Anachronism

I don't give a damn for any religion, they are all comic. I think Hinduism or whatever they call themselves is a tribal religion. I don't see any difference in Hanuman and some African Gods apart from Hanuman moving around in silk underwear and some gold ornaments. Ditto for other animal Gods viz. snake, elephant, eagle, mouse, peacock etc. and weirdos with multiple hands and multiple heads. A Hindu actually confuses grandeur of their rituals with grandeur of their religion. Once a crackpot RSS teacher (class 12th teacher) who called himself a professor told me that the high point of Hindu religion is Yagn. I told him, "Asshole, you have no idea what you are talking about. The central objective of a Yagn is sacrifice and it is counter to definition of God." Buddhism too has remained comic and silly, embroiled in esoteric rituals. Other religions are comic too but have evolved from being tribal to rational and largely detoxified themselves. But truthfully I must say, I am scared of Al Islam. It is not comic but a tragic anachronism and extremely dangerous to humankind.

S H O C K

Now being a bastard seems trendy but real snob value may come from being daughter/son of a brother or sister in a bizarre twist to Electra/ Oedipus complex.

Shock has always been a passing fad in art and literature. For those who take interest in modern art will recall a parallel to this phenomenon at the fold of nineteenth century. At the end of Nineteenth century when a tired post-impressionism was dying with the exception of Paul Cezanne (SizaaN) who in any case was not 'discovered' during his life time, a raucous movement led by Henry Matisse, known as Fauvism (Fauve, pronounced Fa-O in French, means wild beast) characterized by bold distortion of form and use of dazzling pure colors shocked public's sensibility. Not satisfied Marcel Duchamp moved one step ahead with Dadaism, which was to outrage public's perception of art. These artists would put up things like skewed piss-pot against pristine white wall and present it as piece of sculpture. But, thankfully public's capacity to absorb shock is very limited and brittle therefore soon fatigue set in and these movements quickly petered off. One positive spin-off of this shock and awe was to energize moribund artists and goaded them to think more innovatively. Soon more sedate cubism, abstract art forms of expressionism and also mystic dream like fantasy of Surrealism swept Europe.
Shock, some mavericks confuse with essence of art. Throwing mud at Amartya Sen gets you eye balls, critically judging him would evoke bored yawns. I have seen more humility in Sen than any other celebrity, if you confuse that with white-ass licking at least be fair, the man hasn't been snobbish with 'browns' either. Saddam Hussain is a good father, Gandhi was bad, can we draw conclusions from this?
Throwing stones at glass houses has been a great past time for those who do not live in glass houses but we must remember, when Salman Rushdie threw one, pat came back a bomb chasing him everywhere. Ever since no writer has dared to touch Al Islam with a twenty feet pole.
Shock does invigorate art and literature but we must distinguish between true thinkers and canister beating mavericks, belting out cacophony in the name of music while a bunch of naked juveniles dancing around them.

Fixation With Original

Once some blokes have some surplus dollars, they begin to grab originals of great masters. This fixation for original is quite irrational as owning a good copy provides nearly the same sense of exhilaration and excitement as the original. In any case what good is a multimillion dollar original Rembrandt ensconced in a bulletproof glass, strung high on wall of the living room! You cannot even have a good look at it while
Picture above is "Persistence of Memory" By Salvadore Dali
a good copy at five hundred dollars will be available to touch, feel and enjoy. What is substance of art? It is the idea and original visualization, skill is secondary because there are hundreds of artists who can make copies that even critics and experts find dificult to tell the difference. Idea and visualization is not physical, therefore not tradeable. Perhaps our sense of exclusivity drives this urge to have the original. When art was in public domain it was appreciated and touched by the common folk and there was no need to protect it from thieves. Once a price was attached to it, destruction of temples and monuments followed. What sustains this multibillion-dollar charade, a bubble built around perception of critics/art auctioneers and a playing field of very few individuals and institutions? Why do we see the price of these work of art going through the roof in complete disregard to market rules. Actually the two attributes of this business provide momentum to each other and push the price up, 'Value' and 'exclusivity'. If the price is high it becomes more exclusive and when it is more exclusive it is more pricy. Someday these owners are going to very unhappy.

TRUTH

We exist in time and space therefore the truth, the morality, the values and even the perceptions are local to that space and time. We only know virtual truth, day's morality and values for they are all transient. Only absolute truth is static, but there is no way of knowing it, as we do not have a benchmark for comparison and a detached point to observe from. We judge things by arguing but logic's limit is knowledge and skill of presentation. Therefore truth arrived at by logic is only virtual truth limited by scope of knowledge and skill of presentation. Period. We spend entire lifetime from morning to evening and from birth to death trying to score logical points and arriving at half-truths, virtual truths or who knows even absolute truth!

Yet, great discoveries and revelations have come to us instinctively and with spontaneity. In any case, what is the difference if there is no sure way of arriving at absolute truth whether through logic or through instinctive inspiration. There is however, poetic charm and touch of romance in revelation received by spontaneity and instinct.

Anybody knowing algebra will know that if there are three variables but only two equations, then there will be infinite possible solutions. If however we impose conditions such as only integer values are acceptable or may be one variable is always smaller than another variable like age of two brothers, we can then restrict the number of possible solutions, may be if lucky even arrive at unique solution. Life is like this, many variables and no definitive equations only many conditions. Therefore there will never be definitive answers to meaning of life, only conjectures.

We are no one to judge anybody nor make value judgment. Yet, we do that all the time. Isn't it ironic that this observation also is logically arrived!

MUSAFIR & MANZIL

Dhoondta phirta huN ay 'Iqbal' apne aapko,
aap hi goya musafir aap hi manzil huN maiN

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Kisii raahro1 ko ye khabar na hogi
Ki inshaN tanha bhi ik karvaaN hai
1.. Musafir (Nizaam Rampuri)

Musafir is an extraordinary word; it is our essence, symbolic of our journey through life and our quest to search that illusive meaning of our existence. Even though the word means just the traveler, there is an implicit allusion to a stranger, which we all are to ourselves. Musafir also connotes exotic and unknown and provides awe and exhilaration of discovery. There is also an element of fear, fear of unknown and our inability to plan for this eventuality.

"Manzil k us taraf bhi ik raah-e-justjuu hai,
Manzil ka zurm hai ki yaheeN karvaaN thahre" ( Shazaad Lakhnawi)

Musafir is incomplete without a Manzil. One obvious Manzil is qazaa, but before that are several stopovers. At each step there is sense of accomplishment and joy of discovery and sometimes disappointment of a let down. The ultimate Manzil is deceptively dark, remote and foreboding like qazaa is. The fear of this Manzil is kind of organic and irrational. Organic fear stems from our need for survival and is reflex reaction, therefore we have no control over this fear. Irrational fear is our own creation and is caused by our inability to comprehend the foggy mystery surrounding qazaa.

Laut aaya phir yahaN tak, ay amir-e-karvaaN,
ChoR aaya tha jahaN tu, vo meri manzil na thi (Iqbal)

These words are truly extraordinary for the simple reason that in spite of being functional/ utility words, they retain freshness and exude an aura of spirituality.

And finally, ye bhi to aik masafir ka hi nazariya hai:

Surag-e-raah na koii manziloN ke nishaaN
safar ki shaam thi, gard-o-ghubaar main guzari!

Anil Kala

Steel Ka Darakhta

Nostalgia as an emotion, is deceptively innocent. In reality it is exploitative and escapist; Nostalgia is hazy sepia image of our distant past with sharp edges blunted and unpleasant details blurred. It isn't that we were any less dissatisfied back then perhaps a lot more dissatisfied than ever but the sanitized version presents a romantic picture and kicks up in us a deep urge to crave for that rainbow past. What the hell, life isn't all about cold rational assessment. There is room for spontaneous emotional outpouring and this where poetry enters our life. I have used the title "Steel ka Darakhta" largely for lack of suitable alternative for Steel. 'Faulad' is out of question, it is un-poetic and has repugnant connotation of crude sexuality, Lohaa on the other hand sounded pedestrian therefore

Steel Ka Darakhta.

Yahan aik booRHa darakhta tha,
Rassi se baNdhaa takhtaa, jhoolaa ban jaataa
Barish tham.ne par bachoN ka jhund chalaa aataa
Woh khelta, jhoolte aur jhagRte
Yahan tak ke kameezeN phat jaati.
Ab aisaa nahi hai,
Seeshe ka aalishaaN farooKh ka store hai
Bachche ab bhi aate hain aur jhagaRte hain
Par ab kameeezen nahi phat.ti, bahas hoti hai,
Baat baRH jaane par maaN baap jhagRte
Uske baad unke vakeel jirah karte haiN.
SaaNp, bichuu aur meNdhak nahi haiN
Saabun se dhule kutte haiN
Lohe ke pinjare main eK darakhta bhi hai
Woh darakhta ek dum seedha uth rahaa hai
Aur uske phool-patte shaayad geNdnumaa hoNge
Door se woh lollipop jaisa maloom hoga
Shayad sabse achche darakhta ka clone
Aik Steel ka darakhta!
Par mujhe phir bhi jane kyuN
Qudrat ka woh bedhab darakhta yaad aata hai

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