Horizontally Yours - The saas bahu saga

The eternal battle between saas and bahu does not have its roots in the teary bunkum that soaps love to wallow in. Its true base lies in something else - a connectere (connection.) We know that when we connect one object with another, there is a fusing of the two, either reversible or irreversible. Human binding is similar, and the strongest connections are those that have a physical base. Needless to say, this is the true reason for the squabbles between saas and bahu - A horizontal connection.

The mother-son relationship starts much before the son exists as a physically independent entity. It starts in the womb of the mother, where the mother and son are connected by the umbilical cord. This is a horizontal connection between the navels of the mother and son. Contrary to our understanding of the cord (mainly because its ugly countenance) , its potential significance in psychology is great. It is the first bond the son makes, and the bond that he learns to survive on. The connection delivers oxygen and nutrients, two things that the fetus desperately needs to survive. There is an exchange of body fluids. This is a unique bond that the mother makes. It is the only time another living being depends solely on her for survival. Everything she eats, drinks, breathes, does, and thinks affects the fetus inside her. She ensures the survival of another life inside her, and the umbilical cord insures it. This builds the foundation for intense bonds that develop between mothers and sons.

Cut to the bond that man and wife share - Some would argue, an equally strong bond, it has its basis in the same horizontal connection. It is the connection that man and woman share during the act of sex - When the phallus forms a connection with the cervix. Let us for once subtract the erotic connotation of sex and see the act for what it is. This, apart from the mother-son bond, is the only true physical bond where two human entities become one. It is a sign of extreme trust - both individuals allow an incursion into their most private zones. There is an all-consuming passion that drives this act. Like with the umbilical cord, there is exchange of body fluids. Survival does not depend on it, in a literal sense. However, I'm given to understand that the passion involved can be so great that it can make you feel on the edge of life itself! The abstracted strength of this bond is the potential in it to create new life. This is an enormous power - one known clearly to both individuals. Another reason for the strength of this bond is the hidden urge to recreate the physical bond felt between mother and son. As adults we do not know what the fetus must have felt. However, I believe that it has something to do with security. It is this that we unknowingly try to recreate during copulation - The overpowering feeling of safety when the man is physically enveloped by his wife.

Thus we have two bonds - One is the natal bond between man and mother, the other is the sexual bond between man and wife. The mother considers this new bond to be a replacement for her original bond; the wife considers the original bond to be a psychological vestige interfering with her bond.

Whichever way you look at it, these are the two most significant and emotional bonds a man is ever going to have. It is essential that he give each its place. It is equally important that both mother and wife look at roles they played before/will play in the future. After all, saas bhi kabhi bahu thi.

There'll be no more pain

A sprightly dash of yellow and green
Fills the charming meadow
The sun weaves a golden mesh
And life does it endow

The bees fritter from base to base
Working their task at hand
While the birds soar up high above
On a wave from the magical wand

So much laughter so much joy
The children come down to play
Among the flowers and down-like grass
Their tired bodies they lay

But grown-ups don’t like what they see
“Our children will just while away
It is imperative, to shackle them down,
This indulgent meadow must we flay”

Then they come with sickles and hoes
And rip the meadow asunder
The soft grass bleeds till it’s no more
And I stop to wonder

“What is with grown-ups and good things?
How can happiness bring them pain?
Why would they wreck havoc on innocence?
And treat me with disdain?”

I will stop the joy pouring out of the sky
I will stop satisfaction peering from the ground
I will bring in the rank evil thistles
To grow in their gardens and around

To those who punctured me and laughed as I bled,
I always loved you and was in good faith
But you did me wrong…oh so wrong
So now brace up to face my wraith

I can hear screams of my antagonists
But mercy I cannot bestow
I must purge my lap of their abundance
And wipe their sweat off my brow

Then I’ll bring back the smiling flowers
And the bees can work again
The children can play sans inhibition
And there’ll be no more pain

Race of the Races

Through the hullabaloo made by hordes of antiracism activists, much as we deny, we can discern some facts that open our eyes to a whole new world of racial criticism. All the glib talk about racial equality is good for the tympanic membrane and the psyche because it is what “educated” and “civilized” people like us want to hear. This is what allows us to make statements to the rest of the world and hold an anthropological view of social scenarios. What most of us fail to realize while being lost in the hazy mist of pseudo-social commitments is that thinking of the “white man” as superior to the rest of the “coloured world” may actually be a sensible idea.

For those of you who are going to tear this article from this paragraph on, I have just one thing to say – Wisdom might come with revelation – please read it till the last period mark and then tear it off...or then maybe you won’t.

The white man came, the white man saw, the white man conquered. History is a racist tale of how the lighter skinned people sailed around the world and made it their playground...the Mongols being the only notable exception (but they weren’t exactly dark skinned either!) If they were not superior to the others like us then maybe we would have gone on a world conquest! Okay, at least we would have been able to defend ourselves against their ravages. “We had far more advanced astrology” or “Our science of medicine made theirs look obsolete”, are no arguments against the fact that the white man delivered when he was required to (if I might say so).


For God’s sake, why does it take so long for us to understand that the white men were born to rule and we (shades ranging from mahogany to ebony) were born to slave it out. Freedom, in short, is not our cup of tea. The reason is very simple - Might is right! With might comes power and respect. Even today, most brilliant youngsters from India and her neighbors run to western arms. You may try to justify – “they have more money, more resources…” I ask, “How?” and you say, “after all they looted rich countries like us and th…” My point exactly! We started at the same commencement point and now in the year 2002, we almost resemble human beings, WOW! The baseness is still there…but it will do!

I am of the staunch opinion that we do not deserve to be free. This is because we have not grown up to it. I agree that countries like India and South Africa fought argued hard for their freedom. What did we do when the white man finally condescended and gave us the freedom that we requested for? We just fought amongst ourselves. What have these countries achieved till date except world ridicule for religious and ethnic strifes? India is a nuclear power and a leader of the third world countries…Blah! Blah! Blah...So what? Can she protect her citizens from the ravages of everyday militancy? Can she ensure education for all her children? Can she guarantee food and social security to all who are proud to call themselves her children and if necessary die for her sake? Most importantly, can she give all her children an equal status? Is it a small matter that even to this day, Indians are third class international citizens? Why international? Indians below the poverty line are third class Indian citizens! The tag of ‘developing nation’ looks good on paper but who wants to see the ‘underdeveloped’ invective thrust on our faces every time we face the international community. The only interest common westerners show in us is for the cows that roam the main roads and the Kamasutra – both unheard of in their countries (not a very great achievement, if you ask me).

Some statistically oriented optimists reason out that India’s miniscule progress can be attributed to a very large population and the subsequent illiteracy. “After all how is the poor government going to educate so many people? You must also keep in mind India’s financial status.” I just have one thing to tell them – Take a close look at China.

If the erstwhile record holder for the largest population (thanks to the big family lovers in India) can progress so much, why can’t we? China’s literacy rate is also poor. It also has an agricultural backbone (dependent on rain and other excuses…). How, then, are they managing to strengthen their economy and make the global leaders envious, when we look up to the World Bank for loans? The answer is again the same. It is ingrained in us. “A little begging didn’t kill no one”, said Harry Jones, a beggar of international standing and Afro-Indian parentage. We are very happy living on someone else’s ‘aid’. We gladly eat the oatmeal that the white man’s cattle refuse (small wonder then about the ‘dogs and Indians…’ slur). In other words, industrious is an adjective you cannot use for 95% of us in India.

A simple step taken in the direction of development and self sufficiency is a large one in the direction of humanity. In India the roads that were built during the times of the British are the ones in the best state. The ‘beautiful’ roads built by ‘our own free hands’ now have worse craters than the surface of the moon itself. People had to pay very little bribe then (because there were very few Indian officials near the top). Antisocials were not taken to a legalized government resort and fed on the money of the poor masses. Many people will disagree with me and say, “We may have our flaws, so what - we are free. Freedom means more to us th…”.I rest my case. We are still resting on the laurels of our recently won freedom (read 50 years back) and have not proved ourselves anywhere but in the wrong directions. This is a huge weakness, a sense of nonchalance and irresponsibility towards the community we live in. This weakness makes us lesser human beings – racially inferior.

Slavery is much more than black history. It is in the psyche. If you observe foreign tourists (from the West not from Bangladesh please!) walking down a road in Calcutta or a beach in Mumbai you will find many obliging Indians gawking at them as if they were some celestial bodies. What happened? Are they made of some other element? These questions are answered by more dumb gawks. If a foreigner comes to work in an Indian firm, we think that he is an amalgamation of Einstein and C.F.Andrews. “Oh! Look at this great man…he has vouchsafed to work with us.” This is followed by many synonyms of the word ‘gracious’. Look at the other situation where an Indian goes to work in the ‘white man’s land’. The poor chap is going to receive all kinds of insults and verbal abrasions…and I am not talking about the situation 50 years ago. This is one of those undocumented facts whose revelation is not good for the public image of the country. The mentality of us people change when we see some white skin. The servile nature of us Indians oozes from every pore in our skin.

It is not the 300 odd years of slavery that made us like this… we were created like this – to serve and never to ask why! Some of our more deserving compatriots (born on the wrong side of the world) asked why and we were gifted with something we could not handle- Freedom. “What is wrong with us? “, is probably not such a bad question at this juncture. Is it that we are less intelligent or physically less able…what is it? The only plausible reason amongst the millions of “we are a peace loving people exploited by the west…” statements is that we are second best because we want to remain that way. Who ever told you that every man is equal is certainly a benevolent white or an overconfident, incorrigible, ‘liberated’ coloured man. But in both cases they were lying. Racial equality looks good in social study text books but when it is not a practical trend then why try and believe in it? It will only take us deeper into the chasm of white lies (all puns intended).

Note: This post is not to undermine any race or hurt any sentiments. It is an honest-to-God thought that I had as a teenager. Although it shows a particular race in superior light, it is said in a lighter vein. It, and by corollary, I, are completely against racism and racial bias.

All Out of Love

It is a lovely winter morning. The fog is quite dense and she looks through her window at the white expanse in love. She loves the icy touch of harsh winter. Did I say harsh? Oh yes, I forget to mention that the winter is harsh in this part of the country. She walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a frozen quarter pizza and leaves it on the table. After a shower, she gorges on the pizza slice and some cold milk.
Her mind starts to wander at the table. All these years had passed by and she was living alone - Happily.
The wind is blowing into the room and the temperature is dipping furiously.
Where did her thoughts get off…ah! People always thought that she was far from normal. I guess she knew that herself. She was in love…with love. Her love story is a saga in itself. She muses for what seems like an hour. Then the thought of going to work strikes her and she slowly gets her bag.
The bus stop is a short walk from where she lives…her ‘home’.
A cold tune blows into her ears from all around and she absorbs it with love. She can smell love even in the cold air. After a largely uneventful walk, she reaches the bus stop and takes a seat to wait for the bus.
That’s where I come in. I, contrary to my social traditions, usually go out on cold mornings like this. In fact, I love cold mornings as much as she does. I see her from a distance and move towards her in what seems to be a trance. I move fast and close the distance between us. I love the feel of the ground below my feet and the snippy dusty air around me. I am full of love for everything around me.
She sees me when I am about one foot from her. Her expressionless face looks through me in a cold kind of way. I love that look. The look that makes my inspiration run high…the look that makes me make others love me.
She fixes her gaze on me and twitches her eyebrow as if she pities my condition. I laugh to myself, and then, as if she knows my feeling, she too laughs uncontrollably. I look around to see if other early birds are watching the two of us or not. We are alone.
Her laughter has a nice rhythm…like some code. I am entranced by her loving sight and sound. I begin to dance once again…all out of love. She looks at me in a peculiar fashion and grins. There is a strange tension in the air. It is a tension that spells love.
She moves towards me with a strange light in her eyes. I also move in her direction. Soon she touches me with her palm.
She has a soft palm and it smells of her wonderful perfume…I love the sweet smell of perfume.
There is so much love in that touch of hers. I am overflowing with love and long to share it with her. I kiss her on the back of her hand and she embraces me tightly.
The cold feeling comes back again. Its taking my breath away. She is still looking at me with that strange light.
Someday I have to ask my father about that look.
She gently falls to her knees and lies down next to me. The look is still there. I feel that there is something missing from my side and shower her with kisses. She still holds me tight in her arms…all out of love.

Dec 27. Nainital.
The dead body of Dr. Anjali Mohan, a research scholar at IPWA was found near the Horticulture Garden Bus Stop. The cause of her death has been determined to be snake bite. In what seems to be a strange tale, a dead Krait was found entangled in the grip of Dr. Mohan. This enormously poisonous snake had bitten Dr. Mohan eleven times…ten times after she died. The funeral will be conducted at 5:30 P.M. today.

Up Above to Down Under

The evening of 6th January will be remembered for more than one reason; one particularly distasteful - The transmutation of Cricket from a gentleman's game to a gentleman's game (read: hunting with a pack of wild dogs). Never, in any international match, has the umpiring been so woeful, nay, foolish. Any idiot with half a brain and one eye could see the flaws in the decisions handed out by the two 'honourable' umpires.
Australia established a few enviable records in this match. They played 13 batsmen (one particularly jumpy species batted across three lives) in their first innings and the opposition played with just 8 (two of the best batsmen went back to the pavilion on the whim of the umpires). Finally the Australian team formed a huddle and jumped around like a bunch of cross-dressers who had been given free wonder-bras. Can you see the achievement, pride, joy and ecstasy in such a victory? Wow! So, this is Aussie pride eh? Niiice!
Let’s face it, the Aussies do not have the gonadal gumption to lose. Sure, if you are winning, you need not care about anything else. You can shove aside anyone (including the President of the BCCI, in India). There'd be no media asking you uncomfortable questions, no former players calling for your head, and no bad taste in your mouth. But true champions know that losses are part of the game - bound to happen - and that when they do, they must lose gracefully. Ponting and his boys just proved how brittle their existence is. They exist only because they win. Since their crushing loss to India (underdogs) in the T20 World Cup, they have been thirsty, almost rabid for revenge. They thought they could come to India and bully the Indians in their own backyard. That did not work, and the captain of the Australian team had to accept that India was better than them at the shortest form of the game. The expression on his face, during the awards ceremony, was almost as if he were forced to drink goat piss through a fresh umbilical cord.
The Australians have always been the worst losers in cricket. They think that it is their birthright to win and that everyone else plays to kill time. If they win, it is because they played flawless cricket. If they lose, it is because the pitches were doctored, the opposition captain was late for the toss, and their bus driver’s mother-in-law had a monkey in her apron (sorry, did I just say the ‘M’ word?) They can sledge and abuse the family tree of their oppositions, but if anyone from the opposition mentions any member of the animal kingdom, their pansy derrieres get sensitive. Their aggression is always 'hard and fair' and within boundaries, but if a young Indian boy decides to mirror it, they call for the head honchos to rein in him. If you’ve still not realized what this means, my dear chaps, this is racial behaviour –

The belief that one 'racial group' is inferior to another and the practices of the dominant group to maintain the inferior position of the dominated group; often defined as a combination of power, prejudice and discrimination.

Mr. Ponting, you may think that you and your team can do anything on or off the field, and get away with it on the merit of being the best cricketing team in the world? Listen carefully, because there’s news for you - India is not pushover material and, believe me, better men than you have tried and failed. We will not take your incessant boorish and uncouth behaviour lying down. You want to be aggressive, you silly little schoolgirl, you’ve got it. Two can play this game, and judging by the goings on, that game has already begun.
Australia was the country we were proud to play, beat and get beaten by. Aggression was a good word, a word we borrowed from the Aussie dictionary. We saluted your best teams - There was honour in it. Somewhere along the line your 'aggression' turned to ‘arrogance'. Now, after you have ripped the shitty facade from your face, Mr. Ponting, the world realizes why your country is called ‘Down Under’.

Dial 'M' for Monkey

Mr. Andrew Symonds,

I belong to a country whose citizens fought and defeated the purveyors of racism. I wear anti-racism proudly on my sleeve and it pains me to hear you allege the same against my countryman. Now, I am not in a position to know exactly what transpired on the field (given that even the umpires don’t know exactly what was said there). However, I refuse to believe that Harbhajan Singh ever said anything racist against you.
Do you know the meaning of the word racism? Prejudice or discrimination based on an individual’s race – that is racism! I must tell you that ‘monkey’ is not even remotely racist (except when you are from a primate race). If, and that is a very big if (because, frankly, I don’t believe a word you say), Harbhajan called you a monkey, I don’t understand why you are so upset. It definitely is not as bad as the words you use to describe our players; not as bad as being called a ‘ba***rd’ or a 'm*********er'. Or do you think otherwise? Maybe, you don’t mind being called the latter (I cannot imagine why). Maybe you are upset about being called a monkey because you don't wish to insult the monkeys. All my life different people have called me a monkey without getting told on by me, and I don’t even look half alike - You should have no reason to complain. However, if you are so determined to be hypersensitive to being called a monkey, Mr. Symonds, tell me this:

Did your mother go to the forest or did the chimpanzee come home?

General-ly Speaking

The dynamics of the Pakistani power struggle are rather transparent, and with Benazir Bhutto’s assassination, it can be safely said that Pakistan’s internal security is on its last leg.
Our main man Mushy does not sit too pretty amongst the ruins. He is steering a country ravaged by internal strife. He is bloody incompetent as a ruler but a good part of it can be attributed to the many demons he has to face:

• The Fundamentalists: Taliban, LeT and its million minions - The reprise of this section in Pakistani society has a lot to do with America’s presence in the Middle East. Resentment against the West and its allies is on an all-time high among Pakistanis. This, coupled with drifters from Afghanistan, has made up the core of the terror bomb. Mushy, in his great wisdom, consolidated the relation that Pakistan had with America and became her strategic ally in the fight against terror. This provided the fuse to the terror bomb. It’s been ticking ever since.
  December 27th 2007 saw its first gigantic explosion – Benazir’s assassination.
  
• The United States of America – Bush and Mush always looked like a couple bound in unholy matrimony. They were living dangerously, and each had a private agenda. Yes, definitely in love! However, like every give and take relationship, this one too had its moments. Bush pushed Mushy for the entirety of their relationship, and Mushy’s constant diplomatic slavery created a huge hate club for him in his own backyard. Finally, when Mushy decided to impose the emergency, Bush came hard at him, cut down his allowance and made his remove his uniform.
  
• The Judiciary – Chief Justice Chowdhury and his affairs hung like the sword of Damocles over Mushy’s head. The manner in which the Justice was kept under house arrest and dismissed from service was, at best, appalling. However, the matter could not be swept under the carpet and Pakistan’s legal community cried foul in the foulest language. The Justice was reinstated and Mushy was forced to eat his own shoe! Matters reached such an extent that he stated, “That the Chief Justice was reinstated is an example of my impartial rule.” Can things get more ludicrous?
  
• The Politicians – Benazir and Sharif were watching their turf closely while Mushy was being sieged by the judiciary. They took this opportunity to emphasize their vision of Pakistan and hit out at him and his ‘dictatorship’. Mushy sensed that the momentum was with them. Admitted that they were corrupt and vengeful; but for the people, they ‘looked’ like the lesser evil. The extent of his loathing of Sharif can be seen from the airport incident when Sharif attempted to arrive in Pakistan amidst a lot of fanfare.
  
• The Military – Strange is the relationship that a military ruler shares with the army. Every army is corrupt, and an army in power, more so. The Pakistan army has probably never had it so good - Their chief in power, millions of greenbacks to fund their perverted schemes, unlimited power in the border areas and their very own nuclear playground. Now, it is obvious that any kid who knows how to make his parents buy him what he wants will not stop at the little red car. One day, he’ll get his Ferrari. The Pakistan army is similar. They have tasted power for long and will not want to give it up at any cost – Not to the fundamentalists or to the politicians. They have expectations from Mushy and expect that he live up to it. Mushy knows from his history lessons that the Pakistan army does not mind cannibalizing, and that it could be his head if he made a false move.
  
• The ISI – Probably the most vilified intelligence agency in the world (except the CIA!), it is a cousin to both the army and the fundamentalists. These chaps have their own agenda and are committed to derail any kind of peace between Pakistan and India. Therefore, it is in their best interests that Pakistan continues in a state of anarchy. Mushy knows that these guys are perfectly capable of trussing him up like a turkey if he does not take a hard-line stance against India. The ISI went ahead and rigged elections to see Mushy sit pretty in the highest seat of power so that they can do what they want. They’ll damn well want their pound of flesh in time.