little about the book. An anthology of short stories, published by the Sahitya Akademi. It is divided into two portions. Both contain introductions, which explain the awakening, the realization that was spreading through-out the country. Being divided on the basis of time, the first from 1900-1950 and the second from 1950-2000. Staunchly revered by me, in the same manner in which father worships Purushotamma by Yashvant Chittal. Flipping those pages, makes me discover something new, every time.

Here are the lines, i admire.

During the course of the century, the Indian short story has gone though several mutations. They have evolved in style and substance to emerge as the most vibrant literary form in modern Indian literature. Tagore, Premchand, Manto....

The development of short story as a literary form owes a great deal to the ascendancy of prose and popularity of the periodical press.... The gradual emergence of a public sphere under the influence of the freedom struggle necessitated extensive use of prose in combating and creating ideological positions and public opinions.... No other form reflects the polyphony and plurality of Indian cultural life as the short story.

Languages like Dogri, Konkani, Maithili, Rajathani and Kashmiri were late in discovering the potential of this popular form. (Bal Kaka and Nono - Ved Rahi, in Dogri is one of the best short stories that i've come across.)

A little insight into another of my favorites.

This society was riven by tragic divisions of caste, gender and class. Premchand's Kafan is as much about differences and dispossession as about psychological scars left economic deprivation. This is a rare story that brings about the invisible violence inflicted by poverty in all its starkness. Ghisu in his sixty years of existence has rarely had a square meal. He still remembers the feast at the thakur's wedding where he ate his stomach full. The father and son get drunk with the money that are given by the zamindar for the funeral of the son's wife. They sing, dance and fall down in a stupor. Premchand makes no explicit comments on the feudal system and the deprivation and dehumanization it inflicts on its victims'. But the story eloquently communicates the condition of the dalits in rural India. When Mrinal Sen made a film based on this story, he chose the setting of an Andhra village, thus confirming its relevance and appeal for the entire India.

The short story was one of the mediums that helped us imagine the nation.
the stories collected here document 'the pulse of the nation' during the most
turbulent times. These stories do not essentialize India and reduce it to some
simplistic abstractions. Perhaps this is why we need more fiction than
theory.

a much trodden road

Passing Richmond Road, Hosur Road, and now, Race Course Road, makes the heart lighter. Having spent eleven years, two years, three years (the last will be completed next year) travelling to and fro, from house to the place of study. The only thing that changed was that, the place of study. Or is it something else? As i seeked educational institutions, which made me the person i am, my habits, my nuances......

As i travel on these familiar paths, they seem strange to me. Making me realise the garishness, alienating me from the surroundings.

School, which lies on Richmond Road, where i spent eleven long years. Walking home with a friend. A friend who was always replaced by another. With stories, ideas, views..... exchanged. Precious moments never seem to disappear from my mind.

College, located near Dairy Circle, provided a green, enchanting environment. Pushing everybody into oblivion. Being part of college, being reduced to a register number. However, i never felt any attachment towards Christ College. Pushed, into someplace, when i was still clasping the protective, innocent feeling of school.

Changes have always and will occur through out the length of time. I see vehicles buzzing beside me on these roads. Roads, which i knew like the back of my palm. They don't seem the same. Towering buildings, with mirrors in the front, a few having cropped up since i last visited the place. One-ways, which aim to make sense of the increasing reckless driving. Fly-overs making an appearance, just before my turn to become foreign to the place.

Trying to connect is a futile process. One which has no gains, or happiness, attached to it. As i search for sources, which prove to be new.

nuts

Kadalekayi parishe is a yearly affair in Bangalore. It happens around this time, every year, on the Bull temple road. Madness ruled. While Gandhi Bazaar wore a forlorn look.

Plastic toys, accesories, snacks, chats, sweets, flutes, shining parachutes, amidst groundnuts, offcourse. Special mention of these parachutes, they were these shiny, light-emitting things, which went up in air, and came down, making the night-sky shimmer with many of these. Some got caught in trees, and lo, trees were sprouting these thingies, in their dark foliage.Flute-sellers playing popular tunes, a kid shouting.... 'Ma, there is a small plastic camera, in this cart, i want it.......' A lost friend 'Where are you?'..... 'If you find a place, push your bike into it, i'm waiting near the entrance of BMS Women's College'.... 'Tell me how much will one measure of beaten rice cost, i want some onions, mixture added....' A bakery, somewhere a chat-shop filled to the brim. ' I want a bhel-puri.....spicy, no meeta......'... 'Grandma, come quickly, amma and appa, are there.....' 'Is this hand-bag trendy..... bhaiyya, tell me how should i pay?' ' Woollen sweaters only for 125, madam, sir, can i help you?.......'

Two guys buying a pack of potato chips. The smell of hot oil, filling the air. Robots forcasting the horoscope, with eyes which emit a fiery flourescent glow, the earpiece, also emitting a weird light. Queue's were beginning to form, before these robots!! Music could be heard, from the musical fountain in a park nearby. My eyes lingered on the mural on a kalyana mantapa, created by S.G. Vasudev, for a moment.

Amongst the people, who thronged the place, many were villagers. Young girls trying to help the mothers' by screaming out loud. Teenage boys fooling around, creating a ruckus just for the fun of it. How wonderful is it to be young! Grandfathers, in wollen pull-overs discussing, something serious. Mothers grasping their kids' hand's tightly, lest they might loose them.

Spotting techies(people belonging to the BPO, commerce fraternity) was the most easiest job of all. Sporting, Columbia on a sweatshirt, trying to pose as smart guys. With floaters adorning their foot, bags containing heavy laptops, trying to shift the weight from hand to shoulder. Talking technical, wearing branded clothing. Using slang words, some wearing a demure look, and hastily speaking into a mobile phone. To-be engineers-doctors, straight from tutorials, gathered in groups, munching snacks, with spectacles resting on their noses, having as much fun as time could provide.

There i was, shopping for groundnuts with father, opting for roasted ones in this stall, raw ones in another cart. Tasting a variety of nuts, made my tastebuds go mad. On sighting K.C. Das, i feasted on cham-cham. It had been quite some-time since i relished a K.C.Das sweet. Ground-nuts is in stock to last for the entire week.

an ode to umrao

Indu saw Umrao Jaan, well half of it. She got bored halfway, and walked out of the theatre. Later, when we met at college, we pestered her to tell us the story. Not that we were interested, but we were jobless, waiting for the Zoology Dept, to open. And this is how she described: Aishwarya is in the possesion of Shabana Azmi, who runs a whore-house. Abhishek Bachchan appears. Astounded by Rai's beauty he buys her. Rai is also mesmerised by his looks(?) Bachchan tells her, that she is only his and not anybody else's. I guess that she promises him that.

They do nothing during the day. Have sex at night. I guess this show runs for a length of time, Indu was frustrated when telling this. Noticing that Bachchan has fallen for a slut, his father dispproves of his behaviour. Having told that to the son, he wages a war against the son, when the son does not pay him any attention. An uncle offers refuge to Bachchan, who is separated from Rai. Enter the villain(?) Sunil Shetty who tries in vain, to woo Rai. Shetty on hearing about Rai's plight offers her help. Something's missing in the middle, but i cannot place it, but who bothers!

On reaching Bachchan, Shetty tells him that Rai, has failed in her word. And there ensues hatred towards Rai. Period.

I don't know the following story, as Indu walked away from the movie. As far as i'm concerned, the film is baseless, and talk about nothing other than sex. Afterall, the turning point in the movie(according to me) is that Shetty having lied to Bachchan that Ria has slept with him.

Absurd!!

a search...

I read 'Dahek' a long time ago. Two-three years back. Written a bengali woman, 'Dahek' speaks about women in a different outlook. I don't know why, but i was simply mesmerised, making me go back to it more than once. There are two main characters, i'll label them as A and B. A has a husband in C, and B a boyfriend in D. D is a fiance?, or B and D plan to get married.

Arriving at the story, A and C are at a local train station in calcutta. Goondas' tease A(or worse?), B is helpless, while C who is at that spot, comes to the rescue of A. C also lodes a compliant at the police station. A is traumatized, and is unable to come out of it. B tries to calm his wife down, but fails in the job. C has acquired the figure of a saviour, in the eyes of A. B becomes jealous(a better word?), tries to prove that A is his. In the process, A becomes becomes pregnant, but she is ignorant.

On the other hand, D pulls off from the engagement, protesting against the action of C, the publicity that she has recieved overnight, against her going to a police station. I forget the plot in the middle. The end, has it that, D apologises (?), and weds C.

I've put down as much as i could remember. The storyline is indeed very vague. The cover of the book mentioned that the book was converted into a successful movie. And there exists a hindi movie with the same title, though the plot is different. Having read the book, and having liked it, i expected the movie to be of the same matter. Unfortunately, the movie is not worth mentioning at all. Having been written in bengali, i think that the bengali film industry adopted the story.

first show

We all have heard about bribes, and how India is famous for it. We are also known for the hullaballoo that is created, and the easiness with which it dies down.

Today, i was walking near the circle, as usual, waiting for the never-ending stream of vehicles to die down. A couple of traffic policemen stand guard near the circle. And always people are caught for breaking traffic rules (it can be an understatement) Nevertheless, i saw two men, a lady and a kid standing near this particular policeman. I ignored them, as this is a scene which is to be witnessed daily.

The group was arguing with the policeman. Thinking that they were coming up with a lame excuse, you know, to avoid being rewarded receipt, i watched the ensuing drama. Realizing that the group was convincing the cop to accept a bribe, i was simply flabbergasted. Later, the men pushed the bunch of notes into the cop's hand, and disappeared from the spot in a huff. I didn't quite get the picture, as the cop wasn't throwing around weight as they most often do. But, the cop pocketed the cash. Seeing the green signal, i crossed the road.

I've seen policemen catching offendors, many a time and all of them have been fined. This was the first time, that i saw a government servant being bribed. Wasn't i shocked?

With the game of corruption having begun, i think i should accilmatise myself with the existing, practical environment. Fervently hoping that i never play the game, ever.

Dhoop was played on one of the cable channels today. I ended up watching the entire movie. I always wanted to watch that movie, me being jobless helped me it.

It's a okay movie, keeping in mind that the movie is non-commercial in nature. A gist of the movie for the uninitiated:

Sanjay Suri plays the son, with Om Puri and Revathi as his parents. Gul Panaag acts as his fiance. Suri, an army officer, dies at the start of the movie. The parents find it difficult to overcome the loss of the son(obviously). Compensation is offered to them, by allotting them a petrol bunk. How, they fight corruption, running from pillar to post, and the achievement of their goal forms the climax. Some scenes are touching. Ghazals form the soundtrack, i didn't like it a bit.

What suprised me is this: the father never accepts defeat from his son's end. A dialogue goes, which has the father telling his son never to return home, if he is not successful. It's so blatant. How could any parent tell his child so? If the world were to be filled with successful people, where would we all be. Comparison would ever find a place on earth(that's a good thing ideed!) Is success, defined by the acts that we perform? moreso how would i learn basic stuff like, tying my shoe-laces, not to touch a hot iron....

Learing is a process, which invariably has failures attached to it, whether we like it or not! Learning, by correcting mistakes is better than being instructed by somebody else. In this situation, do we allow, our minds to grow? Our thinking will be crippled.

histo, the end of it

As we entered final year, we braced ourselves, to face the work-load, the hectic hours, and the idea of not participating, or not being able to witness the fun that occurs in college.

Our zoology staff informed us that we have histology and genetics together as a single paper. I initially thought that histo was a past-time. Fortunately it turned out to be the opposite. Fortunate, because, i would not have the pleasure of drawing histo diagrams, if it were otherwise.

I write today, after having written an exam on histo (practical's over, the theory is god know's when!!). Nostalgia, making a presence when i finished my last histo diagram. The idea of havig to draw a colour diagram, that to from Fiore, is quite a feat. Many records of previous students were shown to inspire us, it did not do the job. We felt defeated, before the start!

Using eosin, heamotoxylin pencils, pens, colours, is fun. Cells to be in pink, while the nucleus is in purple. Aterioles to be thick-walled, on the other hand, venules are thin walled. Trying to impress classmates, lecturers, we strives hard. Each diagram taking not less than two hours. During, which my hands were stained a lovely shade of pink, my desk littered with pencil shavings. Amidst the mess, would swearing take place, believing that it would help me in my search for my pencils. Peeking, from underneath, the scattered sheets, my they mocked me. A few hours later, my neck slathered with pain-reliever, with a pillow supporting it, i would try to doze.

Sad that i've had to complete my histo record, so quickly, i wish i could continue with some more diagrams, at the same time, i'm glad that it's over. Out of the eleven diagrams, i've enjoyed drawing the sections of ovary, kidney, last but not the least, that of testis, my favourite of them all.

My histo record, is precious to me, something that will be revered by me for all time to come, for all the pain, the time, and the appreciation that has gone into it.

a revamped hudson circle

Hudson circle saw a new entry, last week. It already has two petrol stations, a church (Hudson church, which completed hundred years of existance last year).

The church is filled to the brim, every sunday on account of the mass arranged. The church is decorated beautifully, during Christmas, and on new year's eve. The name of the circle has been changed, indianised, rather, but it has always been Hudson circle for us.

The BMP( Bangalore Mahanagara Palike) has installed, a tower. This tower is similar to those installed by Kempegowda, the founder of the city. Thus, the name, Kempegowda Tower. It is beautiful, and stands majestically, amongst the buzzing vehicles.

If one views the tower from the side of the church, one gets to see the Kanteerva Inndoor stadium. The towers of the upcoming luxury hotel, on Lavelle Road built by Vijay Mallya can also be observed. The Kempegowda tower fades into oblivion when compared with those of the multimillionaire.

One could easily mistake the towers of the hotel, to be taken from a picture postcard from New York. Glass panels, shiny boards adorn the outside of these towers. It looks sophisticated, trendy and it is not surprising with the person himself being a socialte in the true sense, groping for a photograph, with girls half his age!

Though father argues, that the city corporation could have a better job, of the Kempegowda tower, i find it good enough. A garden, of sorts, is maintained around it, with water fountains et al. Water was seen springing from the fountains, on the day of inaugaration, if i could term it so.

Heaven knows, when water will dampen the ground, again. A splendid sight indeed, but the flowers that highlighted the place, when the chief minister, threw it open to the public, were still present, even after three days. But, they'd lost their brilliance. Only, limp, decomposing flowers met my eyes.

celebrating karnataka

Today is Kannada Rajyotsava. Karnataka celebrates her birth on this day, each year. This, year is the fiftieth year, since Karnataka's birth, thus the grandeur and valour.

Karntaka has it's share of benefits and disgraces. Being a kannadiga myself, i'm expected to show love, affection and loyalty to my state. There were a few times when i questioned the above. The same held true with the institutions which have imparted kowledge ad wisdom.

On second thoughts, my state, the institutions which i've been a part of, has added bits to my personality, to my existance. So, it is natural that i start to respect it, not only with admiration, but also with a sense of gratitude.

Patriotism is a complicated word. In simple language it means ' a feeling of love to one's own country'. But the actual message behind this, is the thing that makes it sound complicated. How can one explain the sensation that courses through the body, when the anthem is played?

It's time that i rever, celebrate, that, which provides for my being, that which gives me an identity.