The Brave Pedestrian

Preface:  I could quote scripture at many points in support of what I’m about to say, but I’m not going to. Why? Because deriving authority by quoting “holy books” is an effort to prevent people from arguing with you; I think it’s unfair.  I believe we’re never really comfortable until we have figured out, and put to rest, the riddle of our own mortality, which we experience like this: In our heads, we know that any one of us can die at any moment, ie. we are mortal. But in our heart of hearts, each of us thinks: it can’t happen to me ie. I am immortal. Each of us deals with this riddle or paradox in different ways. A few of us do it by never thinking about it, as though it’s unimportant or irrelevant. Many of us like to take on faith the views of death offered by our own religions, or other religions, or by a guru like Rajneesh. A few may modify these given views in little ways to suit their personal beliefs. I for one have dealt with the paradox...

Again, I think I’m setting myself up as a target for much anger and derision, though that is not the effect I wish to have on people. What I state here is an honest opinion… please believe that much at least! I grew up studying in a convent school, and I have no saffron agenda. I am not a Shiv Sena or BJP supporter. Our current situation — a sort of unbridled quest of modernity, never mind the past and the experiences of the past — is brought about by  a system of education that was largely evolved by Christian missionaries living in the colonies.   While the stated objective was to bring the “ignorant savages” to the light of reason by teaching them “reading writing and arithmetic.”, the underlying objective was to distance them from their own culture, and render their minds ripe for proselytizing.  Even if unproselytised, they deeply embraced the white Christian worldview, which was nine tenths of their faith.  Our children continued to be bred in the care o...

May 26, 2006: Let me begin with a stanza from a poem that I wrote about 20 years ago. In dreams, in fevered dreams I seek The meaning of my days. In mists I grope, of shadows ask In swirling darkness hope to find The meaning of my fevered days. The light of day has left me blind. No, I don’t think this is superlative poetry. But to me, it is deeply meaningful, and it expresses the way I have lived my life. Specifically, it signifies a turning away from the light of everyday life, which blinds me to the more subtle truths. I reject the notion of normalcy, which society deems as sanity. I believe that true sanity is a spectrum that runs all the way from the well-lit pathways of everyday life to the greys and black of the strange, inexplicable  and perhaps even unjustifiable behaviour that all humans may be capable of, but only some of us permit ourselves. Once, many years ago, I remember telling my dad in the course of a discussion: “What seems normal to you...

Mother, You who alone walk the hidden passageways of my heart, You who sense my every twist and turn, You who know my littlest truths and subtlest lies, You who see my most secret desires and lusts naked, Even ones that I do not dare acknowledge… Hear me, heed this prayer: Let my all be taken, returned to the good earth. Let the slow-burning fires of my many thirsts be quenched. Let my various hungers cease their endless creeping about the earth Like sleepless ghouls seeking satiation, saturation. Let them die unfulfilled For they are never silenced by fulfilment. For far too long have my brothers and sisters been cast away into the cold. The eloquence of this two-legged child who prays too frequently Makes you deaf to my legless and many-legged brethren Who suffer and die in silence. Their hunger and pain, their indignity As they are driven from their waters and their lands, Their homes desecrated, torn from their roots in the earth Are plain to those who see and hear. Why...