Author: Kridious

cast(e) in the closet

cast(e) in the closet

“for those who muted their own legacy”

in a high-rise hive of glass and chrome,
he files his roots beneath “unknown.”
his name, once wild as monsoon rain,
now clipped and styled for urban gain.

the syllables he shed like skin,
once sacred, now a source of sin.
that surname – a rusted bell of caste –
he muffled it to move up fast.

the gods he knew now wait outside,
their chants replaced with lo-fi tide.
no mustard oil, no turmeric flame,
just scented soap and borrowed fame.

his feet once kissed the rural dust,
now tread on tiles scrubbed clean of trust.
each echo in his sterilized room
hums like a hymn denied its bloom.

he dines with men who raise their glass
to claim, “oh caste? that’s centuries past.”
their laughter – clinking casteless wine –
can’t taste the poison in the brine.

he nods, and smiles with well-tamed grace,
while hiding the tremor behind his face.
their heritage is worn with ease,
his stitched in shadows, out of lease.

he irons his accent, tailors his tone,
sells himself clean, down to the bone.
but no matter how sharp the suit or shoe,
the mirror still mutters, “they don’t know you.”

at night, beneath a borrowed quilt,
he dreams of buffaloes and silt.
of temples carved by unlettered hands,
of fireflies bright in guttered lands.

but wakes to walls too white to hold
the soot and spice of stories old.
he swallows tears, like bitter ghee,
because even grief must be bourgeoisie.

the city has taught him how to hide –
with passwords, paychecks, practiced pride.
yet in his silence rings the toll
of culture censored from the soul.

one slip, one drop of native sound,
and masks he built come crashing down.
for caste is not just skin-deep stain,
it walks with marrow, breeds in brain.

he’s not ashamed of where he’s from –
just scared of being asked to run.
to flee the boardroom, burn the bridge,
return as label, live on fringe.

his heritage – a whispered ache,
a scroll he’s not allowed to break.
so he keeps it locked, behind his name,
and hopes his kids won’t do the same.

but guilt – a guest that overstays –
now sits with him on salary days.
because for every box he’s dared to tick,
there’s blood beneath the metric click.

and so, within this sterilized cell,
he breathes a truth he’ll never tell.
yes, the closet hides the name they hate –
but also, everything that made him great.

airplane mode

airplane mode

“an ode to a man who glitched before he healed”

i woke with a flicker in the corner of my sight,
the ceiling fan spun like a buffering byte.
my bedsheet shimmered in 480p,
and my own hands lagged behind me.

outside, the trees refreshed in loops,
birds chirped in tones from whatsapp groups.
the sky had a filter, warm and fake,
the clouds swiped left before they could break.

my coffee steamed like a netflix stream,
my mirror pixelated mid-daydream.
when i blinked, my face would freeze,
like a paused call in a foreign breeze.

i ran to a doctor, then three, then more,
they said it was stress – or metaphor.
“your mind’s a modem, overfed,”
but i knew it was my soul instead.

i lived on rectangles, scrolled to sleep,
sought dopamine in every beep.
i loved in texts, fought in threads,
and cried in memes while breaking breads.

my work was slack, my rest was screen,
my prayers – just playlists in between.
even silence had a buzzing tone,
and i felt most distant when never alone.

so i fled.

not a wellness retreat with leafy tea,
but a forest with no electricity.
no signal bars, no glowing keys,
just dirt and dew and dragonflies.

the first night, my fingers shook,
reaching for screens that never looked.
i whispered “okay google” to a stone,
and wept when it did not answer the tone.

but then, a curious thing began –
the stars showed up, unfiltered, grand.
the moon said nothing but stayed so still,
and i felt a fullness i couldn’t fill.

the rain fell like applause on trees,
the wind told jokes in rustling leaves.
and slowly, my breath began to sync,
with the universe’s ancient link.

i watched the sunrise load in full,
without a lag, without a pull.
and i didn’t share it. i just knew –
it was meant for me, not the algorithm’s view.

now, i walk where no cables hum,
where tweets are sung, not thumbed.
i listen more, i speak in tone,
i’ve updated into flesh and bone.

once, i feared disconnection’s gate,
now, solitude feels like a clean slate.
this isn’t exile – it’s a return.
a flick of a switch – the soul’s concern.

so no, i’m not off.
i’m not away.
i’m just on
airplane mode.

i’ll be here when you return

i’ll be here when you return

“from the pov of a rescued dog”

i wait by the shoe rack, wag on low speed,
they pat my head and leave  – like they always do.
the lock clicks twice, like a closing heartbeat,
then it’s just me, and the ticking, and the view.

the sunlight creeps in through the drawing-room lace,
it warms the floor where i sprawl and stare.
sometimes i bark at invisible things,
sometimes at echoes that aren’t really there.

by noon i’m pacing, checking the door,
wondering why it smells less like them.
the silence feels like it’s got sharp teeth,
and even my tail forgets how to wag then.

i nibble the toy that once had squeaks,
but now it just has memories and dust.
i curl up near their old worn shoes,
because even the smell of them feels like trust.

sometimes the neighbor kids giggle and shout,
dangling biscuits from their big white flat.
but i know that game  – they won’t drop it down.
it’s not food, it’s just fun they’re laughing at.

once, i couldn’t hold it  – i’m sorry for that.
they were late, and the tiles got wet.
i buried my nose in shame and fear,
thinking  – “will they still love me yet?”

and when they go to “goa” or “rome,”
i know the brown bag with my leash means not home.
the kennel has bowls and smiles and beds,
but none of them sound like their footsteps.

still, i try to be brave, make friends and sit,
but at night i howl with my old street grit.
the concrete cold feels like déjà vu  –
abandonment wears the same old shoe.

i’m jealous of kids with stay-at-home mums,
of lap dogs always getting picked up and swung.
i’m sorry i growl when they hug a stray,
i just don’t want to be replaced one day.

i was once a shivering pup in rain,
with bones for ribs and fleas for friends.
they gave me a name, a bed, a bowl,
and i promised them love that never ends.

so every time the sky turns gold,
and scooters hum and lift doors slide,
i rush to the entrance with all i’ve got  –
just hoping it’s them on the other side.

they think i don’t know the days of the week,
but i do  – weekends smell stronger of love.
those are the days when they stay home,
and i get belly rubs from the heavens above.

i don’t need words, i don’t need much  –
just a gentle call, a familiar touch.
they may leave a hundred times or more,
but i’ll be waiting by the same old door.

through thunder, boredom, hunger, or sun,
with stitched-up toys and dreams that run  –
no matter the silence, no matter the burn…
i’ll be here when you return.

echoes of my touch

echoes of my touch

“the silent voice of a mother”

another morning, cold and bare
your room still locked from night
i hovered near with steady steps
pretending things were right
your plate stayed full on the table
your bedsheets, folded still
look in your silence, my dear child –
echoes of my touch lie still

your laughter changed its colour
from sunlight into smoke
the spark behind your tired eyes
dimmed with every joke
you smiled so i wouldn’t worry
but your smile betrayed the chill
look in your silence, my dear child –
echoes of my touch lie still

your friends had slowly vanished
the calls, the doors, the noise
and even when you said “i’m fine”
it felt like someone else’s voice
i wished to reach and pull you back
but you were far beyond my will
look in your silence, my dear child –
echoes of my touch lie still

i found the note you didn’t write
torn halfway through the end
how can a mother fight the dark
you never let her comprehend?
the medicines stayed untouched again
by the windowsill…
look in your silence, my dear child –
echoes of my touch lie still

and now they say you’re healing slow
they say your mind just broke
they try to fix you piece by piece
but they don’t feel you choke
but i remember every heartbeat
i remember every thrill
and if you ever look behind –
you’ll find my shadow standing still

you may not speak, you may not smile
you may not know your name
but even if the world forgets
i’ll love you just the same
so if the dark should rise again
and bend you to its will
look in your silence, my dear child –
echoes of my touch lie still

one more day

one more day

“an ode to holding on”

the smiles around cannot dissolve her grey,
she laughs, yet something scorches deep inside.
she tells herself, “just hold on -one more day.”

she’s learned to hide her tears in disarray,
to walk through storms with nothing left to guide.
the smiles around cannot dissolve her grey.

they ask, “you’re fine, right?” -she nods, looks away,
while broken thoughts like oceans swell and slide.
she tells herself, “just hold on -one more day.”

each sleepless night, a cruel passion play,
where memories haunt and dreams collide.
the smiles around cannot dissolve her grey.

she sees no cure, no sun to light her way,
but clutches hope where fragments still abide.
she tells herself, “just hold on -one more day.”

and though the ache may never go away,
a flicker stirs somewhere she cannot hide.
the smiles around cannot dissolve her grey,
but she still whispers, “just hold on -one more day.”

soliloquy of ink

soliloquy of ink

“i have bled it all”

i dwell within this bottle, dark and still,
unknowing what my form shall yet become –
a verse of peace, or blade of sharpened will,
a lover’s vow, or warlord’s beating drum.

no thought is mine, nor voice to call my own,
yet i am fate’s accomplice, blind yet bold.
through trembling hands, i find a path unknown,
and mark the truths the silent dare not hold.

i birth both scripture and the tyrant’s law,
a saint’s lament, a sinner’s last regret.
i’ve drawn the maps of lands men never saw,
and signed the bonds they swore to soon forget.

though void of mind, i hold the world’s design
a soulless stream that dares to redefine.

The Religion Called Pragmatism- Chapter Six: The Gods Must be Lazy?

The Religion Called Pragmatism- Chapter Six: The Gods Must be Lazy?
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What was there before the Earth existed? What led to the creation of it? Why is it that all the idealistic universal, geographical, solar and celestial features got imbibed into this heavenly body, so much so that it created prime conditions for the creation and survival of all the beings that we know of and more? What is that spatial energy, that incomprehensible power, the improbable combination of scenarios that led to the existence of the one who can question it with utmost intelligence and doubt? Speaking on the historical and scientific side of it all, human beings came into being due to a chain of adaptation and evolution, all at the atomic level. The adaptation mechanism is completely dependent on observational learning and survival. The minute elements of cells and atoms seem to have the tendency to struggle to survive and become better with evolution. They were all fragmented and scattered across all the elemental extremities of fire, water, earth, air and even vacuum; all so that over millennia, they can learn to adapt to them. Eventually, they all came together to amalgamate in diverse permutations so that the perfect cellular combination can be achieved, a hybrid cell which has adapted to all. The cycle, presumably, has ended with the creation of the self-learning perfect organism called homo sapiens. It is, in fact, the gravest presumption for those who consider themselves radicals. The truth, perhaps, is that the Universe is too large for us to comprehend, even with the prevalent majestic technologies. The more we know, the less we have. The domain of to-be-understood is increasing faster than we can understand. For those who belonged to the ancient and medieval ages, and even the early men, the Universe and even the Earth was much larger. There was a lot that they couldn’t comprehend. Thus, they arrived at the ultimate branding mechanism, God. The celestial elements were too great for them to allocate to prevalent norms and beliefs. Notwithstanding, even today we don’t know nearly enough to refute the existence of a/the God(s). In legal terminology, being oblivious to some fact doesn’t give one the right to ignore or rebuke it. Till the day we get to know as to how exactly and when the Universe came to be, other than the theory of a random explosion from nowhere and nothingness, we ought to believe that there was some incomprehensible energy responsible for it. Nevertheless, that energy (God) doesn’t seem to be working on ideal lines all the time.

God, the so-presumed omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent being. In all faiths and belief systems, God is always at least these three things if not more. The doubting mechanism, containing the devil of fear, the one deterring the ability of humankind and compressing the acuteness of time, is very often subdued and defeated by the beings through blind speculation. It is easier to believe that God got angry due to the lack of some ritual offerings and caused that devastating earthquake than putting the scary effort needed to find the possible scientific and geological reasons behind the same. It gives both social and psychological peace and security since we know we have some kind of leverage to gratify this seemingly uncontrollable force of nature. When you recite hymns and chants and burn small pieces of wood to avert an earthquake, it empowers you. It makes you feel capable of doing something you naturally cannot considering your technical or scientific prowess at that point in time. That power comes from Hope. The hope and belief that there is someone looking out for you and would be appeased by simplistic rituals, which you can do, it is what is the essence of the intelligence of mankind which helps them divert their attention and effort away from the domains where they are powerless. This representation of God needs a clearer and more meticulous understanding.

Gods, presumably, hold the power to create and destroy anything at the snap of their fingers. Whenever we are in need of power, protection, support or miracles, we approach them in some or the other way. But, why are there problems in the first place? Shouldn’t the perfect being create the perfect Universe? For justifying this, we have the prevalent demons and negative energies which we believe to be the source of the harm being caused to humankind. Our prayers, thus, take on a bigger role of not just seeking support, but offering some to God in the fight against our definition of evil. What emancipates us from the horrid inhibitions of flesh and blood is this ability of ours to help the celestial being. We take into our hands what we think lies within our capability, and for the rest, we rest on God. But why? Who is this God who has become more than the symbolism of Hope and Faith for mankind? Who is this God whom we art to offer our helpless help? Whoever they might be, they are definitely a hell lot of lazy.

The Gods today are seemingly hungry for support more than the Humans are. Every second day we hear some sect rising in revolt and rebellion to protect their Culture, Faith and God. Culture is preserved by practising it, Faith is saved by believing in it, and Gods, the original ones, don’t exactly need any protection. The new ones, on the other hand, seem to be in a lot of mess due to their lethargy. They hardly answer prayers, they are always unsafe, they are offended by abuses, they get disturbed by evolution and adaption, they never revert back, and they are turning a completely deaf ear towards the snobbish acts of humankind creating primitive barriers for their selves. These are not Gods. Especially not the ones mankind had originally identified as the symbolism of hope, the conqueror of fear, the fuel of humankind’s exploration, the wisdom for the wise and unwise alike and the knowledge for what is unknown for those who wished to know it. It wasn’t a restrictive route, religion. It was always a directive one. Nevertheless, eventually, through the deprecating sands of time, we have limited our urge to know more with the horrific parentheses of what we already do know, thus eliminating the dire chance to know more. God, originally, symbolised the prowess and might of what we don’t know and cannot comprehend. History testifies that it is majorly governed by the power of the unknown. Thus, we bowed down to it. But now, we seem to have understood everything there is about the Universe. We have, therefore, eliminated the possibility of the unknown and hence are either following the radical compulsions of religion or are not following anything altogether. Well, seemingly, at some point of time in history, Gods decided they had jotted down the ultimate truths and solutions for humankind to recognize and implement. So, they took an endless sabbatical. And ever since, we have been trying to read between those lines and comprehend what they required of us. We have been debating, fighting wars, killing people, destroying civilisations, and so many more frightful deeds just because our God is too lazy to help us evolve. Or maybe, it is the other way around.

***
Veena and Amar had arrived in Mumbai for their journey of exploration and self-actualisation. Both for different reasons altogether. They had checked into a two-room suite in the prestigious Taj Hotel facing the heritage of old Contemporary India. Veena had inadvertently chosen the hotel because of the silent lurking virtual shadows of the events which had taken place there. She wanted to experience and recall the trauma of all those who had been mercilessly tormented in the name of religion. It was always in the name of religion, wasn’t it? From the Crusades to the Zionists, from the Jihad to the Beef-Lynchings, all major extremist revolutions, wars, battles and radicalisation movements were always in the name of religion. So was the partition of India, which resulted in the course of events which subsequently led to the condemnable 26/11 attacks. This apparent might of religion to predominate over logic, intelligence and most importantly humanity, had troubled Veena for a long time. Amar sat at the dining table reading “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F**k”, a book which he required to give a thorough read. Veena sat beside the huge windows, glancing across the land to the limitless seas. She saw a flight of pigeons beautifully gliding over the shimmering waters. To get a better sight, she slid open the windows. In the strange geometry of the formations, Veena was finding her momentary solace; but, then she paused for a second. She was hearing a light sound of Azaan from close by. She immediately grabbed the intercom beside her on the desk.

“Hello! Yes this is room number 803, I am hearing a sound of an Azaan from some nearby place (interrupted)”

“Yes Ma’am, I whole-heartedly apologise for it… I would request you to close your window glasses. If it is still inconvenient we can shift you to a different room.”

“No, No, No… it is no trouble at all… It is a prayer call, how can it trouble anyone? I just wished to enquire as to where is it coming from?” Veena asked.

“Oh! There is the famous Haji Ali Dargah nearby.”

“Oh Okay! Thank You So much”, Veena said and hung up.

“Amar… Amar…” Veena called out.

Amar came running from the washroom “Yes Didi”.

“Get ready… We are going to Haji Ali…”

***

Veena and Amar had arrived at the famed spot in Worli where everyone had to stand in the endless queue to enter the holy shrine. They were surrounded by many Islamic devotees in their traditional skull caps and burkhas. Amar seemed reluctant to enter the place because he was feeling a little out of place. He turned around and questioned- “Do we have to go inside? It seems like we are the odd ones out here.”

Veena, who was oblivious to their conspicuous oddities, didn’t address Amar’s childish query; but, a tall man, wearing a pathan kurta, standing behind them, seemed quite moved by Amar’s question. He politely approached them- “Do not worry… all are welcome here. This is not a place of Islamic worship… it is a place of learning and peace.”

He had grabbed Veena’s attention. She asked him- “What kind of learning? Everything there is to know about Islam as well as the saint is all available online… why do we still need to go here?”

“It is nothing to do with learning anything about the outside world. It is about self-learning… Knowing yourself better.”

“And how do you do that?” Veena questioned.

Rhythmic music started sounding from the Dargah diverting Veena’s attention.

“Oh! It is time. You would know everything once you enter” the man replied.

Veena and Amar slowly proceeded along the line to enter the premises of the Dargah. Symphonic sounds reverberated through the pillars and walls of the holy place. They soon arrived inside the Sanctum Sanctorum, where an old Maulvi was offering his blessings to all those who had entered there, regardless of their religion, age, gender, Etcetera. Veena and Amar were overwhelmed by the peaceful and rather serene aura of the place. She approached the senior priest, something which a very brave few ever do. The tunes of the music were slowly fading as the time for the qawwali was coming to an end. Veena proceeded to ask her question to the Maulvi- “Sir… I have to ask you something… Can I do so?”

The men waving the brooms halted and started gazing at Veena.

“Didi… is it necessary?” Amar prompted.

The man who had accompanied them also stood behind Veena, amazed at her bravado and curiosity.

“Mohatarma, please go ahead… We sit here all day long awaiting seekers… it is completely fine son. Ask me anything…” the senior priest said.

“I wanted to know… What is the purpose of religion? Or specifically, what is the purpose of Islam as a religion? Why was this Dargah built?”

“That seems like an extremely inquisitive query. Very Well then. I shall answer you myself. Religion you ask. Well… I am not very well-versed in all religions but I know for a fact that religion, in its original meaning, just represents a direction for the directionless. As in, if a person is lost, he or she has various paths to walk on. Back in the dark days, the only educational institutions imparting knowledge of self-righteousness, righteousness and also of spirituality were those of religion. The intellectuals had a belief system to have an idealistic and worry-free life and they imparted them in different faiths, geographies and timelines in different ways under different religions. For us, the ultimate happiness and salvation is under the path of Allah, which represents the ultimate form of humanity. When our paigambars travelled across the world, they only sought those who had strayed away from the path of humanity so that they could preach and teach them our path of Allah, which is a tried and tested method to live a civilised and happy life. Allah is our only and ultimate God and belief. For us, only he is right and rest everything is wrong. Some criticise this statement. Well, this statement wasn’t intended to signify exclusion. It meant that whatever is right is the path of Allah… and hence whatever is wrong isn’t. Corollary, if someone was walking the path of Allah, they were mandatorily walking the path of righteousness, and those who were walking the path of righteousness, be it under his guidance or not, were unintentionally walking the path of Allah. The message of peace was to provide direction to those who didn’t have it… those who were sinning. The path of Allah wasn’t intended to be compulsory or exclusive… it reflected our devotion to what is right. Even this Dargah, the one made in remembrance of the Pir Haji Ali, was the centre of preaching and teaching alone. The purpose of any religion, thus, is to show the way to the lost, and to give hope in the form of faith to those who are giving.”

“Then why Sir, in the name of your very own religion, do people sometimes terrorize? Like the attacks of 26/11.” Veena dropped her succeeding question which startled everyone around her. The Maulvi smiled humbly. He then continued his answer-

“The paradigms of religion are diluted over time rather than evolved as it was originally intended. The religious dispute, which led to the partition of India, even 61 years later, is indirectly creating havoc in either of the two nations. In the vicinity of the holy sanctorum of Haji Ali, self-proclaimed radicalised proprietors of extremist Islam were terrorizing people. Yes, it happened. Our capability lies in only helping those affected by it, physically and psychologically. We can but condemn them… more so for defiling the path of our Holy Almighty Allah. We cannot ever dodge the shame and defame it is getting us… All these acts of branding our sacred religion as Unholy. This Dargah, this institution, has been there in this place for a very long time. It has not just been a place of worship but has been a sanctuary for all those who seek protection. Due to certain natural phenomena, we cannot keep this place open the entire day round the year. But, whenever we do… this place is a haven for all. And I am sure, so are many other religious institutes of Hindus, Christians, Jews, Muslims and more. The only thing I am asking you to accept is that I, or consider the macro-level, Islam in general or any knowledgeable Islamic cleric can impart only the teachings which he or she has learned, which are those of Islam alone. A true Islamic wouldn’t stop you from seeking… but when you approach him, he shall show you the path which he has learned… which is that of Islam.”

“Okay… then why are there religious divides then?” Veena continued her query.

“There is no such thing Mohatarma. Okay then… It is time to clean the shrine. More questions tomorrow then.” The Maulvi got up and left along with his aides.

Veena still stood wondering about what all he had talked about and still sought many an answer. The man standing behind her then said to her- “Well… Madamji, I have the answer to the last question. Come with me…”

***
Veena and Amar had accompanied the person back to his residence. Walking through the narrow streets marked by the glaring dust and endless mud of infinite memories, Veena had arrived in the famous slum-dwelling of ‘Dharavi’. It seemed like an endless maze and the only hope of not being lost in the streets was the tall man leading their way. They still hadn’t reached his place and had passed through various types of localities. Some scarcely populated, clean and organised, some overcrowded and disorganized, some clean and managed, some unmanageable, overall, a visual enigma. Veena was trying to guess their religions based on their appearances. She was anything but successful. There were groups of kids wandering the streets, running to and fro without a tinge of care in life. Women were gossiping just like in the Urban Parties. Men and women were leaving small kaccha houses completely groomed and dressed up, making it seem rather impossible to Veena that anyone outside could guess the conditions they are coming from. It all seemed like an activated, indefinitely running and powered-up community, so much so that the lack of vanity and the strange odours seemed inconspicuous to the two visitors. It seemed like everybody knew everybody. They knew what others needed and what they did not need. They knew each other’s yesterdays like they had lived it themselves. Amar was rather more amazed than Veena since he had read a lot about such dwellings and the so-called ‘pitiful’ conditions of the dwellers. He had a knack for working in socio-political empowerment of the underprivileged, but seeing them all, it felt to him as if they were all much more empowered than anyone he has ever seen or heard of. The tall man wearing the Pathan Kurta was continuously socialising with every second person he saw left or right. Conversing about the routine, the mundane and sometimes an event or two. The streets started becoming narrower.

“This is my Gully madam,” the man said. A kid came running and pushed Veena sideways. The man caught the kid and lifted him “You again bunked yesterday… I will make sure you get a beating from your Didi. Come today evening Billu, okay?” He reached inside his pocket and brought out a small chocolate candy. “There is more where this comes from.” He let the kid go. Veena questioned him “Bunked? Are you a teacher?”

“Arre Madam… I barely could pass my 5th standard and that too in a small village near Nashik. My younger sister, she takes tuitions of such young brats. Of course not for free… not because we want their money or anything. Simply because anything that comes for free is not evaluated properly by the receiver. Thus, we charge Rupees Fifty per month.”

“Oh! That is… just… What do you do for a living then?” Veena asked while Amar stood still appalled.

“I’m a potter… Let me show you…” the man said as he led Veena and Amar to the small entrance in a corner of the street. There was a small courtyard with huge mounds of wet clay and multiple potter’s wheels. There were a huge number of finished pots or Matkas on one side of the courtyard, some drying up, some finished and some decorated with various drawings and paintings. Amar went and lifted one of the finished ones “How much does one sell for?”

The man replied “Here, we sell it for rupees twenty-five per pot… But in the flee markets they go for variable prices, starting sixty rupees and going up to even a thousand.”

A young lady came out from inside the house. The man greeted her “Shakuntala, we have guests here from Delhi.”

“She is my champion sister I told you about.” The man said to Veena and Amar.

Veena shook Shakuntala’s hand “Very pleased to meet you. What inspired you to teach those kids?”

There was a brief pause of silence, post which the man said “Can you please make us some fresh tea Shakku…”

Shakuntala smiled and went inside.

“Follow me,” the man said. Veena and Amar were led by him to the small house across the narrow street. After passing through a small dark corridor, they both arrived in an apparent storeroom. They gazed around to see numerous clay idols of Hindu Deities.

“Kaka… I brought your medicines…” the man said as he took out a small packet full of allopathic tablets.

An old man with a protruding hunchback came from the adjoining room.

“Beta… is it evening already?”

“I’ve brought guests Kaka… this is Dr. Jacobs and this is her brother Amar… this is Daanish Kaka… he is a world-famous sculptor of this small locality.” He said.

“Doctor? Oh, you brought the doctor home… I told you my arthritis is better…” Daanish said.

“No No… I am not a medical doctor. I am a professor.” Veena said.

“Very nice. A noble teacher. What brings you to me sordid den?” Daanish asked.

Veena went and grabbed one of the finished ‘Ganesha’ idols.

“You make these? They are very well-designed and beautiful.” She said.

“Thank You, madam… yes, these old hands have now lost the touch they had long ago, but still I manage somehow.”

“But aren’t you Muslim?” Amar asked.

“Don’t say that… he didn’t mean it like that,” Veena interjected.

“No No, Madam. It’s fine. People who tour this place or come from outside often have this question. Why is a Muslim making Hindu idols, especially Ganpati idols… They often ask, why and what are they to me? Well, I am Islamic… a devout one. There have been very few days in my life when I haven’t observed Namaaz at least once. I am not allowed to pray to idols. I don’t. But, we can idolize someone or some entity, can’t we? For me, this is first my bread and butter. To make them as beautiful as possible, to make Ganpati look the king he is, to make them flawlessly, it is my job. Ganpati has been very close to my heart and I am also sure the hearts of all people in the place called Dharavi, regardless of our faiths. There is nothing about faith here. He is an idol of unity, of celebration. His grace and charm have helped me feed my family and myself since I can ever remember.”

There was a shrill of joy running down Veena’s spine. She asked him “So do all members of your family do sculpting?”

The tall man intervened “The tea must be ready back home and Kaka also must rest for a while. Let’s have some Chai and Bhajiya our Mumbai style.”

They all came back to the first house. Shakuntala came out with a tray holding three cups of tea and some Indian snacks.

“Why did you stop me from asking him about his family?”

“He doesn’t have one… they were all killed in the infamous riots…” he replied.

“WHATTT?” Veena uttered in a shocked tone.

“Yes.” The man said as Shakuntala served them their snacks and tea. She then went inside.

“But… I thought this place had no division…” Amar said.

“No… it didn’t… hasn’t ever… will never…” the man said.

“Then why was this place affected by riots?” Veena questioned.

“Madamji, the storm which hit here was graver and larger than the ones you have read about regarding the rest of Mumbai… To attack them in their protected and secured environments of their humungous societies, well, it seemed quite tedious for them. Here, we live openly and freely. We never had any protection be it monetarily, socially or politically. They barged in… Hindus, Muslims, we don’t know. It was like a desperate businessman trying to get the numbers before the year’s end. They were trying to match their targets… ‘How many Hindus did you kill? ‘How many Muslims?’… where easier than this place to find an abundance of easy targets? We were not even close to being ready for it… Don’t know whether some Mafia sent them, some politician or some Media head… whoever did was very much successful in producing the numbers. They killed thousands… including that poor man’s wife, two daughters, one son, one daughter-in-law and two granddaughters. Daanish Kaka was saved by a few members of our ‘Ganpati Visarjan’ band. See that man’s weird take from it. Rather than finding hate in the act of the people who killed his family, he found love in the act of those who saved him. He thus reveres Bappa more than anything in his life. I was, fortunately, a born vagabond, an orphan without a family… I had no one to lose and I ran and hid and saved myself. I was hardly a teenager. I happened to come to this house where I was hidden away by Shakuntala’s father, a well-known potter and Hindu cleric. She was a small child back then. She lost her mother, who was raped and then burnt alive… Yes… as horrid as it sounds, that’s the reality. She ran inside because she knew I was going to tell you all this… She is still young… but I have grown to learn there is nothing to be afraid of the past… to let it anchor you. Rajat Sahab raised me as her brother and made me take an oath to be there for her forever. But he soon started ailing with cancer owing to the endless Chillams he used to smoke. I had to take over his work and I gave in all my energy and will to be able to do everything for them. I worked hard so that Shakuntala could study in an English Medium school, unlike us. I wanted her to have a royal life like the outside world, like yours. But when the time came, she refused to take up any jobs. For her, there is nothing to escape from in this place. I never could be away from here. Here, most of us are uneducated in the sense of the word which you know. But, we are skilled in some or the other way and manage our lives accordingly. For Shakuntala, Education didn’t mean she had the right to be away from this reality. People here are good Veenaji. They might not be rich, good-looking, privileged, Etcetera… but we live United… we worry when even our distant neighbour breaks a nail, we collect money to help the needy amongst us, and we never turn a blind eye towards any evil that befalls anyone amongst us, and doing all of this, the last thing we ever ask is someone’s religion.”

Veena and Amar were moved by the man’s words.

“Oh! Why the silence madam? There is no need to worry. We are all fine now. Now the situation is such that if we get a hint of someone from outside trying to cause some polarization or stir in our lives, we immediately unite and apprehend them, be it a politician or a leader. And even in this case, the last thing we ask them is their religion…” he said.

Veena and Amar simultaneously sipped up their teas.

“It is very nice… Shakuntala won’t have tea?” Veena asked.

“She doesn’t drink tea… But she loves making it and especially the compliments she gets when others drink it. She is an excellent cook… better than me of course.”

“One last question… what’s your name?” Veena asked.

“Abbas Khan Bhilare… pleased to meet you…”

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The Religion Called Pragmatism- Chapter Five: The City of Dreams

The Religion Called Pragmatism- Chapter Five: The City of Dreams
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Ignorance… a quality condescended upon by many… but a dire necessity for the survival of many more. We ignore what doesn’t matter to us… and sometimes we ignore what matters most to protect ourselves. We generally tend to ignore the joy of those above us, and the pain of those below us… all so that whatever we possess neither seems less nor more. It is essential for the flourishment of atomic elements. One iota works isolated from the actions and inactions of others. The misleading apparition of the collectiveness of mankind is rebuked by his ignorance, often edging on selfishness; but aren’t intelligence, and the ability to uniquely perceive, formulate, create and recall the perfect alibis for this selfishness of ours. Each and Every is naturally selfish because of their intelligence alone. Our ability to comprehend differently at atleast the molecular level of perception testifies that we art ought to be ignorant of something or the other.

There are many of us who defy this natural ignorance, due to a more prominent trait of dominance. Then come obstruction, hindrance and imposition, the three elements of modern civilisation. When someone’s action or inaction directly or indirectly affects us physically, economically or socially, we have the right to discard that ignorance. Nevertheless, when someone’s actions or inactions have no affect on our lives, but tend to challenge our innate dominance, then, failing to present alibis for obstructing, hindering or imposing, some of us sculpt certain immaterial belief system out of thin air which in turn is being affected by it all; again, giving a reason to obstruct, hinder and impose. This was, is and will be how the civilisation survives through time. Not evolve though… For evolution, we need ignorance.

Veena and Amar had been the exemplar sibling duo, having little to no secrets from each other. That is what Veena believed. Amar carried a few secrets. No! Not just his habit of smoking. Although, they were very much related to it. Back in his school days, Amar was a bright and meritorious all-rounder. All thanks to the parenting by Sangram, who had learned it through the ancient art of trial and error, having gone wrong only once; but the virtual flaw existed in his conception and origin. Even though he was raised in a harmonious environment, the world out there wasn’t that pleasant for him. He carried the evil of belonging to the selectivetly and snobbishly despised ‘Scheduled Caste’. Yes, his name had created much more trouble for him throughout his life than Veena’s did for her. In the country of diversities, factions and collective identifications keep popping up every now and then at every street and corner. Belongingness to different faiths is, ofcourse primary; but even when religions are not dissimilar, people generally try to scrape up information to comprehend the sect and the class of the said person. The society is majorly divided by class, both economically and socially. It seems as if it gives some sadistic pleasure to the spiritual critiques in finding a reason to call someone different from them; and that difference is called out not just to divide, but to look down upon. Amar had been subjected to lot of casteism in his yet young lifespan. Sometimes a little too much to fit in that short while. He was too obliged towards the Bhagwati family to ever let them know of it; but the truth doesn’t take long to announce itself.

***

A small constable walked inside the Guest resting chamber to inform Veena of the early arrival of her brother by the passenger train. She immediately got up and started asking about his whereabouts. The constale told her that he was waiting outside near the first platform, seemingly ashamed to face Veena. She rushed outside in worry. Reaching there, she found Amar sitting on the bench with his head down on his laps.

“Amar…” Veena said lightly, placing her hand on his shoulder.

He rose his head, showing his dull red eyes sulking in guilt.

“I am sorry Didi… I have no excuse for what I did…” Amar said.

Veena had known Amar since his infancy. She knew that it wasn’t as simple as an ignorant mistake. She gently sat beside him and asked “What happened Amar? Tell me…”

Amar was trying hard to hold back his tears. He wiped the few droplets that had made through and gazed back at her, taking a moment to grasp the strength to tell her everything.

“I didn’t have to… I didn’t need to. Not today. But picked up the habit… It was back in school (sighs to gain vocal strength) I am ever indebted to Sir for getting me all the opportunities one could ask for in this world. I was educated in the best school… the biggest school of the city.  It sounds like a privilege and indeed it was for me. But… I carried an evil with me. The evil of my birth-caste. An evil I carried amongst the privileged. And that evil takes the shape of a self-destructing demon. It was not very bad in the beginning. You know, we were small… they were small and so was what they could have done to me. But soon, as we grew up… it kept evolving. Stealing my tiffin soon turned into spitting into it… Excluding me in the classroom changed to locked me inside the toilet… puring water over me to ‘clean’ the dirt my skin carries naturally changed into dragging me down and throwing mt into the swimming pool. Till when could I have fought back. Being with you all never taught me any societal differences and thus I never had the urge to find any community to belong to. But when I couldn’t see anyone who could see the world as I did, from where I did… from the lowest point in earth turning my head up to look at everybody else… then I became desperate to find someone who has felt the same. There was no one in my school. None who belonged to my caste since apparently, they don’t belong to such high-class schools. I used to walk home mostly, because the money which you and Sir gave for travel was mostly snatched. There was no teacher, no counsellor… no one who helped me. I turned to the Human Resources Department, and they assured me they would handle the situation internally. They even insited that I never told you people so that it might not grab media attention. So… one day I was walking home… I was going past this cigarette shop and I overheard two old fellows talking while smoking… about the money problems in their lives and how smoking helps them calm their stress down and helps them concentrate on business and family. I was immediately entangled. I waited on the side for them to finish smoking and the moment they threw down the bud, I discretely went and grabbed it. It had almost gone out and I could take just the one puff. I coughed and coughed like anything… Got a few stares even… a boy in school-uniform with a backpack on his back smoking some. After that, each day, I waited near that or some other cigarette corner for that left out bud… Never had the money to buy one and always hoping that today’s drags might reduce today’s stress. It never did. I presumed I need a full stick I think. So, I bunked the school one fine week to preserve some cash and went there to buy myself some cigarettes. The seller looked at me in judgemetn but still sold his stuff. I stood in the corner to smoke one… Nothing happened… I felt a little hazy and my throat started paining a bit. It felt like my insides are burning but nothing happened. I was still thinking about it all. I smoked another one… nothing. And another one… And you know what (cries) Nothing Happened at all… It never could help… I just became habituated to it. It still doesn’t help but what can I do? Even yesterday… I was trying to resist but couldn’t sleep without it. I went out and stood on the door and kept it in my mouth… but started feeling very guilty doing it because I was with you. I took it out and turned and there was this heavily built man standing beside me. Before even I could plead he started blaming me for smoking. He asked me my name and I told him. He asked me my full name then. I did that. He then asked me my caste… Seeing me reluctant to tell it… he started shouting on me saying “You low caste people… Firstly you infringe upon our reservations in jobs and education… and now you want to usurp our safety as well… How dare you come to the A.C.-3 compartment?” He then took me down at Vadodara and handed me over to the police there. What reservation did I infringe upon? I couldn’t clear the CLAT in the general category… even though I was getting a reserved seat. I didn’t take it. Not that I didn’t want it… but I wish to be normal in all ways. I want to pursue normally and be recognized normally.  I did clear AILET… and when I told a few people about it they presumed I had cleared it in my caste category… Why cannot I be normal? I don’t wish to be different. Everywhere… I am considered different. We eat the same, bathe the same, wear the same, know the same, tell the same, live the same… we worship the same… then why do they think us different?”

Veena stood speechless with red, teary eyes. She couldn’t contemplate as to how to react to Amar’s plight. She herself had a hard time dealing with her identity, but none in the domain of Amar. Amar never had the choice or the benefit of doubt of any side. He had to mandatorily go through the pain of having to bear of his societal status; and there wasn’t anything he could have done about it. Veena immediately sat beside Amar and wiped his tears off. She took hold of Amar’s hands and looked him straight in his eyes and said “You are quite strong Amar to have always kept that yourself without giving us a hint of it. You should always remember that you have us to add to that strength of yours and you needn’t rely on any material or substance for the same. No one and nothing, especially non-living, can hear you out, talk to you and tell you that you are an excellent human being and have earned rightfully whatever you own. Papa just presented opportunities to you. There are so many who overlook and ignore the opportunities presented to them. But you, you never took them for granted. And it is not just because of your roots. It is because that’s the way you are. And Papa knows it, and so do I. And (smiles) when I say I, I don’t mean your sister. I mean a teacher… a professor. You know what they say right, never doubt your professor.”

Amar cheered in that moment of psychological connection and smiled back at Veena.

“I am glad that you took so much of oppression head on without changing the way you are. I, myself would have given up long back and so would have anyone you know. Now, if you are going to make your old sister handle the quintols of luggage again, then maybe you would have a lecture from me again. Trust me, I am not known for boring lectures, but that one would definitely be the most boring of all.” Veena said in a composed tone.

Amar got up with a positive expression and went to grab the luggage.

“By the way Didi, who said “Never doubt your professor?” Amar asked inquisitively.

“Oh! That… I keep repeating it again and again in my sessions. Although, I am really sceptical of the statement myself (giggles) since there are certain professors out there that require incessant doubt due to their knowledge and the way they became professors in the first place.” Veena said in a whimsical tone.

“Hahahahaha… So, where are we heading? Same old Kochi?” Amar enquired.

“I realised, Kochi is still far away…” Veena said.

“So where then?” Amar asked. Veena turned and looked at Amar, and heaving a heavy sigh, said “We are going to… Mumbai…”

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The Religion Called Pragmatism- Chapter Four: The Train

The Religion Called Pragmatism- Chapter Four: The Train
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Intellect… something humankind has defined as its individual, singular and exclusive property. Yet, has time and again failed to showcase it. Definition perhaps is not sufficient for display. This property has been subjected to so much egotistical acute streamlining that it led to the coalesced definition of ‘Intellectual Property’, which presumably represents belongingness to a particular individual or human organisation. Intellect, primarily and supposedly only exists in humans. But what makes this intellect of ours? What defines an intellectual? There are several factors… Starting with Logic. Logic is basically channelled by isolated or collective perception. What we perceive should apply in the respective situations. That defines logic… the practical way to approach a given scenario. Only logic can help derive an inference and a possible method to fix a problem. When there is nothing logical evident, then the predominantly logical try to weigh in the probabilities to come about some kind of significant answer. Nevertheless, when the logical simulations are equivalent in weight, are evanescent to an extent comprehensible for the observer or are apparently incomplete, then we come to the scenario we refer to as confusion. Oh Yes! Confusion… the second most imperative factor defining intellect. An intellectual is more often than not also a seeker. They pursue the path to the solution incessantly; and in that pursuit, they are struck with confusion very frequently. That’s because they do not want to make an unaware choice; and thus, they seek to unbalance the logical weights. Furthermore, in scenarios where logic is scarce, there are also those who procreate their own logic out of thin air. They represent another category of intellectuals… the most handy and rugged of all of them… that is the self-proclaimed one.

Veena and Amar had officially left on their conjoint vacation of exploration. Why? Because the former was going through her greatest phase of confusion and self-analysis; and more importantly self-doubt. Veena was perhaps the most sceptical of beings to have ever taken the job of a professor, a job which is innately full of sceptics. Her cynicism had led her to pursue ancient and medieval history as her majors, the subjects in which she found thematic resonance concerning the exploits and lessons of mankind. To know more was all she had ever wished for and had thus embarked on this journey. And also, she needed a break; and who could have been a better travel companion than the ever-cheerful ward of hers, Amar. Ofcourse, he had put his semester at stake but that was the least he could’ve done for the person he idolized the most in his life, Dr. V.R. Jacobs. Sangram had also refrained from contradicting the sudden decision by Veena since he could very well understand the gravity of her ambiguity. Even though the length and duration of the journey was too much for the old Veteran to ward off his inner worries, he had given his blessings to the two for their route of exploration. Where were they heading to? They were heading for the peaceful, loving and educated state of Kerela; for its capital, Kochi (Ernakulam) to be precise. Sangram had insisted on them having some orderly to accompany them on their forty-two-hour long journey in the prestigious Trivendrum Rajdhani; but Veena assured him that journey in a first-class private cabin needn’t require a Sevak for security and/or service.

The decision to set-foot on that exploration was a bold one on the part of Veena, since she had never ever hinted at the need to know more about her natural heritage. All religions she knew but couldn’t understand, all the saints she ever heard of but could never relate to, all the Gods that she was told about but could never know, all of them along with herself and Amar were oblivious to what had just begun… A journey unlike any other which mankind had witnessed for a long time…

The train had already passed Vadodara but the Ticket Examiner had not yet appeared, maybe not to bother the First-Class passengers early on in their travel. Veena had bunked on the lower berth after going through a dozen electronic submissions by her students on her laptop. She had also seen Amar climb on top of the Upper Berth, and being positive about him being secure, she could gently nod off. It was around 3:30A.M. at night when she heard a knock on her cabin. About time she woke up to show their tickets, confirm their identities, and also quench the thirst that she had been having for an hour. She asked the TTE to come in. The latter respectfully smiled and asked her name.

“I am Dr. Veena Jacobs and sleeping above is my brother Amar,” she replied as she grabbed her bag to take out their identity cards.

“No need for the IDs ma’am, we don’t want to bother you so much, just go back to sleep again” the TTE said in a gratifying tone. Perhaps a demeanour they hold only for the First-Class passengers. Well, who wants to come in the bad books of someone who has a couple of thousand bucks more to book a ticket, right? This was something exclusive about the respectful Indian Official mindset. Before the TTE left the Cabin, he turned towards Veena again and said in a polite tone “Which washroom has Sir, your brother, gone to Ma’am, left or right?”

Veena got confused at that query and stood up to check the Upper Berth. The sheet, blanket and pillow were all haphazardly curled up, just like Amar was habitual to doing; but there was no sign of him. She anxiously said “Oh! I don’t know, I didn’t see him leave”.

The TTEE offered to look for him. Veena, worriedly discarding her worry for her bags went along with him to either ends of the Bogey. They waited outside the only occupied WC to find that there was someone else inside and not Amar. The TTE respectfully asked the man for his name, while Veena was lost in wonder. The man replied, but the name wasn’t there on the TTE’s list. He politely asked for the ticket, and the man nervously started searching his pockets.

“I just had it… maybe I dropped it in the washroom.”

The man looked doubtful, so the TTE asked him the details of his journey as well as his seat number. The man had no reply and looked taken aback. The TTE then shed his generous First-Class façade to confront the man and angrily told him to get off the Train at Vasai. Meanwhile, Veena was trying to grab the TTE’s attention towards her situation. The official asked her to patiently rest in her cabin as he searched for her brother since he had a bigger situation at hand. The argument with the man started increasing in verbal and audible magnitude, waking up all the travellers in that Bogey. Veena took the opportunity to go across the carriage to inquire about Amar; but to no resolve. He was nowhere to be found. Her restlessness overwhelmed her and she was about to grab the chain when the TTE stopped her. He told her that the train is stopping at Vasai soon and they can get the Railway Police to help her out, an offer generally reserved for the First-Class passengers. Veena stood at the door awaiting the station’s arrival. It was about 3:55 A.M. when they reached Vasai. The TTE went down to inform the supervisors about a missing first-class passenger while also taking the illegal traveller to hand over to the Railway Police. Veena stood at the door but the TTE didn’t return. She got startled when the Train sounded its Horn and ran back to her cabin to grab her and Amar’s belongings and rushed down the moving train. She had no time to gather her breath as she wandered here and there to look for the Station-Master’s office. She dropped the luggage and busted inside the room with the constables outside having barely begun to convince her otherwise.

“Madam… My brother, Amar, he is missing… We were travelling in this train and when…” she was interrupted by the lady.

“Who allowed you to come here? How can you lambast inside my office like that?” the Deputy said.

Veena saw the ticketless man from earlier sitting on the chair in the corner, with the TTE standing beside him with a small pie of cash in his hand, appearing to be counting it.

“You… you said you would get help…” Veena said as she approached the TTE.

“Arre Ma’am I was getting to that only… (to the Deputy) Madam (with a strange expression) she is the one I was telling you about. The first-class passenger whose travel companion is missing. Dr. Jacobs (to Veena) right?” he said in an alerted tone.

The words First-Class resonated inside the deputy’s head just like it does in the impressionable mind of an Indian Cleric.

“Oh! Yes Yes. Madam you sit down. I will get in touch with the police staff in the train to search for him. Let me make some calls. And (to the TTE) go submit this man’s penalty at the office. Go, what are you looking at? (To her orderly) Get some tea for madam.” The Deputy said.

“He doesn’t have his ID as well… I kept it in my bag since he is too reckless. He is a kid… Where can he be?” Veena said.

“Don’t worry madam let me call the controller and see what we can do. We would find him…” the lady said as she dialled a number on her mobile phone and started talking. The other lady was unaware that Veena was a multi-linguist and was well-versed in Marathi as well. She put down her phone and asked Amar’s ID to circulate a picture. Veena did that. After that, there was an awkward silence marked by the humming of the dysfunctional table fan kept beside the Deputy. To break the pause, she tried to make small talk “My mother has a sleeping disorder… She either sleeps too much or doesn’t sleep at all. The local physician says it is due to menopause. What do you suggest?”

“Apologies ma’am I am not the best person to answer your question?” Veena said.

“Oh! Why (smirks) Donation or Dentist? Or both? Don’t mind I am just joking” the deputy said.

“Neither… Double Doctorate in Medieval and Ancient History” Veena replied.

“Arre Arre you are PHD. Very nice and rare too. My son says he wants to do PHD in psychology. I told him to go for history. Who wants to study the science of madness? Right?” the deputy said.

“Madam, no offence… but can we concentrate on finding my brother?” Veena said.

“Yes we are on to that… (her phone rings) Must be about him only… See” she said as she picked the call.

She started having a serious conversation on her phone and got up from her chair. Veena was constantly lending her ears to the deputy. All she heard her say was “Vadodara?… A.C. Compartment te Cigarette Odhata Aahe?”

Veena looked pale as she heard the conversation. She was now more worried about Amar than ever. The deputy kept her phone down.

“Amar is at Vadodara station detained by the RPF. He was caught smoking near the AC-3 tier Lavatory. He has been charged with creating public nuisance and was not carrying any ID or ticket with himself.” The Deputy said.

“But this isn’t possible. He is a good kid. I assure you of it.” Veena said.

“What can your assurance do to help me Madam? Tell me, how are you two related again? You said he is your brother. His name here is Amar Kumar and yours is Jacobs… I don’t think you two can even be distant cousins… Why were you both travelling in the same cabin again?” the Deputy said with a suspicious expression.

“What are you implying ma’am. He is a young college going kid who lives with our family. I have seen him grow. He is my brother. Be it not by blood…” Veena said in a commanding tone.

“Please don’t raise your voice in front of me… It won’t help your case here. Smoking in a train is a heinous crime… Specially near the AC Compartment. I have seniors to answer to. And this case is out of my jurisdiction.” The Deputy said.

“So, you mean to say there is nothing you can do to help me?” Veena questioned as she got up from her chair.

“I cannot. Only the staff at Vadodara can. Now it is very late in the night. I think you should go and figure it out. Here take your ID cards” the deputy said pushing the cards kept on the table towards Veena.

“By the way miss… What kind of a name is it? Veena Ratankumari Jacobs? What religion do you belong to?” the deputy asked.

“I don’t know… That’s what we were trying to find out…” Veena said.

The deputy looked confused. Right before Veena was about to gather her stuff to step out of the room, the deputy received another phone call “Kaye?… Ho… Dr. Veena Jacobs… (To Veena) Ek Minta Thamba… (On the phone) Kaye? Sangram Bhagwati?… (To Veena) Your self-proclaimed brother has just claimed that he lives in Delhi with you and your father, Sangram Bhagwati…”

“Yes, we do…” Veena nodded.

“(Calls her Peon) Om, take madam to the waiting room. The Air-Conditioned waiting-room. (To Veena) Arre Madam you should have said so before. We always take good care of the families of our own and specially that of Veterans of the force. You don’t worry. Your brother would be here by 7 A.M. in the morning. Do what… you take the A.C. guest resting room for the while. We will sort this out…” the Deputy said.

Veena was escorted by the Peon to the resting chamber. So far, it had become quite evident to her, the dire significance of apparent status. Now, she was not being troubled by the difficulties that Amar might have been facing. The entire scene she had witnessed… the sadistic diplomatic dominance of beings whenever they find the freedom for it… and the sycophancy of the same when they don’t find any such liberty… it was all troubling her very much. She kept lying down on the rugged bed with open eyes, with her mind dwelling in a plethora of thoughts. The more she thought, the lesser she knew… Her journey had just begun, and the destination had now started seeming farther than it ever was. What would it take to end her quest? What can possibly end the turbulence?

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The Religion Called Pragmatism- Chapter Three: All Set to Leave

The Religion Called Pragmatism- Chapter Three: All Set to Leave
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A dream… Or why would she see herself as a young nomadic tribeswoman running around a strange yet acquainted wilderness. A dream… or a nightmare…. Veena knew no such forest… but her character in the dream seemed to know it. She seemed to have been searching for something. Looked around to see that there were various others searching for it along with her. Reminded her of the Hollywood flick ‘Avatar’. This strange agile body, which looked like a lean version of young Veena, contained the conscience of Veena from another dimension. She had never ever jogged in her life, leave it be running at Bolt speeds. They all soon halted to camp at some spot. Veena took the opportunity to speak to an elderly runner.

“Where are we running to?” she said.

“We’re going south… Winter is coming…” he said.

The nonchalant pop-culture reference startled Veena “What do you mean? But it seems like you’re searching for something specific? Why so?” Veena inquired.

“Yes we are… In these months… the north is inhabitable and the predators haunt the south. We need to find our old safe habitation. Where the predators are rare yet the land isn’t barren. The river close yet not very close to attract the man-eaters.” He said.

“But… how do you know about the place? Do you do it every year? Do you have a map to such a place?” Veena further questioned.

“Yes, we do… We just cleaned the place back north and are heading to find the one around here… The first house where our learned chieftain shall reside. That is the only pakka house we build. Rest are all temporary. That’s the pilgrim lifestyle we have adopted…” he replied.

“Pilgrim… What do you mean?” Veena asked in a curious tone.

“Yes… travelers… migrants… we move as per required. That is why we build these conspicuous tall buildings hoisting our flags so that we know just where to go…” he replied.

“Those first houses…. They sound more like Temples. And you say they are used to know the right location to move to?” Veena inquired.

“Yes… well… you seem a stupid one… learn much. Whoaaa” the man’s verse was interrupted by a humungous tiger jumping on to them. Veena was immediately brought out of sleep.

“Dream Fiction… weird…” she said to herself.

She got up different than her daily monotonous routine and soon went down to find her father in the Verandah. The old veteran was reading his daily crisp of news on the wooden chair. He heard Veena walking down and made a call to her “Good Morning Veenu… I have called the gardener today since most of the backyard flower-pots have failed to flower. Amar will go along with him to aid him. There’s your regular sugarless red tea on the table”.

“Papa I would guide the gardener. As such, Amar has some college submissions he needs to work on. And trust me, he really needs to work on them because he hasn’t started yet.” Veena replied.

Amar was the son of the old Veteran’s most trusted orderly, Ram, who had passed away a decade ago due to a road accident. Amar being orphaned (since his mother died in childbirth) Sangram had taken his responsibility on himself. He had been given proper schooling and was pursuing the Liberal Arts Course from a prestigious private College. Veena considered Amar her younger brother and often treated him like her child.

“But won’t you be late for the University then?” Sangram said while turning around towards Veena. He was taken aback to see the disciplined and punctual professor standing in her informal attire, giving out the persona of someone unwilling to step outside her house.

“Well this is strange… What happened beta?” the old man asked.

“I am thinking of taking a sabbatical papa.” Veena replied.

Sangram’s face turned blue-black hearing those words come out from the mouth of the workaholic, methodological, disciplined and borderline robotic woman.

“This is new… perhaps this news… I am so awestruck and elated that I don’t know whether it would be better to ask ‘Why?” or to celebrate…” Sangram said.

“I really cannot put it all into words… What happened yesterday. I know you must be sympathising with the entire situation and moreover I; but it has given me more ambiguity than injury.” Veena said.

“What do you mean? You can say anything to me beta” Sangram said.

“How was she? My mother?” Veena questioned.

Sangram took a moment’s pause, as if lost in a nostalgic amalgamation of reverie and regret.

“She… you know how she was. The peanuts I earnt always kept her happy and smiling… till the day the entire Vidhyut incident started. I still have no anguish with him. He is doing fine I’m sure. But your mother couldn’t ever bear the distance. But I know for a fact what she lost in him, she gained in you and even more. You were her source of ultimate happiness, till her last breath. Yes, that hole couldn’t be filled but she had something beautiful, someone beautiful inside out who loved her more than any child can love their parent…” Sangram said as he heaved a sigh.

“No papa. I was asking about her sister, my birth mother…” Veena said.

“Noori? She was just like Amara, and not just by appearance. The only difference was that she faced multitudes of the challenges that Amara did, which somewhat changed her. Even when she carried you in her womb, she was consistently battling injuries that would kill a normal human being. Her bond with Sherman had created a self-healing mechanism for them… She gathered all her strength for you and summoned it all during your birth. But she couldn’t sustain…” Sangram said melancholically.

“Injuries? What kind of injuries?” Veena enquired.

“It is a strange subject to comprehend beta.” Sangram said.

“No, I want to know it all… I know they had an inter-community marriage but so did you… What was different for them?” Veena continued.

“Firstly, I was protected by my Uniform. In those dark times, the Khakhee had become a symbolism of predominant strength. Nobody could question my doings. But more importantly, I belong to the majority. I am a Hindu. And yes, I do worship and deliver my prayers to all the Gods that I have been told about, and take pride in belonging to my religion, nevertheless, it is an undeniable and conspicuous privilege in this nation. I could protect Amara from the social oppression as well as judgement. But, poor Sherman had no such privilege. There were many factors, as you know, which troubled them. He was declared pariah in his own community. Blockaded for loving someone who supposedly didn’t belong. It became worse after my transfer. So many times I had received post-cards from Noori saying their hut was being pelted, burned down even at more than one instances, they were being assaulted on the roads, nobody sold them anything, at public eateries their food was being spat it. And not just by the two communities involved. Even those who lived ashore resented and scorned them and their Union. They were subjected to all kinds of caste and religion-based hate-crimes… Just like Amara and I, neither of them had forsaken their original faiths. But still, there was no stopping the hate.” Sangram narrated.

“They followed their original faiths till the end? But why? Why follow a God whose followers do all this to you? Why believe in such principles that forced the world to torture them?” Veena asked.

“I don’t know… Maybe they never knew their true religions… Or maybe they did but the others didn’t. Who knows? May their souls ever be together and rest in peace. (Sighed) All about the past, you tell me madam what has caused the agnostic to be so curious about religion. Don’t let those young aggressive lads from your University get to your head. You are fine the way you are. Some souls don’t need God to be Godly and Saintly in their form. Now go and get ready…” Sangram said.

“But I really have sent the notice for the sabbatical…” Veena said. Her face reflected as if Sangram’s words had really sent her mind in a stream of introspection and had further strengthened her ambiguity. ‘Whom do I support?’; ‘Whom should I follow?’; ‘Why did they believe in God when God apparently didn’t believe in them?’.

“Is getting ready always done for work… This is the first time you have given yourself a vacation. It has to start fresh. Even if you are going to sleep the entire day you better do it like it is your first day of your job…” Sangram said in a light-hearted tone.

“Haha yes papa your wish is my perpetual command.” Veena said as she turned towards the inner hall.

“And don’t forget to remind the young soldier that his bugle is sounding loud from his college. He better armour himself up if he has not already.” Sangram said.

Veena walked across the hall to find Amar standing behind the curtain of the store room.

“Hey you… what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be there in your class by now?” Veena said in a commanding tone.

“Arre Didi I was thinking I would take an off today. I am not feeling well” Amar said with a hopeful expression of convincing Veena.

She looked at him for a second and then said “Go Get ready”.

“Didi I am serious. You can get the thermometer. I am not lying. I won’t be able to go to College in this state” Amar said.

“Is getting ready only done for college?” Veena remarked whimsically. Understanding that she had seen through his obvious excuse, Amar smiled.

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