Religion & Spirituality

I've always considered myself A-religious, abhorred all kinds of symbols of it. Never found any solace in a gurudwara or any other place of worship. Religion is spirituality put in a box...

Things I've enjoyed about religion.

1. philosophy
2. poetry
3. compassion
4. music
5. love

The reason I don't like religion:

1. It divides people
2. Gives an innate sense of competition of my god v/s your god
3. is used as a narcotic to evade reality
4. Is used to brainwash people into a false sense of security and letting go of personal comforts.

Spirituality on the contrary is a fluid thing. It doesn't need religion to define its form. It doesn't need poetry to sing about its beauty, it doesn't require passion or love to express it. There is no philosophy to it. It is all these and none of the above....

Spirituality is peace, all encompassing acceptance of everything around us. 

We fight our innate nature, we're untrue to ourselves, we lie to ourselves all the time. This violence when stopped against ourselves will take us to a place of peace. This state of peace though is a utopic form. It's like the heaven they say exists somewhere.

The search for that heaven, utopic form, state of peace by itself defeats the purpose. The moment you begin your search, you've lost it forever. 

Spirituality isn't the ambition, religion isn't the ambition, accepting our humanity is the ambition. Forgiving ourselves is the goal, loving me will bring me closer to what it is that I seek but can never get.

"Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground." RUMI 

Bombay dreams

Bombay! It's the physical manifestation of heart's deep dark desires. We come here by hordes seeking that opportunity that will somehow take life from the mundane existence of winning bread to another level. No one though warns us (dreamers) about the dark passages that it'll take us through before it gets us to that spot where the spotlights shine on us; even if for just a few seconds. 
I tell myself as I meet individual floating islands of lethargy with entitlement issues; to take a note and not fall into the rut. The idea of being a freelancer means to be constantly motivated. Finding that source of inspiration somewhere within because the validation will only follow after years of hanging around by the teeth and just shovelling snow. There are days when we are just locked up in the house; working on that one project that is going to turn all our dreams into reality. The dream of making a good film. The dream of getting heard. The dream of counting as someone. 
The project happens or doesn't is never in our own hands. Somewhere along the wait; the focus shifts. The gaze turns inwards and the introspection begins. The aliens and the mass of humanity that surrounds us, makes us feel even lonelier. We are constantly reminded everyday of the futility of our dreams by friends, family and well wishers. Constantly pressurised into looking for alternative careers that give us more stability, a constant inflow of income. We film makers are leeches who need to feed on blood and energy of a host to survive in this hostile world of cut throat competition. We carry the guilt of sucking our own loved one's dry of their money as we keep our heads bent low and continue to trundle along. 
Despite all odds stacked against us; we also turn apathetic towards each other. We Bombay 'Bollywood-wallahs' hate each other. There's barely ever any camaraderie. We want the chaff to get separated from the wheat. We want those who will quit to quit sooner so there's lesser competition. We are so bent over our individual stories that we have no time/energy to spare for any one else's misery. The friends we make are as flaky as we are non-committed to them. We eat, drink and party together but we never hold each other's hands in low moments. Every association we make is to further our goal. Every friend is a stepping stone.    
In a world where everything and everyone is antagonistic; I deeply wish that all our dreams come true. I wish that we all get to celebrate our individual differences as we bemoan individual successes. I wish that no youngster ever hangs herself for her shattered dreams. I wish that no story writer ever goes unpaid. I wish that all films were made and we got our due compensations. Until that day comes; I wish that I don't fall into the hole of apathy towards that friend who needs my help. I wish I always find it in my heart to make space for a fellow traveller. I wish us all an eventful journey. I wish I n
ever give-up!     

Letting go!

He had looked at me through sedative induced haze and recognised me. He wanted to tell the nurse who wouldn't listen to him to pay heed because his daughter was there. Tears had rolled freely as I held his hand that was much too fragile, much too cold. His' were the hands we held during cold Delhi nights. As I watched him slip through diminishing phases of consciousness; inordinately, there were missing links of his deteriorating years in my memory. Somewhere along the way; I'd fixed a permanent image of him as a capable, virile, manly-man, a great father with quirks that he encouraged and appreciated in others as well. As I looked at my father shrunken and weak; I realised somewhere I'd forgotten to credit him for being a human being, a person. He was to stay forever; the same understanding, strong person. He'd defy mortality because he couldn't possibly not be there one day...

As i observe myself getting jaded with every passing year; his spirit at 60 brought me a fresh sense of perspective. I wish I had a chance to share a few days of my life as I lived it everyday. I wish I'd removed the anxieties that must have gnawed at you. I wish I'd taken time out to assure you that I am happy and tell you that you did a good job of raising me. I now believe I can be as loving and forgiving as I believe you must have been through the years of raising 3 self respecting, independent and extremely 'human' persons... I will miss you always. I will forever fondly tell the stories and share your memories to keep you alive. I hope you're enjoying a view of some lovely mountains, a rocking chair and its summer around you. I'd like to fix another picture of you; the one where you're carefree and healthy in body. Bye Bye papa I love you

Why this Kolaveri Di?

"Why this Kolaveri Di" its almost become an all encompassing expression of pretty much everything under the sun. Uttered at the right moment, this phrase can achieve the equivalent of memorising and quoting the likes of Rumy, Ghalib, Kabir or Nanak.

Not for a second am I deigning to imply that the two genres are comparable in any way but there's some irresistible lure of 'the popular' that is hard to evade. 'Kolaveri Di' ransacked homes, offices, regions, religions, language and every other conceivable wall that stood in its way, to become a malleable putty in the hands of those with poetic inclinations.

Art has forever been guarded jealously by its keepers, patrons and followers. An almost elitist attitude combined with the prerequisite knowledge to be able to decipher and understand the hidden nuance of the piece of art has forever alienated the regular Joe. Now he may think Pavrotti is a fancy term for 'Paav Roti' or Rembrandt is a place in Italy (Can't help taking some creative freedom myself!)while with our sterling masterpiece no one wonders who, why, or what the bloody 'Kolaveri' is?

So no visit to the museum nor to an auditorium. While traveling in an auto rickshaw with the music blaring I think that there is an intellect that comes with 'the connect' and that is probably why 'This Kolaveri Di'.

Remniscing yet looking forward

My sister came to town for 3 days. Laddu walked in through the door, smartly dressed wheeling a fancy red travelling bag in tow. She looked all grown up, almost a reminder of what she was but yet not quite so. We hugged. A strong sense of deja-vu tingled my body as I smelled her long silky hair that were damp with 'Bombay heat' while the 'Delhi winter' lurked in the under-notes.

The smart professional woman who had walked through the door in her click clacking heels metamorphosed into a noisy adolescent as the decibels skyrocketed with rising excitement (true blue Punjabi style). This transformation I was to see repeatedly over the next 3 days of her stay as she oscillated freely between the assistant fashion editor she is and the younger sister she was.


For the duration of her stay we both retired to the world gone past our shoulders and turned into siblings with the four year age gap who were joined at the hip. That it once was so, everybody was aware of but that it will once again be the same no one had antcipated. Laddu and my love for each other; was almost a family legend. We did everything together and shared every part of our lives. Our first kisses, the first romance, the heartbreaks, the secrets; we were thick like thieves.

Where had that time vanished, I'd wondered. Over the years she passed out from school, got in to a fancy college to pursue her fashion studies, got a steady boyfriend and became an adult while in another part of the world I was growing through a similar process minus my first bestfriend. I missed her and she often figured in my stories but away from one another's gaze we were consistently moving away from people we once were and turning into people we were to become.

We chit chatted every night as though time was short and the stories to reminisce far too many. We wanted to pull out and air every one of those moments that rested in the dark cool stoorage of memory covered in dust and cobwebs. We laughed and cried as I told her about the time when she was spanking new, brought from the hospital with a heavy heart because another daughter was added to the family while my mother had risked the pregnancy so late in life to add a son to her family of two daughters. I was a 4 year old then and I hated her from the darkest bottom of envy that only children are capable of. A) Everyone seemed to want to hold her, touch her and carry her around while till then I was the object of the household adoration. B) I was asked to flush her potty as soon as she came from the hospital. If my memory serves me right; that was the blackest stinkiest potty I ever saw. I glared at my mother who sat nursing her indifferently expecting me to do as I was told. I got an opportunity to avenge myself a couple days later. As she slept fitfully in her crib one afternoon, I dropped a heavy paper weight on her head with the intent of killing her.

Something happened though in the sultry afternoons of the 1987 July that I fail to comprehend but the girl I deliberately tried to harm many times over, became my best-est friend. Something happened again 23 years later last Friday when she walked in again in my life.

Your love with will the heart remain
till all its hopes are bye.
like spring rose blossoms still retain
their fragrance till they die.

reminscing yet looking forward

Standing under a scanner darkly...phishhhh....buzzz......static...... mounds and mounds of white sand, blue horizon, sparkling blue water and waves lapping, tickling my feet. Perfect setting for a holiday, solace, solitude and loneliness????? Pondering, wondering, reminiscing.....dhum dhish dhishum.....

Clap!!!! muhurat shot....life in a big city.... shudders, palpitation, sweaty palm and more..... breathless anticipation.... writing, thinking, changing garbs, getting into the skin of many characters.....psychopaths, serial killers, religious men.... what bracket does my character fit in...... another round of static.....phishh...buzz...static again.....

Intellectualizing and farting away..... the big questions of life....why am i here???? What is the bigger divine plan chalked out for me....Complexity in character is essential...complexity in simplicity and simplicity in complexity.... all boils down to the same thing..... The screen play should be interesting enough to retain interest.... what how???? wonder wonder ponder....

Skin soft like a baby's tush googly woogly mush...... sense of humour .....dude i tell myself...retain yours and all will be well....Exaggerated fucking self importance..... Humour humour find that all will be well..... Aaaaaa..... a screaming minds,,,,, spiraling thoughts.... Somewhere between looking forward and glancing backwards; the today vanished somehow....somewhere......!!!!!!

Inculcating promiscuity of thought...... dude lighten up.... turn your mind into a whore........ see fat dicks, dark dicks, small dicks, hairy ones and the leaning tower of pisa ones'....... get what you wanted out of bargain and fuck off..... wondering, pondering..... what do i want out of the bargain..... phishhhh....buzzzz....static...