The Bedi-Tug of Kejri-War

The political scene at the Centre is posing stiff competition to the Delhi winters, what with its hotness quotient. For once, with a strong ruler at the centre, BJP has played its card carefully and has saved the best for the last. The sudden induction of Kiran Bedi was meant to be a master stroke. But whether it turns out to be a trump card or a damp squib remains to be seen. Kiran Bedi has been the symbol of substance, discipline, female power, integrity and everything one could hope for in a minister. She has experience and she is committed to her cause. For long, she has been sidelined and shunned by corrupt bureaucrats, who didn't see eye to eye with her owing to her straightforward, honest and effective ways of tackling law and order. From being thrown in remote areas to being demoted, she has seen it all. Having taken early retirement, she sided with Anna Hazare in the Lokpal movement but broke away from Kejriwal’s party.

But did BJP really need her? Did BJP really need an outsider to win the elections? The Modi wave threatens to sweep AAP away with its ostentatious Swachh Bharat and Make in India campaigns. But the party biggies must have realized that Delhi was a crucial election and if it failed to secure a majority in this, it would jinx the Modi magic in a way that might give the opposition fresh hope. The party needs to make hay while the sun shines and so it was exceedingly imperative for them to pit a diamond against a diamond. And that they did. Modi found someone like him, someone sans family ties and reputed to be authoritative and sturdy. Understandably, it created ripples in the party, as it upset the long standing members who felt unduly neglected in return for their devotion and long years of work for the party. It looks like a repeat of the LS polls, when Mr. Modi replaced the top brass like Advani and Joshi to become the PM candidate. Mr. Modi sure seems to be following his principle of minimum government, shrinking his cabinet and reducing it to a select few, whom he can supervise. It doesn't look like BJP at all, but MnM, Modi and Modi. Perhaps he feels that too many cooks spoil the broth, that too many ministers mean too many sops. He seems to have taken fancy to the hobbesian concept.

When the party realized that the Modi rally in Delhi did not achieve as high inputs as it could have expected, owing to the Modi effect, Shah put on his thinking cap and came up with a failsafe solution. Bring in someone untainted. Like Harsh Vardhan, the previous CM candidate from BJP, who was chosen precisely on such grounds. To match up to the concept of “change” and “new” and corruption-free, the principles that AAP espouses, BJP put forward a face that had no connection with scams or deals but had a strong reputation and influential record in the government. The consideration of Kiran Bedi for CM is a dream come true for many, especially the middle class, which formed a major vote base of AAP. After Mr. Kejriwal’s abdication of the Delhi chair, AAP lost a good section of this voter base which Ms. Bedi seeks to grab. If she does become the CM, atleast law and order ought to see a revampment. One can hope for more safety for women and a better response to heinous assaults on women than Mrs. Dixit’s “women should keep off the streets at night”.

But what happens when two hard taskmasters come together? Going by Kiran Bedi’s track record, she doesn’t brook any nonsense, any injustice. She might not be an eloquent speaker but she is a tough taskmaster. But will she tolerate the RSS’s communal agenda? Will she speak out against spurious speakers like Sadhvi and Sakshi Maharaj and incidents like church conflagrations, love jihad and ghar wapsi, thus inviting the party’s displeasure or prefer to take a euphemistic approach by sealing her lips and ignoring it all like light hearted banter in the light of big things like law and order and development on the lines of our PM’s course of action? What if Ms Bedi does not like some decision the PM takes? Or some order given to her does not resonate with her principles? Will she too abdicate her throne or will she last longer than Kejri’s 49-day stint?

Also, how healthy is it for a democracy to have the same party in the country and the same party at the Centre? Does it bode well when the string of ordinances threaten to choke the parliamentary procedure or when the media is hushed up and the detractors compelled to concede defeat? Or when industrialization and land acquisitions gain say over the displacement of poor farmers threatened by homelessness and displacement?

It looks to be a very tough choice between Ms Bedi and Mr. Kejriwal. One is former IPS, known for her impartial crackdown on wrongs and breaches of law and order. It almost looks like Ms. Bedi will host ‘AAP’ ki Kachhehri soon. On the other side of the fence is former IRS, known for his firebrand activism and (in)famous dharnas. He shot to fame with his humble weapon, and wielded more magic with his broom than a witch ever could with hers. The comparison cannot be based on qualifications or track record though, because if that were the case, then our erstwhile PM Manmohan Singh, with his noteworthy qualifications and impeccable record as the FM, would win a hundred times over our current PM, who had less education than you and me and the taint of communal riots on his trademark waistcoat.

The winner in all this may as yet be unknown. But the loser is pretty clear. In all this quagmire, no one seems to realize the ‘decongressization’  of the country. The supporters of Congress have been divided by the rise of AAP. Where BJP retains its right wing vote base, the leftists are confused between AAP and Congress. Chanakyaneeti or the concept of divide and rule has been played exceptionally well in this game of thrones.

So, how do we make our choice? Whom do we trust? Can Ms. Bedi be the messiah who will solve all the problems? Or will she be disillusioned by the power play or the centralization of power in the hands of a few (read one)? Can Mr. Kejriwal deliver on his promise of ‘5 saal, kejriwal’ or will he quit within 5 days this time round? Whoever wins, let’s hope we, the people, are not the losers.

The Martyrs of Freedom

What is it about the dichotomy between modernity and regression, the two forces running parallel today, one dead set on taking the world forward and the other even more determined to pull it back? The ban on Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses, Wendy Doniger’s The Hindus: An Alternative History, the imprisonment and then exile of the famed philosopher Ramin Jahanbegloo from Iran for his revolutionary philosophies and criticisms, the self-imposed exile of the iconoclastic painter MF Husain from India, the furore over the recent release PK, the hullabaloo over the movie ‘The Interview’ mocking the North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un are just a few examples of curbing freedom in an era of free men and women. It is disheartening to see that Maithripala Sirisena took over Sri Lanka’s presidency not on the grounds of development but on the basis of a promise to bring back democracy, that many countries still sag under the burden of their dictators’ whims and that, in fact our own PM tries to be the Big Brother (of the 1984 fame). Why are we still stuck on freedom in the age when environmental issues need more focus? Why do we still live in a society where freedom comes at an exorbitant price, where we get trampled in the wrestle between the polarising modern and retrograde forces ? Obviously where there is a positive, there has to be a negative to balance it. So, antiquity and forward thinking, left and right, north pole and south pole...coexist. In fact, one exists because of the other. It would be highly desirable and infinitely peaceful if a middle path existed. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.

So, what is it with dissent? What is it with saying things aloud? Why is there so much taboo? What do we fear? Do we fear that we will discover things and ideas that may change our established perspectives forever? Or do we fear that we will lose our way and digress from the truth? Well, if thinking and reasoning takes one away from the truth, then one might need to do a reality check on the truth itself. And if it is a universal and unchangeable truth, then it cannot be changed, least of all by caricatures and posts. Do we scold a child when he giggles or makes fun of a serious topic? I guess we do. Why? Because we do not have the innocence of a child whose mind is a blank slate, we cannot brook ridicule or defiance regarding the beliefs we hold dear. It makes us uncomfy, shakes us up, makes us take a relook at our belief systems.

Let’s question the concept of freedom. Does the freedom of expression include the freedom to offend? Does it include the right to defame people, institutions and belief systems? Does it include the freedom to incite, instigate and foment rebellion? Perhaps not. Perhaps that’s the reason why Facebook boss Mark Zuckerberg got death threats over his refusal to ban content about Prophet Mohammed. Perhaps that’s why Saudi blogger Badawi was sentenced to 10 years in prison, 1000 lashes and ordered to pay a fine of about $266,600 after being convicted of insulting Islam for writing a liberal blog. Perhaps that’s why Charlie Hebdo was attacked and its editors choked to death. For their ‘insensitive’ and ‘fulminating’ content. The freedom of expression is a double-edged sword, a weapon more powerful than any other. When we talk about freedom of speech and expression, we forget that we do not live in a utopian society where individuals base their decisions on their conscience and good faith. We are required to coexist in a society where power play and ulterior motives direct the use and abuse of this freedom. But should we then make laws to regulate this freedom? After all, whom can we entrust its judicious use to? If not the public, certainly not the moral or the legal police. As for the victims of this freedom, there could be many ways of retaliation-taking the issue to court, going for a tit-for-tat act by perhaps coming up with a counter publication to quash a blog’s or a magazine’s ‘outrageous’ ideas or the easiest way- ostracization. However, the attackers resorted to violence. The most cowardly method, the worst way of saying that we are weak and our arguments don’t hold water. Charlie Hebdo made fun of Christianity, Judaism, Islam and many other religions and political systems. It was a magazine which shouted eccentric...off-kilter...unexpected...unpredictable. It aimed to plant the seed of independent thought. But the extremists did what they did best. Silence them, snuff out their lives and hence, their voices, their thoughts. They probably tried to disprove that the ‘pen is mightier than the sword’. They probably did not realize that the power of the pen is such that the more you suppress it, the more it grows. Most of us did not even know about Charlie Hebdo but thanks to the terrorists, now every Tom, Dick and Harry would google the caricatures and articles relating to the Prophet that led to the horrific attack. The attackers have spread the magazine’s message farther than the publishers and editors ever intended or hoped for.

The question arises, what are we watchers supposed to do? Stay quiet and let it all happen? Or get mired in the mesh and run the risk of being flogged, banned or killed? If we are the Roman mob, then any Brutus, Caesar or Marc Antony can make us think the way they want. But every such Brutus and Marc Antony still have the freedom to speak their mind and every such mob has the right to reject or accept their ideas without any side fearing a backlash from the other.

Long Live the Martyrs of Freedom!

A Wake-Up Call

Beep! Beep! It was 7:30 am and I was still not ready to forsake the luxury of my blanket to get ready for work. I did some calculations that were heavily biased towards my blanket and decided to hit the snooze button one more time. A beep rang out again. That was strange. The snooze time was 10 minutes and although time flew when you slept, it couldn't possibly have flown that fast. And then I saw. It was a whatsapp message. Damn early birds! Texting at the crack of dawn! My curiosity got the better of me though and I decided to read it anyway. It was my friend. But no good morning, no hello. There was a single passage. That struck me as even weirder. Here it went.

''Mindnumbing and mindless violence tears the blood-stained fabric of humanity, giving the human race a whole new meaning. The attacks, be it the Nirbhaya tragedy or the barbarian bloodbath in Pakistan are referred to by people as inhuman or beastly. But I strongly disagree. Only the human race is capable of such heinous acts of mass destruction. Only the human race can plumb to such morbid depths of brutality. No beast can sexually assault a girl with a steel rod. No beast can pretend to be army personnel, lure the kids into believing in their safety and then shoot them point blank or incinerate their teachers in front of their eyes. No beast would savour their fellow species being tortured. No beast would hold grudges for ages. No beast would kill in the name of religion, caste, gender and such 'lofty' concepts. It is the human race that is capable of such chilling acts of savagery, of cold-blooded murder, of horrendous unthinkable means of torture. No species on earth is as barbaric, as cunning and as dangerous as the one at the top of the food chain. When we seek revenge for the massacre such as the recent one, we are aping their ideals, we are trying to create an even higher level of annihilation thinking that they ought to be punished, that we are righteous this time. Violence renders moot the concept of right and wrong. I would rather that we be inhuman.'

Phew! That one did wake me up pretty well. I was in a trance for some moments after going through the outburst. I realized that it was so true, so totally true that it was hard to escape it. It is the human race, that wages wars, destructs nature's balance, inflicts torment and causes all sorts of catastrophes that have ever taken place. It is in human nature to boomerang between extremes, to reach the apex of virtue and to descend to the nadir of vice. Humanity assumed a whole new perspective, a whole new meaning. A powerful creature, sharp of intellect, devious in intent, mentally bursting with infinite ideas with an entirely distinct view and perspective. Highly unpredictable and perilous. That might be the definition of our race in some encyclopedia of some alien universe.  

Being ‘human’ doesn't sound so natty now, does it?

#BloggingForPeace

Tinku & The Missing Bangles

There is something about the tales of our childhood, about those comics that had a single dialogue accompanying a colorful picture, about those stories titled 'The Cock and The Crow', 'Jack and the Beanstalk', 'Martin and his slippers' and so on. Those titles caused in me a tingle of excitement and I started calling them the 'AND' stories. On train journeys, I would look for magazines which had such AND stories in them. This little story is for kids who like to watch 'Oggy and the Cockroaches', 'Spongebob Squarepants' and the like.

“Here, have some.” Tinku shoved a ring-like structure into reluctant jaws. “Chocolate likes these onion rings!”, he exclaimed, pointing at a feline whiskery creature, perched up onto the chair where Tinku sat, its paws clutching at the chair handles and its whiskers blowing every which way as it gobbled up the given food and purred on, asking for more.

“Why weren’t you having them before? See they are so tasty!”, Tinku scolded his pet cat while feeding it the onion rings his mother had made and which he thoroughly disliked.

“That is where all my work goes.” Tinku’s mother sighed in annoyance. “In vain.” Tinku did not like onions or anything which contained them. He felt they left a bad stale taste in his mouth which refused to leave him even after several mouthwashes. He loved his pet cat, whom he had found wandering about in the streets one day, when he decided to carry it into the house. People usually kept dogs as they were loyal and not “wily cats” as his mother had termed his pet when he had declared that he was going to keep it and named it ‘Chocolate’ after the article of food he liked best. But Tinku was wilier than cats, slyer than foxes and cleverer than most people his age.

***

“Don’t poke around. Get ready.” Mom scolded Tinku as he tried to tinker with the nailcutter, pulling the flap back as far as it could go. “I am ready.” Tinku replied, continuing with his exercise.

They were preparing to go to a wedding that evening. Mom had put on a glittering golden saree that almost blinded Tinku when he looked at her. She was clipping large gold earrings to her earlobes when she cried out, “where are my bangles?”

Tinku jumped, the nailcutter, flying from his reach. “I don’t know”, he said.

“I had kept them here. Right here!”, she exclaimed hysterically, pounding on the dressing table. But the bangles were nowhere to be seen. Mom’s hysterics made Dad and son comb the entire room but the bangles still eluded them. “They were made of gold, for God’s sake! Where are they?”

They searched and searched but Fate had something else in store. Mom had to wear some ersatz jewellery to the event and she went most reluctantly, her face forlorn and her manner most woebegone.

***

“But where could they go?” The question refused to leave mom’s lips even the next day. They had searched the entire house but they couldn’t find the bangles. “This will teach you a lesson, showing off to those maid-servants of yours!” Dad looked at Mom reprovingly.

“I never showed them a single ornament!”, she countered indignantly.

“Well, you may have opened your boxes in front of them or perhaps talked about your newest and latest collections to them or probably to your friends and they must have overheard you on the phone or something.” offered Dad.

“I obviously didn’t!”, mom retorted but with a slightly suppressed voice as if she wasn’t so sure.

***

“Clean the corners well!”, instructed mom as she followed the domestic help about the house as she swept and dusted. When the cleaning was done and the maid finally left the house, mom sank into a chair. “Give me some water, Tinku”, she called. As Tinku brought her a glass, she decided to recheck her room, wardrobe and everything, even though the thorough cleaning had left nothing to chance.

However, something had gone amiss. “I cannot find my artificial bangles either! I had worn them yesterday itself!”, mom screamed, surprised out of her wits. “I was with her the entire day and I watched her like a hawk. She didn’t take a single penny, I am sure of that.”

But just like the previous day, the bangles had gone missing. They opened the wardrobe, searched here and there but couldn’t find the bangles anywhere. Where were the bangles after all? How did they disappear into thin air? Who was robbing them?

***

“I am sure its him”, Mom pointed at Tinku. “Tinku is playing one of his stupid pranks.”

“Oh God! For the thousandth time I am telling you, its not me!”, Tinku replied hotly.

“If it turns out to be you, then you won’t be spared. Mind you! I will spank you and you will remain grounded till you know better!”, his mother’s warning rang in his ears. “And control this pet of yours! Kamla complains of its whiskers and pawprints everywhere. She has a hard time cleaning away the dust anyway.”

“Come Chocolate, I will give you some onion rings!”, Tinku fondly stroked his pet and took it to his room.

***

“Awwww, what happened to your fabled fangs? Did they really fall out or something?” , Tinku murmured while examining the interior of Chocolate’s mouth, as the cat refrained from eating the onion rings. Perhaps, the cat had also developed a revulsion to the smell of an onion.

Tinku checked the cat’s mouth and an idea struck him. He ran outside and in a few moments dashed to mom, carrying the stolen bangles in his hands.

“Where did you find them?”, mom was visibly overjoyed.

“Just know that your genius son found them!”

“I knew you had hidden them. I knew it!”, Mom’s temper suddenly flared.

“No, I didn’t! It was Chocolate! She thought they were onion rings and tried to chew them.” Tinku explained.

“What the crap are you talking about?” Mom grew impatient.

“I will tell you but first promise me that you will take her to the vet.”

“No! First, she steals and chews my bangles and then I spend money on her. Forget it! And don’t give her those onion rings! ”

“She won’t have any. Although she liked them when I fed them to her for the first time, after trying to chew your bangles, her dislike for the rings grew till she broke one of her teeth trying to sink them into your jewels, thinking that they were onion rings. Since she was sly enough to understand that she was stealing from the house, she hid the bangles near her resting place in the garden.”

“How did you know about such goings-on? Did she narrate the whole story to you or what?”

“Well, at first it was her whiskers strewn about near the wardrobe (that you pointed out to me that day). Then her reluctance to eat the onion rings, she liked so much at first. I just had to add two plus two. It was easy.”

“Well, you sure are a nosy boy. But a clever nosy boy.” Mom said with a hint of pride in her voice.

Oh Shit!

To All: I am not advertising anything. My views are purely personal and unintentional (no intention of helping anyone profit.).

To the developers of the app: I wouldn’t really mind making a few bucks out of publicizing it.

Have you ever wanted to get back at someone? Maybe your irksome neighbour or an overbearing boss or your ex? You wrote hate mails, shouted and screamed, bitched about them and what not. Writing their names on a piece of paper and burning it up or flushing it down, calling them and hurling expletives of the creamiest sort are just a few ways to vent your ire. Sometimes, your feelings cross the danger mark and nothing appears to satiate you save the blood of your sworn enemy. Some people must have realized this and came up with a way to really give the crap to them. In the literal sense of the word. Shitexpress.com is a one-of-its-kind initiative that can revolutionize the world of haters and the hated. One can use the app to buy shit. Literally. You can buy shit for the ones you have a grudge against and parcel them in a nicely wrapped shiny paper. You just shell out a few bucks and a load of horse shit or dog poop will be delivered to the one you loathe.

If this app succeeds, the concept of gifts will undergo a massive transmogrification. They will be dreaded as much as they are eagerly awaited. Parcels would then be divided into gifts and gaffes.  Since the wrappers will be shiny and pretty in both the cases, one wouldn’t be able to distinguish between them. The bell rings and the delivery boy holds out a package for you. You are overjoyed thinking it must be from one of your secret admirers or some long lost friend or your boyfriend trying to be creative. You accept it graciously and offer the boy some beverage because you are just so happy. He leaves and you retire to your favorite corner of the room to open the coveted package. The ribbons are carefully untied and the shiny golden paper reflecting the light of the room falls away to reveal a box. As you open the box, a malodor fills the room and you gag and probably puke all over your favorite space. Gaffe received. Mission accomplished.

The age of the jack-in-the-box is fading, fast being replaced with an advanced level of pranking.  This makes me wonder if perhaps perfumes with nauseous odors may also become popular. You hate someone but have to attend the party that they are throwing. You buy one of those elegant looking bottles and wrap them in the trademark shiny golden paper. Then you deliberately forget to put your name on it. Or perhaps you actually want your foe to know what you sent. So, you write your name in a beautiful font or just place a riddle in order for them to figure out. Bang! The party room is filled with a repugnant smell as soon as your ‘gift’ is opened. The guests can’t figure out where the obnoxious odor emanates from and the receiver of the package cannot reveal the fact that he/she has received a gaffe in place of a gift, hence, the impact is manifold- humiliation added to hatemail. Double bonanza!

Popularity will soon be calculated in two ways- fame and infamy. The more the number of gifts,the greater your fame. The number of gaffes, in turn, will decide the level of your infamy. It will be one of the hot topics to bitch about.

“You know Sarita received kitten stool and dog poop yesterday?”

“How did you know?”

“She opened her bag and there it was, a glimmering shimmering flash of paper. I hung about surreptitiously for a while and sure enough, a putrefying stench assailed me.”

“I think its Ravi. She shouldn’t have dumped him. ”

Venting your ire on your boss or that high-heeled flashy stuck-up colleague, who sees herself no less than the Miss Universe, does seem in accordance with your vanity pursuits. I personally find this app a very filthy idea. Sending people crap. That’s just not my thing. However, on closer examination, I think it could actually be a success. Especially in our country. In fact, if we were to develop a similar app (let’s call it i-shit for Indian shit), it could really transform our country for the better. The developers of this app would hardly incur any cost except obviously the delivery, which could be handled by a tie up with an organization dealing with transportation. As for the content, a colorful and foul-rich array of flavors is available. Step out of your building and you will surely find some animal poop lying here and there. Its so abundant that you just can’t miss it. Come to think of it, not just animal shit, even human excrement can be gathered simply enough. Although that would require searching in the dark corners on the roadsides or near the slum areas, that would be easier than finding a public washroom (If you are tenacious enough, you may find one but I will give you 50 bucks if you manage to find a clean one).  

After my confident discourse, if the developers still worry about where to find crap or perhaps trying to get hold of a poultry farm, I would happily take the contract. No, I don’t live in the countryside nor do I own a farm. But I am still confident that I can easily get the content which this app requires. On the contrary, I would also be doing a service to the country in terms of the ‘Clean India’ campaign.

In fact, you too can contribute by using i-shit. Clean India and send the shit to the ones you hate. Perhaps soon this trend might catch up so much that we start sending our friends shit just to help clean the environment. Perhaps the warring factions of the country might decide to transport their own rubbish to the others’ domain. Perhaps we could also add a bit of philanthropy to the advertisement by using only street-side shit, hence, helping to keep the environment clean. I-shit would definitely be a hit. Siphon off your rage! Send shit! Clean India!

The Magic Number

I am twenty two. Always twenty two. Make of it what you will.

I was scrolling down my facebook wall, idly looking at posts and unconsciously hitting likes. I say if its cheap, why not use it. Liking doesn't cost you a penny, so like as much as you want. I am in the habit of such mass liking that when (and if) I receive any likes on my pictures, I divide the total number of likes by two, assuming that at least half of the 'likers' probably belong to my category. 

Just then, I came across some birthday pics titled "my Double Decade" or "My 21st" or "Coming of Age" and so on. And followed pretty pictures in LBDs, gaudy lehengas or dazzling anarkali suits. It brought to my mind the fact that my birthday is approaching. I was thinking of buying a nice low-cut lavender dress that I saw a starved model showcasing online. It looked quite a catch. And then came to mind clicking pictures-endless selfies, unlimited photo-ops and a great vanity boost. Then I wondered about the title of the to-be album. I would write 'My 20th-something', wouldn’t I?

It struck me that I have never seen a woman put up an album with a header-'My 31st' or 'My 42nd' or 'My 55th' or even 'My 28th'! Is 28 old? There is this particular age after which women seal their lips about the number of years they have been surviving on this planet. I call it the 'freezing age'. Everyone knows the 2 precious numerals one must never ask a woman-her age and her weight. (Actually there are a load of things men should avoid asking women. It would take quite a while to compile the list.)

Between them, weight is something which one can hardly conceal. It is only the wily elusive age that can befuddle the hearts and minds of innocent men, who are lured into believing the freezing age as a woman's true age. Like all her vital assets, a woman clothes her age in an opaque outfit of age-defying makeup and weight-loss regimes.

Vanity, thy name is woman!

A few days ago, I was clicking selfies in some new hairstyle I had copied from a youtube video. As the camera lens focused on my face, a message hovered over the focal boundaries-"32, female". My heart stopped in its tracks. What devilish claptrap was this? I can still tolerate face recognition softwares, even though they match my face with my grandmother's. I usually discount the errors as the usual AI glitches.No computer can be that accurate.

Then comes this supposedly age and gender recognition software that threatens to expose the blemishes, the unevenness of complexion and other such foibles of my skin, that I strove to obscure using photo-editing softwares.

I tried to change the angle of focus. The age came down to 28 and I heaved a small sigh of relief. Another adjustment though shot it up to 36, thus pouncing on my vanity and deflating my self-confidence. Numerous such attempts at lens focus created an age range for me-an age range, which seemed never to touch teenage but always seemed to go upto the 30s. Technology-boon or bane? Right then, I was in a mood to debate in favor of the latter. I was sorely disappointed and my selfie conviviality faded.

I know age is just a number. But it is a very important number.

Some of the women wear their age on their sleeves. Take Indira Gandhi, for instance, with the fashionable trademark grey streak in her jet black plumage. Take Rekha of Bollywood. Or Hema Malini. The world is brimming with examples. But the fact remains that the obsession with age cannot be downplayed. Be it accepting or adjusting to one's age gracefully or masking it with botox and age-freezing products, women have a special bond with this magic number. This is the reason why some of the women, despite being past their middle age, take offence when you append an 'aunty' to their name. They prefer to be called 'didi' or better referred to by their names. [This little note pertains only to the Indian way of living. The western lifestyle has no age barriers anyway. Its only Miss or Mrs. or plain Jane.]

So...what goes up and never comes down?

Age !!!

And what goes up, reaches a certain point and then freezes?

A woman's age !!!

Alapadma-the new middle finger

- published in The Hindu : Open Page Feb 1, 2015 issue

A mudra is a symbolic hand gesture used in Indian dances. ( And this must be the briefest prologue ever written by anyone.)

www.pinterest.com

“This is the way to do it. Its one of the most important mudras.” A tall slim woman, not so young and not so old, spread her five long fingers into a graceful curve, which appeared to me like a faint outline of a chalice. “And the more beautiful because of it. It is called ‘alapadma’.” That was the name my dance teacher gave to the charming shape her hands had conjured up.

I still remember that dance class of mine when this very vital mudra of Bharatnatyam was taught to me and how quickly I adopted it as my own personal mudra in all kinds of classical dances that I performed. I became so obsessed with it that I started looking for ways to use this hand formation whenever I could. For instance, while asking ‘wh’ questions like where are you going, who are you going with, which place and so on.

I soon realized that a lot of others share my feelings towards this ingenious ‘hand’iwork. Especially the drivers on the roads. When you release the clutch a little too soon and your car bumps to an abrupt halt just when the traffic light turns green and the cars behind you start honking madly as if you had set them on fire, at that point, the overtakers show you this beautiful hand mudra, with an expression that says if looks could kill, you would be dead by now. Or when you forget to switch on the car indicator before turning left or when your car is parked  a little way off the imaginary LOC (Line of Car Control), you get this ‘alapadma’. I have begun to equate it with the middle class’ middle finger. Alapadma- the middle finger of mediocre India. The tauter your fingers and the more precise your mudra, the angrier you are and the more the tendency to wring someone’s neck with those graceful fingers of yours. The degree of your ire can also be calculated by the number of hands you use. One slack hand shape indicates that you touched a nerve. A tensed accurately formed shape means you are in trouble. Two hands though mean that you are in great big trouble. This sort of proves that dance is a popular form of expression. In more uncanny ways than one.

This gesture is not just limited to irate drivers or irascible people on the roads. You will see the people around you utilizing this dance feature as well. This mudra is often accompanied by a slight tilt of the head that spells intense derision and utter disdain in the doer’s mind. “What the hell, dude?” it seems to say.

Hands today have come to mean a lot of things. They seem to have become more expressive than either expressions or words combined together. Its not just art forms like dance that use hands extensively for the depiction of emotions and senses. When you are trying to ward someone off, you say “talk to the hand”. Owing to the dearth of time we face today, sign language is a popular lingo wherein interplay of fingers can create a myriad of signals from a ‘pataaka’ mudra showing the Congress ‘haath’ or the ‘shikhar’ mudra viz. ‘thumbs-up’ sign doubling up as the most popular ‘like’ statement ever (courtesy of facebook) or the newest signal of aggression/annoyance/inquiry -the alapadma-our question mark -our own trademark middle finger.

Sign language is not a new invention. It is an age-old mode of expression, dating back to paleolithic man. Man in his quest to develop more and ever more, sometimes seeks solace in the simplistic symbols of articulation. Hands are the new words and alapadma is the new middle finger.

My dance classes coming pretty ‘hand’y now, huh?