For The Mindful Individual
A circular was read out in the classroom. It had been decided by the school management that students from Std 8th – 10th would be taken on an educational tour to Calcutta. I was in 8th standard then. I was excited enough to convince my parents about the idea. I set my plans straight about the places I had to visit and spent the night taking a virtual tour of the city in my dreams.
Note – This is not an opinion piece. If factsheets bore you, you may stop reading here.
They are what the TV channels operating in India have to follow as part of THE CABLE TELEVISION NETWORKS RULES, 1994 . Rule 6 of the guide says –
Continue reading “NDTV Ban & The Questions You Want Answers To!”
Perspective is the river that takes you from indifference to empathy. If you have never seen a sea, and have always been living beside a river, you will perhaps not believe if I told you that I have come from the sea. The only way to know is to trace the river and see its culmination into a sea. Life’s journey is perhaps that tracing of the river that gives us perspective as we grow. Not all of the perspectives we need or seek come at the same time and not a single day goes without gaining a perspective about something. There is a high probability that we might remain blinded to them but speaking from personal experience, you will find them if you remove your blinders. Continue reading “Library of Perspectives”
What happened next shall be a lesson for Bangalore Mirror. When the citizens act more mature than the so called conscience keepers of the society, we should not lose hope of a better future for our nation. The story runs like this – Bangalore Mirror reported a crime incident in the city – “A 40-year-old man is fighting for his life in the ICU after being stabbed and robbed behind Mecca Masjid in Austin Town in the wee hours of Sunday. After the robbers left him bleeding on the deserted street, he ran 1.5 km to reach home, and collapsed at the doorstep……”
The man is fighting for his life in ICU and we hope he recovers well. However, men at the social media desk of Bangalore Mirror wanted to get more visitors and shares and likes and follows and what not – so a plain report detailing the incident wasn’t enough. The social media link came with the following blurb while the article didn’t have a single mention of ‘Patna‘-
“Shocking! Is Bengaluru the new Patna?”
Now, how much of the comparison is true/untrue is something I will leave to the sensibilities of the readers. It’s not very difficult to bring up a comparative study of crime rates of Indian cities. However, there is no denying that the introductory note to the article was in utterly poor taste and a vulgar visage of sensationalism. However, many of the readers chose to react to this mockery of journalism in a way that surprised me. While I had expected an unfortunate bickering between Bangaloreans and Patnaites because of Bangalore Mirror’s hara-kiri, I found something that must have made the social media rookies at BM chew their own feet.
Following are a few comments that we have chosen to highlight from the article link on Facebook. We salute these sensible readers for showing such maturity in an age when media is trying its best to disintegrate the society.
Do let us know what you think about all of these –
लांस नायक राघव यादव आतंकवाद के शिकार हो गए। कश्मीर में ड्यूटी पर कोई उन्नीस बीस साल के लौंडे ने गोलियों से छलनी कर दिया। बन्दूक उनके पास भी थी, पर उसको चलाने पर पाबंदी थी सरकार की तरफ से। इस से पहले कि ये समझ पाते कि सरकार जाये भाँड़ में, बन्दूक निकालो और गोली मारो, लड़के ने गोली चला दी थी। शहीद हो गए ।
सलामी के बाद शव को परिवार वालों को सौंप दिया गया। साथ में एक चिट्ठी भी थी जिसमें कुछ ऐसा लिखा था –
प्रिय रेखा
हमारा सर्दी खांसी अभी पहले से बेहतर है। तुम कैसी हो? अच्छा ज़्यादा न्यूज मत देखना। हालत खराब है यहाँ पर । माँ को मालूम होगा तो घबरा जायेगी । अच्छा, एक बात सुनो – अगर ड्यूटी करते वक़्त हमको कुछ हो जाता है तो हमको फिर से जिंदा करने काएक उपाय है। प्रधानमन्त्री जी से अगर कड़ी निंदा सन्देश लाकर हमारे कानों में कही जाएगी तो हम ज़िंदा हो जायेंगे फिर से। येबात ध्यान रखना। नीचे देखो, सन्देश बिलकुल ऐसा ही होना चाहिए। ज़रा भी इधर उधर होने से ये काम नहीं करेगा –
“आज हमारे कुछ जवान देश की सेवा में शहीद हो गए हैं। हमारा देश उनके बलिदान को कभी नहीं भुला पायेगा। मित्रों, इसी के साथ मैं इस हमले की कड़ी निंदा भी करना चाहूंगा और हमारे पड़ोसी मुल्क को ये चेतावनी देता हूँ कि आतंकवाद का समर्थन बंद करे वरना चूहे मारने की दवा हमारे पास है। लांस नायक यादव को मेरी कोटि कोटि श्रद्धांजलि ।”
बिलकुल ऐसे ही होना चाहिए ये सन्देश, ज़रा भी इधर उधर नहीं। माँ का ख़याल रखना।
तुम्हारा रघु।
नायक यादव की पत्नी रेखा के चेहरे पर ख़ुशी की लहर आ गयी। अपने आँसुओं को पोंछ कर उसने घरवालों को वो चिट्ठी दिखाई। बैठक हुई और फैसला लिया गया कि प्रधानमन्त्री जी से कड़ी-निंदा सन्देश लेकर शव के कानों में पढ़ा जाएगा। पिताजी ने दिल्ली जाने का फैसला लिया। झंझारपुर से दिल्ली का सफर तय करके वो प्रधानमन्त्री कार्यालय पहुँचे। बाहर खड़े सिपाहियों ने थोड़ी बातचीत के बाद हालात की गंभीरता को देखते हुए अंदर जाने दिया। अंदर में बड़े बाबू ने चिट्ठी पढ़ी और कहा – “ये तो रक्षा मंत्रालय का मामला है, आप रक्षा सचिव से मिलिए, उनसे ये सन्देश लिखवा लीजिये।”
पिताजी ने दो टूक कह दिया कि सन्देश तो प्रधानमन्त्री जी से ही चाहिए। बड़े बाबू ने कंप्यूटर पर सॉलिटेयर(ताश) का नया गेम शुरू करते हुए कहा – “कम से कम एक दस्तखत ले आईये रक्षा विभाग से, काम जल्दी आगे बढ़ेगा।”
यादव जी को बात ठीक लगी सो वो रक्षा मंत्रालय पहुँचे। पर कुछ ख़ास फायदा नहीं हुआ। वहाँ तो दरबानों ने ही अंदर नहीं जाने दिया, कहा -“चचा, आपका बेटा इंसान था न?”
यादव जो को बात समझ नहीं आयी।
“हाँ, तो मान लेते हैं आपका बेटा इंसान था, उस हिसाब से आपको तो मानव संसाधन विकास मंत्रालय जाना चाहिये। यहाँ आपकी दाल नहीं गलेगी ।”
यादव जी को बात ठीक ही लगी। मानव संसाधन विकास मंत्रालय को पहुँचे। वहाँ कुछ पढ़े लिखे लोगों का जमावड़ा था। दरवाज़े पर दो चौकीदार एन.सी. ई .आर.टी की किताबों पर अपनी अपनी राय रख रहे थे। हाल ही में निकली इतिहास की किताबों में प्रधानमन्त्री जी को बजरंगबली का अवतार बताया गया था और पहला हवाई जहाज़ हमारे देश में बना, इसके प्रमाण में बजरंगबली के गदे को चित्रित किया गया था। कंधे पर रक्खें और उड़ जाएँ। अध्याय के अंत में ये साबित कर दिया गया था कि आज भी हमारे प्रधानमन्त्री जहाज़ में इतना इसलिए उड़ते हैं क्योंकि वो कभी बजरंगबली हुआ करते थे। दोनों चौकीदार वामपंथी लग रहे थे, बार बार मार्क्स को हवाई जहाज़ का निर्माता-पिता बताते। यादव जी से और नहीं रहा गया। दखल देते हुए बोले कि उन्हें मंत्री जी से दस्तखत लेनी है। दोनों चौकीदार हँसने लगे, यादव जी से भाग निकलने को कहा। दरअसल ये दोनों आई.आई.टी. से प्रोफेसर पद से रिटायर्ड होकर कोई नौकरी की खोज में आये थे। मंत्री मैडम जी ने चौकीदार बना दिया।
यादव जी ने भागना ही उचित समझा। वापस प्रधान मंत्री कार्यालय गए। जैसे ही ये दरवाज़े से अंदर गए कि गृह मंत्री बाहर की ओर आये। दोनों की नज़रें मिलीं और गृह मंत्री ने कहा – “आप यादव जी हैं न ! हाँ, मैं था वहाँ जब सलामी दी जा रही थी। आपके बेटे की शहादत हम कभी नहीं भूल सकते। और प्रधानमंत्री जी ने हमले की कड़ी निंदा भी कर दी है। कहिये क्या सेवा कर सकते हैं आपकी ?”
यादव जी की आस जगी। उन्होंने चिट्ठी मंत्री जी को पढ़ाई। मंत्री जी ने कहा कि ये काम तो वो भी कर सकते हैं। जब से ओप्पोसिशन से सरकार में आये हैं, यही काम तो कर रहे हैं। कड़ी निंदा सन्देश खूब लिखना जानते हैं। तुरंत हूबहू कड़ी निंदा सन्देश लिखकर यादव जी के हाथ में थमा दी। यादव जी ने कहा कि ये मेरे बेटे की मौत और ज़िन्दगी का सवाल है। चिट्ठी तो प्रधानमन्त्री जी से लेनी पड़ेगी। गृह मंत्री ने अपने मंत्रालय के नंबर दो मंत्रालय होने का हवाला दिया और कहा कि ऐसे काम प्रधानमंत्री वापस उनके पास ही भेजते हैं। हम सालों से ऐसे कड़ी निंदा वाले सन्देश देशवासियों के लिए लिखते रहे हैं।
“वो क्या है न प्रधानमंत्री जी तो व्यस्त रहते हैं, सो पोस्टल विभाग हमें ही दे दिया है। फिर भी आप पूछताछ कर लीजिये। ये नोट लेकर जाइए, प्रधानमंत्री ऑफिस में दाखिला मिल जाएगा ।” यादव जी की जान में जान आयी। गृह मंत्री की पैरवी वाली नोट लेकर दाखिला मिल गया। प्रधान-सचिव के पास दरख्वास्त भेजी गयी। कुछ एक-आध घंटे बाद, चिट्ठी आ गयी।
प्रधानमंत्री जी की मेज़ से –
आज हमारे कुछ जवान देश की सेवा में शहीद हो गए हैं। हमारा देश उनके बलिदान को कभी नहीं भुला पायेगा। मित्रों, इसी केसाथ मैं इस हमले की कड़ी निंदा भी करना चाहूंगा और हमारे पड़ोसी मुल्क को ये चेतावनी देता हूँ कि आतंकवाद का समर्थन बंदकरे वरना चूहे मारने की दवा हमारे पास है। लांस नायक यादव को मेरी कोटि कोटि श्रद्धांजलि ।
यादव जी ने चिठ्ठी को सहेज कर एक डिबिया में बंद किया और वापस अपने घर पहुंचे। ये सब होते होते करीब एक महीना निकल गया था । बेटे का शव बर्फ में रखा था। पत्नी ने चिट्टी निकाली और नायक यादव के कानों में सुनाया। सभी नायक यादव के उठने का इंतज़ार करने लगे।
मेहमानखाने में टीवी पर समाचार बुलेटिन चल रहा था – भारतीय प्रधानमंत्री ने अमरीका में अपना लोहा मनवाया। अमरीका ने भी माना हमारे प्रधानमंत्री को बजरंगबली का अवतार।
यादव जी कमरे में गए। वहाँ टीवी में भारत के प्रधानमंत्री को अमरीका के राष्ट्रपति गदा देकर सम्मानित कर रहे थे।
सभी कमरे में आए। अभी तक लगभग सभी ने चिट्ठी नायक यादव की कान में पढ़ दी थी। नायक यादव नहीं उठे ।
यादव जी ने चिट्ठी मंगवाई। उस पर प्रधानमंत्री जी के हस्ताक्षर नहीं थे, हाँ हस्ताक्षर का रबर स्टाम्प था। यमलोक में बिना असली हस्ताक्षर के चिट्ठी मान्य नहीं की गयी। प्रधानमंत्री जी अमरीका में थे। नायक यादव यमलोक में। सांत्वना सन्देश मिला, कड़ी निंदा भी हुई, पर नायक वापस नहीं आ सके।
यादव जी सर पर हाथ धरकर बेटे की अंतिम संस्कार की तैयारी में लग गए।
बात को करीब दो साल बीत गए। समाचार आया कि कश्मीर के बारामुला में सत्रह जवानों को आतंकवादियों ने ढेर कर दिया। प्रधानमंत्री अब की बार सरप्राइज दौरे पर पाकिस्तान में थे। आतंकियों ने उनको सरप्राइज कर दिया। प्रधान सचिव ने होशियारी दिखाई। कड़ी निंदा वाली प्रेस विज्ञप्ति चैनलों को थमा दी। अगले पाँच दिनों तक यादव जी की चिट्ठी एक संशोधन के साथ सभी चैनलों पर चलती रही –
आज हमारे कुछ जवान देश की सेवा में शहीद हो गए हैं। हमारा देश उनके बलिदान को कभी नहीं भुला पायेगा। मित्रों, इसी के साथ मैं इस हमलेकी कड़ी निंदा भी करना चाहूंगा और हमारे पड़ोसी मुल्क को ये चेतावनी देता हूँ कि आतंकवाद का समर्थन बंद करे वरना चूहे मारने की दवा हमारेपास है। लांस नायक यादव शहीदों को मेरी कोटि कोटि श्रद्धांजलि ।
प्रधानमंत्री हस्ताक्षर (रबर स्टाम्प)
भारत सरकार
Picture Credits – Indian Express(Only for illustrative purposes.)
Bangalore got its own Poetry Festival this year. Considering the fact that the city has a strong and vibrant poetry community that thrives in the bookstores, cafes, and parks; a poetry festival was in fact due and perhaps should have even come earlier than now. The festival was liked by most of the attendants. I must most sincerely thank the organizers for such a Herculean effort.
There is one more thing that must be spoken about. A book was specially commissioned to be unveiled at the festival. Po’try was released as an anthology of poems that were shortlisted from the entries that were received in response to the poetry contest conducted as part of the festival. The entries were supposed to be in English, Hindi, or Kannada and required the number of lines to be more than 25.
As per the claim made by the publishers, some 300 poems were received out of which 159 were shortlisted to be published. The selected poets were asked to pay a sum of 1000 INR for 5 copies of the book. They were given a transaction code upon payment and were told to collect their copies after the unveiling of the book during the last session of Day-1 of the festival. 159 poets – 5 copies each, this amounts to a bare minimum of 795 copies of the book. However, the publisher company brought only about 50 copies to the festival. What followed reeked of complete absence of professionalism, humility, or any kind of empathy for the poets who had gathered to collect their copies. At this point, I must disclose the name of the publishing partner of the BPF 2016 – Raindrops Company headed by one Mr. Bernard Dsa. Though such a company must be ignored and not be given any kind of reading space on social media, I thought it prudent to write about the experience I had with them so that the people who are coming next are aware of the narcissism of the company. Rest of the evening of the festival was spent in remorseless series of selfies by the publisher while the poets stood by another poet who somehow had volunteered to keep 2 copies of the book on display so that people could come and get a photo clicked with the publisher holding their book.
Click. Done. Return the book. Next!
I got hold of the book 2 weeks after I had forgotten about it. Though I was never much excited about my poem getting published in the book, it was still a good feeling to have the book in my hands. However, after having a glimpse of the inside pages, that feeling was short-lived. The book stands out for its shoddy editing, floundering the rules of the contest laid down by the organizers themselves, publishing same poem multiple number of times under different poets’s names and titles. Horrid editing will be an understatement. This book has not been edited at all. There are poems that are in Hindi but published in Roman script without any transliteration marks. In spite of all these blunders, the biggest irony of this book would be the strong-arming of the contributing poets to pay up 1000 INR in advance without giving them a control on the number of copies they wanted. Raindrops Company sent a sermon that the poets would need 5 copies each and hence they must pay 1000 INR in advance to receive those 5 copies. The company didn’t stop there. It wanted to spit in our face, so it priced the book at 180 INR on Amazon.
I still had sympathy for the poets who had landed up in the hands of such a terrible publisher and hence went on to read all the poems except 3 or 4 poems written in Kannada. Well, I found a silver lining. Please find below the list of 58 poems that I loved from the book. If you have already decided to not buy the book, try looking for the poets on facebook, they might be kind enough to share their published poems with you. Please note that this is not a ranked list.
Hark! - Abhishek Kumar Singh
Empty Piece of Paper Flutters Around - Dr. Aakash Dhruva
Cracked & Splintered - Aishwarya Soni
प्रतिबिंबित - Akanksha Bumb
Distant Vespers - Amrendra Pandey
I am Indeed - Ankit Mishra
These Kindnesses - Ankush Banerjee
पहाड़ और समंदर - Anshul Nagori
Unfettered - Apoorva Viji Shivaram
Aquarium - M. Ashitha
Deathwish - Ashvani Sachdev
Scatterbrain Syndrome - Avani Jain
The Unchanted Souls - Dr. Debashish Sengupta
She-An Unparalleled Work of Art - Debarati Saha
वाद विवाद - Gaurav B Gothi
Antarctica - Gaurav Chauhan
खून पतला हो चला - Gaurav Tiwari
Ice'scapades - Gayathri Rao
Sun's Story - Ilu
प्रकृति हूँ मैं ही - Jaya Srinivasan
A Cuckoo Calls - Lovie D'sa
Does a Bonsai Tree Dare Dream? - Lynessa Coutto
Theatre du Reve - Praveen Dhawan
जन्मदिन - Priyank Anand
It was a Dream - Mahima Prasanna
Bliss in solitude - Mahua Sen
Back Home - Maitrayee
Twilight - Mallika Bhaumik
The Pendulum Heart - Mihika Shankar Shivni
All Things Put Aside - Nishu Mathur
Pacification - Nitish Nair
The Impossibility of Us - Purnima Gopalakrishnan
Sitting There - Rahul Raghunath
कर्ण का धर्म - Rajesh Joshi
याद है सिर्फ - Ranjana Tripathi
A Trilogy of Musings - Rashmi Jejurikar
Circling into the Center - Reshma Mudirakkal
Us and Them - Rohit Nand
Journey to You - Aimey Maggie Augustine
Chikku Mara - Sandip Mondal
No filter - Shachi Srivastava
Death - Shruthi Vishwanath
The Oracle - Shyni kp
Meet - Srinivasacharya Darbhasayanam
Disclaimer - Siddharth Shukla
On My Grandmother - Sihi Nagathihalli
A Disjointed Symphony - Simran Sethi
Father - Sindhu Verma
The Earth you Fought - Soujanya K.
Cry of Wicked Souls - Sarala Balachandran
Saudade - Sreeparna Chattopadhyay
Inheritance - Suganya Lakshmi
थोड़ा और पकने दो - Tarundeep Kaur
तलाश - विभूति/Vibhuti
निशब्द - Vidya Krishna
A gloomy rose - Vignesh
H.O.M.E - Yamini Acharya
Declarative Memory - Yumna Harisingh Jawa
This is not to suggest other poets were not good. Yes, there were a few who should have been more serious with their contributions but perhaps the publishers didn’t deserve better. Nevertheless, congratulations to every poet who has got published. Good Edit-Bad Edit – You are a published poet now and you have our best wishes.
Mandatory Disclosure – Writer’s poem was also published in the Anthology.
ज़िन्दगी है, ज़िन्दगी में मुलाकातें भी होती रहतीं हैं। मुलाकातें होतीं हैं तो बातें भी चल पड़तीं हैं। हम हिन्दुस्तानी राय रखने में ऐसे भी बड़े आगे हैं। राजनीति, क्रिकेट, मज़हब, चलचित्र- आप बस मुद्दा उठाइये और चार पाँच विशेषज्ञ तो आपको राह चलते मिल जाएंगे। पान थूकते, तम्बाकू चुनाते, ताश खेलते विशेषज्ञ से शायद पाठक का भी पाला पड़ा ही होगा। तेंदुलकर को किस बॉल पर क्या मारना चाहिए, ये मेरे कॉलोनी के गार्ड से बेहतर शायद ब्रैडमैन को भी ना मालूम हो।
पर मैं यहाँ उनकी बात नहीं करूँगा। मैं बात करूँगा आम आदमी की – तथाकथित आम आदमी। मेरे मत से तो आम आदमी कोई नहीं होता। आदमी होते हैं, औरतें होतीं हैं। गरीब आदमी, अमीर आदमी। गरीब औरत, अमीर औरत। आम तो उस फल का नाम है जो गरीब आदमी की नसीब में नहीं लिखा होता। अच्छा छोड़िये इन बातों को, अभी के लिए आम आदमी ही कह लीजिये। तो बात कुछ यूँ हुई कि जहाँ कहीं भी गया आम लोगों के साथ ही रहा । आम आदमी जो अच्छे भी हैं, बुरे भी और फिर जो इन दोनों में से कुछ नहीं या फिर दोनों ही। इन सबने किसी ना किसी तरीके से कुछ ऐसा कहा है कि मैंने इनको याद रक्खा है। कुछेक आप भी पढ़ लें। कोई भी बात निर्णयात्मक नहीं है। मेरे ख्याल में ये बातें उन लोगों ने कहीं हैं जो अपने दिल से ईमानदार थे और इन्हें व्यवहार कुशलता की कोई चिंता नहीं थी। मानव सीमाओं से घिरा है, हम आप और सब। किसी की सीमाएँ नज़दीक तो किसी की काफी दूर। दार्शनिकों की बातें तो बहुत सुन लीं आपने, ज़रा ये भी सुनिए की तथाकथित आम आदमी क्या कहता है –
हम आम लोग हैं। बहुत आम। इतने आम कि एक सड़ा हुआ आम हमसे ज़्यादा ख़ास होता है। आम लोग मज़ाकिया होते हैं, आम लोग सीरियस भी होते हैं। आम लोग ईमानदार होते हैं। आम लोग बेईमान भी होते हैं। सिर्फ आम होना कोई सर्टिफिकेट नहीं होता। हर आम आदमी ख़ास बनने की होड़ में लगा है। सारे पैंतरे ख़ास बनने के ही हैं। उन पैंतरों में हम वो सब करते हैं जो एक आम आदमी करता है या आम औरत करती है। क्यों न करें? जब तक ख़ास बन नहीं जाते तब तक तो आम ही हैं- सड़े हुए आम जिनको थोड़ा दबाते ही गूदा पिलपिला कर बाहर निकल आता है। हम पिलपिलाकर ही ख़ास बनेंगे।तो कोई आपके प्रदेश का न हो तो मार गिराइये, आपकी भाषा न बोले तो मार गिराइये, आपका मज़हब न माने तो मार गिराइये। बुब्बे मापिए, गांड झाँकिये, बलात्कार कीजिये और सदा पिलपिलाते रहिये। मेरी शुभकामनाएँ।
It’s 15th August. Hum your favorite patriotic tune, speak about the achievements of the Government of the day, talk of pride in our culture and history, and proudly flaunt our progress as a society. Close your eyes and sleep. Happy Independence Day!
Or wake up! Look into the problems, discuss what is eating us from inside, find treatment for the termites of the system, struggle, fail, struggle again, fail, rise again, fight, bring a change! It’s 15th August. Justify the ‘Independence’ in that clichéd ‘Happy Independence Day’!
You can skip this article if you would rather like to follow the first method. If you are ready for a long-drawn battle, read on.
And suddenly I have nothing to write about. A long night at work – I wanted to write about it – how tiring and hopeless situations you grow into at around 2.30 am in the morning typing in some code that you are no longer sure of. I wanted to write about that. I wanted to take a shot at poetry – dead of a night – smoky chilled air – rains – thunderstorms – trees wavering like tresses of the love I deserved – I might have jotted down the perfect poem for the moment. I wanted to write about my struggles. I would have liked to finish my debut novel in a one night’s shot. I wanted to write a tale – a disarming one or maybe even a spooky one that would leave me in despair by the end of it – perfect setting of a night and an under-construction would-be corporate building – cranes, dump-trucks, excavators all lying dead like there never was any life in them. I wanted to make new metaphors and similes- like a bulldozer’s night sleep or lie like a windowpane! Continue reading “Nothing to write about!”
To judge somebody you haven’t ever met can be a daunting task. To judge somebody on the basis of what the person has done or written can be a miscarriage of fairness. Political heroes or villains are primarily judged in time by their actions in public view and their writings if available. This is to say for commentators who haven’t met the person. How your actions are judged depends largely on the media of the time as well.
If I may, I would point you to the essay – ‘Reflections of Gandhi‘ by George Orwell. Why? Because his observations are as objective as they can get. In my opinion the essay stands out for a couple of things –
1. As the title suggests, the essay is indeed a reflection on Gandhi. The observations are so fluidly presented that it often feels like Orwell is talking to himself oblivious of our presence around him. He is not a great fan of Gandhi, neither is he a hater who can’t see beyond the aesthetics of the man. This puts him in a unique position.
2. Through his other essays, his hatred for any kind of imperialism is quite evident. However, since he knew the British ways too, he could look at Gandhi from the other side of the fence and was still in harmony with the dreams of free India that Gandhi nurtured.
George Orwell wrote his essay on Gandhi in 1949, a year after he was dead. He derives most of his ideas about the man – Gandhi from his autobiographical work My Experiments With Truth
One important question that I have asked myself is whether the essay is prejudiced. Largely no, but there are enough signs of prejudices to be detected by any reader who has followed Orwell and his life for some time. Orwell’s own lifestyle has an effect on the essay and at times he digresses for the sake of satirical declarations that are hallmarks of his writings. However, such utterances are rare and the piece remains rational for the most part.
Orwell goes on to ponder upon the extent to which Gandhi was responsible for India’s freedom and counts many reasons that could have been responsible. He doesn’t give a judgement and says – “But if, by 1945, there had grown up in Britain a large body of opinion sympathetic to Indian independence, how far was this due to Gandhi’s personal influence? And if, as may happen, India and Britain finally settle down into a decent and friendly relationship, will this be partly because Gandhi, by keeping up his struggle obstinately and without hatred, disinfected the political air? That one even thinks of asking such questions indicates his stature.”
Orwell would have celebrated his 113th year on 25th June had he been alive. His bio headline is perhaps a signature to the eccentricity of his life – Born in Motihari, Bihar and Died in London, United Kingdom. Mr. Orwell has been one of my favorite writers for some time now and Mahatma Gandhi will remain a Hero I shall admire all my life. Though they might stand diametrically opposite to each other on the clocks of life and lifestyle, both of them had their own fallacies. However what they achieved in one lifetime makes the fault-lines almost invisible. My only regret is that while I can read and decide what Orwell thought of Gandhi, I have no way of knowing what Gandhi thought of him. I wonder what took Mr. Orwell so long to write about Gandhi. Sometimes it needs a death to trigger those thoughts that we keep pushing to the next day. Sadly, Orwell didn’t live much longer either. He passed away in 1950. I would have wished him a few more happy years for his life on his birthday.
There is one particular incident that must be recounted here to make my point. One day, since I alighted from the bus at a stop which wasn’t exactly mine, I had to saunter till my residence through a stretch of road that I wasn’t familiar with. The stretch was eerily dark and quiet. After walking for some distance, I saw a minuscule, thatched hut to my left, and a lady standing outside calling out.
It took me a few seconds to realize that she was inviting me to have her. I wasn’t sure if she would have taken a refusal well, so I paced up and stopped only after attaining a safe distance. I could see lamp posts getting larger and shops appearing in sight. There was a used-book store that was selling books at Rs. 100 and 200 per kg. I had heard of this concept before but hadn’t seen books getting sold this way. Initially glad to have found such a store, I was left disillusioned once I checked the books. Most of them were run-of-the-mill books that people should avoid reading if they care for developing good taste. The only bright spots were the books on technical subjects but considering their weight, the deal was not very sweet. I wasn’t exactly looking for technical books either.
I had to decline both the offers – that of the sex-worker and of the bookstore. From whatever I could see of them and comprehend, both appeared battered. Both were unkempt, abused, marked, and scarred. Both were ordinary.
So what goes into deciding the prices for sex trade in squalid belts of a city and old books stacked upon each other under a rugged tent-house? I ask this not because I have complete understanding of these trades. I just have a fair idea about the value of presentation. A procurer (pimp) adds glitters, polishes, and qualifies the services and the prices shoot up. Another procurer (publisher) does the same with a book. For some people, I might have crossed a few lines here but a procurer is not necessarily an evil person unless he is indeed an evil person regardless of whether he is a pimp or a publisher. Books that got published some 100 years ago are getting re-branded, re-edited, reprinted and resold at higher prices than the previous editions. Does the same happen with escorts? Till a point in their lives when age doesn’t start showing, it does. As they grow in the trade, the prices go up. However, flesh trade is not an exception. This is the norm in any industry. It’s an age when the quality of every product or service is measured against the benchmark of porn. #foodporn #bookgasm #foodgasm #wordporn – any acquaintances in those hashtags there?
At a subconscious level, think of a sex-worker you have had, met or seen while going through the following lines.
What happens to the books that can no longer afford a publisher? They are sold like potatoes and onions in a last ditch attempt at making some money. What happens to the books that we buy and are long done with? What happens to the books that at least outwardly have nothing more to offer to us? I was not sincere when I had suggested to my friend that I would be selling them all. However, if one must sell, I think a second hand book should be sold at a higher price than the new one. In fact, the older a book gets, the higher its price should be, at least till the time it becomes really old and unreadable. It’s not very difficult to understand the reasons.
An old book, by the time reaches your hands has already enriched a few other lives before you and it has already gained some experience in changing lives. That experience, you do not have in a first edition first print. A freshman might make mistakes, a first copy might not give you what you expect of it, but in the case of an old one – more often than not, you are in safe hands because you have reached the book either of your hunting accord or after recommendations from someone you trust, and if you find a few scribbled notes in the book – you are perhaps luckier than many, and undoubtedly luckier than the first edition snobs.
Getting a glimpse into another life or going through a live commentary while you read those rusty pages is a priceless experience. Priceless things usually get sold at ambitiously steep prices. Hence, used books deserve better prices, abused books and you will find plenty of them – deserve our respect for having taken the blows of an untrained pretentious reader. In either case, I would choose to either go the capitalist way and sell them at higher prices than they were purchased or invoke my socialist side and give them away for free. The second option, would have to meet with great resistance from my faithfully capitalist enchantress bookshelf. The first one sounds more viable. I hope the world is ready when I sincerely mean to sell them.
The essay Books – The Used and the Abused! concludes with this part. Read the first part of the article here.
Barely a minute after the gift books had reached the recipients, I got an email from Junglee, an Amazon subsidiary, saying something to the effect of – ‘Now that you have bought books from amazon, how about selling some on Junglee?’ Though this was a routine pitch, it got me into wondering about a lot of things of recent past. Just a day earlier I had told a friend in jest that I was going to sell all my books, take note – it was not a serious statement!
I don’t own a lot of things. My friends who know me well are completely sick of my wardrobe and at times have to take me hostage to get me to buy stuffs. This is not because I am on some money-saving mission, I don’t save either. So where does the money go? I don’t claim to have some sort of library for myself, but I have a respectable number of books with me and the number increases at a staggering rate. In fact, our Government could define BPL (Below Poverty Line) mark by just contrasting between my wardrobe and the bookshelf. Rich gets richer, the poor gets poorer.
Capitalism-Socialism-Communism all sleep in the same bed here. I had read somewhere that the day you own more than single pair of clothes to cover yourself, you cease to be a communist. Now, most of the present day communists would certainly fail this test in today’s age and I don’t blame them. The condition itself is too stringent and suffocating. However, if for a few considerations, I am allowed to take it as the benchmark, then the beggar who just had a garbage box to comfort his spine in and almost no rag on his body, just outside my workplace in Chennai would perhaps make the greatest Communist on earth. Marx and Lenin would miserably fail this test. Taking heart from this, my wardrobe stands a much better chance to be regarded as at least a reluctant communist, reluctant because perhaps it wants to get a few more clothes for itself, but its master is lazy as a dead bone in such matters. This opens up two new ways to become a communist –
1. Have a very bad master!
2. Become lazy, lazy like a dead bone.
Sitting on an antipodal citadel, my bookshelf is a shelf-ish enchantress. If there ever was a true capitalist, it is her. The master is possessed by her beauty and she makes him do all that she desires. When much of what the master earns goes into her wishes and fancies every month, it is not very difficult to understand how enslaved and smitten by her the master is!
There is no end to her desires. I have never left my bookshelf alone, but perhaps on one occasion when I was moving to a new city and all her possessions had to be transported beforehand. For about a month, I couldn’t see her due to delays in courier service. That was the only time we were separated. A thing to note here is that this Capitalist monster owns a lot of anti-communism books, and since sits just beside my reluctantly communist wardrobe, leaves no opportunity to jeer at him and show him how communism failed the day master’s friends bought him a second pair of clothes. I can’t tell you any method here to become a capitalist. It can’t be done. Capitalize is a verb, but capitalism is a noun. So, you might think you can capitalize to become a Capitalist but Capitalize in turn depends on some noun, say in this case – situation! That situation comes by itself, you just have to be greedy enough. Like I said, the day you work your ass off for another pair of clothes in your wardrobe, you have embarked yourself onto the voyage of Capitalism.
To let myself wander for some more time, I would want to touch upon capitalism in books-industry and what’s going wrong there. I remember my boyhood days when books containing spiritual or religious messages used to be distributed for free and if I talk particularly about a few organizations, they used to encourage their first readers to pass on the books to somebody who hadn’t read them and continue the relay so that someday in distant future, entire planet would know about these organizations. Backed up by huge grants and charity money, this was their way of marketing. To be candid about it, I used to collect all of them just to sniff the fresh-from-print pages. Not that I didn’t try reading them but failed to make any sense of the content matter then. Interestingly, many customers stood benefited as even if they never opened these books, never turned over a single page; they could always keep them on their study tables and shelves to show off.
This still continues with the Quran and the Bible. You get them for free most of the times and the people who throng on the stores to get these books for free, generally don’t belong to Islam or Christianity. However once they rack up these books in their house, it helps to prove their broad-mindedness and establish a secular image to their guests without having read a word. That notwithstanding, let us think from the perspective of an involved reader. For him, these socio-religious books still come at nominal costs. Additionally, most of the dedicated readers share these books on their own after having read them. While he can get a Bible or a Quran, or a Gita for almost nothing, Das Kapital will cost him somewhere between Rs 500 to Rs 1500 on Amazon.
The socio-religious book segment is more communist than the segment that sells the works of Karl Marx. Marx would perhaps say today – ‘Socio-religious book is the new opiate of the masses!’
Think of all the socio-religious books as public owned and the fact that anyone can read them easily, re-interpret, comment, criticize, and burn them amidst a few fatwas from selected communities – not very difficult to fathom! Unwittingly and ironically, the bible of communism can’t be bought by the segment of the society that needs to read it more than anyone else. They have to be content with mind-numbing tall tales of leaders and impostors, not that the leaders and impostors have much of a difference in today’s age.