Society’s response to deaths and ailments

After gulping the last drop of bitter boiled tea, I collected my strength and spirit to execute the long pending, mundane task of arranging the books and papers spread all around my house in an orderly fashion on a disheveled  and cluttered bookshelf. In the last couple of years, every time a visitor graced my house, I had to sweat for hiding the 'natural state of topsy turvy' under the smooth veil of orderliness even though success betrayed me more often than not. Their prying, experienced eyes pierced through the glossy layer of artificial orderliness to discover the harmless heap of brochures and books at all places .While sifting the important documents from the stacks of papers and magazines, I found the  print out of the urdu poet Ghalib's quintessential couplet that  not only stirred my imagination but also scared me.

"Rahiye Ab Aisi Jagah Chal Kar Jahaan Koi Na Ho,
Ham Sukhan Koi Na Ho Aur Ham Zabaan Koi Na Ho
Be-Daro-Deevaar-Sa Ek Ghar Banaya Chahiye,

Koi Ham Saaya Na Ho Aur Paasbaan Koi Na Ho
Pariye Gar Beemaar Tou Koi Na Ho Teemaardaar
Aur Agar Mar Jaiye Tou Noha Khoaan Koi Na Ho"

Alas! After more than hundred years of his death, the city where Ghalib was born and buried is not very different from the imaginary ‘jagah (place)’visualised in his thoughtful poetry dipped in the concoction of wine and worries. This stanza seems so relevant and shockingly true in the modern world of metropolises where the lives of human beings have been programmed meticulously to strive for staying ahead in the never ending race of life. The insatiable desire of surpassing every shining milestone and dream of hedonistic life style snatches the most valuable possession of the human beings ‘The Time'. It may not be wise to expect the men with vision and wisdom to share the fast diminishing inventory of time with their ailing friends and dying relatives.

Social upheaval - Society’s response to deaths and ailments

Indian society is going through the cultural renaissance -the much admired joint family set up has collapsed giving rise to smaller nuclear arrangements without the availability and affordability of the necessary and sustainable support structure for the separated families. The traditional servile Indian 'Bahu' has disappeared in the glittering lanes of  prosperity and empowerment. Sadly, the old parents are staying alone, far away from the greener pastures their children have chosen to inhabit. The 'Teemardar(care taker)' of Ghalib's poetry is on the verge of extinction in this evolving modern society. Only  few chosen and blessed souls can afford the mechanical services of  health service providers or buy the un-attenuated attention and good gesture of relatively 'less privileged relatives' with limited opportunities and aspirations.

Not many months ago, on a busy winter morning, I experienced the terrifying truth of life when I visited to pay my last respect to an acquaintance who died after a prolonged illness. The body deserted by the soul (Once upon a lively man), covered with the white sheet was lying in a corner of the house. The sound of sobbing and murmur was coming from the other room occupied by the bereaved family. I could sense the difficulties faced by the relatives from a different city in making the arrangement for funeral and other necessities required for performing the last rites. My heart ached at the indifference and apathy of neighbours and I could not stop the tears gushing out from my eyes.

The gentleman was from a respectable family of a decent small town who came to this metropolitan city almost a decade back to meet the rising aspirations of life. Had he died in his small little place, I am sure that his neighbors, friends and even enemies would have volunteered to make the necessary arrangements at this moment of sorrow and grief? The social structure of small towns and villages not only provides the safety valve to vent out sorrows and pains but also helps to negotiate the most difficult turns of life.

The winter has vanished, summer sun is back with rage and fury but I still get hounded and disturbed by the silent complaint visible in the eyes of ‘sprinkling of neighbours’ and ‘handful of friends’ gathered in the graveyard about the important meetings they had to postpone and the critical work they could not finish. A poet has very aptly described ‘Mout ke apne sau jhamele hain’. I wish to end this gloomy tale with a utopian hope that society will evolve to keep pace with the economic progress without dismantling the cultural framework.

Woh Aakhri Shab

Sard raaton ki pur-shikoh khamoshi,
Ek hamdam ka khaal-o-khad le kar,
Apne daaman mein le ke raaz-e-hayaat,
Shab ke gumnam kharabe se nikal aayee hai

Uski maghmoom adh-khuli aankhein,
Aina hai guzashta barson ka,
Fikr-e-fardan se muzmahil chehre pe,
Hai ayaan karb roothe khwabon ka

Uske saakit labon per hui junbish,
Dik ke barabat se aayee ek nahif sada,
Har soo raushan hai saal-e-nau ke chiragh,
Rakh do tum bhi lab-e-baam ummidon ka diya

Yeh mah-o-saal ki gardish,yeh zameen ka raqs,
In rasoomat-e-jahan se ,gar hai shikayat mujhko,
Yeh  khamoshi to mere zeest ka ek hissa hai,
Us ki baaton ki hifazat bhi rawa hai mujhko

Aao kar lein naya azm, naye saal mein aaj,
Dil ki tareeki ko ummed-e-sehr se farozan kardein,
Aaaj ki raat khwabon ki har ek raah-e-guzar
Apne alfaz ke shamm’on se manuwwar kar dein

Khwabon ke Taaqub mein

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Apne Khwabon  ke Taaqub mein niklana hai mujhe

Zindagi  ke sehra mein,

Waqt ki garm reiton per,

Ek Sunahri manzil ki

Justaju liye dil mein,

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Waswason ke toofan mein,

Azm ka alam thame,

Yaqeen ki asa le kar,

Ireteqa ki hasrat mein,

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Paon aabla-pa hain,

Zehan bhi tazabzub ki,

Aandhiyon mein larzan hai

Sa-oobton se be- parvah

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Ahbaab se judai bhi,

Aashana fizaon se

Thodi bewafai bhi ,

Husool-e-shauq ki zid mein

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Taghayyurat ke mausam ki dastak,

Nayee umeed ki mauhoom aahat,

Nayee manzil se aati yeh sadaayein,

Qadam ko aakhirash rokoon main kab tak,

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Apne Khwabon  ke Taaqub mein niklana hai mujhe

Woh nazm adhoori hai ab tak

Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak
Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak

Mulaqat ki pehli sham thi shayad,
Jab tum ne kaha  tha , ek nazm likho
Is maut si khamoshi se pare,
Door kahin traeeki se,

Khush-rang  sehr ke baare mein
Taaer ki sheereen sargoshi liye,
Baang-e-Jaras mein doobi hui,
Sarshaar fiza ke baare mein

Us nazm ki dilkash basti mein
Hasti ka sharara raqsan ho
Mehfil-e- yaraan jamti ho
Bazm-e-chiraghan hota ho

Har harf hawa ka jhonka ho,
Har lafz mein ho ehsaas-e-zyan,
Har sher ummedon ka chashma,
Har band se ho afkaar ayaan

Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak

Takmeel-e-nazm ki hasrat mein,
Khwabon ke nagar mein jata hoon
Chun Chun ke harf  ke phoolon ko,
Lafzzon ka mahal banata hoon

Phir din ki dastak hoti hai
Khurshid ke biphre sholon mein
Khwabon ka nagar jal jaata hai
Lafzon ka mahal gir jaata hai

Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak
Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak

A strange Rendezvous – Visit to Madam Tussad’s Wax Museum

Glowing sun was smiling graciously on the wild blue yonder, overarching the royal city of London. The elated caravan of the races and faces was rolling steadily on the concrete promenades. The big size hat lying comfortably on my upright head ,the camera swinging around my neck and  the curiosity and keenness peeping through my eyes  made me look like an arrogant (arrogance is perhaps a necessary skill) and accomplished photographer on his expedition to search for the unique, unimaginable and immortal masterpiece. I wished to capture the dark images of the miseries masqueraded behind the happy faces, hoped to imprison the young spirit immersed in the layers of wrinkles in my eager lens, desired to seize the images of the powerful dreams floating in the bright eyes of the fellow travelers – perhaps a few things can only be captured on the canvass of imagination. Thankfully, truth descended on me soon–I returned to my usual self requesting the travelers passing by for a nice click. Walking along the Marylebone Road our steps freezed and eyes glued to the beautiful light green dome of the Madam Tussad’s wax museum. It was an elegant and exquisite circular structure with the yellow letters of the name ‘Madam Tussads’s sparkling against the shimmering red stripe encircling the dome.  Maneuvering the Serpentine queue for the tickets, patiently and calmly (without the usual push and shove of ‘Delhi’),I walked  into the dimly lit room shrouded in the sheaths of mystery and mysticism , inhabited by the smiling  and lively wax sculptures of the ravishing beauties, authoritarian rulers, eminent  and illustrious people  from the various walks of life. It was pleasing to see Hitler and Churchill standing together in the silent wax graveyard, where ‘The dead’ are not buried. Every wax idol was telling his compelling story of rise and fall, ecstasy and agony, hits and misses. I was wondering;

Yeh kiya jagah hai doston , yeh kaunsa dayaar hai

The mesmerizing wax sclupture of the master blaster ‘Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar’ raising his helmet and magical cricket bat towards the sky, probably celebrating one of the ‘hundreds of the centuries’ is an inspiring story of glory ,grind and gumption. The high standard of the humility, simplicity and gregarious behaviour exhibited by him during such a long journey is exemplary for many of us living in a socioeconomic environment   where the plebian officers (managers of the corporate world belong to the same group) behave like conceited celebrities after the golden touch of the easy wins. His neighbour in the quiet museum was another gifted cricketer ‘Brian Charles Lara’, known for his long innings and classic drives. He was smartly dressed in a traditional white cricket uniform, resting his bat on his shoulder and spreading the infectious smile and his usual ebullience.

As I moved ahead, my feet stumbled and stopped before the commanding presence of the boxing champion ‘Mohammad Ali’, beautifully crafted and created with the art of wax. He was donning the elegant purple gown, wearing the enraged red boxing gloves he seemed almost ready and raring to knockout the invisible ‘Joe Frazier’. The excitement of his face and spark in the  eyes made  me believe that he would immediately break his silence and address the astound crowd  – ‘Honorable Ladies and Gentlemen, you remember me for  my heroics on the boxing ring but perhaps you have forgotten my  views on the injustice of Vietnam war that transformed my life’ . I nodded my head, confessing candidly, we have indeed forgotten your statement (‘I ain't got no quarrel with them Viet Cong,No Viet Cong ever called me nigger’) against your own callous state. Yours was a powerful voice of dissent that inspired the movement against the Vietnam War and Johnson administration.

Not very far from ‘Mohamad Ali’,the soul of  Tiger Woods chased by the scorned screaming women seemed to have found  the peace and shelter in  wax body. Alas!  He is not aware that the steel mallet firmly gripped  in his hand may not shield him from the prowling ghosts of the past.

The stories of the greats cannot be complete without the pompous manifestation of the glorious and glamorous British Monarchy. Momentarily, the pang of pain gushed over me - Princess Diana in her flowing white gown, standing majestically  in the  solitary dignified  space was looking  gracefully and gallantly at the aristocratic troika of Prince Charles , Camilla Parker Bowles , Prince Harry standing together on a separately erected  rostrum. The poignant song of the separation fell on my ears like the rain drops sprinkling the face in the dark winter night:

Tum mere kitne paas ho             Main tumse kitna door hoon

Aangan mein saanson ke diye  Kamron mein khushboo ke bhanwar

Aankhon  mein mere jism ka     Nannha adhoora aks hai 

Aye mehrban , aye hamsafar    Be-rehm hain sham-o-sehr 

In saa-aton ki daud  ka                Anjam kiya iske  sawa

Tum aur mere paas ho                Main aur tumse door hoon

The spirited and vivacious generation of the go-getters was falling over each other to embrace, touch, cuddle and hug their Hollywood idols and pop sensations. People of all ages were competing vehemently for getting filmed and photographed with the likes of Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Kate Winslet, Bradd Pitt, Nicole Kidman, and Julia Roberts as their adorable and alluring icons have descended on the planet earth from their world of fairytales and will vanish soon forever.

I kept walking along the red carpet –stopped for a moment to have a fleeting glance at the wax sculptures of the Bollywood heartthrobs standing close to each other. The vapid smile of Madhuri Dixit  and  vacuous expression of  Asihawriya Rai  could not hold my eyes for long  and I wandered into the crowded space of the word leaders with the  conflicting beliefs and thoughts coexisting  peacefully as vulnerable creatures of the frozen wax.

Barack Hussein Obama – the first black president of America, the noble laureate and the most powerful person on the planet earth is indeed the peerless political personality cast in wax among the current covey of the leaders running the world affairs The imposing figure of Obama standing in his supposedly Oval office beaming smile and pride was telling the story of the current world order. Just a few easy steps away, the wax sculpture of his hero, the prophet of peace ‘Mohandas karamchand Gandhi’ was magnificently placed beside the noble laureates Nelson Mandela and  Martin Luther .Coincidentally ,I was taken aback to an interesting question  asked  by a school girl in 2009 to Obama “if you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?” .Obama’s repartee ‘I think that it might be Gandhi, who is a real hero of mine’ provides an insight  about  his views on the Gandhian philosophy even though his action  reflects the otherwise.

Out of the blue, my thoughts got trapped in the time warp, I imagined that ‘Time factor’ would vanish, past and present would merge,Gandhi would walk out of its sculpture and barge into Obama’s Oval office reminding him firmly but gently that 'Gandhian philosophy' and 'Imperialism' are oxymoron. The powerful words of Gandhi kept ringing in the back of my mind;

Be the change you want to see in the world

With the imaginary dramatic conversation playing in my mind, I stopped to pay my homage to two iron ladies of Asia Indira Gandhi and Benazir Bhutto, who were brutally assassinated by the terrorists at different phases of the history. I appreciated the elegant sculpture and walked out of the spellbinding effect of the miraculous ‘House of wax’  thinking about these two women who could not  contribute significantly for the empowerment of the women in their respective countries.

 

                                                                               

The Grand Parade of Pride

A parade of Pride

I was taken aback by the pompous display of the arrogance of a self proclaimed gentleman dressed in a dark blue suit, red tie and gold cufflink shining against the black coffee mug held in his hand. Sitting in front of me on a coffee table, he continued with his vulgar spurt of vanity and vainglory. Inebriated by the concocted ambrosia of power, imperium and self righteousness, his tone and tenor were not very different from an idiosyncratic feudal lord of the medieval world.
I felt disheartened and disappointed at the behaviour of my host wearing all tangible attributes of the modernity and  elegance on his sleeve .Without wasting much time, I gulped the black bitter coffee, excused myself for another meeting and rushed out of the restaurant immersed in the green light emerging from the beautiful curtain of the evergreen shrubs

Pride and Arrogance - Virtue or Vice

Bitter taste of the coffee was gone , vitriolic leftover of the presumed pleasant conversation continued  burning  my senses - I got into my car  switched on the music and  got lost in the mystique aura created by the divine voice of Abida Parveen:

  “Aap apne dekhane ke vaste        ham ko aina banaya yaar ne
  Apne ik adana tamashe ke liye    ham ko Sooli par chadhaya yaar ne”

I had to rush to the conference venue for meeting my old friend Ranjan who had come to Delhi for presenting his research paper. The magnificent red brick structure of the university auditorium surrounded by the sprawling lush green lawn reminded me of my student days at Aligarh Muslim University campus. Delegates and volunteers proudly armed with the colorful badges were engaged in the ritualistic intellectual conversation punctuated only by the sips of the flowing tea. It was a planned ‘Tea Break’ and I could find the familiar face of Ranjan holding a white tea cup in his hand, surrounded by the people wearing colorful ties and suites and some socialist intellectuals donned in kurta, white trouser and Nehru jacket(perhaps ‘Suite’ for them is a representation of the oppressive class) .Ranjan introduced me to a middle age professor of psychology talking loudly to his fellow delegates. Professor Sahib, just fitted into his apparently marriage suite (at least 30 years old, if not more), holding is burgeoning belly in the right place with great difficulty, responded to my greetings with the warmth and affection.

Conference was in full swing, I was listening to a young speaker arguing ardently about his views on the human behavior in the modern world before an urgent message forced me to come out of the auditorium. Surprisingly, Professor Sahib (yes, with the large belly and little blazer) was sipping coffee in the corner. I seized this golden opportunity to share my ugly experiences with him to explore and understand his perspective on the subject. His eyes sparkled with the joy of finding a student who could listen to him for hours without an iota of unstated complaints. Sitting in the lawn outside the auditorium compound he explained the concept of pride and arrogance-  Arrogance and pride are the metaphorical twin brothers – One symbolizes the vice and the other one ‘Pride’ is the darling of many successful souls though abhorred by the multitude of mortals.

Unruffled by the sting and irritating buzz of the prowling mosquito march-past, he continued sharing the views of Aristotle, GB Shaw and Thomas Aquinas. I was astonished and attracted by the sharp contrast between the spectrums of views on ‘pride’ narrated by professor sahib with the perfection of a story teller. Aristotle identification of the Pride as the crown of the virtues, distinguishing it from vanity, temperance, and humility is an antithesis to the theory propounded by the medieval century theologian Thomas Aquinas – It states that the Pride (inordinate self-love) is the cause of every sin. As the respected delegates started coming out of the auditorium, he concluded with an emphatic assertion that - There might be cogent arguments in favour of the pride being celebrated as ‘profound virtue’ or rejected as ‘capital vice’ but there is no similar disagreement between various schools of thoughts about the ‘arrogance of power.

While going back I shared the interesting story of Professor Sahib with Ranjan whose mysterious smile befuddled me. Well beyond this intellectual debate of virtue and vice, I never appreciate the ostentatious display of one’s pride or greatness, even though ‘feeling proud’ of the accomplishments is necessary for motivating the hardworking souls. Appreciating self in seclusion is different from the loud orchestration of the accomplishments for the friends and companions to shower eulogies. On various occasions, I felt baffled and badgered by the monologues of glory and gratification by the people whom I used to hold in very high esteem. I did not express these thoughts simmering in the crucible of mind after Ranjan’s inconclusive and uninspiring smile and silently drove to the 'Pandara road’ for the delicious delicacies.

While relishing the ‘kakori kebab’ ,Ranjan finally broke his solemn silence on the subject of pride and shared  his valuable experiences of life(perhaps a ‘Kebab Effect’).With the final scoop of  ice cream melting in his mouth, his voice touched the acme of  the intensity  to assert his belief -Arrogance is not necessarily a byproduct of glory and accomplishments, it is indeed a human trait  but the ramifications of the explosive arrogant behavior of the powerful educated class is far reaching.

Interactions of the memorable evening with my megalomaniac host, mercurial Professor Sahib and mysterious Ranjan taught me an important lesson of life- ‘Do not overestimate the successful people; they may have the ‘feet of clay’.



Complexity of the Human Relationship

The roaring of the clouds is so rare in the capital city of India; amused and enticed, I came out in the balcony to feel the first brush of the much awaited monsoon. Tiny clouds enamored with the shimmering droplets of the water were frolicking in the dark sky like the kids playing the hide and seek game on a cloudy summer evening. Just below the shades of my balcony, a mother cat was trying to shield its kitten from the barrage of unkind and untimely rain. Spellbound by the fascinating sight of love and affection I rushed inside to bring my camera. Alas-they vanished faster than the flush light, leaving me bewildered and bedazzled. Perhaps these lovely felines could not trust a stranger armoured with a friendly gaze and moving surreptitiously with a supposedly dangerous object in his hand

Enlightened by the act of distrust, I returned back to my desk thinking about the complex subject of the ‘Human Relationship’ that impacts all of us  in the parallel worlds of our lives (comprised of personal and professional worlds – ‘State of the Nirvana’ is excluded for the sake of simplicity). We experience the similar responses and rebukes in our day to day interactions with the acquaintance, and associates. Out of shear curiosity to explore the subject further, I turned to a selfless granny with a weird name ‘Google’ who reveals the treasure of the truths hidden behind the pile of obvious. Comprehending the granny’s musings is not a child’s play –one needs to know the art of sifting the obscure from obvious I entered the word ‘Human Relationship’ on the ‘Google’ and the information erupted like the emotions of a melancholy poet. The phrase ‘Interpersonal Relationship‘ caught my attention amid the clutter of the information piled up on the screen. Wikipedia defines 'it as an association between two or more people that may range from fleeting to enduring’

The definition hanging on the screen reminded me of the corporate world obsession with the catchy phrase ‘Interpersonal Relationship’. Organisations spend huge sum of money in training the people to learn the methods and magic of building the same fleeting or enduring relationship. Necessity of imbibing the skill of the ‘Interpersonal Relationship’ from the perspective of the professional life is augmented by its role in providing impetus and stimulus for the career growth. The question that is haunting me for the last few years emanates from my inability to forge a resilient relationship that could withstand the tides of tough times

Going by the rationale and raison d'être passionately  explained by the 'Human Resources Mangers' of the organisation through powerful and boasting presentations, I would have mastered the subject of ‘Interpersonal relationship’ after having spent the humongous amount of time in learning, exploring and understanding the ways to execute the transactions of the lives smoothly. Doesn’t the training on the subject starts from the day a child is born? Baby starts recognizing the face of his mother probably not later than a month of his birth, he turns his head in the direction of her voice; his keen bright eyes follow her footsteps, smile returns to his cherubic face when he hears a known voice around him. The innate ability to distinguish the trusted voice from the cacophony is learnt by him before his precious and tottering first step of life brings joy in the lovely little world around him. For the people having spent the childhood in the  Indian joint family setup, informal  behavioral  training and guidance comes from the grandparents and elders They keep teaching us the art and science of acting ,reacting and responding to the complex conundrums of life.

I must stop and  make a candid confession - albeit the necessary behavioural trainings of the childhood  mentioned above, I could not learn the skill of differentiating the  ‘Act of Credence’ from the ‘Acting of Assurance’ while negotiating the blind turns of the corporate world  . Perhaps my methods are obsolete, possibly my skills are blunted in the dust of time, probably my responses are not sharp, perchance I am not equipped to handle the acts of the corporate theater where façade is more important than the purity of the character, where ‘Glorious manifestation of self ‘ is considered to be a just synonym of the ‘Humble presence'.

The competition is hotting up, swords are rattling in open- I ought to learn the skills of relationship building before I am thrown in the dustbin of the obsolescence. A few successful footprints are visible with the naked eyes. Some options for the easy wins are also available with a few conditions(much easier than the IMF loan terms and conditions for the developing nations)- I need to crush my rebellious inner voice, I must follow the steps of the virtuous homo sapiens walking around my invisible shadow. Dynamic challenges of the modern business environment requires astute professionals who can build ‘Quick fix Relationships’. Skills have to be rejigged, tools need to be modernised.Duly tested and certified tool kits such as ‘Lie without Regret’, ‘Fake without Guilt’,’ Exhibit without Shame’, ‘Act without Compunctions’, ‘Boast without Substance’, ‘Goad without Empathy’ among many others are readily available for grab. And here cometh the multipurpose tool ‘Sing paean for the wise men occupying the seats of power’. This may not assure sustainable relationship but it guarantees short term successes and enough medallions

Nay! But my objective is to gain the necessary skills for developing trust worthy relationship, not just winning the  gold  and silver  medals for metaphorical '100 meter race' of life . I know the world we have inherited, cannot be seen through the prism of black and white, I understand that the sacrifice of the  ‘Belligerent Ego’ at the altar of the ‘Good Relationship’ does not assure the successful return, I admit that extending the bouquet of respect and politeness may not help winning the trust ,I recognize that niceties and pleasantries can be taken for granted by self proclaimed smart souls  but I am assured that the structure of relationship resting on the heap of untruths, guile and chicanery cannot sustain and will fall like a castle raised on sand.

Trust is the cornerstone of the human relationship and I shall continue applying the same old methods to win the trust of the people around.  I would extend my hand of friendship even though at times it will remain unsolicited and  flying in the thin air. Building trust takes time and I hope lovely felines will pose for the camera next time