Blood

Karnan was a blood donor. There are a hundred other ways in which I could have described him. He was an athlete, a star performer at work, a good singer, a great husband and dad ; but to me he was a blood donor.

There was never a 6 month gap that went by where he didn't donate blood. It was either at the official blood donation drive or somewhere else that he sought out and went; the point being' he ensured that he had donated once every 6 months. I can safely say that if the allowed frequency of blood donation was once in 6 days he would have done it every week without batting an eyelid. I know that an average human being is a helpful one - he would help the fellow human given the circumstances are right; he got a sense of pride or a sense of doing good for society out of it. It boosted his ego, but Karnan was different. One could easily see that for him this activity was beyond the usual motives.

I one day casually joked to him about it. I said "Karna - you donate blood like donating water, it almost seems like you want to get rid of your blood. I have seen people maintain calendars for a lot of weird things, but your's tops the list"

He smiled the charming smile that made everyone like him and went about his tasks as usual.

And then one day we had the official Diwali family dinner organized by the company. I, the bachelor got to meet Karnan's family - his wife and his extremely cute daughter. We got acquainted and Karnan went to the buffet table with his daughter to get her to eat something.

Not knowing what else to talk about to his wife, I commented to her jokingly about his tendency to donate blood. I said " Karnan is a bloody fanatic - literally; he donates blood like he has nothing else to live for! I have made fun about it and even asked him seriously about it, but have not understood his motive. Do you know why he is so?"

Her reaction turned grim. I was apprehensive about the answer to come. Maybe I was prying. Maybe I had crossed an unwritten border that separated friendship from personal freedom.

But she quickly composed herself and started - "Karnan was not always like this. 7 years back Karnan was a different man. He was what one can call wasted. Literally and figuratively. He was a chronic alchoholic. He was beyond redemption - that is what the doctors had said. He would start his alchoholic binging at 5 in the morning and close it at 8 in the night when his body could take no more. He was hardly sober and speaking to him was impossible. He would get violent and he even started having delusions in his alchoholic stupors. His family had a hard time reigning him in. Society, in all its benevolent splendour, aggravated the problem by spurning him and pushing him deeper into his well of despair.

Karnan's father was a retired teacher with meagre means and his mother was a house wife. In all of this turmoil, it fell to Karnan's younger brother to shoulder the family responsibility. The boy took to it like it was his destiny and worked night and day to provide not only for the family, but also for fuelling Karnan's addiction.

In spite of Karnan's habits he was extrenely fond of his brother. Call it blood relationship or dependancy love - the fact was that Karnan loved his brother more than anybody else. The boy was sympathetic to Karnan's plight and always had faith that his big brother would one day be ok. He put up with all of Karnan's antics and even benevolently gave up things at home for his brother. If ever there was a guardian angel for Karnan, it was his younger brother.

His brother was a salesman and used to travel often - traversing his markets on a two wheeler, always returning home late at night after slogging away for the family. Fate, the pisser on every ones party, had big plans for the family. On one of his return trips home from his sales call at night, a truck rammed into his bike and he was injured seriously.

He was admitted to a hospital in the nearby town and the doctors said he needed blood; lots of it. His parents donated, his friends donated, neighbours donated. Everybody that knew Karnan's brother did their bit to save the boy. Karnan, for once in a long time, chose to be at the hospital instead of drinking. He went to donate blood, only to be rejected for the alchohol in it.

Karnan's brother died the next morning. Karnan was sober when it happened and has been ever since. In his brothers memory, he does a simple thing once every 6 months. He donates blood. He knows that nothing he does can redeem him for the mistakes in his life, but he tries to make it better by this act.

He believes that some younger brother out there in the world can survive with the blood that he donates and he believes his younger brother is watching - finally happy at Karnan's turn for the good."

With tears in my eyes and my throat aching from holding back sobs, I uselessly apologized to his wife. I thanked her for telling me so much and watched Karnan feed his daughter with all the love and care only parenthood can bring about.

I didn't know if to feel sad for Karnan or feel happy, but I knew that I would never make fun of his donating blood ever again.

Book review - A train to Pakistan by Khushwanth Singh

There is a pet theory of mine. It can be called a philosophy even. It says that there is no wrong or right in the absolute sense. The protagonist of this book confirms that thought of mine - I was happy that the great Mr Khushwanth Singh thought the same way too. While the protagonist is an ex-dacoit and a accused in a murder case, a village ruffian,we are shown another side of him which makes us wonder - what is right and what is wrong - it is but perspective from two different sides.

The book is about a painful period in Indian history called as the partition. It was a time of heinous atrocities in the name of religion and nationalism. It was a time when a handful of politicians and bureaucrats used turmoil and fanned the fires of intolerance to achieve goals - for some political, for some monetary and for some others pure fanaticism.

The book reminded me very much about my favourite author - the great George Orwell for the fact that it lucidly brought out an analysis of how exactly a political event impacted the lives of a nation's subjects.The partition until today was just a historic event for me, but after this book, it will never remain the same. It was much more - it was blood shed, it was politics at the cost of humanity.

The plot revolves around two characters,  one a rustic Sikh from the village of Mano Majra where the story in the book unfolds, and the second one a communist, stark opposite of the first character mentioned, foreign educated, whisky drinking, intellectual types. The contrast in character has significance in the way the narrative ends. The book brings out in vivid detail the level of violence that gripped both sides of the border. The geographical and figurative blood line of the story is the railway line that runs through the village and how much of a role it played in the lives of people affected by partition in 1947.

While the setting for the plot is the tumultuous partition period of 1947, the story itself is about the lives of the protagonists. It is about love found and lost. It is about how police officers and government employees functioned in those dark hours and how a handful of men sacrificed their lives for the good of the many - often times for people of the other religion.

In a eerily relevant message for the times, the author brings out how a handful of few religious fanatics stoke the fire of communalism and instigate violence. The book touches upon everything that we are fighting for as Indians even today - freedom from caste based oppression, freedom from religions intolerance, freedom from the superstitions and social fetters that religion forces its believers to carry.

Each character of the novel has a role that is not just a role in the novel, it is a message to the world. For example the message about Meet Singh, the village Sikh priest at the end of the book is this - while in the good times he was revered and given importance, his voice at the time of the violence is muted by the angry Sikh mob.

The irony of the characters is delicious - the authors perspective on the way of the world under religious tyranny is a tribute to the liberals and humanists who did whatever they could to save lives. This book will bring out tears for the horrors of partition and also open ones eyes to how a few men can convert a calm and seemingly peaceful society into one that lusts for blood.

This book is a must read in today's India where religious intolerance is spreading its vicious venom in the name of religion and hollow nationalism. It talks about how a false sense of nationalism helped in ruining lives, and created unending misery - all for a cause that a few politicians wanted.

Love in the time of Whatsapp

Anyone who has read the masterpiece of a novel "Love in the Time of Cholera" must know the centre piece of the story - true love survives, the story ends with two separated lovers getting back together at a ripe old age. It sounds all nice and romantic, but is that how relationships are today? Love in the time of cholera was one thing, but love in the time of Whatsapp is another. We don't have cholera as much as the times Mr Marquez wrote in and we definitely don't have the kind of relationships either. What we do have are confused people wondering why relationships are so hard to find and keep. Here is my post on what they need to understand to make it big in a relationship today.

Lifestyles have changed, fashion has changed, foods have changed, incomes have changed and on that note love and relationships have changed too. Here's a look at some of the biggest changes in relationships today.

The hunter gatherer roles have merged - everyone does everything
In the history of humankind, it is said that women were more of gatherers who stayed closer home to gather berries and fruits while taking care of the home. The men in turn went out hunting for game. This is the reason women have arms that tend to curve out when they place it parallel to their bodies. It helps in gathering.

This does not hold good in relationships today. Women go to work (hunt is the parallel from our ancestors world for work today) and there are many a case of men being stay at home dads (the role of gatherer in the prehistoric world). There is no sex based role classifications today and for a relationship to be successful partners need to realize this.


There is no man of the house
The caveman of prehistoric times is shown as a club wielding brute who beats the bonkers out of the woman he fancies and just drags her home if he liked it. Times have changed. Forget clouting a woman, even holding a club can get you into a lot of trouble .

The term "man of the house" is redundant. There is no man of the house, both in its literal and metaphorical sense. Both partners are educated, independent and ambitious. Love in the time of Whatsapp is more about partnership and collaboration, everyone is the leader and everyone is the follower!

Its not about money. Its not about love either. What the hell is it about?
Its about the sum total of all things put together.Unlike marriages and relationships of the prehistoric times, men and women of today look for much more than sex, and stability alone respectively.They want shared romance, they want new experiences, they want long vacations and they also want cuddles and of course sex.

The sum total of our past generations expectation in a relationships is only a small part of today's expectations. So wake up to the fact and start acting accordingly if you want your relationship to blossom.

Community out, couples in.
In the Indian context this can be sacrilegious, but whats got to be said has to be said. Unlike our forefathers who lived in communities today's generation wants out. They want autonomy, they want to be on their own. Our prehistoric ancestors had to have grandmothers to take care of the children and grandfathers to guard the cave as the men went hunting and the women went gathering. Well, we have nannies now for the kids and sophisticated alarms for security and they don't advise on how to cook or how to dress to work. So today's relationships lean towards couples living by themselves without either ones parents in the picture.

In Indian way of life this is almost a crime, but times are changing, you'd have to too.

So our prehistoric ancestors would have a hard time finding and keeping love in today's world, and if you don't realize these facts and adapt, you're going to have to have to discover time travel.

Ganga Snaanam...

His religion carried a belief that a dip in the sacred river Ganges on the day of Diwali was the most auspicious sin-washing ceremony there ever was. He was a religious man. He believed in the tenets of hinduism with all his heart. He liked to believe that his every action was governed by the words professed in the various mediums his religion used to reach him. And so on a cold morning, after his wife anointed him with the customary Diwali oil, he walked down to the rushing cold Ganges to wash away all of his sins, if there was any.

On his way to the banks of the river he saw the world go by, filled with people hurrying, like himself, to wash away all their accumulated sins of the previous years; it was like it was a physical act. The roads were lined with shops selling oil, toiletries and other items devotees needed to complete their daily ablutions and their purifying ceremonies. There were old men with completely tonsured heads but for a tuft of hair symbolizing their disposition as learned men who had access to the gods.

The air was chill with the incipient winter. The crisp air made him feel fresh and pure. He felt the presence in the holy land in itself was a purifying act, his mind was feeling it. The hawkers called out to him, asking him if he needed oil, or mustard for the ritual to appease his ancestors. The tonsured men with tufted hair asked him if he needed their services to act as portents into the world of gods and his ancestors, to reach out to them and seek blessings. He noticed how a number of hawkers and shop owners were of other faiths, how one religion thrived through another he wondered and ironically how people killed each other in the name of religion he smirked into himself.

As he descended the steps to the river he saw the crowd milling around the waters edge. Some drying themselves after their purifying dip, some sitting cross legged with the tufted gentlemen sitting opposite to them with their pooja paraphernalia spread out in front of them, leading them on with mantras and actions that would make their lives better and satisfy their ancestors in the other world. There were some who were there to merge the final remains of their kin with the holy waters of the Ganges. The immortal soul to heaven and the mortal remains to the holy water of the Ganges that would lead it to the ocean.

The crows arrived to pick at the food offered to ancestors by the men making the offerings - it was considered that the ancestors took the form of crows into this physical realm and so it was with happiness this spectacle was taken in contrast to the chasing crows were subjected to in other times and places.

As he felt the water with his feet, he shivered. The winter water was freezing. Goose bumps ran up his legs and reached his arms. If the price to pay for purification of ones sins in life was a little bit of cold, he thought it was a small price to pay. He waddled into the water until he was half submerged in the icy waters.

Parvati looked with wretched eyes at the limp body of her husband as it hung lifeless from the wooden beam that supported their single room hut. Shivan's promise of money for their land didn't come.They placed their inked fingers on the documents he asked them to with promises of prosperity. No money came after a month of the land was taken and Shivan was not to be found, he had moved to the city sources said. With no land to farm and no money for the sold land, her husband, unable to bear the pressure of the lenders, chose the last and lasting solution, death.

In a fit of rage, the ragged Parvati, eyes red from vain tears and saree filthy from wallowing in the mud floor of their temporary hut,  threw mud in the air cursing Shivan, never to be redeemed of his sins. It was said that this act was a curse that would render the person cursed ,to fall into the abyss of irredeemable misery.

Shivan bent, holding his nose. The water engulfed him softly. A moment of shock from the cold that permeated through the before untouched parts of his body by water. He let his mind pray to the almighty to wash away his sins. Shivan felt light. He felt holy. He felt he was reborn and he felt liberated. He felt like a good man.

Book review - Farenheit 451

My favourite category of novels is the dystopian variety. There is nothing like the exaggeration of an idea of governance or rule into how it would be in the future if it were let to have its way without being checked. More importantly what always draws me to dystopian novels are the writers responses to such a world as described through the action of their protagonists. Take any dystopian piece of work  - "V for Vendetta, 1984, A brave new world, Farenheit 451 in books, "The book of Eli, Wall-E, Elysium in movies - the protagonist is portrayed as identifying the problem with the world through their experiences and thoughts which are nothing but the thoughts of the writers. How the writer would react to such a world is the best part of it all - one cant but begin to think how one would react if they were in that place at that time.

This category of novels opens ones mind to how much a form of governance can impact someones life. While we sit in a democracy whose direct negative impact in our lives is negligible, we do not realize the gravity of how much a totalitarian regime can impact us. While we sit and complain about how a democracy is not efficient we do not understand the alternatives to a democracy (which many do not know exist, because we in most countries have always been gifted with democracy) can mean horrors beyond our wildest imaginations. Dystopian novels, through personal travails of its characters, educates one of how all that we enjoy and take for granted has had to be fought for in a lot of geographies and times and continues to be inaccessible to a large part of the world even today.

Farenheit 451 - the name of the book in itself was enigmatic, what could this possibly mean. In dramatic style the mystery unfolds as you open the book. There is a single line that explains that the temperature at which paper begins to burn is 451 degree Farenheit and that is what the title refers to. A fitting title, as one would see when they read the book. Farenheit 451 is the story of a fireman of the future - Guy Montag. He is the man who is enlisted in times of calamities in a Dystopian world, to put out a threat so dangerous that it could destabilize an otherwise manufactured happy world. He along with his fellow firemen are the ones who are called on to do the honorable job of burning away books when they are intimated of the location of the books. Along with the books, the house that gives them residence shall burn too and the owner of the trash would be incarcerated.

Guy lives a perfectly "happy" life working in the fire department. His wife is a happy go lucky woman who lives with her "family" that lives with her through the 3 screens that adorn their parlour at home. Guy had to invest 3 months of his salary for the 3rd screen and she was already asking for a fourth screen to complete the juggernaut, to be away from him for good. The protagonist has a hunch that there is something wrong with the way things are in the world and the thought is in his head, but nothing much else is happening in Guys world.

One night Guy, on his way back home, runs into a young eccentric girl who spends a few minutes talking to him. They have a wonderful conversation that discreetly places the idea of a not so ideal, but free world outside of the one they currently dwelt in. The girl refers to a time when firemen put out fires rather than starting them. She says she has a uncle who talks about old times when things were different and how he kept running into the law for all his ideas. Guy then walks home to find his wife on the bed after having gulped an entire bottle of sleeping pills. A team of two arrives and saves her. We get to understand that the team has a lot more cases to attend to and this is a normal affair in the world of that time - a side effect of the system perhaps, the author leaves it to us to decipher.

As the idea that has placed itself firmly in Guys mind he is called upon to a house that needs firefighting. He attends the call of duty and is witness to a scene that is the final push into an internal revolution. in his mind.

The rest of the story goes into the scenes of how Guy takes on the system in his own way and how he is aided by an old professor who is a dissenter, albeit a covert one.

The story ends with a view of the world in which all this is happening coming to an end. The ending gives the reader hope and points out how much the written word can impact our lives.

It's a brilliant read, a very small book, but immensely logical in the times we live today where the value of a book is seldom recognized.

Happiness

Amrita went out the door. Just like that. I knew the booze in my system was making it seem lighter than it was and this lightness wouldn't be there tomorrow.

But she was gone and that was the only truth. As she walked way I heard the song aaj Jaane ke zidd na karo and I thought how fitting it was.

I wondered how easy it was to let go. After all the years of togetherness, after all the time spent as one, is it so easy to let go? I didn't blame her, it was obviously me. I took it for granted. I assumed it would last forever no matter what.

I realised how the small things are the most important. It was not the foreign holiday that was important, it was me being there with her on it that counted. It was not the diamond ring that mattered, it was the feeling of joy of wearing it while with me on a date that mattered.

Nostalgia of the wrong sort kicked in. How I had walked away from Anu a few years back. It was the same thing that had happened, only difference being I walked out that time. And here I was at the receiving end now. How stupid we are I wondered. Chasing things and finally realising it was not what made us happy. Justifying our actions in the name of our loved ones for our own selfish reasons.

Amrita was all I needed. Amrita and our baby she was carrying. Not the career, not the house, not the money and fame,just her presence in my life. It was an epiphany. 

As I stood wondering, the door opened and she came in. She hugged me and her tears made me realise another thing. More than all things what mattered to me was her happiness. That was all. That was the end and ultimate. 

I was reborn and I was there, at the destination called happiness...

Ruffian

The man in front of her looked like a ruffian. He was one. He didn't notice her looking at him through her dark sunglasses.. He went about his work as usual. 

After picking a few pockets his focus was on her bag. While she stood facing his direction he walked around and approached to take her suit case.

As he reached out to take the suit case his rubber shoes squeaked against the tile floor. While turning around hearing the noise she said "sir, madam can you help me find the exit" as she extended her foldable blind mans stick. 

A ruffian died.