Give me more !

   [ image borrowed from www.sadashivan.com]

You might think that this is the picture of a small girl child you encounter on the streets doing what you detest most while commuting or elsewhere- BEGGING. At the outset it may seem so but to me she seems to be saying-"Give me more,bananas aren't enough for me".

Mother, Manager, Caregiver, Career builder, Today's woman ,You Wow us !... And now this passing of this
33% reservation for women in Parliament. This along with the other cliched phrase for the women of today is really getting on my nerves. i fail to congratulate myself and others belonging to the same gender because i don't see how this alleviates my kind and causes emancipation of the sort it claims.

Not when i know that the she is still considered as the paraya dhan ( wealth belonging to others ) . As this being the mindset of the educated class too who talk about equal rights but when it comes to real execution of plans they fail and fail miserably.
Not when i know that between the battle of the sexes it is their own kind that is the real reason for their sufferings. i didn't agree back then when my father had pointed this out to me but  through my own experiences and others i know now that he was so true and not chauvinistic.

Personally i feel all this emancipation is only happening to those already emancipated and is not doing much to where it is most needed. This came as a shocking truth to me way back when television had made it's foray into our homes and in this black and white promotional and enlightening documentary  before the black and white Phool  Khile Hain Gulshan Gulshan ( name of a tv programme with Tabassum as the anchor which showed clippings of popular hindi movies with experts comments by the anchor later ).That documentary brought out the stark naked truth loud and clear. i was very young then but not too young to feel hurt and pained at the discrimination happening with me and others just because we were not boys.What was shocking was the fact that i was on the same footing as the poor village belle shown on TV whose mother has offered her hard baasi roti with pyaaz ( left over night bread with raw onion ) after she has returned home tired and hungry from the hard labour whereas the son who was happily playing marbles all the while is given a plate which looks quite like a well balanced meal. Not many know this but so far as nutritional food is concerned the woman was not even considered by her own kind because the boys/male definitely needed the best and more.

Povery, Government policy failure, lack of schools for study, overpopulated family, weak laws to protect and protest...the list goes on and we keep discussing issues how to bring about that desired revolution. i feel nothing will do the wonders more than opening the closed doors of our minds and giving our lady that status she deserves of that of being another human being.This entails asking a lot of questions and then finding answers and then moving to the desired GOAL.
There seems to be some rays emerging with all this.But i don't want to make any promises not yet because to me these seem transitory. "  Roshini tab bhi thi
                                          Roshini ab bhi hai
                                          Farq sirf itna hai
                                          oos roshini ko kashti nahi thi
                                         aur iss roshini ke paas saahil nahin hai"
                                        ( There was light then
                                           and there is light now
                                           the difference only being
                                           that light did not have a carrier
                                           and this light has no destination )


i have to ask myself why i was afraid of having a girl child when i was in confinement.
And if i had a girl child would i have given her the same amount of understanding to her needs and aspirations as i would've to my boy ?
Maybe i would've doted upon her and given her all but would i too ask her to make compromises and adjust because she was a girl and a second citizen ?

Well i would congratulate myself the day that happens when on being questioned i would myself give an affirmative answer with conviction. The kind who feels this equality from within me...that  apart from being a XX in my DNA configuration i am human and thus should remain only humane and nothing less or nothing more.The kind who is more like this mentor and friend to the main character Aditi in the film Astitva .When i am able to be that Revathi or Meghana who enable Aditi to find her true identity i shall truly feel elated and that will be the day i join in the celebrations. Amen .

Ghanta

Those slightly thick  brass disks hung in village pathshalas (schools)  and sounded with the help of thick wooden sticks or even crude iron rods i suppose was called school ki ghanti (school bell ).These were sounded at the start of the school day , at the end and of course during the day to notify the end of the particular period. Tung ! tung ! tung ! tung ! tung ! tung! tung ! Tong !. The rhythm and the sound of this very typical to be a school sound. Well the same kind is used in many temples called thakurwadi ( home of the Gods) in my native Bihar where these are sounded in a rhythmic mannner tung tung tuung ! tung tung tuung !. So all those present  would be hypnotised by the sound and would immerse themselves in the Aarti  ( Chorus song sung to seek the blessings of the Almighty )  and to those  believers who were unable to attend, the sound would reach out . These also were the blessed ones who could pay their obeisance from where ever they were,  finding comfort and refuge  in the sound heralding the beginning of a new day with blessings of the Lord . Tung tung tuung ! tung tung tuung ! and this was not called ghanti but ghanta (gong).  i wonder then how this word has come to be a slang in hindi meaning NOTHING.

My Tulsi Vandana ( prayer for Holy Basil ) is  halted in middle as it is interrupted by the  familiar sound  interspersed with the sounds of crackers being burst randomly and very irritatingly maybe to the signal of the Om sound of the conch.  This sound is flat and has no rhythm and just goes insipidly tung, tung, tung ,tung . i quickly get back to my prayer to finish the shloka ( prayer in sanskrit ) and the rest and turn to take into account the spectacle offered by this orchestra. i see it and now i offer another prayer.

Along with the lead man who is the ghanta man there is a procession of sorts. Those busy with the crackers moving ahead leaving a  protected and comfortable gap for the rest to follow. The ghanta man is followed by two others on either side of the celebrity,  mercilessly plucking flowers from thick garlands and throwing them onto the street  which the celebrity is passing. Then there are others who dance in mimicry to their popular cine heroes at that sound of the painfully slow tung tung tung tung. No dearth of talent here who can find the beat for dance to this dirge offered by the tung tung. Next comes the celebrity of the occasion all bedecked and completely covered from head to foot with a confusing assortment of fragrant flowers- tuber roses, red roses, ( these are a cross between magenta and red in colour and for want of a proper name i call them red ) jasmine and marigold. Lots of garlands too. The celebrity can't be seen only flowers outlining the body can be seen and finally there are others who walk behind the celebrity talking to themselves about mundane matters. None least bothered about the celebrity instead feeling important themselves for halting the traffic on such a busy road . The road in between the cracker gang and these mundane talkers is covered too now with rose, marigold, tuber roses and some green leaves too probably betel.  A chaotic fragrance of mixture in the air as the smells of flowers and incense and death intermingle. This funeral procession with the hearse was definitely not the reason for my last prayer. The poor soul bedecked in flowers triggered that-"hey Bhagwaan ! Inki Atman ko shanti mile" ( oh God may the soul of the person rest in peace ). Here too the ghanta had to convey a lot to a lot many people those near and those far, including me.

More than this sound i hear something else . Something more disturbing, more irritating and utterly digusting . Is it the same thing what Sudhodhana heard? Maybe yes and maybe not. He heard more than the sound of Ghanta and that made him Bhagwan Buddha. i am getting a cacaphonic sound of celebration of passing over. This definitely is not the sound of Mukti (freedom).  i  feel  so helpless . So devoid of anything but pity for my own self and the rest.

What deludes me is the second series of questioning , a sudden sense of insecurity and a fear of losing my dearest ones as death is inevitable along with a deep sense of remorse for not having done anything for those i lost. Dada ji, Ma... Emotions are getting the better of me now as i say to myself- "Do we give the passed overs their due when they are alive? Do we give them this adulation, this respect when they are flesh and blood between us?" It goes without saying then that apart from taking them for granted, many a times we do even worse.
This jubiliation, this revelry for the one when one has breathed the last, is it any worth? To me now all this looks vulgar and obscene reeking of decadence.
Now i am saying this Ghanta ! passing over  ritual !! huh!!