“Over the years, I had made it a point to write on my birthday no matter what. Anything about everything which criss-cross my mind during that very day while delicately garnished with impressions that have stayed with me from the incidents of the past. Pretty long line, you might think. Indeed, a long year I wish to believe.
Life at post quarter. It took me time to digest that, but all is fine now. Maybe I am still trying to digest. I don’t know. However, the year has been more than eventful to be honest. I had my share of ups and downs, like every other, which includes another failed attempt at the prestigious Civil Service Examination. But anyways, this post isn’t about that. It’s about a beautiful thing, called hope.
Hope. The bright light that seems to rise higher in intensity with every failure in my case, drove me towards an unexpected milestone, a moment which I would happily term as “Happyness”. Yes, it has a ‘Y’ in the middle and yes, I am referring to the movie with the same name. It happened a month ago, I got selected, finally. XLRI Jamshedpur offered a seat in its prestigious college for pursuing a MBA and I was taken aback, in a good way. I had this tune from this movie playing in my mind as I rushed home to inform my parents, my brother, my friends; all my pillars of support. There were tears of joy, there was an unknown smile that kept rushing inside, an experience that I will treasure for a lifetime. I don’t know how but sometimes the most unexpected things create the most happier memories for us. It did for me, it could surely happen for you too.
Thus, with the ink running dry over the successive failures at one end, a small door awakened into light with a long-promised dream coming to life. Yes, this year has been amazing, and I am more than happy to admit it.
Family, Friends and everyone involved, we surely did something good this year, we indeed did. Thank you. Thank you!
“Opium of masses; Religion is the opium of masses.” The sociology sir spoke in his humble voice as he expanded upon the theories of Karl Marx. We on the other side of the table listened with utmost attention, unable to digest how our long held notions were weathering away in the storm called Marxism. A thought played out synonymously on our minds that the man with the huge beard wasn’t wrong, in fact was completely right in certain aspects.
In the age of unbridled materialism where our ideas are influenced based on the material outcomes they help us achieve, where a person’s value is judged by the economic weight they carry, where we have more than enough for the rich to feed but hardly any for the poor to survive, yes some of his principles stand true even for today. But having said that, I don’t believe in the communist society that Marx made us dream about but I do believe we have a long way to go for achieving equality and inclusion for all, in a method or an ideology of our own, a socialism which is indigenous, a socialism which unites us in progress and even in our fall.
Karl Marx, you along with Engels ignited a new theory in our minds, and after 200 years of your birth, I sit along with my e-note, like many, remembering all your great moments and how it impacted me, how it made me understand the constancy of change or the eternal flux where no destiny is earmarked and no feat unachievable.
P.S. Communism and Socialism aren’t same & I haven’t used them synonymously.
“The courtesy calls stopped coming. The tragedy was forgotten and the world moved on. The eye balls drifted to other sections of the news and so happened with the media, or it was the other way around, or both happened simultaneously, we never understood. But one thing I knew for sure was that we were history all over again. The crisis stampeded in and out of our lives with every passing monsoon, the rain fed crops that we harboured rose and fell on to the very ground which we prayed, for fertility and for bumper harvest.
Prayers, prayers for impending prosperity, prayers to atleast make it out alive; I started having my reservations about it, about all of it and the futility it was all becoming into. My conversations with the village priest hadn’t helped either, we seemed to end up arguing without a tangible solution in place; how could we, faith still remained afloat, awry from my understanding. The pyres, meanwhile, had grown in number since the successive droughts; the flames that glowed in dark reminded us time and again about our own insecurities, our own probable fate but the beautiful faces of my children pulled me out from the viciousness of losing hope. How could I? Despite the white fly, the untenable heat, and the dying rivers, the hope of a future for my children, however wane it was becoming, just couldn’t let me give up. I just couldn’t.
However, the plough felt heavier the next day, the day after I saw my friend burnt to ashes, as the mind wandered far away into a never ending abyss while I passed by another pyre with crying children and a weeping widow, and all I could utter was Earth & Water…Earth & Water, before I reached my land and began, just like any other day, just like nothing had happened.”
A warm gritty evening on an unusually cold day, where the fishermen rolled their boats into an eventful sea while the couples on the sidewalk sweated more from the heat than their intimacy; the sky was marooned with an appearing moon and the disappearing sun, peppered in bits and pieces by the ocean breeze which buffered in and out like the internet before 3G. It was an awkward time for a vacation but you got to take it when it’s up on offer, especially when you are a cop and holidays are hard to come by.
It had been a rough couple of weeks since the massacre in Maria’h and not a day had passed since then that I hadn’t woken up in sweats with pictures of blood brooding over from every inch of the subconscious frame. The shrieking children, the screaming survivors and the crying families of the deceased, the multiple bombings had left none untouched. I stood in midst of this chaos, unable to do anything when everything I valued was being burned to ground; ashes and only ashes was what I could see. While from the far corner to my right, I kept hearing a familiar cry, of a woman who I was once in love with. I could see her face, it appeared visibly shaken as she carried a dying person on her lap, may be waiting to hear his final words, maybe waiting for him to peacefully depart as there was nothing left to say then. I ran towards her with all my might but with every step I took, the distance between us only grew but somehow I was able to make it. Yet the moment I touched her on her shoulder, I woke up all of a sudden in angst. I woke up, as I saw myself there on her lap, with tears running along my cheeks.
Three days had passed, since we had arrived in Goa but it was only today that we finally decided to visit the beach. The crowd somehow made me anxious, more or less paranoid, of another possible strike. A small cracker in the neighborhood sent shivers down my spine, the hustling and screaming tourists on the beach were obviously a big no-no for me. But I finally budged and submitted to my two beautiful kids and my loving wife of ten years, Shalini. They took me to a relatively less populated beach of the Goan county where I comforted myself on the recliner, watching my wife and kids playing from a distance. There was a sense of calmness that presided; it gripped me off guard and left me to savor the moment without the paranoia that I was succumbing into, for the very first time since the days of bombing. In their noise, I somehow found my silence all over again, and for a moment at least I wasn’t burdened by my past. It felt good, finally.