Bhamragarh Diary

Park a vehicle from dawn to dusk and it would be covered with elaborate web designs as if it were left untouched for months; leave cashews in anything other than air tight containers, it would be fine powder within days--ants won’t spare any eatable not even chilli powder; even oil needs to be refrigerated because a slight drop here and there is enough for their army to invade; human body is beehive to mosquitoes--their bites leaving large mounds as if they buried their dead. This of course is the everyday scene of the main city of Gadchiroli busy with all kinds of human activity, though I believe its essence is wilderness--it have a zeitgeist of forest. Obviously we were little anxious when we planned for Bhamragarh--a southern taluk of Gadchiroli district bordering Chattisgarh, known for dense Dandakaranya forest and Naxal dalams; a journey from little tamed to the untamed better knowns as jungle( aranya- Sanskrit) of punishment( dandakas).

Though first planned for 15th of August we abandoned it fearing getting caught in crossfire on such days. We left early only to be back before dark, taking along some snacks, few metres of rope to drag if our bike failed us in the midst of dense greenery and identity card--proof that we did not belong to police or CRPF. The first stop on our 180 km long journey to Bhamragarh was Chamorshi. A major tourist spot--Markanda temples along the banks of Wainganga--is few kilometres from here. We chose to skip it as we have been there before. Allapalli can be reached both via Ghot or Ashti, some 85 km from Chamorshi. Allapalli is the main connecting dot to reach all five taluks located in the south including Bhamragarh. We went for Ashti route as it is frequented by ST buses besides being familiar. A long stretch is dense forest, presenting before us the serene beauty and a prelude to denser forest that lies on the Permili- Bhamragarh road. If you could spot huge piles of logs, you have reached Allapalli. It is famous for teak wood. Around 16-17 km from Allapalli on the Permili- Bhamragarh road lies the “Glory of Allapalli”--covering 6 hectares it is the surviving patch of original forests before they were brought under scientific management more than a hundred years ago. Few trees are as old as 100-150 years comprising some of the tallest and widest trees of teak wood--widest among them was 5.61 metres and tallest measured 38 metres. There were some school children from Chandrapur visiting the site. In fact they only made us a little confident to go inside the forest in search of those trees as there was no clear marking about their location. Moreover, these children along with their constantly instructing teachers and supervisors were a kind of lid to defuse the tension that we felt when we saw an armoured vehicle pass by us towards Bhamragarh. On seeing that olive green tank moving on truck tires, we were immediately struck with phantasmagoria of a confrontation and fight.

There is an anecdote about a meeting in the 17th century between French finance minister Jean Baptiste Colbert and group of French businessmen led by M. Le Gendre. When the French finance minister asked--obviously in his eagerness to help--”How the French State could be of service to the merchants and their commerce?”, Le Gendre replied “Laissez faire( leave it to us)”. Observing the beauty of undisturbed forest, I am tempted to imagine such a meeting again in the 21st century, only a little closer to fantasy. After centuries of Laissez faire, decades of rigorous eco-friendly policies and monotonous saplings plantation, the merchants gather and ask Nature--”How can we help you?” Ironically, Nature gives them the taste of their own medicine and replies--”Laissez faire”. In the same contemporary vein when a French mayor ask law-abiding French Muslim women--”How can we give you more freedom in your otherwise controlled and slavish life?” Not surprisingly we can guess the answer.

Permili onwards there are lot of small ‘nallahs’. It was decided even before we set out that even if it rains we won’t stop because those ‘nallahs’ often overflow within few hours of heavy rain, totally cutting off the other side. Luckily it didn't rain until we were returning and that too were light showers. In any case stopping under a tree is quite dangerous in Vidarbha region. Lot of people die by lightning that is frightening enough to even shake the bravest. Hemalkasa is 47 km from “Glory of Allapalli”--only a few kilometres short of Bhamragarh. The signs of confrontation and tension are evident in Bhamragarh. The first testimony to this is the police station itself. Fenced with barbed wires both on the ground and over the compound walls gave a scary picture altogether. A guard with a gun, aiming at anything least suspecting, was standing within a cubical box of concrete. Bhamragarh ‘Triveni Sangam’ is further 1 km along the left bank of one of the three rivers--Indravati, tributary of Godavari, Pearl Kota and Pamul Gautami. Here we met again the same group of school children we met at Glory of Allapalli site, once again relaxing the tension.

Bhamragarh is mainly inhabited by Madia Gonds,declared primitive tribe by the Government of India, and only by the efforts of the NGO Lok Biradari Prakalp situated in Hemalkasa that these people are now getting education and hospital services in those dense forests. Lok Biradari Prakalp( brotherhood of people project) was started on 23rd December 1973 by Baba Amte--a social worker who worked against the stigma of leprosy and was honoured with Padma Shri, Padma Vibhushan, Ramon Magsaysay and other such awards. Lok Biradari Prakalp have a hospital, a school and an animal orphanage. It is currently looked after by Dr. Prakash Amte( Baba Amte’s son) and his wife Dr. Mandakine Amte. They were also awarded Ramon Magsaysay for community leadership. A film on their life, Dr. Prakash Baba Amte-The real hero, starring Nana Patekar and Sonali Kulkarni is hugely popular and one of the big hits of Marathi cinema. Photography is not allowed inside Amte’s Animal Ark where orphaned or injured animals are taken care of. Crocodiles, leopards, owls, eagles, bears, snakes, deer and Neel gai were some that we spotted. The guard who took us for a tour would offer his hand to leopard and the beast would just lick it--Noah’s ark it seemed for the animals.

40 kms further from Bhamragarh is Binagunda--a historical village. It is difficult to reach throughout the year and remains cutoff for about 8 months in a year. We abandoned the plan to travel further to Laheri and then to Binagunda because it would be dark if we wasted another 3-4 hours. The terrain is difficult and if your transport fails you, there is no other option but to walk and often the route remains deserted for days. We heard stories of policemen camping for Naxal operations in those jungles and succumbing fatally to Brain Malaria. It is said that primitive tribes live in Binagunda undisturbed by modernity, depending mostly on forest produce, getting wages from selling bamboo and “tendu patta”( tobacco is rolled in tendu for making bidi).

The light showers on the return did not drench us but made us worry about the small streams that flood during rainy season. So we stuck to our plan--not to stop even if rains cat and dogs. We met a certain Tyler Durden on our way back to Allapalli when following Tyler’s advice in the movie ‘Fight Club’--”Stop trying to control everything and just let go”--and replicating that scene in reality he did let loose the steering and jumped out of his lane into our’s. Despite horns and dippers he would not budge. We drifted leftwards away from the metallic track onto the muddy layer sidewards, somehow escaping a collision. Fatefully I spotted in time that the side stretch of unmetalled road ended abruptly over a small dry nallah. We were back on road escaping a fall, breaking only the spring of the side stand, stopping only to start our swearing and screaming back at that “space monkey” of Tyler. This event did not seem a planned thing until we stopped at Allapalli for a cup of tea. I kept my helmet, that has some peculiar army graphics over it, on the bench and went for tea in one of the side stalls. When I returned, a man was sitting with his hand over the helmet. I tried to slide it beneath his grip but it became firm. And then he exclaimed-”This is my helmet”. I asked--”Since when?” I didn’t sell it to him though I was always sceptical of such graphics in a sensitive area. Then he let loose the grip with a grin over his face. “Are you coming from Bhamragarh?”--he asked. I answered yes wondering how did he know. A shiver went along my spine thinking what if we were being watched all the time and what if that Tyler Durden was somehow related to this man. In my curiosity I asked that man-”How did you know?” I was relieved with quite a simple answer. He was standing underneath a tree on the Bhamragarh road when it was raining while we, with our fancy helmets, were on the move beneath the grey sky, over the grey stretch sandwiched on the sides with green.

Gadchiroli to Pachmarhi

Vacillations of our own feeble souls and even feebler faith of our colleagues, my parents marked its start. At times I felt that the only one eager for the journey was our own 'La Poderosa'--journey to cover a 1000 Kms within a span of 3 days, to leave a part of red corridor, Gadchiroli, and to welcome Queen of Satpura, Pachmarhi. The impetus to accomplish a wildely publicised journey--not surprisingly it made us look a bit crazy--was more of a reason than our own willingness. Suddenly I felt that this must be done for some greater good, for something which we weren't sure about, though you may say it was a decision of young impulse that inflict most of us at one time or the other.

"La Poderosa"

Amid scorching sun, resounding city noises and even louder voices in my head we left only to get accustomed to the intense heat, fleeting noises and subduing internal conflicts. Soon we were away from those daily sight of a hundred humans, boring and barren stationery, pandemonic printers and lethargic office life. I hate the grunt of printers and they remind me of screaming swines. We were on our way to our first stop Nagpur, some 175 Kms away. Colourful houses on road sides gave way to continuous belt of farms dominated by yellow patches, pedestrians were replaced by caracasses mostly of dogs and ocassionally cows, chaotic inextricable horn patterns to rhythmic ones specially aimed at you, big shops to small children selling fallen fruits which they collected by road side, intermittent gaze of sun with an indefinite stare, those characteristic shops of Vidharba region selling finely beaten and rolled tobacco almost disappeared and indifferent folks of the city transformed to small attentive bunches appearing regularly, waiting under sheds and swaying their heads with each passing vehicle.

Being a co-pilot can afford you to be luxuriously lost in your own thoughts. What if the bike goes off track and we bump into one of those guarding trees? What if there is some technical glitch and we have to stop in this merciless sun? What if I get one more phone call from home pleading not to go? And then a screeching sound made my head bump against the back of the helmet. Commotions settled like mud in a still water. I can now see clearly through it. We were fortunate not to hit one of those cows that keep popping from nowhere, one behind the other, swaying their heads, sweeping the barren metallic roads to realize there is nothing to graze and then without any eagerness to cross they would do everything to annoy, to test your patience. These "corporate cows" will trim every grass--every single wild blade of grass developed now. We continued to graze passing through Armori, Brahamapuri, Bhivapur, Nagbhid and Umrer. It seemed as if we finally trimmed those small wild grasses to a developed Nagpur--just like those innocent cows.

All those left leaning talks is okay but once I reached Nagpur I could not stop my consumerist self from entering a luxurious food store. I had the meal coupons and felt as if we were there to eat for free. Unless I count currency notes, I feel I haven't spent money. We were in total contrast to the place--everything shining, polished as if for sale, even humans and we as some ancient rock to be displayed in some glass box, dark, tanned from sun, dulled with dust but who cares; consumerism has rendered us with such equality and choice that nobody bothers. The word 'choice' echoed and I suddenly remembered 'My Choice' video that created uproar recently. At the risk of being labelled a misogynist I feel that these videos and talks are far from revolutionary and in turn exhibit resemblance to an anecdote.


Consider a 12-13 year child and his discovery of his father's smoking habits; unable to make his father quit although he never tries to do it, which is very obvious that he won't be able to do it, he feels fascination for trying it himself; the child finds sanctity in the reason that his father smokes, the father finds sanctity in the reason that he now permits his son to smoke; a kind of mutual permission and sanction governs the situation; the child seeks permission, is granted, now feels equal; the father grants permission, accepts his inferiority but in the end decides for himself the coordinates of his own inferiority.


This is the exact position I find with many feminist movements, not exactly movements but outbursts. They resort to permission seeking realising that they won't be able change anything--a kind of 'if you do why shouldn't I'. This is evident in a paradoxical argument regarding the violence content of both men and women and advocacy of equal rights for women in defense forces. Men are usually violent, cause of most wars and blood shed. Women are considerd peaceful and there is certain argument floating, had there been women rule there would be minimum wars, much more peace like those in the times of Minoan Utopia. But they surrender their earlier position when it comes to advocating equality in defense forces. These two contradictory feelings coexist. Are we not experiencing the same mutual sanctity of father and child? Do we not see the father bothered little about it if he is writing the very basis of his inferiority?

We left Nagpur for Chindwara, still 135 Km on NH26B before we can finally rest on the soft beds of our employer's guest house. Alternate blow of hot and cold air on our face felt like we entered and exited an air conditioned room. The best part were the Ghats. It felt as if sliding on the periphery along side a large serpent making its way silently through pitch dark mountainous forests, those bends even threatening to break the vertebral column of the snake, cracking vertebra resonating with increased beatings of the engine at every steep turn. The ghostly look of the forest materialized only during the day. We observed when we retraced it during dusk on our return journey. Trees shed their leaves with pointed, tapered stem appearing as if prepared to impale, barely any movement save our own, occasional screams of horn at sharp turns and greyish forests seemed to spill their colour on metallic serpent which we traced 2 days back--an ambush it seemed to capture and impale the travelling foreigner.

We had another 140 Km on MP SH19 to reach Pachmarhi from Chindwara. Partially fresh from 6 hours sleep we left early in the morning crossing Parasiya, Papariya, Tamia and Matkuli alternating between plain roads and Ghats--Parasiya was adorned with saffron flags atop almost all its buildings, sometimes ravines making us extra cautious at those blind turns, invoking horns and evoking nervous silent shrills. The thought of slipping and falling in the ravines stopped bothering me only when we reached the gate with a welcome board--"Muskuraiye aap pachmarhi me hai". We were quick to reach Pandav caves passing through roads that housed buildings from British times, sometimes finding people who admired and envied our blue vehicle. At times finding the machine alone they would perch it to get themselves clicked, may be for their narcissist urge to be recognised not with their own self but with the help of some supplement. 

We crowned the depths of B-fall by lighting a Phillies blunt. The soothing sound of water striking against the glistening rocks and small fishes making you giggle with their play against your foot was enough to end the tiredness. Apsara fall and Rajat fall were much more deserted compared to B-fall partly due to the long trekking. That added to their beauty because you don't have to share the whispers of the fall. Every murmur meant only for you making you sit down to listen to it eternally, its not that there is no other voice but the physiological knob has turned to filter all other sounds, to make this murmur as a bridge between screams and silence. Dhoopgarh was another moment of adrenaline rush when we could not judge the steepness and felt as if we will go back falling into those green abyss. But quick judgement to change gear saved us to reach the highest point in Madhya Pradesh and witness the sun set one more time against the hazy backdrop of greenish Satpura ranges.

Indifference to sensitivity

Like most young ones these days—who have a general inclination of ‘caring least about the world’ and in order to explicitly show it they would thrust ear phones instead of cotton buds—I was listening to songs while walking so that I may avoid the chaotic world and attain some sort of “rhythmic nirvana”: a kind of distance, a detachment, a variant of solitude as if it is actually possible to be alone in the midst of the crowd; all this achieved just by some simple, stupid, mechanical, repetitive music. While on way, there was this faint voice coupled with some gestures that I thought were meant for me—I was back into chaos breaking the bubble of “nirvanic indifference”. She was enquiring about the nearest police station. She was small, making up barely to my shoulders, lean with deep sunken eyes, wearing traditional salvaar-kurta whose colour I don’t remember as I was drawn more towards her countenance which had a sort of urgency and anger coupled with melancholy. I tried to be an ideal man of our times—abstract, least bothered by her plight, avoiding and the sort of man worried about his evening tea even if the whole world is on fire—and answered that she needed to ask somebody else as I was new to Mumbai. She seemed as if she ignored my answer. I was puzzled that she asked the same question again only to get a similar reply. She reiterated the question a third time. I was embarrassed so I decided that I would ask someone and let her know. I did and then she briskly headed in that direction where I pointed. I was walking behind her with measured steps so as not to cross her, wondering what could be the emergency; my “rhythmic nirvana” vanished by now. At the next signal I saw her walking towards me with those deep enquiring eyes and small but fast steps. She enquired from distance, “How much far is the police station?” I thought, how would I know and I had already told her. I was later informed by that lady herself that whatever I told was as good as a thing untold. I mean she did not say that exactly. She, in our conversation which was pretty much one sided because whatever little I had spoken I knew was not heard by her, told me that she was deaf—partially—because her husband would beat her, make her ear bleed, damaging her ear drum. She would talk, without break, of the atrocities; I would listen rarely looking into her eyes. One of those rare glances into her eyes and I could spot the ebb and flow of the transparent liquid; somehow she was able to restrain the flow beyond the brim of her eyes either because she became unconsciously aware of the fact that she was talking to a stranger or she did not have enough to overflow: it must not be her first day with those tears and may be not enough left for an apt occasion. She also told in the flow of our conversation how her husband would drink, beat, throw food and the most recent one which made her seek for a police station: he tried to set her afire. In this small encounter she told a lot.

Deaf people usually tend to talk a lot. They are never sure whether whatever they tell is heard by the opposite party. So they would repeat the same thing again and again to make sure it is heard. It seems as if they mistake their own inability to be a part of the one who is listening. May be that’s because their reflex do not corroborate the response of the listener.

After two or three more enquiries to ascertain the location we reached the police station. I was a little nervous because I was not used to observing police in their own den. I have seen them preying on reckless truck drivers, pouncing on those participating in an agitation and ambush folks who don’t wear helmets but never had an encounter with them in their own place: I was in the police station for the first time. Naturally, I felt guilty; about what I cannot say but by merely observing a part of the judging machinery in function I felt inclined to some sort of lingering subliminal guilt; a deed is wrong when it is judged and not when it is done, I thought to myself: redolent of Nietzsche and his Genealogy of Morality—killing a man is horrendous because it is judged and we have an elaborate judicial system, killing a beast is not because we lack a judging structure. Here, I have no intention to build an edifice of judgement for bestiality as well. I felt being judged without a deed. May be I am averse to eyes full of scrutiny. I told her plight two or three times to different constables. Each time they would point to another one. They would ask for her place of stay and she was unable to recall. Luckily, she had her address written down on a properly folded but little crumpled paper; most probably it was her master’s wife—she was a maid there—who out of sympathy and taking cognizance of her inability, wrote it for her. Usually, poor folks keep these things with much care; just as a treasured belonging kept for years and years. They could make a fresh copy if they want but they choose not to. Instead they would double their efforts to preserve the original copy.

Finally one of the constables was asked to accompany the lady to her house. As we were about to leave one of them asked the lady, “Do you want him arrested?” Of course she was unable to respond owing to her permanent stupefaction. Sensing that, he made some gestures and she knew immediately that the constable was asking for her permission. She nodded with vigorous movement of her whole insignificant existence. I was asked whether I would like to accompany her and the constable; they thought that I might have been some well wisher, some responsible neighbour or even son of her mistress. I was none of them and I let them know it before they could formally ask me, giving action to their thoughts. I was just one regular pedestrian who luckily passed by that route that day—I never follow the same route—and was able to transform, just when it was needed, my “rhythmic nirvanic Buddhist indifference” and abstractness to sensitivity and concreteness.

Remembrance of fading dreams

‘Remembrance’ holds the same relationship to ‘Recalcitrance’ as the two words would in a dictionary sequence: remembrance comes after recalcitrance. In simple and comprehensible words, ‘Remembrance’ is a sequel to ‘Recalcitrance’. A work of Mr. Anurag Kumar—who was generous enough to offer me a copy of ‘Remembrance’ that I obviously rejected since I wished to buy it myself—seeks to build over his previous work. You can read my review of ‘Recalcitrance’ here.

Remembrance of fading dreams

Starting with the physical appeal, it is certainly not like those “very bulky in appearance” books. The cover of the book carries a photograph—old, black and white with a rusty feel—of “Chattar Manzil” which one discovers to be a single picture if one holds the book wide open and not to read it but just to see its cover. ‘Remembrance of fading dreams’ carries a signature of the author on its first page then a tribute to “all those who gave up their lives in 1857” and then on the third page we are into action with no content page briefing us about its chapters. We are projected in a time three years after the “Great Uprising of 1857” had ended. The writer starts with a brief overview of the political situation, market scene, the lack of “fun and frolic” and the degradation of poetry.  We soon see appearance of familiar characters of ‘Recalcitrance’. The story starts to take shape around its protagonist, Chote Bhaiya. We also know that “the spark of recalcitrance in Chote Bhaiya could become a raging fire again”.

Along with the usual flow of story in the form of chapters, we are constantly upgraded with the political environment of the post-war period. Sometimes through the mark of respect by the use of the term ‘gora sahabs’ instead of ‘firangees’,at other times by reminding that “real nawabs are now in the South”. The writer also mentions some craziness involved in the Revolution through the visit of Chote Bhaiya to ‘Satichaura Ghat’ and ‘Bibighar’ while at the same time contrasting it with the benevolence of ‘ Acche Nawab’ who sheltered the pregnant Rosemary. I think the introduction of Rosemary and Stanley and their story achieves two purposes here. On the one hand it retrospectively describes the siege of Residency in Lucknow that was mainly covered in ‘Recalcitrance’ while on the other it introduces the humanly behavior of both ‘Acche Nawab’ and Stanley.

Although I am not sure whether the main revolutionary plot in which Chote Baiya, Ahsanul Mulk: to whom gun powder was like perfume, Mohtasim: a pseudo-eunuch or a beautiful Englishwoman or a master of disguise, Walter Sahab’s cousin and other revolutionaries took part is a true historical event, I can certainly say it was definitely intriguing and most thrilling part of the novel. We are also influenced by the Ulfat Jahan’s character whose sensuality did not spare even Chote Bhaiya who is normally “largely immune to feminine charms”. Even the fact of being married to a religious girl and thoughtfully dedicated to another girl named Farheen, could not stop him from ascending the steps of Ulfat Jahan’s house. Substantial coverage has been given to all the main characters this time, including Narenderlal, which was a little bit absent in ‘Recalcitrance’.

The novel has been beautifully spread over thirty-one chapters with a glossary of Hindustani words at the end. This being helpful in case you are not aware of some of the Indian language terms. However, I found that some of the Hindustani words were not described either in the end or at the point where they were used. One other thing I found pretty much to my displeasure was the absence of chapter names, difficulty being compounded while writing review because you couldn’t feature at an instant what the chapter was about. A few spelling mistakes, which I definitely know were introduced on the publishing end, made some romantic moments a little comical: Ulfat Jahan resting her head on Chote Bhaiya’s “soldier” and not his “shoulder” was one such light moment; though holding the writer responsible for such errors is little too harsh.

In the end I would say that ‘Remembrance of fading dreams’ is a wonderful read especially if you have read ‘Recalcitrance’; and even if you have not, ‘Remembrance’ can stand alone and turn out to be an amazing piece combining the revolutionary zeal of a major event with how that fervour transcended the commoners.             

In the guise of freedom lurks imitation

When Radio 5 Live presenter John Inverdale said his –now famous—lines about Wimbeldon winner Marion Bartoli, it was not just another case of Sexism as the media dubbed it so. It in fact reflects the new norms of fundamentalism in transition from the old ones. You really have to read the contents of social media in order to make it that it was not just a slip of tongue by the presenter. These are the new hardcore norms of our weird times.

There is probably no God and we are urged to stop worrying about it; we are even solicited to enjoy our life. However, in their effort to tackle religious fundamentalism, a certain section of atheists are laying down new rules of fundamentalism or they are in guise imitations of old fundamentalism. Let us start with a very basic thing: apparel. Very often Abrahamic religions especially Islam is criticized for its stand on feminine dressing in the public. It is now commonly acknowledged that Islam is ruthless and men force women to wear veil. But is it not the same stand which Islam or for the sake of universality any other religion took against the permissiveness of clothing? The idea being: to judge a person on his/her dress needs a very strange phenomenon to occur in our head; to rip apart a human being from his/her social context and place him in your own culture. That is to say—a situation of pure abstraction of human subtlety; the individual now is not an inextricable part of his/her social context but an object detachable, whenever needed. It is this same phenomenon that most religions used, that is, detach an individual from his roots and place in your own soil to judge him, project your bias on him. And is it not the same reasoning used by atheist today? The same fundamentalist ripping of Muslim women from their social context and placing them in their own environment! Such powerful is the tearing apart that even a defence by her seems to be a ventriloquist reply by a man behind. It is this development that makes it easy for both sides to predict who is free and who is not, who is forced and who is not. Can we not conclude the same for Marion Bartoli ? John Inverlade along with many on social media platforms used the same phenomenon to rip her from some other social dimensions, space and place her in their own “Cartesian system” as if she was an object detachable—a standard battery that would fit in any device. David Graeber in ‘Debt’ use the same phenomenon to describe what actually slavery warrants. Slavery is nothing but tearing apart of an individual from all that makes what he is and then expecting him to behave according to your norms. This was sometimes civilization for the primitive.

Tracing the same fundamental lines, one can almost see that certain contemporary atheists are no different from their theological adversaries. Just like a theist would apply ridiculous simplification and find every solution in religion, it seems that these atheists find every problem as a result of religion, its institutions and mandate. I think it is a clear hint of fanatic simplification. One such example is the inference that religion is a direct cause of economic conditions of different nations. They even have prepared elaborate maps marking nations, their advancement and linking them with religious beliefs. It’s not that there are just few fanatic individuals; even influential intellectuals advocate this. The debate of religion and atheism acquire center stage while history, debts, conquests are treated as if they are trivial or as if those who ruled for centuries all over the world have no advantage in governing over those  who were their slaves. What is important is trivial; what is trivial is important. Politics for them as such is non-existent. It was all a simple game of religion from the start which we must end to set all things that have gone awry. And it is under this pretext demand of separating religion from state is raised, vindicating State and blaming Religion; the same male chauvinist idea that the defaulter in this marriage of religion and state is religion, as if, if state used religious violence as a tool then it is not the state which is at fault . Most of the time it is state or the aspiring state that instigate and manipulate religious violence. The problem is—as these atheists point out—with the religion that makes theist so much infuriated. However, the perpetrator should be absolved of all wrongs. There is neither a single word against state nor towards its abolition but religion must be annihilated. On the same pattern, Chetan Bhagat, though he never professes of being an atheist, suggest on the matter of Gujarat riots that we should introspect: introspection about what is in us that makes us such killers of each other. I agree that we should not be so short tempered but that does not mean that the other partner should stand vindicated as if the whole problem can be summarized in terms of fundamentalism. And this is what Richard Dawkins is propagating, vindicating the role of his nation, or precisely any state. State and religion should not mix; religion should vanish; state is absolved. We actually have a word for what state did when we were a colony—“divide and rule”. This is not for pointing specifics but when you blame one, you cannot absolve other. This is not observed by our “evolving nerd rebellious atheist”. Dawkins and Hitchens have done a lot for their supporters to get rid of “sky daddy” but at the same time both fail, in fact make them accept more jubilantly their “earthly daddy”. It is claimed by these naïve atheists that religion caused a great harm; it poisons everything. But I claim that markets, money and debts have done even greater destruction, of colossal magnitude even. Do we see the same hue and cry when they blame religion for poverty of a nation while at the same time enjoying the fruits of markets, debts and slave trade across the Atlantic? Do we see the poisoning of human morals when a father has to sell his own daughter to pay his debt? Do we see that “Money is not great” or “The Market delusion” when we passively accept the suicide of a farmer just because he could not obey the laws of debt and markets? I think such harms have become norms and fundamentals of “new fundamentalism”. They reject the concepts of afterlife and eternity. But do we not find the same concepts of eternity buried deeply when an atheist say—“I want to do something for humanity. I want my name to be remembered for generations.” Is it not the same concept of eternity when he prospectively imagine the retrospective admiration of posterity as if he will be present somewhere to even notice the gratitude?

They are the front runners of science and even speculate a “gay gene” to cater to the needs of their followers. However, they fail to guess a “faith gene” that might have afflicted so many people. I would be glad to know what evolutionary purpose has been reserved by Mr. Dawkins for a homosexual couple. But before you call me homophobic, you definitely need to answer scientifically your own prejudices. Is it not that sometimes one scientific field place us directly stand against another? Is it not that when we are mad to comfort our body through scientific inventions, we are actually getting weak—decreasing our evolutionary strength? Though we know what both sciences mean, we are guilty of new fundamentalism by simply propagating the persona of nerdy atheist. You already know that you have unintentionally reached the peak of fundamentalism when you start believing everything with the subtext—“a new study by scientists shows”.

Narendra Modi: Closest representation of State’s Inception

If I were to describe Narendra Modi and his fan following, perhaps I should say Lord and his men because that’s what Narendra means (nar-man, Indra- God or lord), I put it this way—Debauch aspiring Ascetic to lead them, fantasizing excess in near future, fascinated by Asceticism but aspiring Debauchery. In short: Asceticism as a means to Debauchery. Here lies the paradox—a practitioner of self-denial, asceticism, Mr. Modi is working day and night so that our aspiring young ones, whom he praises so much that they may also reciprocate naively, can fulfill their dream of excess. His fans are everywhere, on social networking sites, newspapers, among Bollywood actors and corporates apart from usual fundamental ideological base that he is part of and represents. There are chants of growth wherever you go. The saint must work ceaselessly for our surplus, so that we can “dream big”. And this is it! Nationalism, superpower, growth and this is it. Well, I never feel associated with such injected terms: Terms which I think come into common discourse through state or aspiring state. Vocabulary must be taught to us before we can even think of analyzing. You see, with these terms, whether or not they are true on ground level, an atmosphere for discussion prevails. In this arena all arguments must be either for or against the proposed vocabulary and its sophisticated structure. For example, every discussion, and subsequently an argument concerning growth of Gujarat, demands it to be either in support or against. This vocabulary of growth and superpower infused into the mainstream ensures that opinion, if any exists, must either be praising the proposed idea or denying it. So a BJP fan must always support the “growth” and a Congress fan must deny it. What is lost then? The loss is we do not know what it means to grow. What it means to be a superpower! It is out of question—the need to debate what is actually growth. Cancer also grows! Now we must imitate some blur image assigned to these terms and that too, obsessively. The time for theory has ended. We must immediately stop debating and act as if we have taken all our time to define, everything is concrete and clear; the point remains of implementing it. This is most dangerous belief. Recently I watched a movie—“Django Unchained”. There is a scene in the movie where Leonardo DiCaprio( Calvin Candy) mocks one of his black slaves for not knowing the meaning of “reimburse”. Actually, Candy paid five hundred dollars for that slave and expected him to fight at least five “mandingo” fights failing which the slave must reimburse the master. I liked that scene not because I found it amusing but because it contains much deeper meaning. The idea being—the slave must know the meaning of reimburse and subsequently that he is morally expected to reimburse no matter how much violent and degrading act, that is slavery, brought him in a position to reimburse. The master must teach the vocabulary.

Elite Squad: The Enemy Within, a Brazilian film directed, produced by Jose Padilha, starring Wagner Moura, is a semi-fictional account of BOPE. I am not concerned with the overall story or theme. I am interested mainly in the character of Sandro Rocha who is a lead corrupt boss of Rio militia. Since he is powerful and corrupt, he is seen as someone getting his share from drug dealer—a sort of tax you can say. He and his gang later kill the dealers, the middle-men, and start operating directly. He now acquires a bigger role providing internet, cable TV, banks, cafes, restaurants, every business and acts as a protector to the slums. How will a guy living in that slum treat Rocha? I think we deal here with a central and important problem. Although Rocha does not form an official state here, through him we can see how state actually operates. A guy living in that slum sees his relationship with Rocha and his gang as of mutual benefit, protector. He sees the relationship as that of specific roles defined in society. You know what I mean to say.

‘Rocha looks after our basic necessities. He takes care of our wants. Rocha provides security. We must pay our taxes and all that.’

Rocha and his gang is state here.  If we somehow disappear from our own times and place ourselves when our civilization is just beginning to take shape, Rocha represents the dynamics of state. Let us give our Rocha some bigger hurdles to tackle, say employment generation. Rocha owns all lands and resources by default and he generates employment. Now give Rocha a little bit of global touch of growth. He now is a Messiah who intends to achieve a fantasy of surplus for everyone—‘there shall be no poor, we will be a superpower.’ It does not matter why there is a poor. What matters is we must act hastily. Poverty should vanish from earth as soon as possible. Again the mantra: theory is wasting time, acting is everything. As the time passes by,—sufficient generations after Rocha—we have a totally new set of ideological points governing Rocha’s posterity.

‘All problems are there because we do not follow the fundamentals set by state. Or each problem exists because State doesn't have sufficient funds. We should tax the rich and all that.’ State’s emphasis is to present and formulate every bit of problem as a function of funds, which will be solvable if we have enough funds—obviously that day of sufficiency never arrives. Nevertheless, subjects of the State have become habitual of encountering the problem as properly defined; the point is of for or against as I previously pointed. Rocha is not the only one. You can see a reflection of state wherever a sub-state or to be politically correct, a sub-governance begins to germinate. Some street side vendor or one with a barrow often pays a part of his money as extortion for selling in a particular area. In India, where the official State is not vigilant enough, this is often the case. Now that is not the official state tax but they pay it. Why? Because of sheer threat of violence or violence itself! This is governance or state in its crude form which after sufficient time acquires the status of what we call—social contract.

I told this long story—out of context it may seem but it is not. I think Narendra Modi is closest representation of State’s inception that we can get in our own times. You must know, it is a necessity for Rocha to evolve.      

Lovely Commercials

My God! These commercials! I love them especially those tobacco commercials. If you have ever noticed, they start with something ethereal about tobacco, something that transcends, something that elevates, that make you feel like a king; I don’t know but in a naïve manner I put—to make you feel fearless. To chew tobacco is to be fearless; at the same time it is a source of divine pleasure. This is how the commercial start and this is what they convey until a short warning –indecipherable, incoherent with the overall advertisement, usually spoken too fast to be heard so as not to tamper with the pleasant environment which the actual advertisement creates –appears.  In fact, warnings of all sorts share this feature.

“Chewing tobacco causes cancer.”

“Smoking is injurious to health.”

This is what they say, making their honest and good intentions clear in a clumsy way. While majority of advertisement deals with fearlessness, it ends making us fear for our lives. Two totally different emotions fused in one.  Good for none but a laugh. Optimism and pessimism mixed in one. If not for anything else, it is good to tell ourselves how pathetic our condition is. I mean we tell a lie and then a truth and this is not the important thing. What is important is we are forced to do it. Forced not to tell lie only; forced not to tell truth only; if it had been any one of lie or truth, the condition is much better. But we are forced to tell both at the same time. I think this is horrendous. I feel this whole thing like Obscene is sold, at the same time the seller urges you not to buy the Obscene because it’s obscene. What a humanly gesture!

There is another commercial which fascinates me. When I say fascinates me, it genuinely means fascinates me. Please allow me to present to you—‘killer jeans’. Let us be murderously correct –not just ‘killer jeans’ but ‘killer water saver jeans’. That’s what their product is about. At least they say it so. Killer and saver, both at the same time! Killer jeans that saves water! To be politically and environmentally correct, they even put a protesting audience—some sort of young bare chest students caring for our environment and all that—against police with water cannons. You see, these advertisements are fabulous. They do not disappoint anyone. There is something for everyone to feel associated with the product in some sort of transcendental way. Now we have an easy solution for water shortage. Wear killer-saver jeans and be environmentally correct, in other words be environmentally guilt free, be on the right side of the history. Even an atheist, who considers himself free from guilt, can’t resist it. He too wants to be on the right side—redeemed environmentally. Christianity, Islam and whatever religion you take, I think the principles of guilt are best implemented by the advertising world, even better than those religions themselves. Water shortage started because we didn't wear the ‘killer-saver jeans’ at the right time in our long history. To correct our mistake we must instantly indulge in this endeavour obsessively. Who knows, maybe we could measure the precise amount of water we save by buying killer jeans. ‘Oh! You have only three jeans, I have ten of those. I save ten litres of water.’ Now, simple mathematics can even predict how much water people around the world save. Those poor devils who could not afford these jeans are even wasting water, undoubtedly even causing the water shortage in the first place. Imagine an extreme situation—there is shortage in arid regions of Africa and we have our benevolent Western nations sending over hundred thousand ‘killer water saver jeans’ as an aid. Killer jeans dropped from airplanes not to kill as the name suggests, but to save.

The last commercial which has not escaped my memory and still deserves a laugh whenever I watch it is the one about the milk supplements.  Alexander, Akbar and Jhansi ki Rani didn't like the taste of milk; we need milk supplements in various flavours to make our kid drink it. But that is not the point of laughter. One advertisement in the same line of milk supplements, of Bournvita if I remember correctly, claims that to absorb the calcium in milk by human body we need its supplement to be mixed along with milk. Mother who gives Bournvita to her child is knowledgeable while who don’t is ignorant of the obvious, self-evident fact. Nevertheless the point such advertisements make is that man has been drinking plain milk from thousands of years only in vain, technically as good as water, deficient of any extra benefits. I don’t take it as an insult to our ancestors but actually a groundbreaking research of our technologically advanced and intelligent folks, who obviously have strongest of bones than most of our bravest fighters of history.  

Goodbye Blue Sky

“Goodbye Blue Sky” is definitely not the song by Pink Floyd. It is a short story by Nour Sharif though its subliminal theme is almost the same—as I see it—as that of the song. The full story, for the simple pleasure of reading, can be accessed here. 

“Goodbye Blue Sky” is a fictional account with a tinge of reality in the form of Lebanon civil war which afflicted Lebanon for more than 15 years. Most of the story is set in “a little town, far from the coast, and close to the mountains” named Zahleh and a very insignificant part in Canada—the specific town or place is not mentioned. I consider it obligatory not to reveal the specifics of the plot as that would unnecessarily smother the zeal of the reader. “Goodbye Blue Sky” is a bid adieu to peace inviting clouds of war, a goodbye to the warmth of clear sky for Gabriel, Zaynab and Michael—central characters in the story. It is a story of contrast where we are at one hand appalled by the civil war involving Muslims and Christians and on the other fascinated by the brief intimacy of Zaynab ( a Muslim) and Gabriel( a Christian). But ultimately they too have to say goodbye to their blue sky. The writer also drew a contrast between the turbulent land of Lebanon which is marred by religious violence and peaceful Canada where at some point in the story Gabriel and his father Michael migrate to reclaim their blue sky. The story brings to the fore, in the midst of peace and war, the humanly relations, though strained, between a father and a son, a husband and a wife, a boy and a girl—vacillating, sometimes due to external pressures and sometimes due to internal conflicts.

I have always felt that aesthetic sense of English Literature is mainly due to the ability of the writer and his/her sense for circumlocution. And I can say without a doubt that in this endeavour the writer wonderfully describes the situations to fulfill the aesthetic demand that every story should have. Vividness in description is clearly visible. At times I felt that the story is too short to accommodate the full web of emotions that it seems to conquer. But then I remember that the writer must have been bound to the limitations of the competition that she was taking part in. By the way if I haven’t mentioned till now, make note of it immediately. She, that is Nour Sharif, has won third prize for this story in Malik’s Short Story Competition 2012.

There is nothing that can stop me from revealing more about the story and its theme but that would be doing injustice to the writer. In a way, injustice to the reader too! What purpose the story serve to the reader if it is already accomplished through the review of the story? I, therefore, cease my hand and give a chance to your complex wiring of eye and brain. In short, I am urging you to read this story in order to enjoy every bit in its entirety.

In the end I would like to thank Nour Sharif, whom I know only by the means of Facebook, for providing me the soft copy of this story and thereby giving me the chance to read, most importantly, free of cost.

Of Guilt, God and Money

Society has witnessed death of God. Of what was held with so much surety until now is under doubt. The dichotomy of good and evil is replaced with a more blur question—‘what is wrong with that?’ The general sort of reasoning, which should be in terms of cause and effect in the event of death of God, is now bluntly placed before us in the form—what is bad in it? And you ask me what is bad in it, I say nothing. You ask me what is good in it, I say nothing. I mean when you start asking that type of questions, not only you are sure to get no reasonable answer, in fact you end any means of rational thinking. A subject of this curious question is money, comfort.

What’s wrong with money! What’s obnoxious about it! As I said anyone concerning his conscience with that question will never, in his life, be able to assert that he is asking himself a timidly bootless question. One, who asks it, will convince himself anyway that there is nothing wrong in it. For a man always convince his conscience to be on the right side even before one commits murder for no purpose at all. It may sound ludicrous yet it is true. A man must have firm conviction of right before one act. A man must do right. So how it is that he starts torturing himself with guilt of having done wrong? The feeling of wrong comes only with external agency—an agency which forces the individual to realize his wrong. A deed is not wrong or right when it is committed but only when it is judged. You see, murder of a human being is heinous in our judicial system and is reproached severely. Subsequently it is a crime, a wrong, abhorring and hence loathed. However killing an animal for meat is not murder. Why? Is it not life? I suggest you read my post titled ‘Origin of…’ where I contemplate on the origins of such type of morality. But for now let’s proceed. It is not loathed—leave a few societies like Jains—and here you see clearly that for a wrong, crime to exist there must be a body forcing repugnance, calling deliberately to us and inducing guilt. For thousands of years this work was done by religions although clumsily. But here I am not bothering myself fighting for animal rights. I like meat, have no intention to ban it legally. What I am trying to convey here is that man has thought and worked only on guilt, conscience and therefore is bound to fail when the “general guilt pattern” changes. If you don’t have a reason to support a purpose, naturally guilt can’t bear the burden for long. There is no external agency now to check the mad rush for money; there is void left in the place of guilt producing factory. And I am glad that there is. We need a reason and not guilt. Why should money not be the sole measure of all things? Why should it not drive all our endeavours? Where is the reason to support it? There is a vacuum.

I regard money acquiring the same place as a few centuries ago was filled with the magnanimous God. In the name of God everything is permitted; in the name of money everything is permitted. And how much reasonable it seems! How much logical!  How backward are those who condemn it! The society we live in always carry a weighing balance. On one scale they have an idea, on the other its monetary equivalent. A few centuries ago the other scale was reserved for God. What we have got to oppose this? Remnants of guilt from religion lying there, decaying with time, sometimes deteriorating with a vigour and giving an illusion of revival though the zeal is the struggle of a flame when someone sprinkles water on it. I have never been fond of such edifices of guilt.

Only man, in the entire realm of living, has got the gift of being raised to speculate future. He speculates and comes to conclusion that possessions, in whatever form, hoarding, in whatever form, is the only means to better future. Is his speculation right? Is his speculation independent from the structures of society? His speculation is right. His speculation is not independent from the structures of society. Here we see a reason itself provided by the society and hence it triumphs. Whatever is strong, wins! Evil is strong and it wins. It is a blatant myth that good always win. Possessions, money, hoarding ultimately decides your treatment in society. The reason is strong and it wins; it survived millenniums after millenniums. Religion tried to counter it with guilt—weak so to say—and is failing. Where is the reason? It is missing! So what can stop that mad rush? Reason itself which nowhere to be found: a void that needs to be filled. 21^st century is devoured by corruption. One direct reason is—more number of people given the opportunity to acquire which was otherwise reserved for few in early days. Intellectuals define corruption to be decaying of morality or deviation from normal or a more popular one is: preferring private gains over public duties. I say: Corruption is responding to reason, sidelining, looking askance at guilt to acquire what is most prized in society—money, power, domination. Reason triumphs, guilt fails. You need a reason against it, not some sort of complex spying structure where each spies on the other. Now there is a class of people that blames everything on human nature. I say greed, they say human nature; I say war, they say human nature; I say money, they say human nature. Hell with human nature! Human nature is blank! Zero!

As I said, with God and money everything is permitted, not in the sense that each has the freedom to do whatever one wishes but anything that can be astutely attributed to be God’s wish, or in the case of money to be yielding profit—no matter how much stupid, no matter how much catastrophic. For example, consider the food we eat today. There is tremendous change in what we eat over the last fifty years than we had over the last thousand years. A preferred, thoroughly tested diet, conforming to our evolutionary buds is changed so suddenly only to conform to the standards of profit. Result is there for you to analyse. The food which is worthless, to the body obviously, is cheapest; the food which is necessary is slowly leaving our meal. To be short, we eat crap because it’s cheap. Thank Money—addressed as God—we don’t eat our own crap because it’s free. What sort of economics or reasoning is that? You can find numerous such examples. Once the “market” approves them, they become reasonable. I have seen the absurdest of ideas thriving just for the sake of money. Comfort made the goal of life! Comfort is against evolution—evolutionary strength to be precise. How pitiful are those ailing, disease ridden creatures that care about the softness of pillow of their hospital bed! Any truth which is against life is no truth at all. And then they ask you to fulfill your thirst for comfort and money through legitimate ways? What is legitimate? Money is same whether it comes from cutting throat of some person, by lurking in a dark corner or by writing software making your back ache as if punished for something.  A noble man will stand up indignantly and lament—“Mr. Backward there is guilt in the first case.” I say—“What guilt? I don’t feel any unless you force it on me.” You feel guilt only because you have a system in place to condemn you, torture you. However, in the second case you don’t have one. A programmer may write a part of a program which is to benefit a guy like Hitler in some way—obviously unknowingly as he (programmer) is so noble—is a professional. Another great creature who writes a part of a program which helps marketing a product online that has resulted in millions of diseases, deaths and skewed lifestyle is a more revered professional. Professionalism! OMM! Oh my Money! As I told you, for guilt there must be an external agency. Without it there is no bad. Bad or evil—that is presently not classified as evil—grows in the direction where it finds no lingering guilt. Guilt is useless in that purpose because it can never effect the inception. It is reactionary—finding its way once the problem is thousand paces ahead. What should I say of how money has stupefied all senses? What terrible storm it unleashed on human relations? In what horrendous way it has streamlined the goal of all humanity! Oh! When I hear chants of growth, I nauseate. I need fresh air: a place that does not stink. A paroxysm of rage, feeling of disgust seizes those proponents of growth if you question a single letter of growth. We are backward, uncivilized holding up their growth. They sweep, with a single sway of their hand, anonymous populations, enormous vegetations and all that is natural—that is backward—to spur their “Growth Horse”. Profit and money being their God!

Once you make money the measure of all things, there is no way you can use guilt to stop a rush for it. Guilt, conscience hinders everything new, even good ones. Once you cross that threshold, guilt vanishes like it never was; only reason lasts.                   

The Art of Hitchhiking

Until a few minutes ago, it was the infinite stretch of road that ruminatively attracted the gaze of a seeker. The subject of that earnest look is now a moving object. With the most innocent of intentions and in expectation of something filled with rapture, he extends his arm most gently. However, the one who is sought so dearly seems to be on his way of attending a matter of national concern. For him, therefore, everything else is trivial. In a moment he passes his seeker like a flash. And now the “road” is there again to be looked at, ruminatively—

Hitchhiking

It is often the scene in the business of hitchhiking—especially when a naïve is at work. However, for a veteran, who is most careful in the manner of his approach, this exercise is often fruitful. I have experienced it with tremendous rate of success for two consecutive years. Each day it was normal to work it four to five times, covering about 13-14 kilometers, in different parts of the city and at varied times of the day. Naturally such an exposure gives great insight. Here, for the sake of change and withdrawing from the nature of topics I have been recently dealing with, I will share a few tricks of the trade which I feel helped me to make my wallet weigh a little heavier.

Before I begin I must make sure you are aware that these tricks have their space domain in India and on the great Indian roads—it may or may not work on others depending on the psychology of its natives. Here we start! The most important of all traits that must not abandon a hitchhiker: a will not to be embarrassed. The more stringently you are cornered, embarrassed, looked down at, the stronger your will should become. The seeds of successful hitchhiker germinate only in those who could stand all day long despite being unlucky, although that rarely occurs, only to be observed if a meteorite falls on whosoever stops driving for a moment.

Next on our rulebook is what vehicle to avoid. Bicycle is cornered without consideration unless the situation is so grave that you will die if not carried by someone. Scooters too are better, if avoided, the reason being scooter drivers are hypochondriac on behalf of their means of transport. It bothers them constantly—the chronic ailment of their conveyance—and one more pedestrian, an aspiring copilot, would only add to woes, may even serve as the cause of death for the ailing creature. That’s what they think when they turn their heads in order to avoid the pleader. Girls and women should also be avoided in India because they give you such a stare as if you are not from Earth, not Mars, not even Venus but from Pluto and instead of being helped by them you are there to escort them to Pluto. We have done enough about what to avoid. Now what place to choose? Select an area where vehicles naturally slow down just like around speed breakers. Slowing provides more time for thoughts to settle down—obviously of the driver’s. If there is nothing to curb down the speed then be sure to signal your intent from a long distance for you must provide your to-be benefactor a good time to judge. Otherwise before he sees you well, he will be past you. Rarely anyone stops after one has gone past the threshold. Make sure that you don’t present your side view or your back to the driver. Instead, you should not be unwilling to face directly opposite, signaling with your left thumb and keeping free your right hand. This way the driver can get a good and comprehensive look at you from a long distance. Stand apart from other public for they may distract the full attention you may get while you are alone. Don’t make the blunder of signalling heavy vehicles like trucks when they have no way of naturally slowing down. They will not stop; however, you may take your chances with light vehicles although it is not advisable. Never try to hitchhike while simultaneously walking. It gives an impression that you can reach where you want to by mere walking. The greatest chance you have of being hitchhiked in India is by a policeman. Policemen are generally not afraid of being played foul as most of the other drivers are. The other reason stands as—they themselves are greatest of all hitchhikers. Obviously they reciprocate when they are awarded.

Half of your chances rest on the way you present your face and the way you signal your intent. You should not show too much eagerness although you do harbour it clandestinely. Neither you should be completely loose. Be as natural as you can, communicating silently to the driver that he is not the only one in the world who would stop for you, nor it is that you are gesturing at him for the sake of gesturing. Try not to avoid his questioning glance when he turns to you to inquire silently. You answer silently. The more time he gets to judge, the more chance you have. Don’t let your arm droop unless he goes past you. Never let your shout of destination serve as a tool to stop the driver while he is still driving. It will definitely kill 90 % of your chance even though he is heading for the same destination. If you are carrying a school bag, it is an advantage although a school bag appearing more like luggage is disheartening.

I have often seen many practicing this art alongside me. I would say not all were committed to a particular mistake but yes a significant number of them were. They would get in position as I have previously described, like stand facing the driver directly opposite, but due to some sort of torture by their conscience, a lingering guilt or shame of unknown origin, they would raise their left arm reluctantly and gradually as if they had been trying to do something else but by mere chance they would not be unhappy if someone stops by and offer them a free travel. This is catastrophic for a hitchhiker, but not serious. Another mistake which is serious but not catastrophic arises when you have several candidates competing in the vicinity. They all stand in a group thereby making it ambiguous who is the deserving one. An orderly air to the ambiguity can be provided by maintaining a necessary distance—of about 10m—between each of them, linearly.

Like all trades, this one too has its own unwritten ethics. You will never mislead the pilot in order to gain leverage of an extra mile thereby making him drive away from his usual path. Always try to help your friends, who are still tyros, by offering them fruits of your bait or by overloading so that your skill is recognized as a social one. Well, you are already working for a social benefit by increasing the efficiency of an otherwise inefficient ride.                  

Origin of…

It was with some unproductive, monotonous and a work which I can attribute, safely, not my own that kept me away from writing a full whole month. I must add that the physical demands of this work besides the scorching heat of North India only added to sap more energy and left little to be used elsewhere. However, with this burden now off my shoulders, I can, once again, write a little to pass my useless time which otherwise would have been dedicated to sound sleep.

I chose the title “Origin of…” so as to deal with the origin or more precisely source of a number of things which obviously, in our society, are attributed a mysterious origin—which cannot be comprehended or explained and hence should be left over as sprouting from God. I shall, for the sake of my own easiness, take these “mysterious things”—for they are no doubt mysterious—one by one and without any predisposition about the order in which to arrange them. So let’s start with one of the most elated and hyped claim of religion that morality, compassion, love exclusively belong to their literatures and in the absence of those literary works mankind would not have been able to love, to feel compassionately and to distinguish between good and evil.

I could not help finding it extremely ludicrous that human moral values have origin in a book. This claim is shattered to pieces as soon as one gives away one’s narcissist approach towards morality and gaze at it with due considerateness to all of nature including the most ferocious bestiality. We can observe, not with much difficulty, that love and compassion, in their most crude form, originates in the ability to distinguish i.e. to recognize likeness, similarity of features; first and foremost physical features. Here, I am not concerned with the trivial thought of physical attraction of an individual towards another but with ability of an individual to know his own features (physical) i.e. his body structure, ways of responding to changes in surrounding, his needs in terms of food, shelter etc. You see, that is the real source of liking, real source of morality, real source of love and not to forget compassion—the ability to relate. One may be left alone, right from the birth, to grow accustomed to his own self and not to any other, not even creatures of his own type leave aside any other species yet he will first approach one like him. The awareness about his own body structure through his senses, the ability to recognize other’s—also through his senses, gives rise to something called similarity. This, indeed, is the crudest love, compassion—a likeness of what is similar to us. And this crude love is spread across all animals, not just intelligent humans. That is the reason why they—that is the animals—don’t need literature to love. They have the ability, through their senses and nothing else, to recognize what is similar. Everything similar gains love and compassion, everything different is part of suspicion. Good is what is same, evil is that which is different. Morality of even good and evil builds on the base of similarity. It is this written morality of which religions are so proud of: a morality which is descendant of crude form. You see, justice too have some traces of this type of morality. It is heinous to kill a human being while other life forms are slaughtered without attracting least of punishment through our judicial systems even though they continue to be a subject of our scientific knives and taste bud.  I am not criticizing animal killing but making my point about origin of morality. This original compassion for something similar now transcends and evolves into love, good. It is the base of all subsequent definitions of morality no matter which culture develops it. However, a search for similarity leads to a lot of weed growth. For example racism is a weed growth in which apart from humanity one finds similarity in trivial things. Social Darwinism, however, can never work for the sole reason that humans have got a good memory. Religion itself is a weed growth—a special likeness for people of same religion, their cultures, dress, food, etc. and if not hatred then aversion to folks of different religion, their culture, dress, etc. A sense of superiority is raised in such situations. Caste system in India is another such weed growth. Misogynism is a weed growth of this crude morality. Patriots are raised and traitors are killed under a more subtle weed growth. Thus we see we have left the original morality and accepted side productions as the original. And there is no shortage of men who claim that side productions belong exclusively to them. In fact, they even go to the extent of laying their hands on the original morality.

Love, even in its subtlest form, is not immune to this original creed for likeness and similarity. Although most of love blossoms from a search of desired qualities—a certain form of finding similarity, difference in a pair is also a deliberate attempt at accepting the difference itself as something given to likeness. It can go without saying that hatred will rise wherever there is no likeness or one is unable to find such likeness or similarity. Revenge and malice are born of good memory. Humans have that in particular. In those who have a strong element for forgetfulness, revenge is in traces.  Absence of active memory can even end such malice as is the case with many animals.

We move now to the origin of truth and lie. As is believed commonly, truth and lie are something eternal; eternal truth—more correctly—and lie is just a lie. However, least to my concern whether lie is eternal or not, truth and lie are something not eternal. They are side products of intent to communicate. The complexity of the concept of truth and lie is build in the proportion the means of communication grows. When you can represent things separate from actions, of which till know only humans are capable, there you see truth and lie and the intent to deceive. Man seems to be marred by the weed growth of his own inventions, here in this case a complex structure of language.

I have already grown weary not because I have written too much for this one article but with lack of sleep. So in an attempt to wind up, I endeavour one more topic—that of poverty. There are endless attempts at conquering poverty but none to know what made it first or what propagates it from generation to other generation.  The answer to propagation of poverty is simple—inheritance.  Inheritance not just in the sense of material property but inheritance of all those shortages, inheritance of daily grief to which the child grows slowly accustomed to and gives up his hope in despair, inheritance of the knowledge that he may have to sleep empty stomach, inheritance of looking daily at deep sunken faces around him weakened with constant hunger and finally accepting the fate as it is, inheritance of dealing with crisis on a daily basis rather than occasionally as their so called benefactors do. An awful lot of inheritance! What makes me more critical of religion or imaginary God is not the imagination of it but the laws it involuntarily gave to the society. Just like the law of inheritance! Now what made poverty? As I have always held in my earlier posts that fate is not the origin of poverty. Origin of poverty lies in the powerful: to snatch what he felt like; and weak to let go what he cannot defend. Then after, the lazy powerful man made laws of what is right and what is not. What is lawful and what is not!  What should remain with him that he has snatched and what should be returned! This is where laws of inheritance originate—to keep for progeny what was earned with power and now only to replace power with labour; it should be noticed that this nepotism is also a weed growth of likeness to something similar, something which is close to us. Since laws are never made to the purpose which they currently serve, people often forget the origin and accept the current usage as the genuine one. They originate, they evolve, their purpose change from time to time.

Now the concluding lines…

More harm has been done than benefit by thrusting the “benefit for all” tag. People need to think for their good only and not meddle with the whole of humanity. Every man is capable of doing good to himself and to others for man is not naturally evil, on the contrary, man is naturally loving.                 

So far so good...

Heard about the guy who fell off a skyscraper? On his way down past each floor, he kept saying to reassure himself: So far so good…so far so good…so far so good. How you fall doesn’t matter. It’s how you land!

These lines from ‘La Haine’ pretty accurately describe the scenario of environmental disaster where man in his denial keeps asserting—so far so good…so far so good. The fall is pleasurable but for how long? How far? Where will he land? These are not bothering his conscience right now. Every now and then he needs some anaesthetic –in every epoch he needs new anaesthetic—to keep him distracted and distanced from the senselessness of his existence. He invented religion to keep himself busy with some meaningfulness and now his religion is consumption; a consumer of his own life as if he had to earn his own life back from mortgagee. I can hardly find a difference between those blatant priests of ancient religions who determined patterns of human life and the “corporate priests” of our time. They both produce a tamed, predictable, harmless, bootless and believing individual; ready to believe anything for the greater good, for magnificent future, for phantasmagoria of unimaginable, in fact a subject of ludicrousness. A little unbiased view can tell you what horrendous individuals these corporations produce although there is no decline in the amount of collective bovine pride that is boasted off.

By the time we begin to comprehend our environment, our existence and our objective, we are already entangled in the chains of consumerism. We are neck-deep in its water and it becomes our governing instinct in every endeavour. Each solution to a subtle problem is a new product, new base of consumers and new set of producers. This is the reason we see passive solutions to environmental crisis. Consumerism as a solution to consumerism! New consumerism to old consumerism! Use efficient light bulbs, plant a few trees—especially to break some record, recycle your paper, switch off lights for one hour on Earth’s day, recycle some more paper and fix your tap if it is leaking as if those were the causes of the climatic catastrophe. By all these “potent” methods of conservation, we can actually defeat the monster. The rape of nature is compensated by arranging a marriage: marriage to the raper. These useless methods will lead us nowhere but in the labyrinth of “so far so good”. What we need is a radical change of thought of how we evaluate our position with respect to our surroundings.

Two main reasons, as I see it, of why environmental crisis has reached a stage as dangerous as of now are wage slavery and private property. I would caution not to misinterpret private property with personal property. Every man and woman has the right to enjoy whatever he/she earns of his labour, i.e. personal property. And it is no better than stealing to reap where someone else has sowed i.e. private property. Private property is a product of social labour which, due to the laws of ownership, assigns products of labour to the one who owns means of production. Personal property is something you produce by your own labour. Now back to our discussion. The reason why we are facing such difficulties in handling of Nature is the borrowing of concept of ownership while transiting from Feudal ages to Capitalism. You see, when we bring individual ownership of lands, machines or any other means of production by the pretext of inheritance or capital, we are actually making the sense of having more privileged than any other intellectual sense. Now the one who owns has greater power in terms of laws than the one who really produces. Having sense master over all other senses!  It is this sense which led to the slavery by feudal lords and it is the same sense, with a little modification and a human face, which leads to wage slavery. To make this game seem fair, even a wage slave can climb up the ladders of slavery and become the one who can have wage slaves himself. This seems as something providing equality. You can be a wage slave today and you can have yourself many some other day contrary to those times where once a slave, always a slave. It makes people to compete to be either one who serves or the one who make others serve. In the process, few names change—sometimes swapping occurs and it is life.

Now one may ask what has wage slavery has to do with environmental crisis? It has to do a lot although we cannot suspect it because our stomach depends on it. And why our stomach is slave to wage? Because ownership of resources is decided by inheritance or capital and not by those who work on it. In fact we have developed quite sophisticated means of credit-debt system so that even if one is not benefitted by the fortunes of his predecessors, he can use the system to step up another web of wage slavery to amass huge wealth and then continue the pattern which has been followed since, seemingly, eternity. Who will suspect it as we are doing such a noble deed of providing jobs? Jobs for what? Jobs to consume and continue the worthless cycle of mindless consumption! Jobs to outrage the modesty of nature every single time we discover useless luxury to entertain ourselves with. It is not that I oppose materialistic view of life. It is not that I support an ascetic lifestyle of some sage in India who would go hungry to please God. It is not that I practise self-denial, self-destruction, perishing for some imaginary cause: I am no priest, I am no sage but one should do labour for what he wants. If you feel that your desire cannot be satisfied with what you have and it is too hard for you to take tough morsels of life as they come to you then go and work with your own bare hands for the item of luxury which fascinates you. Why do billions of people need to work as wage slaves for your fantasy, for your luxury? Why do billions of people need to think the way corporations, advertisements want them to think? That’s where the problem lays—Bovine mentality of people, herd instinct, millions mind thinking alike just like religion wanted them to. I am sure that atheism too is heading towards same bovine instinct. It will be disastrous if that happens. Man loses his contemplating power in herd and acquires the mind and idea of crowd. You see, if I make an item of luxury by my own hands, I have the full right to enjoy it and it produces no problem. Problem starts when people are dragged into the arena of mass production through wage slavery. It is not hard to imagine what deep dent billions of similar demands controlled through mass media produce on the face of Earth. Why same demands? Due to conditioning of human mind to consume, because of wage slavery to meet that false induced desire, because wage slaves working unaware of the catastrophe their slavery will warrant, because a tag of I own it. Why I own it? My parents left it for me, because I have capital from my wage slavery to buy the work of another wage slave whose wage is discriminated as his labour is physical and inferior compared to my intellectual labour and because I can measure that his labour requires less tiring of muscles and nerves than my own. Perhaps laughable assumptions and conclusions of history!

All these can be dealt with recycle of paper and turning off lights! People trained to consume without reason would obviously say so. People who value ”sense of having” more than the “sense of labour” would obviously say so. Biological inheritance transformed into property inheritance. All these laws framed, no matter they may seem trivial, by religious texts. Without the tag of ownership, one cannot have wage slavery. Without wage slavery there cannot be such ruthless exploitation of nature. In the name of fighting climatic battle we are plunged into another cyclone of consumption and this time with no guilt. In the words of Slavoj Žižek:

“This readiness to assume the guilt for the threats to our environment is deceptively reassuring: We like to be guilty since, if we are guilty, it all depends on us. We pull the strings of the catastrophe, so we can also save ourselves simply by changing our lives. What is really hard for us (at least in the West) to accept is that we are reduced to the role of a passive observer who sits and watches what our fate will be. To avoid this impotence, we engage in frantic, obsessive activities. We recycle old paper, we buy organic food, we install long-lasting light bulbs—whatever—just so we can be sure that we are doing something. We make our individual contribution like the soccer fan who supports his team in front of a TV screen at home, shouting and jumping from his seat, in the belief that this will somehow influence the game's outcome.”