PAINTINGS OF JAMINI ROY

METRO PURAAN - PART VI

An increasing insurgency of commuters, lack of discipline, mob tendency, slackening administration and the chinks in DMRC’s armour is gradually more than visible. Now we find paan stains on the platforms, food morsels scattered at times inside the boggy, some of the older trains screeching to a halt whenever brakes applied and a cacophony of creeks and crunchy karaoke following the movement of the trains – a manifest of poor or slap shod maintenance and management.

Quite frequently the trains get delayed during peak office hours. The reason supplied – technical fault – an all embracing term which can mean anything……..an actual technical snag, bomb threat, terrorist attack, though its obvious that the latter causes shall never get announced for the purpose of civil security and an effort not to create panic amongst the passengers. But we live in turbulent times and these thoughts always play at the back of one’s mind, especially after 26/11, whenever one is stranded in the underground/overhead metro station. It does with me and so it must be with others. One explanation of the mob behaviour!

No wonder then the stampede like situations which often transpire upon such delays. The crowd of well dressed men and women suddenly behaving like chaotic mob when a train arrives much after the scheduled time. On one such occasion, it seemed as though they were ready to hop on the roof of the train. The doors closed with great difficulty as more and more people tried to board in as though it was the last train on the face of this earth. Earlier on one or two occasions, DMRC personnel themselves came down to the platform to manage the restless crowd. Now, no more, though of course there are continuous announcements informing the cause of delay and assuring that trains will follow one after the other, earlier than scheduled, to make up for the lost time, which they do. But still the panic ridden crowd upholds indiscipline and disorder when it comes to such a situation. Once, one of the guards who was supposed to manage the crowd was pushed inside the train by the mob. God knows which station he ultimately got a chance to de-board the train!

One distinct disadvantage of the metro is that it is linear in route. There is no emergency line or parallel route that can be opted to reach destinations in exigency. Therefore, if you are stuck in a station or on the tracks (of course, no system can do anything about that!), you are stuck forever till the cause of disruption is remedied. In Kolkata there is circular rail and local trains. In Mumbai, again there is an exemplary system of local trains. But the capital is handicapped by the absence of any such alternatives. Hence, the panic…the stampede….the mob….the restlessness……..the annoyance………the impatience………the indiscipline…….the disorder…….the chaos………the confusion…..which alter the profile of an upbeat system in a jiffy.

After 26/11, fear ruled high, more so in the metro. It was customary for us to check under the seats and around if there was any disowned object or baggage lying unclaimed. On one such occasion, my feet got caught in a huge thick, cloth bag under the seat which felt odd to the touch as though full of heavy, metallic things with perhaps jagged ends. A few school and college going boys were standing around. I asked whether the bag belonged to any one of them. One boy retorted back with a mischievous grin, “Aunty, it’s my cricket kit and not a bomb.” I smiled.

For quite some time such dark humour prevailed. People mocked their own fears and insecurities and laughed aloud at such “bomb scare” jokes. These were not instances of just blithe humour or blissful ignorance but inklings of a more dangerous resignation wherein the common man had come to term with the transience of life and accepted quietly their limited role of being mere pawns in the high powered Machiavellian political game - role that of nameless martyrs fated to meet unexpected, untimely, violent ends whenever that be pounced on them unaware.

Contd…..

SOME DAYS

I feel I have lost those words
Which could be woven
Into a rhyme
& spill over thoughts
In ink on pages
With a few strokes
Curves, a dot

I have lost the nib,
The pen, the page,
The dot…………

I feel I have lost those dreams
Which could be woven
Into a song
Of sweet, sonorous lyrics
And hum
In leisure hours
Of melody and chime
When shadows softly
Spread their arms
Across the velvet
Of the meadow
And wrap the blue
Of the sky around
My being like
A misty, smoky shroud

I have lost the greens,
The heavenly blue
The smoke screen of the mist

I feel life is such a haste
To complete those must chores
Which take up time
Never to return
Leaving me bleak
In soul
Heart
Mind
Unsound

I feel as though I have lost my soul
My lust for life
My zest, my zeal

Only tired steps are
Left behind
To trudge a long
Rugged terrain
A grey encompass
To follow along
A colourless, cloudless
Sky for a parasol

I feel as though I have lost my world
My sun-lit days
Moon-lit nights
My dreams
My smile
My tears
My fears
Of never again……….

Sometimes I feel I should
Not be here
With my chained soul,
Scattered dreams,
Empty voice,
Fickle moments,
Runaway thoughts…………..
Life’s morass
Lost pen,
Words,
Songs,
Lyrics,
Rhymes…..

Some days
I am just not me……….
*********************


One grey afternoon
Rummaging through an
Old, rusty closet
I found by chance
A few lost words
Unfinished sentences
And a tale incomplete

I folded them up neatly
And kept them aside

Some day I will
Pick them up
And weave them
Into a single thread
A garland of lost words
Unfinished lines
And a story half told
Some day I will
Complete the tale
Of my life
I am in no hurry though
Now………………

TO THE CURIOUS MIND - PART III

Contd…

I pray for every little thing. I say “thank you” to God for every small gift. I run to Him for every mundane wish. Diffidence or maturity?

As I shift from one milestone of my life to the other, I wonder whether this very introspection itself is maturity! This self analysis! This eternal quest! This every day every hour every minute question “Have I faced the situation or taken the decision with maturity?” And if this is how we gain maturity, then it is not to be attained one fine morning. The process is ongoing. Rather everlasting!Till the last breath of one’s life!!!

My residence in Kolkata was a twenty minute auto-ride to Dakshineshwar Temple. The Temple is dedicated to Goddess Kali. It is here that Thakur Ramakrishna Paramhansa worshiped Ma Kali as a child beguiles his mother. Being such a short distance away, we would frequently visit the Temple on Holidays and auspicious occasions. Often, while waiting in the queue for Darshan, I’d observe a bare-chested man in a soiled dhoti, loitering like a lunatic around the temple premise, shouting in a tearful voice “Maa will you not listen to your children? Will you not give a Darshan? What a stone hearted mother you are! Please give Darshan, Maa, please do!” A sun burnt, disheveled spectacle totally oblivious of time, reality, situation, surrounding! Such heartrending would be his plea that it would often bring tears to the eyes of the gathered crowd. Sometimes he would cajole the deity; at others he would be angry and restless. Nobody mocked or laughed at his soul stirring petition. Rather the devotees had the same query in their heart of heart which found voice in the old man’s uninhibited cries and submissions. I was told that he was a learned man who had taken to the path of renunciation. Months later, I found him in a more tranquil state. He would just sit in a hypnotic stance outside the erstwhile bedroom of the Paramhansa. At times, I would find one of his disciples reading out stanzas from holy books to him; some other time, somebody would be helping him to eat a frugal meal, like a nurse spoon feeding a child. While the immobile man would just be staring with vacant eyes at a point far beyond human vision!

My aunt would prostrate before him in reverence whispering me to follow her. On enquiry, she told me that there were various stages of spiritual upliftment. The earlier madness for experiencing the Divine has now transcended to an elevated level of sainthood; the devout has now become the apostle of God!

“Shivoham shivoham shivaswaroopoham adwaitamananda roopamaroopam…………..”

The thirst for maturity is insatiable. The quest goes on till we come to that point in life when we realize as humans how weak and incapable we are. Just a cog in the infinite gamut of the Universe! A miniscule dot in the cosmos! It is then that we bow down to the Eternal. The ultimate surrender! Or the penultimate maturity!

********************************************************* **************

It is difficult to draw a line to this discourse or put a full stop at random. I have yet to find a point in life where I can conceitedly claim that I have matured completely and there is nothing more to be gained or learnt. This is a subject of interminable discussion and unstoppable delving. Hence, the lengthy three part post. Though some may simply define maturity as intelligence gained on hindsight, alternately, one can go on fathoming the deeper and subtler nuances of the concept. I have opted for the latter and in doing so relied heavily on mundane, personal experiences and anecdotes which many may or may not subscribe to. But I strongly feel all human experiences are more or less threaded by common emotions and feelings, and hope my friends, who happen to read this post, will empathize with what I have tried to arrive at, if not unanimously agree, which is difficult to attain on complex themes like this.

TO THE CURIOUS MIND..........PART II

Contd…

I was a control freak. (I still am to a certain extent. Bad habits die hard.) I wanted to control everything around me including myself, my near and dear ones and my surroundings. If anything went beyond my control or premeditated plan, my equanimity dithered.

I was also the Atlas of the family taking on every responsibility on my shoulder whether bearable or not. Soon I was overloaded. I freaked. Being a compulsive worrier I worried about every little thing. All my thoughts generally started with “what if……” and in order to take care of all the “what ifs” I recoursed to proactive meddling. It is meddling because I go against life’s own course and scheme of things when I want to settle them my own way.

Soon I found, organizing life is a fruitless exercise. There is a streak of disorderliness inherent in Nature which takes over at intervals to topsy-turvy our world till orderliness again sets in by itself, after sometime. As I came to understand Nature’s cyclic order, I started valuing delegation and the principle of “let go”. I am happier now.

.

Moral of the Story: I have matured. I appreciate and surrender to Nature, discover every minute that source of happiness and peace is somewhere beyond my realm of control and in order to achieve that I have given up on clinging and controlling.

I am a born pessimist and negativity is contagious. It affects one’s surroundings like a disease. Mine did too till one day my sister thrust a book in my hand and told me to make it my bible. And wow my outlook changed perceptibly!

Moral of the Story: The source of maturity can be anything, from a lisping child to a book, if you are an enthusiastic and avid learner.

My Department is full of youngsters. They are garam khoon and do not hesitate to give their piece of mind to any irritant in and outside the Department. Often they unburden themselves in my”benign presence”. I have realized long back that a heavy heart or mind only needs a pair of receptive ears and no sermons please. I am a good listener but mostly amused by gen now’s impatience. As Aunt Agony listens, my signature thought is ”bachhe abhi tumne duniya dekhi hi kahaan hai…..yehi sawaal tumse bees saal baad karenge tab sunenge tumhara jawaab…………….”

Moral of the Story: Viewed in a lighter vein, maturity is a great source of amusement. On a more serious note, it bestows a farsightedness, which is almost akin to wisdom.

The other day, my boss called me aside and told me a little apologetically (did I imagine?) that though I was eligible he could not guarantee a promotion to me the next year. I was not surprised. I was not expecting one (duniya mein aur bhi gham hai promotion na milne ke alaawaa!). I did not react to the news!

“Karmanye vaadhikaraste maa phaleshu kadaachana………………?”

Moral of the Story: Giving up expectations is maturity personified as I realize that the most powerful also has his/her own constraints/limits and there are certain situations which are beyond argument.

I think I am the nicest person on this earth and everyone’s trying to take advantage of my good nature. A few unhappy incidents have made this belief stronger. Trying to help somebody and being misunderstood, being loyal to someone and getting jilted, many encashing my work (creative genius? LOL) and misappropriating appreciation without my knowledge and to my disadvantage, gifted with utter disregard in return of unfaltering cooperation etc.etc. Now I am a bit cautious when it comes to helping people and make them conscious of my role in their life/work directly or indirectly. I am not very good at it though. I still lag behind…….

Moral of the Story: Modesty a gift of maturity (wink!)? I discern a few negative shades here. Has maturity handicapped me in some ways?

After prolonged suffering due to an undiagnosed ailment, when I chanced upon a lifesaver of a surgeon, I knew that the dark phase of my life was over and I would be okay soon. I did thank God but stoically.

Moral of the Story: Conviction and maturity go hand in hand. Which follows which is difficult to trace but sufferings always give way to peace and calm, if not happiness.

Contd…

TO THE CURIOUS MIND..........PART I

On one of my previous posts (“Life Is The Greatest Teacher”), my good friend Vel (Velm of MS), raised a few ticklish questions: What is maturity? When and how does one gain maturity? Who and what are the factors responsible for maturity? Parents? Mentors? School? Age? Experience? Knowledge? Failure? Questions to which I did not have definite answers! Questions which made me ponder. I thought to myself, really, who is or when can one be called a mature person? Questions were too many and the answers perhaps hidden within them. My curiosity was triggered. I peeped into my own self and asked, “Am I mature enough to answer these questions?” The reply came in the following form ……..

As a child, if I was denied a box of chocolates, I’d throw up such a rowdy tantrum that my parents in the long run had to succumb to my onerous demands and get me not one but two boxes of chocolates as compensation for the chance denial. Now, if I miss one, I am secretly relieved that I have scraped past an opportunity to gain additional ounces of calories. But if my colleague, bypassing me gets a promotion, I am in the throes of almost incurable depression.

Moral of the Story: I have matured but relatively – yes, when it comes to the box of chocolates and an emphatic no, when it concerns promotion. Maturity, therefore, is not absolute. As we proceed with age, knowledge and experience, so does maturity.

When my friend suffered her first heartbreak, she went berserk with grief, humiliation, betrayal etc. When it happened the second time, she waived the mishap out of her system with a “Yeh toh hona hi tha” sigh and did not take much time to bounce back to daily routine.

Moral of the Story: My friend has matured and come to accept the adversities and deprivations of life in her stride aided by a philosophical shrug and smile.

Soon I earned the nickname of “Jhansi Ki Rani” in office. Reasons - a volatile temper and ready-to-lash-back attitude. Over a period of time, I realized it was doing me no good –a formidable image was attached to my name, my temper was telling upon my health, it was impossible to change people/situations to my choice and colleagues poked me more on my weak point (read short temper). Gradually, I learnt to avoid confrontations and keep my cool even though incited. There were better and calmer ways of tackling friction and resolve differences! Nowadays, I drink a glass of cold water and count slowly till 100 when anger tries to have the better of me. More importantly, I have learnt to evaluate my foes a bit more neutrally, impartially, in a quiet and detached manner.

Moral of the Story: I have matured on two accounts – I have realized my limitations and tried to get over them and stopped indulging in futile exercises, like changing the world, which takes one nowhere.

My aunt (my father’s sister), with whom I spent a considerable period of my life (in Kolkata), would never let me help her in the kitchen or do other sundry household chores. Her standard reply was “What will people think! I am making you work?” When she was ill, one day I forced myself in to the kitchen and told her it was more important to do the right thing rather than what people thought would be proper for us to do. My aunt, after a prolonged debate, gave in.

Being a football of people’s perceptions is a self imposed burden which robs us of the joy of life. It takes time to learn that the alternate course of doing what is right in a given situation is a far better option. Giving in to people’s wish is too easy a way.

Moral of the Story: Maturity comes without an age bar. It can gatecrash anytime, especially, when one musters up the confidence and courage to choose between what is right and what is easy.

Contd….

A SPRINKLE ONCE MORE

Reviving memories
Sad and happy
Mist in my eyes gleams

__________________

Shiny yet obscure
A distant star in the horizon
Beckons me like a receding dream