#BookReview: Crochet – The Gordian World of Tahir Khan by Raman Agarwal

The fact is everyone and his uncle is talking about it. Yet most are afraid of it: worse, in denial of it when it comes to themselves. Indeed, depression may be the new normal, but really it has been there much longer. Schizophrenia, is a still more dreaded word implying much worse mental conditions, but it has been aclose cousin of depression. And the two are best friends to a host of people who go undiagnosed due to lack of knowledge or reasons of stigma associated with both. It was therefore refreshing to read Raman Agarwal’s debut novel, Crochet – The Gordian World of Tahir Khan, which deals with both the above mentioned subjects, in a matter of fact manner. He weaves a complex story of Tahir Khan,who lives in Delhi's Jahangirpuri, where a number of families found refuge when they chose to be in India leaving their homeland in Pakistan. The story runs asa trail of failed love, indeed, one after another, drive Tahir to become a complete recluse. And alone. But his aloneness is not singular to him only. It has a history, running from past to present. The book is a reflection of three lives who are pulled into the well of loneliness, his grandfather, his father,and of course Tahir himself. The cause of this state is even identical. Given this background, Agarwal, weaves a story that challenges facts around these people, whose vision is clouded by fictional characters and conversations with people and circumstances, that don't really exist. But the reader is never lead to the facts until they reach the last part of the book. No wonder for the life of me, I couldn't understand who were Saachi or Ghazal. But I think I understood who Mscavity, the black cat with green eyes was, who kept Tahir Khan company even if all else, deserted him. Written with tender loving care, there is no judgement cast on the characters. As a book on mental health, I would say, Raman Agarwal has done an extremely fine job, with the story. He took ten years to complete the book, which is a lot of time really. The reader can see it coming alive. Tahir is obsessed with his mother, her green scarf being his most beloved security blanket, which he preserves and treasures. His grandfather who lost his wife at childbirth of his only son, Azar, who is Tahir’s father, is devastated and loses his mind in grief. But the same fate is meted out to his son too, but Azar must keep a strong front, because strong man never cry. The emotional overload is palpable, as we readers journey through Tahir’s life. The 280 pages book is very absorbing but way too long and needs editing. The gory details of mental health of Tahir’s grandfather at the end of his life, can be structured differently, incidents in Tahir's own life need to be viewed and edited once again. The super-long descriptions of failed relationships can do with cut-to-size text to deliver the point only. All in all, the book is profound but eats into the reader's time. Therefore, may fail to hold attention, of reader who like it short and crisp like a Jahangirpuri to HUDA City Centre Delhi Metro journey, like one hour forty five minutes, during which if a reader is able to crack the quiz of who is Saachi and Ghazal, in the book, then he’d have got to the crux of the story. Pssst! Ask Mscavity's Tahir’s green eyed cat for help. Publisher: Notion Press (Indie) Pages: 280 Price: Rs. 300 Author: Raman Agarwal Cover: Sanjay Subramanian,

Chetan Bhagat is like Maggie noodles!

Photo Credit HERE

"Chetan Bhagat is like Maggi noodles; you know you shouldn't be reading his books, but you can't help it." - Samvit Sengupta, aged 20 years.

That really sums up all and everything about what the young generation, who thrive on his books and are crazy about him, feel towards him.

A rave among the youth, roughly around 17 - 25 years and sometimes extending to even 35 years, Chetan Bhagat who started to publish in roughly 2011, has a lot to be proud about. Up until now, he has over 6 titles and sold over 8 million books in 2008 says Wikipedia. He has 3 films already to his credit, which are adaptations from his books. Here, I will talk about Half Girlfriend which has been made into a film also.

Published by Rupa Publications, Chetan Bhagat has made Rupa and himself flush with funds. Fans swoon over him and as soon as his books are out, they go out of order too.

So what is it that makes his books hot favourite among the TG he is addressing.

Vivek Kumar Anand, age 30 years, avid reader and young digital professional says,

"Though his books cannot be termed as great works of literature, but they entertaining for sure, because, firstly, his books are short and simple and secondly, he writes about things you can connect with.”

He is right. The language is simple, in his books and not once have you got to open your dictionary to find a meaning of any word. The pages flow, sometimes with two words conversations throughout, without any paragraph of description. Indeed, the language is so simple, even a ten year old can read and understand it.

Can Chetan Bhagat, who has beaten the track record of Indian authors writing in English, and is a rave among the youth, across the globe – can his work be considered as contributing to English literature? Or does he do some amount of research before he commences to write his next novel? I think not. But he has his fundas right. The IIM -A, Business Management graduate knows his P’s well.

His product, the books are simple, no jargon, indeed, addressing the heart of the people he writes for, youth. He writes from India, so he is in the right place at the right time, when the world is looking at Indian authors writing in English. His publishers keep his book price low and affordable, like spending Rs 100 - 200 at a Cafe in India, over sandwich, juice, cookies, and shakes.  And he wears his CB tag well on Twitter and Facebook with 6,623,692 people like his fan page and 9.32 million FOLLOWERS on Twitter. He does not have a profile in LinkedIn, because he is not that 'sort of guy'. Nothing  'official' about him at all. He markets himself well, daily tweets, FB posts and a well kept 'regular' kind of website, which does not scare the hell out of anyone who is visiting it - it's not that intellectual type in fact. Not at all like a thorough bred 'English type' with élan and polish.

No wonder, he speaks to the heart of India and the world, where LCD or (lowest common denominator) is indeed, what sells the most. Every marketer knows that like the back of their hand.

But, shock of all shocks, while well known authors in India, who have etched out their place under the sun, have not been selected for English Literature study under the prestigious Delhi University where as our man CB has made it to the list, among others like J K Rowling and others.

Professor Ratna Raman who teaches English Literature in Delhi University says –

“I usually tell my students that if they read Chetan Bhagat it should remain a closely guarded secret. Why is it on pure syllabus? Because Bhagat is loved by the right wing and university course revisions are done by people nominated to committees headed by people with a vision of Akahand Bharat. Usually it is the students not studying literature Honours but choosing English Credit who will mention Bhagat as part of their reading references. “

I have read two of his books but while I remember the last I just read, I forget the last one. Exactly, the quality of Chetan Bhagat's books - Read it - HooHaa about it - Then forget it!

Half Girlfriend published in 2014, is a story of love between two people, who have both come on a Sport's Quota to be admitted to the elitist St Stephen's College, New Delhi, India. While she is from a super rich business family in Delhi, he is from Dumraon, Bihar. While she, Riya has had a fairly good education and speaks English fluently, he is the "Myself Madhav Jha - types". While her affluent family spread across the world, is not without its bits of shame and guilt which drives Riya the central character of the story to attempt a few mistakes, Madhav Jha we are told comes from a princely background although, the old tradition is long lost, after India became independent. But both characters are basket ball players and it is the game that finally brings the two together, quite early in the book. The book then meanders from off the basket ball court into the love play ground and Madhav Jha is ready to "make Bihar proud" by initiating sex, Riya comes close but finally retreats from actually going all the way. This happens ever so often, that once when she sneaked inside his room in the boys hostel, and refuses to give in to the sexual advances from his end, he threatens, "Deti hai to, varna kat le!" meaning, fuq me or fuq off!  ich The gross right-in-the-face demand, actually makes her leave Madhav and marry the riiya is back ch family friend's son, living in London, Rohan. But the marriage breaks and Riya is back but this time, a new game of hide and seek begins, this time in Bihar, where Riya has taken a job with Nestle and Madhav, obsessed with her, finds her. And again a cat and a mouse game starts between them. Madhav wants a relationship, Riya does not; Riya wants a friendship, Madhav wants more. So, even as the reader arrives at pg 44, Chetan Bhagat has brought out the ambiguity of relationship/friendship, the desire/resistance, the dance of the traditional women v/s the modern girl, in Riya, very well. For Madhav Jha, Riya is his obsession, his passion, he can't let go of. At a certain level, he wants to be the English speaking Riya like, person himself, just like the millions of people living in India, who speak Hindi, but aspire to be as confident as English speaking people, which is a quircky aspiration in their minds.

In that sense, what Professor Ratna Raman says becomes all the more important - allowing Chetan Bhagat in the Credit Course at Delhi University, makes those people who want to tout as English literature Graduates, although not as Honours students, would make non-English speaking students especially from states which are Hindi speaking, feel more empowered over the language. In fact, the author Chetan Bhagat himself says, in pg 149, Half Girlfriend, "And last, reading simple English novels, like, the one by the wo learn Englishriter, what's his name, Chetan Bhagat."

Chetan Bhagat’s TOP TEN TOOLS to learn English (pg 148-9, Half Girlfriend)

1. YouTube videos of famous speeches.
2. Watching English movies with subtitles.
3. English-only days – no Hindi conversation allowed.
4. Working on speech content in Hindi first.
5. Recording a English voice diary on phone through the day.
6. Thinking in English.
7. Watching television news debates in English.
8. Calling call centres and choosing the English option.
9. Reading out English advertisements on street hoardings
10. Reading simple English novels.

Going back to the novel, Riya once again disappears from Madhav's life and in a series of unbelievable and highly fantacised development of the novel, is found very filmy like, by Madhav Jha at the last minute, in the last day of his 3-month Internship with The Gates Foundation in New York! The reader is much relieved when finally, at last, the two meet emotially and physically inside Riya's apartment in New York and Madhav is able to "make Bihar proud."

Samvit Sengupta explains, "It all began with the TV serials, F.R.E.I.N.D.S and How I Met Your Mother, when people in my generation were and are influenced and want to emulate the life of the people in the movie."

And that is what CB, has caught on to as well. Did I say, Chetan Bhagat does not dive too deep, into researching for his books? I was wrong!

Well done, @chetan_bhagat. You have one more Follower on Twitter and one more LIKE on your facebook.com/chetanbhagat.fanpage. I will be checking you out on www.chetanbhagat.com

Click HERE to Buy Half Girlfriend

And HERE is the Promo of the Film

Book Review: Delhi: 14 Historical Walks by Swapna Liddle

Picture Credit HERE

On December 11, 1911, Emperor George V of Britain announced the change of the capital of India, from Calcutta to Delhi. Immediately, architect Edwin Luytens, who had designed Hamstead Garden Suburb in London was called upon to build the new city. Luytens along with his associate, Herbert Baker did what he could best do, taking inspiration from the garden city of Hamstead Garden Suberb,  they sat to design the new city, which was already a collection of smaller cities in villages made through a period that started from Chandragupta II to 1803, when the British East India Company occupied Delhi. What he had on hand is a number of structures already built, which he would have to build around, leaving everything as it is, and yet, introducing the distinctive style of architecture borrowed from Europe and Britain.

Dr Swapna Liddle, author of Delhi: 14 Historical Walks, tells the full story, covering the entire period from 375 to 1803, and thereafter, in the most fascinating manner, taking the reader through 14 walks, that not only detail in brief the history of Delhi, during that time, but urge the reader to walk with her, through the famous monuments of that time, the gardens, cities, baulis (water storage tanks), memorable architectural buildings made during that period, mosques and much more. Yet, the book is not a history book, but one that brings alive the history of that time, as if the walker were to be actually passing through that time period, as h/she takes the enchanting walk. No speed, no hurry, just leisurely passing through time and reliving the past, as it were. If you already loved to walk, you will be excited, if you were not a walker, then, be sure you will become one. Although, I must say, for the extremely lazy, the graphic description of each walk is good enough to ‘walk the words’ with Liddle.
Each walk is drawn out and detailed carefully. As the chapter begins, there is a picture followed by a map of all the important points, leading up to the timings, tickets, facilities available on the spot, closest Metro Station, Parking etc, before the walk to each one begins. Relax! You might be holding the book in your hand, but the author does not leave you stumbling back and forth, trying to find, this highlighted point or that on that particular walk. The magic is, she walks with you and guides you through each one, hand-holding you to explore with her, the fine details of each walk. Absorb the easy to read historical background and the periods, emperors under which these structures were made.

My own experience of the book in Shahjahanabad – Oh did you say, you didn’t know what i was talking about? – for the uninitiated, it is Chandni Chawk, as it is called now, I had missed the Jain temples which are believed to have existed from the days of the Mahabharata, the name being derived from the rich Jains who live around the temples, dealing in silver and gold. I was amazed to see the beautiful temples, for, to me, it was always, Chandni Chawk for Parathawali gali, or Jama Masjid, and Kharim’s right opposite Gate # 1 as you descend from the Jama Masjid, the foundation of which was laid in 1605, and took 6 years to complete, and cost Rs 10,00,000 (Rupees Ten Lakh/ $ 1 million).

The romance with the much written about period of Delhi, The Mughal Period (1526 – 1803) almost 3 centuries add a lot to the architectural splendour of Delhi, the most beloved, to me is of course, Humayun’s Tomb.

“As you pass through the gate, you get your first glimpse of the magnificent Humayun’s Tomb...The entrance set into them lead into a total of 124 chambers. In one of them is the grave of Humayun and others house the many graves of family members...”

Awesome! Come let’s discover this and many more, with book in hand. Let’s walk Delhi: 14 Historical Walks by Swapna Liddle



PLEASE RESPECT

When you are visiting a mosque on this walk, please cover your head with a scarf and leave your leather shoes outside the mosque. In case, you wish to carry them with you, inside, please place the soles together, facing inward and not outward.

About the Author: Dr Swapna Liddle studies history and got her doctorate in 19th Century Delhi, Her interest in Delhi’s monuments started in a casual manner, but have now become a very strong passion to protect these architectural buildings in Delhi. For some time now, she has been leading Heritage Walks arranged by India Habitat Centre and INTACH.

Click here to follow her on Facebook Or follow INTACH Delhi Chapter Walks on Twitter


Publisher: Westland Ltd
Venkat Towers, 165, P.H. Road, Maduravoyal, Chennai 600 095
No. 38/ 10 (New No. 5), Raghava Nagar, New Timber Yard Layout, Bangalore 560 026
Survey No. A - 9, II Floor, Moula Ali Industrial Area, Moula Ali, Hyderabad 500 040
23/ 181, Anand Nagar, Nehru Road, Santacruz East, Mumbai 400 055
4322/ 3 Ansari Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi 110 002

Also read about Sufi Sarmad Shaheed HERE

Are you jealous?

                                                         

Click Here for Photo credit

Are you Jealous? - Exploring Ahimsa, Hinsa and the Stick & Hole Theory


“To conquer the inner self and the outer world, we do not need weapons, wars, greed, malice or exploitation, but we need to practice ahimsa, aparigraha (non-attachment or trusteeship of worldly possessions, as against, hinsa, or appropriation of all possessions) and anikant (multiplicity of views.)”

I found this written on a little card given to me, with the hope that I would send in some donation towards the upkeep of the Sri Sumatinath Jain Swetamber Temple, inside naughar, at Kinari Bazar, Old Delhi, while taking a walk written about in Delhi: 14 Historical Walks, by Dr Swapna Liddle.

Of late I have been contemplating deeply on the three words, “Are you jealous?” and while it is true that multiple answers have arisen, as a true seeker of yet another question, Who Am I, the aforesaid, three words, have taken on a status of high priority to me, in my quest for the root question, Who Am I.

Yog Sutra of Patanjali which dates back to 400 CE, talks substantially on ahimsa as the first most important path to follow for a seeker of Truth. When Jainism and Buddhist borrowed heavily from this, it became a way of life.

As an ardent student of Buddhism as taught by S.N Goenka, I have tried to incorporate the practice in my daily wakeful life, personal and professional. The challenge of a 10 – 21 Days Vipassana retreat is now a luxury, I can’t afford, in terms of time, hence, it is wiser to practice in wakeful everyday life. That certainly does not mean that one is not at all times struggling with the inner kurukshetra/war of emotions and their resultant affect on my own life. It is all too well to say that avarice (greed) is the root of all evils and the resultant Hinsa, or appropriation of all possessions is the cause of the war within and without our living experience of life.

As fellow beings, we tend to share each others’ histories and get included in our shared experiences. This forms the foundation of bonded relationships.

While Vipassana may help me introspect and be watchful, the answer to Are you jealous, I think lies with Freud.  A young man of Indian origin, and a Kolkattan, that too, although living in the US has propounded and made the world very simple taking cue from Freud’s Oedipus and Electra complex. He is kind to explain to us that all of Freud is all about ‘Kathi aar phooto’, which translates from Bangla to English as ‘Stick & Hole’ theory. I would say, that the answer to the profound question, Are you jealous lies in this simple theory that classifies the entire human experience into two simple facts – (a) kathi/stick (b) phooto/hole. Why then bother about the dangerous last requirement of practice of ahimsa, that being celibacy. It would be impossible to achieve higher values of this life, both Buddhist and Jains say, without achieving celibacy. Freud would duly put celibacy, which he hadn’t the vaguest idea of, in the context of our higher philosophies in India, into the realm of failed sexual interaction causing the vibrant, compulsive sexual energy to find its escape in Art etc, such as the case of Van Gogh.

Thus, no matter where I look for an answer to that profound question, Are you jealous, I prefer to take the middle path.

- Yes, I would be jealous, if in the first place, I owned or possessed that which I now have lost to someone else.

- But, if for all reasons, that which I have lost, was not what I possessed or owned in the first place, then i cannot be jealous about what I do not and never had.

- But if the ‘Stick & Hole’ Theory is true, then what i do not have in my possession now, I might aspire to possess it in future.

- But if what I aspire for is not my possession now and never has been, I cannot own up to be jealous, because, right here and now, they never were or are my possessions in the first place. Nor have I lost what I never owned in the first place.

Hence, putting aside the question ‘Are you jealous,’ to the shallowness of Freudian Psychoanalysis brilliantly illustrated by the ‘Stick & Hole’ Theory, I prefer to continue to focus on the questions in my quest for Truth, that being ‘Who Am I’.

Returning now, to the main subject of Jainism in Delhi, the leaflet I picked up, says,

“The prime significance of this place, which is the period of Sri Neminath Bhagwan (22nd Thirthankara, out of twenty-four) is that it was established as the capital city of India by the Pandavas who were the chief followers of Prabhu Nemirath Bhagwan, the cousin brother of Lord Krishna.”

Wikipedia has said that the first Digambar Jainas arrived in Delhi during the Mughal era, when the Agarwals were invited by Emperor Shah Jahan to come and set shop here in Delhi. This was very late but we are aware that Jainism spread widely in Gujarat and Rajasthan, including the south. But in the north, we know that there were temples, even as close or thereabouts in Meherauli, for there is evidence in the stones that made up the Qutab Minar built in 1192. In her book, Delhi: 14 Historical Walks, the author, Dr Swapna Liddle writes about the Qutab Minar Complex:

“Around much of the perimeter runs a pillared colonnade. The pillars are mostly elaborately carved and on close inspection one can see many humans, animals and divine figures. Such sculpture seem out of place in a mosque, since depiction of human or animal figures is unacceptable to orthodox Islam as being akin to idolatry. The answer to this mystery lies in the fact that these are re-used material from twenty-seven Hindu and Jain temples that had stood in the vicinity and were mostly destroyed by the invading Turks as an act of war.”

Indeed, before the Delhi Sultanate was overthrown by the Turks from Central Asia, in 1192, the Rajputs, also called the Tomar dynasty in the north, who finally were overthrown by Prithviraj Chauhan, also a Rajput reigned. It is expected that Jainas spread wide in Rajasthan during that period and even before or else the Qutab Minar would not have pillars with Jain Temples.

There are so many histories on the same thing and perhaps all are right. Like anekant (multiplicity of views) one must bear at heart that history is truth told by the historian from his view point which so many times was dictated by the ruling king and dynasty, who wanted history written with them as the centre of the world.

Thus, too with ‘Are you Jealous?'

Sufi Sarmad Shaheed - Excerpt from Delhi: 14 Historical Walks by Swapna Liddle

Photo credit below

If you are in Delhi and are visiting Jama Masjid, and have arrived using Gate # 1, then, on your right, is gate #3, beside which is the shrine of Sufi Sarmad Shaheed. 

Writes noted historian of the Mughal era, Swapna Liddle, in her book Delhi: 14 HistoricalWalks 

“He was a successful trader but while on a trip to Sindh, he converted to Islam and also became attracted to mysticism. He distanced himself from worldly concerns, his asceticism even leading him to discard his clothes. After travelling around for a while he came to Delhi, where Shahjahan’s son, Dara Shikoh, himself interested in mysticism and with an unorthodox approach to religion in general, became his disciple. Dara Shikoh, however was put to death on orders of his brother Aurangzeb in a tussle over succession, and Sarmad wound up on the wrong side of the political divide. His unorthodox ways gave Aurangzeb ample ammunition against him. Sarmad’s nudity was one charge against him. The other was that when asked to recite the Islamic creed – ‘There is no God but God and Mohammad is his Prophet,’ he stopped at ‘there is no God,’ saying that his attempt to understand the mysteries of God, he had so far only got to this stage. Sarmad was found guilty of heresy and beheaded at the orders of the emperor. The story of his death itself is interesting and has two versions. One is that as soon as his head hit the ground, the full kalmia was spoken from his mouth, and the head rolled the distance from the palace to the Jama Masjid reciting praise of God. The other version is that the headless body picked up the head and started to walk towards the mosque in anger. As he reached the foot of the steps, the voice of his spiritual master, Syed Hare Bhare Shah, who was buried there, was heard to ask, ‘where are you going?’ When Sarmad replied that he was going to lay his case before God, Hare Bhare Shah persuaded him to give up his anger as he had reached his destination. Sarmad’s body collapsed right there, and he was buried at that spot. The interior of the shrine is painted red. Next to it is the shrine of Hare Bhare Shah.” - Excerpt from  Delhi: 14 Historical Walks By Swapna Liddle  

Note: All Links below are my choice.  

References:  Click here for Dara Shikoh 

                       Click here for kalima

Photo credit: HERE

She's come home to me!

                                                She's come home to me

                                     (Dedicated to the memory of my ‘intellectual mother’, my Chotomoni)

Many year before she left her mortal body, she had called me one day in Delhi, to tell me she was going to visit and stay with me here for two months. My partner and I were really happy and looking forward to her coming. 

However, back where she stayed in Kolkata, discussions began at her home about how she could be sent to Delhi. Her husband had got so used to having her around, serving his every need, her son had not outgrown the umbilical cord connection, her own home needed her for each and every thing – what was going to be cooked each day, how much and for how many people – the list went on and on. Needless to say, the discussion of her coming to Delhi ended, only when she decided not to come at all.

Next, I decided to spend a year in Kolkata in my newly acquired home. My flat was only a forty-five minute taxi distance from hers. I pleaded with her to come and stay a week with me, with her husband, my meshamoshai. But then, once again the question arose, as to how she could go, because her husband refused to come along and her young toddler grandson, I was told by her, asked every day, before he went to Kindergarten, whether, she his granny would be home when he returned from school…

The plan to come stay with me was dropped yet again!

I was furious! Women, I told her, always put themselves aside to put men first and then complain that they don’t get heard. My Chotomoni, only smiled. After all, it was her gentleness which was most used against her. 

I never asked her again. I knew she would feel guilty both ways, to refuse me or to listen to her family only. I did not want her to suffer the fragmentation of an undecided mind. I let it go and instead increased my visits to hers.

Until, last year, on 16^th May, 2014, she left her body. I was not at her bedside at that moment, but when I went back to her house after a few days, her photo greeted me with the enigmatic smile that was typically hers. I wept uncontrollably. She had not set foot in the house, that was mine and she would never do so, now.

On the 6^th this month, May, 2015, we completed the one year death formalities by Hindu rituals at Kolkata.

On the 16^th evening, I called my brother, her son in Kolkata and talked to him, consoling him. On the 17^th I woke with a dream vivid as real life. 

In my dream, I was preparing to eat a breakfast of what used to be my maternal grandfather’s favourite dinner. Doodh rooti  is what it is called. Chappatis torn to small pieces and thrown into milk, with a dash of sugar, was in our family pure joy, learnt from habits passed down the generations. 

I saw, my partner returning home with Chotomoni beside her. I was overjoyed. Helping her to sit on a chair, I hurried to give her my bowl of doodh rooti, which she accepted and was stirring the spoon in the bowl, before taking a bite, when she looked at me and said clearly –

“Wear diamonds around your neck.”

I was a little stunned, both from the fact that I was not given to such showbiz, nor felt I could do so because diamonds are so expensive, but my partner interpreted the dream to mean, that in her accepting the doodh rooti, she has indicated that she has accepted what I have had to offer her and in return she has blessed me with the diamonds, to symbolize, a sparkling white and pure clarity of life and path ahead.

No wonder, then, to keep the magic of the moment alive in me, I quickly placed the Chrystals around my neck.

She has come home to me, my Chotomoni. I am wearing her around my neck.

On the isle side in a printed border white silk sari, Chotomoni, Dr Pratima Konar seen here with her friend and room mate with whom she lived over seven years in London, doing her Ph.D. This picture was taken when they were visiting Holland. She wrote at the back of the photo taken in the 60s, Mira Dasgupta and Pratima on boat in Europe.

Fuck Off Y'all, Delhi LGBT community!

Yesterday, malicious, malign rumours around my personal life with my friend were spread in the LGBT community in Delhi in order to destabilize my ongoing relationship with my partner of fifteen years and my newly acquired friend on Facebook, with whom I am engaged in LGBT activism on Facebook. While we both respect each other and are fond of each other, we were hit by a bolt of malicious propaganda of the profile of my partner, the reason being, the supposed sudden knowledge of my ongoing fun and frolic with my friend which did not go down very well with my partner.

But the point is everyone else knew about it and the engagement proved that while on the one hand, we talk of regressive laws like Section 377 IPC, on ground, when two people of the same sex are engaged, all the world rejoices with them. Hence FUCK LAW! STOP SHOUTING and GO DO IT, if you want to!

The LGBT community in Delhi must know that their joy in destroying friendships and relationships between people of the same sex only reflects the instability of their own. And that like all relationships, it is very hard to break a partners who have been together, for a long time. Also, since we do not follow the normative way of life, it is possible for us to have more than one friendship with anyone. We are not monogamous, patriarchal and strictly limited within boundaries.

In my case especially, having moved and evolved over many relationships, my horizon is large and I care two hoots for words like marriage etc. If I can live a committed and loving relationship for 15 years, I can include one more same sex person to my relationship without having to go through marriage.

Having said that, if I so wish to enter the institution of marriage, I will do so and I will see how the Indian Court can stop me from doing that.

I say, STOP trying to prove you are a friend, when actually you are a dimwit, immature carrier of tales. And STOP harming people you love, or profess to do so!

Get the hell out of my way! You are neither loved nor respected any more by me! So Fuck Y'all!



Photo credit HERE

India's Daughter - Watch the film

To Watch the film  Click Here

India’s Daughter, the BBC Nirbhaya documentary which has been widely acclaimed as one of the best documentary showcasing the rape and the aftermath of the 2012 December 16, act that shook the world and brought hundreds of thousands of women and men to the streets in India and abroad, was not given clearance from the Indian Censor Board to be released for viewing in India. Our Government’s objection was ignored by BBC and they uploaded the film on YouTube, which shortly was blocked out over the Indian skies. But lakhs of Indian had seen it already and a few more saw it on Vimeo. Friends and family living abroad, sent the film in mp4 version and we downloaded from Dropbox. A civil disobedience movement had begun on the internet space which would again take the shape of what happened in 2012 in Delhi.

Delhi, the capital of the country has a new title: Rape capital of India. And why not? Every 20 minutes there is a rape, disclosed or undisclosed in the city and its NCR area, covering Gurgaon, NOIDA and Faridabad.

Some philosophers have said, that it is the cumulative lack of social consciousness of this country which has caused this to happen.

Historically, India is enmeshed in the caste system and it is our tradition to keep the untouchables away from the mainstream of our society. This disparity has continued until today, when another split in our society which has been caused by globalization has created the divide between the rich and the poor to widen. If the untouchables of yesteryears have enormous anger towards the educated and the more privileged sections of our society, then it is not far from the hatred and anger that the poor have towards the rich.

We are a society living on the pretense of being humane, compassionate, loving and philanthropic. Indeed, the truth is, we are hoarders, anti-humane, non-compassionate and an utterly selfish country. All we think about is ourselves, our family and our near and dear ones.

Hence, not only among the Dalits, but the poorest of the poor in our society, the upper caste, class, is the one which is held with the most abhorrence. The unequal distribution of wealth and the divide between the haves and the have-nots have reached a critical mass.

There will be explosions and karmic holocaust throughout this country. Rape is not only a dastardly act of power, but as the film reiterates, it is an act of violence against women by men, who feel no remorse at all.

We must only blame ourselves for this. We have a history that goes down to many centuries which stops us from seeing our own faults.

How can anyone call India a safe country? It is not!


To read Ratna Kapur, Professor Jindal University, India Click Here

Old wine tastes sweet, sometimes.

Visiting a place you have left behind or people you are no more in daily contact with, because they are no more a part of your life, causes both a feeling of happiness as well as sadness. Let me explain.

Many moons ago, I came to stay in a city which was buzzing with life. Over the years, it made me, molding me from raw and ready clay to a finished good ready to take on the world. The city was Bombay.

I can’t say I was ever in love with the city – who can really be, if you have come from the laid back life of a small town, picturesque and beautiful. Yet, the cement blocks of which I was going to see a lot in later years as well, grew in me and the people became my family. Yes, they say, in Bombay, you do not need your family; your neighbours make up for your family.

After thirteen years, I escaped to another place, close to Bombay, where the quality of life resembled what I had left behind, long ago. So, why did I return to Bombay after eight years out of it?

I longed to be in the hustle bustle of daily life, waking up at 5 am to take a train at 7 am to reach my work place at 9 am! Five years and I was done.

One day, I sat and calculated the number of hours I was on the road and it worked out to be like this: Out of 12 months in a year, I was only living 8, because the rest of the time I was travelling! It hit me like a bolt from the sky and I said to myself – Hey! I am not going to live like this anymore.

Just at that time, love came knocking at my door and I opened it to find that I was already flying out to another place, a place I was going to call my home.

Fifteen years in one place, changes you, for better or for worse. But it has contributed more to me than I can measure. Delhi is my jaan, my love, my life now.

Returning to Bombay, only recently, I realized that I was tremendously happy to be there and it almost seemed that I would return, just like I had many years ago, after living 8 years in a place which gave me, ease and a good lifestyle.  But early came a few warnings!

Friends and family I left behind years ago, were lukewarm.  They were also busy – Still! Even over the weekend, they did not have the time to meet. I understood! Isn't Bombay the place, where you promise to meet friends almost every week but can make it only once every other year? So why blame them; I am forgotten not because there is a problem with me, but because, life is so fast, it is like the old cassette we used to have, where you overwrite and everything is wiped out. So too me.

And there were a few new associations which were so warm and welcoming that I almost stayed behind. But good providence and past experience warned me of the devil within and the carrot that always hangs before a donkey, before it makes another enormous mistake!

I think that creative upheaval is a very positive thing and it pushes you beyond yourself to achieve new dimensions. This is exactly my point of view why I upturned my life so many times for a new place where I could start from scratch once again. But this time, I was shy of it.

It is indeed hard to create your stability with a city. It takes years to do it. And once it is cemented, then, it is foolish to ruffle up everything and start all over again.

There might be a home for me out there, but really Bombay, I am done with you and while I enjoyed my years with you, indeed, you are only old wine that tastes sweet, sometimes.

Photo credit HERE  

Saving Snoopy

Honeymoon holidays are not always about romance. In fact, quite often it may turn out to be one where you become a mother immediately.

When my partner and I decided to visit the place we wanted to set shop and home, we went to the northeast of India to mix pleasure and business together. It was early March. The wind was strong at that time of the year with occasional rain even. One day, staying over at a family friend’s place, we woke in the night with the sound of a puppy crying. Shivering in the cold, we found a small creature looking like a tennis ball, yelling at the top of her voice. She was cold and miserable and very hungry. She had also lost her mother, because she had been wondering around.

We instantly picked her up and I got busy trying to find her something warm and something to eat or drink. She was a little baby and I was not sure if she would drink anything outside of her mother’s milk. But be that as it may, I quickly warmed up a little milk and fed it to her. She drank up the milk as if she had not eaten in a long time, but within half an hour she also brought it all up. And again began to cry loudly.

I knew my sleep was gone for that night and I would have to hold the baby in my arms till dawn. And it was exactly that. Every time I closed my eyes, she would begin to cry softly gradually progressing to loud yelling. When my eyes were open, she would nap in my arms!

Thus began a story with Snoopy, our little hill dog. The next day, we both went to look for her mother all around the neighbourhood. But, alas, no, we just could not find her. And so, even as the growing romance was sharply interrupted by a baby on hand, I became a mother!

When we, a family of three, settled down in a house, rented out to us, overlooking our shop called “Grub”, we had the most wonderful neighbor called Wilty Aunty and Uncle. They had retired from Kolkata and returned back home to build a lovely English style house with a large garden. Snoopy found her grand parents in them.

Wilty aunty’s daughter lived with her husband and two daughters in Italy and her son, an Air India pilot, lived in Mumbai. The couple had many relatives in the place they settled down in and rarely bothered to busy themselves with the lives of their children. But I heard a lot about them.

Wilty aunty had lost her father early in life and her mother went out to work, leaving her in the care of her pet dog. Indeed, it is the dog that looked after her, while her mother returned every two hours to visit her as a baby in the care of her dog. And so, Wilty aunty knew a ‘dog language’ which Snoopy picked up easily. You should have seen them when Snoopy got a bath in Wilty aunty’s bath tub.

The two would enter a tub that was filled with warm water and Wilty aunty would start to give Snoopy a bath. And the whole bathroom would be splashed with water. There inside would be Wilty aunty struggling with Snoopy and outside, a fully wet Uncle would stand with a stick to scare Snoopy and try to manage her. But, it was useless. Snoopy would jump out of the tub and throw herself on their carpet to wipe herself dry, while there ran a wild couple behind her, trying to throw the towel on her. The loud screams from all quarters nearly brought the house down!

“Be careful,” she warned me, “those boys who live in the rooms below, will kill Snoopy and have a hearty meal. They eat dogs.” Wilty aunty warned.

I could hardly believe what they said, but we all got very cautious thereafter. But Snoopy never became their lunch. Nor her grandparents ever failed to keep a watchful eye over her.

And I continued to be a mother. 

Cross Over and Embrace!

The Transgenders in India have been recognized in India, for the first time in the Aadhar Card. Recently their request to be included in Voter ID as transgenders/third gender, has been rejected by the Election Commission in Mumbai. Please see link below.

While the debate on gender continues and really, in all honesty, I oppose ‘labels’ purely because, it is too restrictive, I do hope for more for the transgenders in India.

Recently, I came across a community quite close to my home. They had just been visiting someone’s house in the locality and I was on my way out to work, so only a few words passed between us.

“So, where do you live?” I asked one of them.

“Kalyanpuri.” She answered. I knew my house help too lived there.

“I have a question to ask you,” I continued gingerly. “What do you call yourself?”

“Kinnar… we call ourselves Kinnar.”  She said smilingly, knowing how interested I was in her.

“May I visit you, one day?” I asked.

“Please come!” she said and called out to her friend to give me her visiting card. “The number beneath Sai Baba is mine. The lady on the other side is my Guru.”

“Thank you!” I said politely, my interest shooting up in leaps and bounds. “I will come.”

They were all so beautiful, wearing gorgeous saris and trinkets on their neck, fingers and toes.

There really is something amazing about people you cannot define. They become mysterious to our eyes. And this becomes the source of desire.

Ever since, I met a few transgenders in a close encounter a few years ago, in Bhopal, I have felt a deep seated attraction to them. Of late, working on my third novel, I have places where I needed to research on them, at a very close heart to heart, at home spaces and I was already wondering how I could do that. There is so much literature on them, yet, being with a community, spending time and sharing meals with them, makes a huge contribution to your thoughts.

While issues of visibility plague LGBT movement in India and Laws are still primitive and not supportive, it is hard to keep ones head above the water and fight for recognition, income, and Legal status.  They earn only by ‘blessing’ new born children and are rarely employed with the Government.

I, of course promised to let my Kinnar friends know of every birth in the locality and every marriage! They would calculate the rest. Not too difficult in Delhi, where B follows M, within a year!

On the one hand, transgenders have always been vocal about themselves but we have taken too much time to recognize their presence among us. By giving them no legal status, we force them to marginalized quarters in our cities and towns, where, they are shaded out from the rest of society. 

Their economic status does not improve, because, our society and legal system does not permit them the right to education nor earning a livelihood, just like others. And in this respect, they are far more in hiding, than they would like to be.

Indeed, to include them in our society, we need to embrace them in our lives. We need to open up and challenge ourselves to cross over.

To know more on the Kinnar Community, click Here

EC rejects transgenders demand Here

My family and other animals IV

Shunu was a dog’s man. Yes, read that again – he was a dog’s man. Why else would Zarak take to him and make him his Master, despite the fact that he already had one?

My maternal uncle, whom I called Shunu took long walks in the morning. He usually took his dog with him. At this time, he was alone and at around 7 am, having walked many miles, he landed up at his friend’s house, for tea and biscuits. His friend lived not too far away from ours, rather close to the Jail Road Boys High School, Shillong, where my grandfather was the Headmaster during his working years.

Shunu’s friend had acquired a fluffy little tennis ball, with a tiny black nose and black and brown fur all over him, a little Alsatian puppy called Zarak. No sooner did Shunu sit himself in the sunny courtyard, on a moorah, Zarak jumped on his lap and began to bounce around as if he had met a long lost friend. Shunu spoke very little but he made some sounds, which the little pup understood and perking his ears in disbelief, looked every now and then to make sure he had heard right. Indeed, Shunu was only making it known to the pup that he must now stop jumping up and down, slipping once or twice and falling off the lap, yelping and crying and then back again on Shunu’s lap, over and over again! Zarak couldn’t care. He listened to no one, and his Master brought out the ruler pretending to threaten him, but Zarak grabbed the ruler and began to chew it! After some time, when the little tennis ball’s energy seemed to have subsided, did Shunu get to quench his thirst with a cuppa.

Zarak, grew fast and when he was three months old, he was already huge. The relationship between man and dog had already been established and one day, we found Zarak had come home, all by himself! How did he do that? He followed Shunu’s scent from his first Master’s house to ours. Within moments, our cook was sent to inform Zarak’s family that he had come to ours. The distraught family sighed in relief, but not even an elephant could take Zarak back to his own home. He refused to go. His Master, cajoled, pulled him by his chain, but Zarak could not be moved.

So Zarak became our dog too. There was no saying how long he would stay with us and when he would return to his Master. Shunu was his second Master and when he had had his fill in this house, he would go to the other. Sometimes he stayed for months, sometimes only a few days. He was divided in his loyalties and so, when he was with us, he I guess did not at all think of his first Master.

They suited each other perfectly, Shunu and Zarak. Shunu was Zarak’s Man! Royal Bengal Tigers!

Yesterday I saw the video of the man who had fallen into the white tiger’s den in Delhi, India and was mauled by the tiger. Zarak looked so much like the tiger. He was ferocious too. People were so afraid to come to our home, because, he would grab then by their ankle, if he was not tied up. Sometimes, he broke thick chains to pounce at visitors.

BEWARE OF DOGS, was not what we ever wrote on our wall or gate though. Although, in later years whenever, I thought about it, I said, we ought to have written:

BE AWARE OF WHO YOU ARE INSIDE, BEFORE YOU COME IN!

Stories from childhood by Julia Dutta, in anticipation of Terry and His Little Brothers

Photo credit: http://image.rvmagonline.com/f/features/1406-rv-winter-blues-highway-tales/62585119/highway-tales-man-with-dog.jpg