Confessions of a Single, Female Backpacker - II

Confessions of a Single, Female Backpacker - II

It was synchronicity, just like it always is with places that are charged with deep, esoteric energies. I ended up on a impromptu trip to place never heard and known of . The story of the trip can however wait. The backdrop of this spiritual retreat deserves a poem of it's own.


The Nadia district may be famous for it's poverty and declining hand-loom industry. But much like the rest of the state of Bengal, Nadia has done it's part in churning spiritual leaders for our Age. At a time when the Indian middle classes were struggling with an identity crisis wrought by the British education and Victorian sensibilities cultural behemoths like Tagore, Raja Ram Mohun Roy came to their aid. And when the mainstream Hindu identity was starving for  fresh perspective Bhaktivedanta Prabhupada, following on the trail blazed by Mahaprabhu Chaitanya of the this same region rose into prominence.


Our generation, for the most part is afraid of committing itself as religious for fear of sounding fundie and crazy, given the riots and crimes of irrationality we have seen in the name of religion. Then we are not really  clear if agnostic what describes us because quite frankly, being Indians who will never give up on Ganpati Bappa and Diwali we are certainly NOT agnostics. And that dreadfully, dreaded A word. Atheism inspires about as much respect in our peer set and family circle as a bout of the measles. I don't know about you, but given the above conundrum we mostly mark the tick on quasi-pseudo-spirituality. Of course, our grandparents may think we are Kaliyug hippies but they don't know the confusion we deal with. Old school religion is out of the question. But we won't stop celebrating our version of Star wars meets Chinese New Year - by which I mean that festival when the great Saviour Rama won back his Queen from that Demon King Ravana. We spend the annual budget of Somalia on the crackers, diyas and festoons of Diwali alone. But we shy from identifying ourselves as hardcore Hindus because BJP made Hindutva a crazy word. Such is our malaise. 


Commitment Phobia of the Spiritual kind.


Me, not of Hindu origins at all. But lustily desirous of all our multi-colored celebrations of human and divine adventures. A travel junkie with a serious fetish for .... well, pilgrimages to the oldest, holiest, culturally richest spots of our mad country. Believe me, until you have taken a boat trip down the ghats of Benares, taken  a dip in the chilly Ganges at Hrishikesh and been a mad member of a party of clowns climbing up mountains for a nano-second darshan of a deity - you don't live in the real India. A lot of experiences can be added that laundry list, of course. About 1000 more such examples. But the fact remains my friends that REAL India, unspoilt by the influences of our Victorian past and post - Mughal dark ages is still breathing in it's silent corner. Waiting to be explored. And be amazed and disgusted by, simultaneously. No fancy, luxury trip to Thailand and Europe will ever meet the pulsating experience that real India offers. And it does not involve being a Hindu, I am not. One simply partakes a cultural experience, be it religious or not.


My trip to Nadia had it's share of highs and lows in balance. The excruciating heat that gave me a splitting headache. But the pure, green farmland that formed the backdrop of the Iskcon Mayapur facility was ethereal. And living in a straw hut, replete with spookiest forest sounds at night that made me wish I wasn't a lone sleeper. The barge I took down the Ganga to get across to Nabadwip - of all things in our country the Ganga is a ceaseless wonder of the ages. Somehow, sailing across the Ganga will put you in your place where nothing else can. You are sailing on waters that your own ancestors have both sailed and dissolved in. The narrow bylanes where saints, seers and poets of yore sang and danced with the intoxication of Krishna Bhakti. 


To take a trip down the district of Nadia is to harmonise that spiritual vagueness within ourselves. And simultaneously absorb the soothing, mellow nectar of our cultural and religious beliefs devoid of doctrine, rigidity, casteism and creedism. Nothing but joy. If nothing else the ecstasy of the dreadfullly early 4 a.m. arati that draws devotees from across nearby villages to mirthfully dance in the temple can break the stifling big city drudgery we all long to escape.


A collection of Nabadwip/ Mayapur images. 

My Next Batch of Sweeties - II

I had on my hands girls rescued from the street, raised in a shelter home away from families and now at the threshold of adult life. My interaction with them raised an issue they possibly never thought about. A complete absence of any religious training or spiritual education whatsoever.


Us, we are lucky. We get to choose what to follow. If we feel the way of our faith supplemented by our upbringing suits us we can follow that. If not, we have a wide array of choices made possible by the educated milieu to which we belong. We can read books, join classes and study groups to explore spirituality and any spiritual figures who appeal to us. We can do all this because we can afford the money and the leisure. Our basic and advanced needs are met to leave space for spiritual exploration and networking.


What about a group of girls that has neither the upbringing nor the conveniences  above. Who have neither explored nor experienced the raw positivity that saints, seers and poets of yore have left as our inheritance, who have never discussed with anyone any virtue, any goodness, any source of higher power ? This was a truth that exposed my ignorance of how much of a privilege we have in these matters. As with food, positivity that comes from a spiritual source is the sustenance of the mind and soul. We need it, imperfect,irrational or unreal as it's source and form may be. This need leads us to astounding synchronicities and connections.


To my batch, I tentatively told them to explore any appreciation, respect or attraction they harbour towards any Deity, saint or role model. Need not be of your faith. Fearlessly abandon the monotony of regimented sheltered approach and explore the concepts of love and power in any shape or form that appeals to you. I didn't add that once they take that first step, beginner's luck will come into play and their minds and lives will follow a surprisingly planned course of action that will lead to the blossoming of their inner selves.
Isn't the above how most of us end up on our paths ? Exploring an initial attraction we find ourselves firmly following the plan of the deity or belief figure if not a path that has been paved by them. For what seems like the nth time my own conniving Krishna is taking me on a retreat one of his homes. The birth place of the modern day Bhakti Movement  or Renaissance in India. The Nadia District of Bengal. That I should be on way to place I  knew neither existence nor the significance of until I had the above interchange with the girls speaks volumes. As you give, you receive.


And the Single, Female, Backpacker's journey continues.

When Murder is my Right

When you are trying to analyse a social evil like infanticide the problems of reliable statistics and factual study are tough to beat. The UNICEF statistics for infanticide have come under criticism by our establishment ( predictably) for inflation and sensationalism. While that may be true there is another problem - the absence of reliable background history of this problem. How did we end up here, not just as a democracy, a culture but perhaps as human beings.


Various sources agree that the Greek and Roman Empires openly allowed and encouraged infanticide in a bid to make sure only the fittest made up their citizens. Not just female but even male infants who appeared sickly or below the par were abandoned in a jar on the roadside to die of starvation. And we all know how these two mighty " Civilizations " eventually .....  Germany,Sweden, Native American colonies, Aboriginal tribes, Brazilian indigineous tribes,  Russia ,China .....  it seems the human race has this ONE  facet of history in common with our country.


And in every culture  the infants exterminated were perceived to be of lesser value at that point in time and reference . Relative morality at it's best. And, most IMPORTANTLY - the practice was validated by the customs, culture and in case of Greek and Rome - the FIRST democracy and republic of the world.


 Infanticide is thus not a sign of degraded, backward thinking cultures. 


Infanticide is a sign of an advanced civilization approaching decay.


All the above examples of civilizations and cultures were at their peak when the practice of infanticide, neither condemned nor shamed, rose like the Kraken from the deep. None of these cultures did anything worthwhile to arrest it. Because quite frankly - only the fittest deserve to survive.It was less than average males and females in Rome and Greece, females in general across the indigenous populations in North and South America, China, Arabic Middle East .... the list is endless. 


Female infanticide is no more heinous than the abortion of an infant discovered to harbour genetic deformities through sonogram. Today we don't leave them on the road in a jar to die. We establish, obsessively through the technology at our disposal that the future human in making is perfect to the last nail. And if we decide he doesn't deserve a shot because he falls short of genetic perfection we have the medical community, lobbyists and the LAW on our side. 


As parents we measure the quality of life on the scale of our self-serving whims and fancies, decide what it takes to live in the fullest sense. Then we decide if, in what number and what kind of children fit into OUR vision of a life lived well in the context of our point in time, our system, culture and civilization. We decide not to have children when we feel they will not contribute to our self-gratification as much as take from it. We decide how many of them will tilt the balance in our favor and at what stage of our lives.


It just so happens that some of us feel that girls in whatever quantities and qualitites will not add as much as deduct. Will not have much of a life anyway in the environment they are being spared of, much like a Down's syndrome boy won't be able to make the most of his privileged life in a first world city. Her parents think their system, civilization is more demanding on them and her than she will be able to meet. Just as economics forces some parents to avoid or terminate children beyond a numeric figure, these parents find her a losing proposition. All that investment in time and MONEY over  a second class citizen on par with the blind, deaf and handicapped. Who will not return their investments by caring for them in their old age or turning in their pay packets.


The world over, all countries that practice selective abortion irrespective of gender are approaching decay and rot like Greece and Rome. Where humans who don't contribute as much as they consume of the system are to be exterminated. Never mind their hearts are beating in vitro or out of it. 


Because there is Less of it for all of us.So only the fittest deserve whatever there is to have.


The need is not to change the laws, to punish the errant.The need is to arrest the ROT of the system where there are too many grabbing for too less.Education, employment, food, lifestyle. All nose-diving across the first, second and third worlds.


Our world is approaching ROT.


Female infanticide is not a women's issue for feminists to rail about. It is symptom for us as Indians to arrest the decay around us by examining and healing our own attitudes on life and living. 


Aamir Khan has put the bell on the cat. Now it's your turn.

Humpty-Dumpty Sat on a Bhawl

Anyone who has moved out of the nest knows this familiar peeve. The food back home ... those hot, comforting meals our mother's spoil us on. Why oh why did we grow up ???  And then add to that when you move to a place on the far other end of your gastronomically ... and even otherwise diverse country what do you get ?


Kolkata is a city not for the average Mumbaikar, you know one who has a slick routine, fast paced approach to life and living. Kolkata is all endless cups of coffee on weekday afternoons discussing Tagore and Mamata didi. They even take afternoon naps. And BTW, not to scare you but the shops are closed in the afternoons because the summers here compete with Rajasthan. If you think it's all because of that ... C - word .. I digress. Bengalis will NEVER stop being the slow, leisure lovers who frustrate anyone who comes here to work from a metropolitan like Mumbai.


I will tell you why. Before I elaborate here's a sneak peek at my meal

No, you are not hallucinating. A pile of french fries, a lump of mashed potatoes, a potato subji called aaloo poshto with a gigantic mound of rice.


No Carbs Left Behind !!!


To think my mother worries I am malnourished ( well, I sort of am ) and starving. I am more at a risk of turning into Humpty-Dumpty meets Mary Jane !!! Aaloo here, Aaloo there, Aaloos everywhere !!!


Breakfast - Deep fried puris or as they called Loochis with Potato Subji
Lunch - The meal above
Dinner - The meal above.


The average Bengali meal encapsulates perfectly the pace of Kolkata. Lots of starchy meals induced Aaraam SE work ethic. And I am on my way to a round face a-la Mamta Di courtesy my loving, motherly landlady  who feeds me the equivalent of a life's quota of potatoes !!!

From Spain to India to Spain

This is one of those full circles that will draw a bemused smile. Being in Kolkata is in many ways, an enigmatic paradox. A city so slow, an average Mumbaikar could loose his mind. Yet a cultural palate so shaukeen he would be at first bemused, then jealous. Where Sufi sangeet  and Cultural festivals are an annual occurence in Mumbai, a luxury few can afford. In Kolkata the same is the daily cup of tea. Mandatory, routine and unimpeachable. Sip a cup of infusion at the College street Coffee house and soak in the ambience that is made up of students discussing Rabindra poetry, theatre artists passionately debating their next ventures and writers working on their next books. There is so much culture in the very air that a Mumbaikar might just hyperventilate.


But this particular Mumbaikar-Marwari hybrid it seems was always a Kolkatan at heart. Haunting the school libraries to pour over the musings of poets in horn rimmed glasses and earning the usual monikers that are bestowed on the unfortunate breed of dorkus nerdus. Always mesmerised by the mercurially spiritual prose of Tagore. His riveting insights into relationships and society are, unfortunately not explored outside West Bengal. Powerfully overflowing with the preciousness of this maverick visionary, his literature and poetry both equally facilitate a sojourn into his unnatural contemplation of the mundane. His deep, unimaginable insights are etched and inter weaved in the tapestry of my mind. Which is why, I was surprised to see the same in the unlikeliest of places. A coffee table edition of world's prolific poets displayed a poem by an unheard of Latin poet. Yet his words were like a familiar voice whispering the old song of colloquial naturalism. A certain Pablo Neruda.


I set out to explore the connection and it was no surprise that Tagore indeed was a major personal influence, an entire globe away, on the mind of this Chilean maverick who it seemed had fashioned his entire life on Tagore. One of his books does directly acknowledge Tagore as the spirit behind his prose. Tagore's mammoth influence on Spanish and Latin American poets can be read here.To think his own countrymen know so little of the genius that these strangers across the globe idolised! To think he was probably translated in Spanish before all our regional languages !!! 


And then, earlier today a revelation that filled me with a sly smile at the naughty fancies of our maker. While his entire college education was limited to a single day at Presidency college, the young Tagore had a Spanish master, one who touched his inner being so powerfully it exploded through words. A Jesuit Professor of theology, he unknowingly sowed the seeds of deep, spiritual contemplation in a rebel who disdained classical structures. Their interaction can be read here .It was an influence that perhaps gave us our first universalist - humanist who triggered a Renaissance in his cultural milieu, albeit one that was rooted in the spirit. And Pablo Neruda,under the spell of our cultural behemoth created himself in his image.


From Spain to India to Spain.

Calling Aamir Khan II

This is a story that has probably made it's way into your gossip pages. If it hasn't, be assured that it is true and happened to someone who knows someone I know..... that sort of thing but 100 % true nonetheless.
This gentlemen retired and shifted to his dream home on the outskirts of Jodhpur, my darling home-town. His swanky farm-house cum home was on the highway and that route has a lot of villagers and gypsies from remote areas tramping about. In our culture we usually share our baby cradles with extended family and friends when they need one for their children. It is considered lucky to have your baby sleep in an heirloom cradle that has had healthy children grow out of it. Now this particular gentlemen's heirloom family cradle had become mildly infested with termites. There is a reason why Jodhpur is called Sun-City,  need anything dried and deadened keep it out in the sun. Because he didn't want his cradle soaking with chemicals he left it in his front-yard hoping the sun would drive the termites away.


Well, the next morning he went out to bring the cradle back in if the termites were gone. Imagine his surprise when he found a barely swaddled new born baby girl in his cradle !!! Abandoned just like that . In his fence-less front yard, in an easily accessible and convenient cradle. The gentleman was obviously  flummoxed, what was he supposed to do with this baby who didn't look more than a few days old. His mother refused to  dispatch the child to the orphanage because she had ended up in the cradle in which all the children of their family had slept in. She was not a stranger anymore. The family decided to first try to find the parents through the police and eventually find her a new home and family if that didn't work out. Meanwhile the cradle was standing forgotten in their backyard.


Now imagine their shock and confusion when the next morning saw another little girl squealing in that cradle. The two girls were now being taken care of by the women in the family while this gentleman decided to let the cradle stay outside just of sheer,morbid curiosity. How many girls would end up with him ????


By the end of that week -   4  female infants
By the end of that year -    1   5  0    female infants.


So, had it not been for his publicly placed piece of furniture these girls would have reincarnated within a week of their undesirable lives !  Why not place such cradles, through a government initiative in every village and town that has disparate sex ratios and  where sex-selective abortion and female infanticide are known to be rampant ?


Who wants to bet that if Aamir Khan made a public appeal endorsing these cradles our annual statistics for could-have- been daughters will decline by 50 %.This is what I believe without a trace of any practical pessimism .I mean look at the man in the story above. A little baby ended up in his cot almost every alternate day !!!


What happened to him ?


Of course it is stupid to believe he has that many girls running around in his retirement pad. He ended up raising funds and started a shelter home for these girls which I fail to visit every time I am down there for some reason. He runs that shelter and is making sure girls get their basic education and vocational training. That's the least he thinks he can do. After all, they became the daughters of his family thanks to a horde of termites.


Satyamev Jayate indeed ......

Calling Aamir Khan

All the government initiatives can make way.  All the feminist campaigns and screeching propoganda fell to deaf ears. Yet Aamir's low pitch prime time drama resounded like thunder in the remotest recesses of our country.The King of  our Social Conscience has arrived.


Aaah my Aamir. Unasuming, impeccable actor, flawless producer and promoter - a Star of the Masses and Classes combined. We all waited for his tele debut, a trifle puzzled, not knowing what to expect. Of course, we al knew Aamir being Aamir wouldn't let us down. And then we got hit by Aamirgate. The darkest, most uncomfortable truths of our marginally civilized nation were laid bare for our viewing. And for the first time we resisted our well practised defenses and did NOT look away


That's the power Aamir has. He manipulated our respect and faith in him as an entertainer and counted on our inability to ignore him when performing on the screen. And put in motion a tidal wave that will rise in crescendo. Madhya pradesh has banned more than 50 medical clinics that were providing Preventive Abortions. In Rajasthan the ruling heads have ordered that all foeticide cases be trabsferrred to the fast track court to bring culprits to their commeupence. And a sarpanch who saw the episode from his black and white T.V. set in a Rajasthani village has taken the initiative to eradicate this social evil from his constituency declaring war on families and women who kill their unborn daughters.


We are looking at a new chapter in our collective consciousness. One where a star has the power to instigate long overdue social changes that we have shamelessly ignored and avoided. When was the last time we discussed the heinousness of the crimes against girls and women that drew tears from Aamir's eyes and ours on a talk show ???


I am making a laundry list of all my pet peeve social evils, from red tape to the public spitting menace. Enough material for my favourite actor to retire with. Let him take the collective initiative that was our social responsibility - one that we avoided like the uncomfortable sight of child beggars by rolling up the windows of our soul.


Disappointed?


You bet.