The cold mornings of november when the ultimate seductress( the quilt!) would make promises of that cozy feeling, making you crave for that five more minutes in its warmth was suddenly breached. On one such cold mornings, i dragged myself to the dining table ( where the heck are those slippers! damn! bread butter again!). I was in my silo of alofness before the rude shock came.
Mumbai Attacked! the channels busy selling news crying that this corpse was first shown on their channel, some busy infiltrating the Oberois and Taj where even ATS weren't exactly contemplating to go. The eyes were wide, jaws dropped! Not again, but look at the mindset, we measure the magnitude of seriousness of attack by the number of corpses,( 3 dead bah! my friend's BMW knocked 4 last night, these good for nothing scumbags). But suddenly the scumbags were counting their blessings as the ire was directed towards the other side of the story( How many more pilots should we dismiss, 5 would do good let me have caviar first ah! Clos De La Roche(1961) why not) the elite (ah! did ya mention Bahamas hah! outdated) were suddenly under the shadow of gun, but the direction of guns were ahem! in their direction. Yet the irony of the situation was of little relevance it pointed out to a stark truth slapping at face. Even you are not safe fella! They are marking their boundaries, sorry mapping their territory. 60 hrs later we may be breathing easy but the questions posed are not. I find all those familiar voices ringing around, yeah (terror doesn't shake me...i am an indian forward this to 10 ppl, mock show of solidarity, display of secular unity) but what is left to be shaken inside me when i have shut everything inside me tight. The airproof vessel where i gagged my conscience is too still to be shaken by any voices, decibels don't make a difference in a mortuary. When the damn reporter was beaming about how his live footage helped boost TRPs( and pump 3 bullets in ATS chief) the terrorists don't need a mastermind, just attack with a T.V set with Tata Sky plus, pause, play the picture ( ah! the balcony, he the third window from left) we must thank media a million more times.
Yet the stark reality lies somewhere else. It lies around us, from( heavens be thanked no one from my family! let's catch that episode of Daily soap i wonder whether they will show his face in this episode, i almost bruised my finger cutting vegetables thinking about it) to (another attack i am sick and tired of this crass! let's drink a Tiranga cocktail). I was amazed to see stock markets getting open ( they are in Taj, Oberoi not Dalal Street) on a day when Mumbai V.T was under threat again. The V.T again had people tearing out of trains rushing to grab that seat, the stuggle of life had won again. I cannot stop for the fallen, let the fallen find a messiah for themslves. While on face of it it sounds good, we are not perturbed by shit! But look inside, the fear is not always as panicky as that Bolly flick, it is more subtle when it is proxy, it churns out of eyes, it sits with you, talks with you, laughs with you. The bindassness is worth analyzing. My joys knew no bound when i watched " A Wednesday" as that fear was said for the first time. The fear of being hunted that the predator is lurking around. Proxy fear is what they created, the cloak of indifference when i beat an innocent who hit my scorpio ( I am not driving, i am flying low!) for interrupting in the royal retreat to silence of the bus watching a women being raped, is what is seen even when a terror strike occurs. The people pick up their pieces after blast, and move in that "muted silence". The ripple mongers are those Z+ bastards too far from the ground( I am a son of soil)
I have never known what it takes to be in a hostage situation or losing someone to these maniacs. True the pain cannot be felt until it clouds you, but what are we moving towards, house full shows the next day for a Bhojpuri flick in U.P hinterland is not solidarity, the curve of indifference is alas too shallow in domain yet it's range is so deep. We can go on with our lives, live under bombs, foreign rule, barbarians, dictators because that's what we have chosen to become. I am not asking us to hit a Pakistani the next time we meet, what is his fault. But why are we not doing our social duty, is the race of life so crucial that we can sacrifice others without thinking that we may have missed it this time but the grave for us is being dug by the indifference of someone else. The summation of this summation is leading to crisis, moral, social, vernacular, regional, identity and whatever attribute you can assign for yourself. It is this indifference that makes politician make money while hundreds eat pathetic food at Schools. It is this indifference that makes us watch extortion in front of our eyes. It is this indifference that makes us not to vote when elections come, it is this indifference which makes us grab acres of land in the name of religion. This is the indifference that makes us click free air travel in the website while reading about pilots being sacked and the same indifference which makes them say that don't blame us blame it the advertisement display algorithm!
Wake up guys! The indifference of reading this blog and saying that this the half truth is the asymptote of the Curve of Indifference..............
The 'iota' or the imaginary is the some total of the cosmic drama unfolding us, mesmerizing us to the extent that movies like "Matrix" appear to be "real" reality around us. The iota may not mean anything on the surface, yet (ask an Electrical engineer) the iota is around our lives shaping it not only through the mathematical realms but in social engineering this is the iota that counts. The iota is the proportion of invisible, the muted, the unspoken, those dazed hopes, lost appeals, traumatized reminiscences.
The iota is the heart of the unsaid, unfelt, unknown, undesirable, undone, under-scored. The iota is the discriminant of voices that are felt in those numb, cold moments when you have arms wrapped around yourself looking at the sum total of life. The iota is the void of heart when that gleam of dew fails to stir a ripple in conscience. The iota is reverberation when wrath is directed upon your bosom and the tender heart cries for "hope". The iota is the sum total of hopes dashed under the fist of fate we hoped would go away. Iota is the sum total of hungered bellies who are content with the crumbs shoved across them in the name of benevolence. Iota is the sum total of rituals with soulless buffoonery and cacophony meant to soothe the pockets of those antagonist individuals. Iota is the drop of pearls flowing from eyes aroused to see the agony, unable to do something about it. Iota is the sum of indifference when a 3 month baby is pampered with a Dior and the begger at the parking lot bullied by the driver, courteous to open the Audi door after you gave a speech on child labor. The iota is the sum of those psuedo socialists who snatch development for the sake of their prized "seat" coaxing fools to face police batons, jets of water and smoke of tear gas.
Iota may be around us, but its the iota that makes "Strawberry Fields Forever"- for the unknown it is a John Lennon composition. The clash of "iota" is what makes the "real" thng happen. The iota's around us are shaping the world around. These unkempt voids are the "entropy" sources and sinks. I may be sounding bit vague but explore the iota(s) inside you, do their summation, see their integration into your lives. Our iota(s) are silent like our silence but loud enough when we unleash them on our unfounded lives, moments and even iota(s).
I will splash my iota(s) in some posts( gosh! did i just commit something!)but feel free to put in yours....
Friends, sure we have tonnes when we go on our space at those networking sites, people around us, people, sharing those passions, commenting on youtube, fighting out with all guns blazing with people who may take more than a life time to meet, or simply " M 21 smart, Working in MNC, open minded looking for like minded girls", dropping a "Hi gorgeous" on evry third profile they visit. In the plethora of these sites my cranbox is often flummoxed ! How much can i believe a Net "friend" yeah we hear that XYZ had a torrid affair with a net friend and finally they make it to the hall of fame of Shaadi.com. but most people end up getting kicked on their asses and like the brave rana of ranthambore they are willing take on as it comes. So where is the good 'ol friend especially when "testimonial" suddenly become yardstick for things, and scrapbook size the quotient of "uber coolness". Did i hear " he was kicked on by a gal recently"? well may be may be not dont we all upgrade that average built to a "sculpted abs" scenario and wishing casanovas never existed anywhere else but within the confines of that "average built". But i aint here to talk about this but ( i am sure you will find this hilarious) the dating scenario in my college tucked well inside a place in called Kanpur,India. Already engineering has a " lot" to offer to the non males in engineering stream so we have a group of despos chasing the other " me a one man thing" sighing whether that one man would even bother to look down on 'em. But as the situation goes two neatly divided rows constitute the classroom, with 40 odd eyes gawking at 4-5 pairs of( ahem!) as if the apple of temptation is meant for 'em. So the first year people are willing to be counselled by their second year "frusto" counterparts who are now expert for the hunt of Holy Grail. So fighting out for that seat next to "non male" in lab becomes a priority for few while majority sits eying the "geese" fuming on those eyeing the lab seat. Now begins teh role of social sites and "friends" Orkut rocks, no mortal in engineering college who was previously unaware about it has eluded its charm. So search parties raid the site to find the last dangling reference to salvation. With "maal" already weeded out the targets are set hopes high. Excuse me what was that on status tag, jesus christ not the "C" word, -committed or commitophobia for our Sati savitris is the tag to flaunt, tag to go out with their "bhaiyas", yes people are willing to barter souls for that, anything for the Grail as they say! So the first year ends crashing hopes of the "silent majority" cursing, repairing armour after that "fell flat on face" attempt to talk, or adding a zing in their "profile" made by vociferous attempts to make their profiles match the intersts, did she stay she lives in "lucknow", arrey my train passes that station, change belongs to " coach no 6 lucknow platform". gosh! and this aint the story of a batch like an infinite loop the story goes on and gets classy with each passing year...........................
Never knew writing a blog can be such monumental task for me. Seeking those "Dummy's Guide to Blogging" to self-proclaimed bloggers (" oh! fella just be natural") i enter into the uncharted waters.
And as Paulo Cohelo said "Maktub", let the whole world conspire, so that i can bring that idiosyncratic thought to light.
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