Be, You

 

Are you feeling you today?

Like the behemoth blue river

Which suavely sways

Which ferociously falls

Or are you the river today

Which is contained

Within a mountain of concrete

That someone built to harness you.

Are you feeling you today?

Like the mighty mountains

Covered in gregarious green

Home to the beautiful birds

Or are you the mountain today

Which has been razed

By people to build their paths.

Are you feeling you today?

Like the endless ocean

Concomitant with calmness

Where woven are many worlds

Or are you the ocean today

Which is blemished

By those who spew oil and filth.

Are you feeling you today?

Like the morning dew drop

On a full of life leaf

Untouched and fresh

Or are you the dew drop

That bears within dirt

That people sprayed and spread

Are you feeling you today?

Like the unbridled thought

As clear as an autumn sky

Without a spot and blue

Or are you the cluttered sky

The early signs of a tempest

Looming boulders of grey

Are you today, you?

Are you not what you are?

You are after all, your thought

Flow wide like a contained river

Rumble like a razed mountain

Be violent like an angry ocean

Fall like a burdened dew drop

See sun through the dark clouds

Be, you.

When my 3 batchmates refused to sing national anthem

 

Thirteen years back, in 2003, in the good old cold January days of Bangalore, the Republic Day of India on 26th of the month, posed before us 17 - 20 year old, who had just half a year back come from far flung places to study there, a difficult situation. During the flag hoisting on college ground that morning, three batch-mates who hailed from Kashmir, did not sing the National Anthem. While it went unnoticed in the beginning, few boys had noticed this act and informed the hostel warden.

The news of it spread rapidly, as any news does in a boys hostel. The reactions ranged mostly from outrage to disbelief. Holed up in their rooms, some in groups, most of the boys discussed this. For  those who did not have much of an idea about dispute in Kashmir it came as a shock. While some of them could not wrap their head around why someone would not sing the national anthem, others thought whatever the politics or views of the three were it was their business.

Nuance has always repelled the majority. Through the regular 'terrorists ke sath link hoga', 'India ke tukde pe palte hain', jis thaali mein khaate hain...' assessments, most of the boys were just interested in learning what the hostel warden, an aged ex army man with a mustache he was proud of and a huge picture of a tiger in his office did. Few discussed the issue dispassionately. Beyond the right and wrong, beyond the rhetoric. When I think back, I feel glad that there was room for such analysis then.

Today the debates that are hogging headlines are steeped in rhetoric. To be binary in thought, in discussion; to be radical in expression, in argument, has become order of the day. There upon us is a unique problem where anti-intellectualism is fanned amidst a generations' lack of delving deep into any issue. In a quick fix, 4G, short attention span era, the complex, the layered, the fundamental issues of nationalism, morality, ideology are getting shunted through a problematic passage. Problematic for the fact that the demons of these issues, unless handled in a mature manner, will haunt us time and again.

Jingoism has to be banished. With the various currents and undercurrents around in the world, fanning polarities is only to make these currents extreme. While basic woes of human beings remain unaddressed, the privileged are consumed in waging a battle that has failure on both sides.Okay, enough of symbolism and abstractions. May the young, who are the rightful inheritor of the world we live, engage in more mature understanding of the debates that are raging. There is no net gain in militant idealism or ideology. The answers that we seek has to be sought within people, within communities, within religion, within nations, and the prodding has to happen, to quote Vajpayee ji, in 'insaaniyat ke daayre' mein.

Coming back to the story, were these batchmates banished by others after what they did? Did a few friendships forged for a few months break? No, for both. Maybe a few jingoistic ones were disgruntled, but nothing was taken too far. The guys went on to pursue higher education in India and UK. They are all married now and are working professionals in India and abroad.

And what really happened in the warden office on 26th of January in 2003? The three Kashmiri boys were called into the warden office. No one actually new what happened in there. Two versions of the story are: i) the warden asked the boys to sing the national anthem ii) the warden in his usual style delivered a long lecture and let them off. No one knew for sure. No one perhaps asked. Sixteen years back, thankfully, the boys weren't booked for sedition nor was anyone branded anti-national for continuing to be friends with those who refused to sing the national anthem.

A letter to my daughter

To,

My darling daughter...

Today, quite about the moment I am writing this, you came into this world. You came into this world unlike the majority of them do. You came into this world almost three months prior to your due date of arrival. At 28^th week of gestation (total being 40) you were one of the roughly 1.5 million babies in the whole wide world who are born prematurely each year. A 28 weeker, a preemie. Special, definitely. 

Your mother was in hospital for one and a half months before you decided to cut short her trouble of lying on the bed all the time, with leg side of it raised, any longer. And what a day did you choose. In continuance of festivity galore, of arrival of a new year, you hurried into this world. Needless to mention, we were a worried lot, unsure, apprehensive, scared. None of us can fathom the deep concern of your mother who was at the centre of all this.

The events of the day, 2^nd of January 2015, unfolded in a strange manner. In the morning your mother complained of discomfort and we decided to move to the ‘labor ward’. The doctors decided to pump her with more medicine in order to delay your coming but it was of no use. A small, yet painful procedure was carried in preparation. Decisions had to be taken for timing of the caesarean section. There was flurry of phone calls, there were concerned people visiting, yet nothing could take away the apprehension that was writ at large.

It was by that time certain that you weren’t coming into our arms but going into the neonatal intensive care unit. Forms had been signed for that purpose and doctors had briefed me about their plan of action. The only reassuring fact amidst all of it was that you were already and would be in good hands. The OBG department, NICU and its personnel were all specialized. 

But all the specialization would be challenged when you would come out at 4:00 pm that Friday weighing a mere 1185 grams. Wrapped in white and in a cart you were wheeled from the operation the NICU, giving four people present there a few seconds to see you. There you were with a very tiny rounded face, with all features well formed. When I try to recount the exact emotion at that point of time I find it very difficult. A mixture of a barrage of emotions had taken over.

Moments later I was called into the NICU where the doctor explained to me that you needed surfactant, a compound that prevents lungs from collapsing and that you might need mechanical ventilation since you were too tiny to breathe well. We were looking for any news coming in from both sides of the corridor, one that had your operated upon mother and other you. People came in, words of encouragement were given by many, and the night set in and along with it the realization of your having arrived.

Forty five days. You stayed in the NICU, away from your mother, from everyone else for six long weeks. A religious and regular routine commenced. Our lives had changed. Your feeding, your medicines, your weight, your vital signs, your complications, everything became all that mattered and all that was in our mind and all the time. It would be joyous when you gained 15 grams in a day, sadder when you gained nothing. It would be joyous when we would see you kick that cling film put over your basket, sadder when your oxygen saturation would drop. It will take a book to describe all that in detail.

As I said earlier, it is difficult to explain the set of feelings of that particular day. Your survival and without complications was the primary concern. Thoughts of the distant future had no place then. I do not know what your choices will be, but they will be yours. I do not know what set of beliefs you will imbibe vis-a-vis God the Almighty, but in those stressful days a small Ganesh temple, inside the hospital, opposite NICU served a place which would give us solace. We have decided we shall contribute whatever we can to the NICU on your birthday for only who has been there knows the trials and tribulations of a different world in there.

Today you have achieved a milestone of being 1 year old. Your adjusted age would be 9 months though. However, in the grand scheme of things, the time, the prematurity, the long hospitalization, the stress, does not matter. Your face, which is innocent times, which is naughty at times; your smile, toothless, wide, measured; your progress, slow at times, fast at times, subsume all the negativity. This one year was not easy, it was like no other. This one year was a roller coaster ride. This one year with you was the most special one year. 

Often the expression many use for their children when they say ‘it is a piece of your own heart walking outside your body’ sounded cliché to me. Today I realize the truth in it.

Love you

Papa