The Fossilized Minds.

[There is enormous generation of wealth, stupendous growth in technology, exponential growth in knowledge, great strides made in philosophy, literature and medicine, an IT revolution going on and general mellowing of mind, indeed we are living in exciting times until perhaps somebody pushes the nuclear button. If there is also destitution, wide spread terrorism, mayhem and corruption, treachery and fraud and obscenely disproportionate distribution of wealth, it is no coincidence nor by any design but only natural. It is the human nature and now latent animal instinct within us, which is responsible for this mismatch. If still anybody thinks that there ever was a period in our history better than now, he must be a brave man. There are brave men in this world]
There are small communities of largely geriatric men found in most society who look for inspiration in the past. They are generally soft spoken, articulate and scholars of ancient texts. Their needs are frugal and they set example in following the archaic moral standards. On their own they wouldn't harm a fly but can calmly order annihilation of societies. They are completely oblivious to reason and their world-view is completely focused on perceived ancient grandeur. They are the mullahs who would order amputation of limbs with complete sense detachment, they are shankaracharyas who see no evil in sati and they are the priests who ordered burning of witches on the stake. All windows of their mind are closed but the rear window. They peer through this window in distant past and see through impressionistic haze a glorious utopian society. They are concerned with the present moral degeneration and see salvation in the archaic morality and frozen wisdom in text. They exist on the fringe and remain dormant like viruses, but when they do rise they explode on the scene like uncontrollable viruses and quickly lay waste a large portion of humanity and dissolve as quickly leaving a bewildered society to pick up the pieces. The rise of Hitler in Germany and Ayatollah in Iran are just two examples.
They appeal to our baser instincts and play on our xenophobia, raising fears of insecurity and win our constituency. Masses, never doubting their insincerity fall for the promised windfall. In any case they appear morally straight in contrast to representatives of establishment who are perceived as corrupt in unfair. They are romantics therefore they do not encounter dilemma faced by pragmatists due to inherent contradictions in setting right today's problem with archaic means. The details never bother them, as they are happy with the big picture even though full of flaws. They brush aside all objections by shear numbers. Consider the designer knickers the RSS cadre wears in Shakhas. The obnoxious design has not changed over seventy-five years. It reflects their rigid attitude to change even though knickers itself is western attire and they themselves are arch opponents of western thought.
The writings are already on the wall for anybody to see, yet the fatal attraction of any thing past, presented nicely wrapped up, blinds us to the pitfall of impending doom. If we remain passive spectators to fast rising numbers of converts to their mad logic, we shall perhaps not survive their present resurrection.

Tasbeeh Ka Dana

Muhtsib1, tasbeeh2 ke danoN pe ye gin.ta raha
Kin ne pee, kin ne na pee, kin kin ke aage jaam tha

1 holyman 2 set of counting beads

A very average sh'er of excessively overused theme. Actually I wanted to use another sh'er by Jigar in which 'tasbeeh ka daana' was used but couldn't recollect it correctly. My focus however is 'tasbeeh'. Tasbeeh is a wonderful word of restrictive purity and gravity. The word conjures vision of old men in white robes and flowing white beard or barefoot unwashed saffron-attired sadhus, their faces plastered with ash, slipping past their fingers one bead by one bead. Yet reality is cruel, its very relevance is questionable. It mocks our capacity to think rationally and reduces God into some kind of Sorcerer or 'Tilism' whose pleasure is tied down to a number. Worship becomes a chore focussed on accomplishment of a task. May be it provides a sense of participation or perhaps a sense of satisfaction at completing a task. Some may say it sets their mind at peace!
Why not just sit on a lonely riverbank or under a large shady tree or an abandoned large house and let the mind drift! I even reject the Yogic stance of emptying the mind of any thought; for one it is unnatural and two it is result neutral. Why not let the mind drift and experience the transcendental tranquility.
I would like to go to the temple and the mosque or the church but when there is no one in. The candles are not lit and the fragrance of incense does not waft through the air. Even better, I would like to go to an abandoned mosque or a temple ruin or a dilapidated palace where Peepal shoots jut out of crevices and cracks and roots of large trees have broken through the bases and distorted the edifice. This will busy my mind to draw the missing lines and complete the picture. Isn't fantasy better than the real thing!
I would want to be amazed at the calligraphy of those deft hands yet not be awed by their textual content. I would want to bypass the images of Gods, textual description of Him and not even 'sigh' at the mayhem unleashed by His followers, for man would have found a reason for that even without Him. I would want to get past the curiosity of "Who I am?" or "Why I am?" reach a stage where life merges with death and people will float past me like ghosts seeing through me, not acknowledging me.
I want to hold that 'tasbeeh' in my hand, eject it high in the air. catch it, swing it around one finger even slip the beads past fingers but never counting them. I want tasbeeh to break, beads spill over, bouncing off the floor and roll away. I want to be one of them, a freed "tasbeeh ka dana"!
Wouldn't you?

Jigar’s awesome sh’er is this:

Ye kis ka tassavur hai, ye kiska fasana hai,
Jo ashk hai ankhoN maiN, tasbeeh ka dana hai

*****

The Conversation

Once, while walking the desert sands,
I came across this dark man.
Curious, I asked,
“Good to see you around,
Pray, why you trail me,
In this god forsaken land?”
Amazed, he said,
“I thought it the other way round,
You’re trailing my footsteps,
Seeking company in wilderness.”
“Yes I fear the loneliness,
But I do not seek togetherness,
Now I feel hunger,
Now I feel thirst,
You are lucky to have no flesh
For you there is no distress.”
“Strange to say this when hungry.
So what if I do not feel.
Nor the pleasure of flesh,
You enjoy a sumptuous meal!
Yet, I find your words so grave
Pregnant with deep sense.
Life being an accident.
Your words of wisdom
Weigh heavy on me,
My wit cannot defy you
No such qualms for me though,
Life I owe to the blinding glow
Sailing across the blue above
After all I am nothing,
But your shadow.


*****

Death of A Bartender

The judge looked weary and bored in this hot afternoon. He wished he was home and having his two-hour siesta, sighed audibly and looked curiously towards the accused and asked, "Did you kill the bartender?"
The defendant was a suave middle-aged man, lean and tall with gray hairs and weather beaten face that had much used facial muscles. He wasn’t paying any attention to the proceedings in the courtroom therefore was surprised at the sudden attention diverted at him. Realizing that the accused had completely missed the question, judge repeated the question.
"I killed no man’", he said calmly. At this point his lawyer rose quickly and took control of the conversation. While his lawyer was saying," Your honor we plead guilty on temporary insanity…." The defendant again lost interest in the proceedings. He could remember the events of that fateful day very clearly as if it all happened only yesterday.
It was an ordinary barroom, ancient and dimly lit. The wood paneled walls, varnished repeatedly over the years on residual dust enhanced its gloom. It is strange that a place where people come to dissolve day’s tension should be so gloomy and yet faithfuls patronized this joint with clockwork regularity. The bar extended from end of the wall to three-quarters the length of the room but there was not much space between the bar and the racks holding arrays of sparkling bottles filled with myriad whiskies and liqueurs. He sat at the end of the bar near the wall brooding intently over a glass of whisky that he held between both his hands. From his end he could see the bending silhouette of an utterly bored bartender at the other end peering down at few customers talking in subdued voices as if they were in a graveyard. The bartender had tried to strike a conversation with him but he had responded very coldly. He raised his head as if woken from a deep slumber and looked straight in to the wall. There was a faded mirror hung in the wall right in front of him near the end of rack. He could see his blurred image in the cracked mirror. He was puzzled at the existence of mirror there! Then he saw the mirror had been hit as if by a bullet the top left corner. There were cracks radiating from that point and also cracks circling the focus making it resemble a cobweb. His eyed were now focused on the origin of the crack. As if mesmerized he felt he couldn’t take his eyes off that mirror. He felt heightening of depression within him as if the general gloom of the bar had seeped into his being. As he looked at the mirror, utter futility of life seemed weighing on him. The deeper he looked at the mirror the closer it appeared and then he saw the cracked web lifting off the mirror and engulfing his head. Suddenly he felt his eyes have flipped and were now looking at the grainy brown matter that made up his brain, yet it was covered in the same fragments of cobweb strands as if lying dormant and unused. Is this symbolic of a jaded mind! This frightened him but there was nothing he could do about it, making him squirm with unease. His thoughts now focused on the killing monotony of life he led, utterly meaningless and purely functional. He thought he was an ant, a worker ant at that carrying out a dull but necessary routine but why him? The question rattled him. He was tied down to his wife and children and answerable to a monolithic society. He realized that it will not be sufficient to make adequate financial settlement for his family and buy his freedom because he still will be tied to them emotionally. He wasn’t a free agent.
Then he saw a figure stirring to life at the bar. He threw a languid glance at the stranger, was surprised to see the man resemble his own self. The man looked malevolent, his eyes blood shot revealing bulging veins in the cornea. He was moving towards him with both hands pointing towards his throat in a stance to throttle him. Involuntarily he pulled his revolver from his pocket and fired repeatedly at the stranger. There was complete silence in the bar after the gunshots were fired. The man, he thought, assaulting him slumped over the bar and collapsed. He felt very calm and relieved and began to sip whisky from his glass. He looked amusedly at the few frightened men who were in the bar, leaving the bar very quietly. He remained in the bar for an eternity until, an inspector with a revolver pointing at him, followed by two constables asked stiffly, "Did you kill the bartender?"


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