Soori Kaimaadi was a petty pickpocket and got nabbed a few times and beaten up and not once was the loot more than a few hundred rupees. At great personal risk he continued to be a petty thief and marvelled at the incredible wealth there was available for looting and admired the courage of the politicians who looted so much more.
One particularly hungry morning he got caught by a particularly violent crowd who started thrashing him, and it dawned on him that he could try something totally new. He shouted out, "Stop that is enough." And he looked up hiding his fear and said shamelessly, "This is not all that I have looted, I have looted and stashed away more than a hundred crore rupees."
The crowd gasped, they had a knew respect for him, he was now a thief in the big league, a scamster! They promptly stepped aside for him to move ahead. As always when the size of robbery becomes big we have an inbuilt reverence for numbers that goes above our normal everyday usage. We forget that both are nothing more than thieves, the only difference is the amount, we allow it to happen and then there is no stopping after that...
Friday 28 January, 2011
Friday 14 January, 2011
A Poet's labour
Oh man! Have you forgotten to see, they said
there is more to achieve, and so little of life ahead
why bother about the flower or the buzzing bee
moments of beauty, fetches neither butter nor bread
While they get him his food, he can give only his art
he cant survive without them, yet he pays them no heed
eating could keep away death,
yet they would give him their soul, for he shows, why to live
His are the words that wakes them from sleep
it’s his song on their lips that gives them the joy
when the farmers sow and reap,
the wheat is gone with a meal, like an used old toy
Now for that something that came out of his mind
not shaped out by workers in crowded factories
what is it worth if it makes them feel alive,
for that handful of people across centuries
there is more to achieve, and so little of life ahead
why bother about the flower or the buzzing bee
moments of beauty, fetches neither butter nor bread
While they get him his food, he can give only his art
he cant survive without them, yet he pays them no heed
eating could keep away death,
yet they would give him their soul, for he shows, why to live
His are the words that wakes them from sleep
it’s his song on their lips that gives them the joy
when the farmers sow and reap,
the wheat is gone with a meal, like an used old toy
Now for that something that came out of his mind
not shaped out by workers in crowded factories
what is it worth if it makes them feel alive,
for that handful of people across centuries
Ritual Wedding
She stood gazing at his strong trunk, the rain was beating down on them both. The wind that was blowing made her sway ever so slowly and she was brushing against him subtly with measured regularity.
She recollected the first time she had popped out from her secure home, and had seen him standing there out in the open exactly where he stood now, looking fresh and strong, although much leaner, standing tall, he had seemed unaffected by the sunlight while she was wilting in the heat on that day. How she had longed to reach out and touch him.
After all these years, she still remembered the first rituals of their marriage, the turmeric powder, the vermilion and the scent of the rose water that was sprayed on her was still fresh in her mind, the sound of the prayers and hymns recited by women in colourful sarees seemed to be hanging in the air to date.
On that day, she had no idea that she would have these rituals performed every year by couples who wanted to have a child. She enjoyed the faces kids made while plucking her leaves and chewing it. She never saw anyone plucking anything off him, although he was much bigger. When a saint who was sitting in his shade one day said that this Pipal tree was sacred, she felt so proud of him. Every few years a few couples brought their children to be blessed by them. She was happy just being his Neem tree, looking forward to their wedding once more.
She recollected the first time she had popped out from her secure home, and had seen him standing there out in the open exactly where he stood now, looking fresh and strong, although much leaner, standing tall, he had seemed unaffected by the sunlight while she was wilting in the heat on that day. How she had longed to reach out and touch him.
After all these years, she still remembered the first rituals of their marriage, the turmeric powder, the vermilion and the scent of the rose water that was sprayed on her was still fresh in her mind, the sound of the prayers and hymns recited by women in colourful sarees seemed to be hanging in the air to date.
On that day, she had no idea that she would have these rituals performed every year by couples who wanted to have a child. She enjoyed the faces kids made while plucking her leaves and chewing it. She never saw anyone plucking anything off him, although he was much bigger. When a saint who was sitting in his shade one day said that this Pipal tree was sacred, she felt so proud of him. Every few years a few couples brought their children to be blessed by them. She was happy just being his Neem tree, looking forward to their wedding once more.
The only choice
He sat looking at her eating her diet ice-cream, and thought to himself, good grief, he had clearly misunderstood when she said she worked for a government organization. Army intelligence is not exactly a government organization. How had he ended up here. Now, then when he thought about it, probably the fact that she was his friend’s sister and he met her at his house, he had stood watching her while she was listening to soft rock, working on some computer security, taking over her brother’s study and making it into a small office, working late into the night, wearing yellow coloured, tight pyjamas. On being introduced, she had looked up at him and smiled putting her hand out, saying that she was terribly pleased to meet him. That was what did it.
He had gone with his friend to their old watering hole, sat there eating peanuts that came in paper covers, and drinking from plastic glasses, they were celebrating his return from Srilanka after serving in the Indian peace force. Having seen the sweet sorrow of suffering, he wanted to be back to his extinct life as a news reporter. He wanted to go and cover the new India, the innovative ideas coming from unexpected quarters, developing new technology with advanced basics suiting rural conditions, ideas that were coming from every nook and corner of the country. He was sure he did not want to cover some political event, even if he would get to do some live recording of an upcoming honest politician making history during prime time. They sat discussing varied topics, and when the place shut they had gone over to his friends house and that’s when he met her, and all the memories came flooding back, in a moment of single thought that day, she had reminded him of his old love, so unlike him, it was the same difference that struck him, which he found missing today. Now she was sitting digging into her ice cream and reading some new classic, Now, then he felt she was acting natural and it was he who felt like a real imitation of his old self. When he told her he would be going off for a few weeks to the north east on a working vacation, without looking up she asked him if he could give an exact estimation of when he would be back, said she could then plan another assignment. He asked her if she would like to come too, and she said no. Once again, he had the feeling that a definite maybe from her would have been better than a clear no.
So many times he had wanted to know about her work, but she never allowed him to probe. Some times when he got within a close distance from knowing, he felt like he was dealing with a Microsoft tech support agent. He was finally tired of the uncertainty, he walked towards her feeling a calm storm within, and reaching her side he wanted to ask her why she treated him that way and instead asked her what was all that paper on her table, she looked up and told him that was the completed research work that she had been working on, and she had kept a detailed summary on his table so that he would know what she had worked on. All his thoughts seemed wrong, he had wanted to confront her and now having drawn a blank, he stood there wondering if it was a deliberate mistake, why had she been demanding patience all along only to so easily let him see what she worked on? He had no idea whether this was a common phenomenon with all women or was she unique, whether he was a perfect misfit and was this his only choice?
He had gone with his friend to their old watering hole, sat there eating peanuts that came in paper covers, and drinking from plastic glasses, they were celebrating his return from Srilanka after serving in the Indian peace force. Having seen the sweet sorrow of suffering, he wanted to be back to his extinct life as a news reporter. He wanted to go and cover the new India, the innovative ideas coming from unexpected quarters, developing new technology with advanced basics suiting rural conditions, ideas that were coming from every nook and corner of the country. He was sure he did not want to cover some political event, even if he would get to do some live recording of an upcoming honest politician making history during prime time. They sat discussing varied topics, and when the place shut they had gone over to his friends house and that’s when he met her, and all the memories came flooding back, in a moment of single thought that day, she had reminded him of his old love, so unlike him, it was the same difference that struck him, which he found missing today. Now she was sitting digging into her ice cream and reading some new classic, Now, then he felt she was acting natural and it was he who felt like a real imitation of his old self. When he told her he would be going off for a few weeks to the north east on a working vacation, without looking up she asked him if he could give an exact estimation of when he would be back, said she could then plan another assignment. He asked her if she would like to come too, and she said no. Once again, he had the feeling that a definite maybe from her would have been better than a clear no.
So many times he had wanted to know about her work, but she never allowed him to probe. Some times when he got within a close distance from knowing, he felt like he was dealing with a Microsoft tech support agent. He was finally tired of the uncertainty, he walked towards her feeling a calm storm within, and reaching her side he wanted to ask her why she treated him that way and instead asked her what was all that paper on her table, she looked up and told him that was the completed research work that she had been working on, and she had kept a detailed summary on his table so that he would know what she had worked on. All his thoughts seemed wrong, he had wanted to confront her and now having drawn a blank, he stood there wondering if it was a deliberate mistake, why had she been demanding patience all along only to so easily let him see what she worked on? He had no idea whether this was a common phenomenon with all women or was she unique, whether he was a perfect misfit and was this his only choice?
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