Pyaar Ke Side Effects

Love is blind. And when you bang against the side tables (that you obviously can’t see coz you are blind), you are bound of experience the side effects as well. I passed last night watching an adorable comedy - Pyaar ke side effects (Mallika madam and Rahul –I know it all- Bose.)

When love blossoms between the quintessential Dilli ki ladki (Sherawat) and the quintessential Mumbai cha porga (Bose), all’s well till the quintessential shaadi question pops up. So in the film you get a mix of Meet the Parents to Kabhi Alvida na Kehna to Runaway Bride to Dil to pagal hai (Mallika’s drunk acting is no different from Karishma’s in DTPH…even the voice is similar!!)

But amidst this chaos and comedy, there is the underlying truth- that if relationships were so simple, why would one indulge into them?? I mean, do we really want perfection? Imagine going home to a sweet loving wife who has cooked the right food and prepared just the right drink, albeit toiling for four hours. The husband brings home expensive flowers and smiles till his mouth aches.

Now think of a life with a wife who blows her lid with every given opportunity. It is good coz at least you don’t have to buy those expensive flowers (they are going to dry up anyway) and smile till your mouth hurts. Imagine a husband who doesn’t bring flowers home. At least you have a reason to yell at him and make him your punching bag at all times. It helps release stress you know!

If life were so perfect, I really wouldn’t be living it!

So coming back to the film…..I strongly recommend. It’s so identifiable that it’s freaky. Films have this uncanny habit of resembling reality, especially relationships. I sat through the film and asked myself, “If this is a film, am I on celluloid?”

Mahabali-puram

A Sunday ago, I had a quiet Onam lunch with a warm Mallu family. Payassam, etekaappam, banana leaf et all. After a traditional welcome we settled down to have lunch. A neatly laid out banana leaf platter, with quantities that I knew I could never finish.
I stuffed myself and sat down to listen to one of the most reckoning stories of the bygone times- The reason why Onam is celebrated in Kerela. Its because its so relavant, that I need to narrate it here.

Long long time ago time ago, Kerela was ruled by a eutopic king called Mahabali. The prosperous kingdom of Kerela flourished under his rule. Not only did it flourish economically, but also spiritually. The legend goes that there were perfect people in his perfect kingdom. Everyone cared for the other, no one was ever poor and yes, people slept with their doors open.

Such was the goodness of his state that even GOD became jealous of the ruler. Such grew the jealousy that one day he descended on earth in the disguise of a poor bhikshu. He went to Mahabali and asked him only for three feet huge land. Mahabali asked him if that was all he needed and GOD asserted that he required nothing else. The ruler immediately asked god to take his steps anywhere on his kingdom and the land would be granted.

God contemplated and took the first step. His first step covered the entire Kerela, his second step covered the entire earth. GOD asked Mahabali where he should keep his third step since there was no space left now. Mahabali wasted no time and asked GOD to keep the third step on his head. Surprisingly, GOD did exactly what was told and Mahabali was sent to Patal-lok.

Before leaving however, Mahabali asked only for one wish- once in a year to be able to come out and visit his kingdom. Onam is celebrated as the day when Mahabali comes to look on the world and check its well-being.

It’s time Mahabali comes again. It’s time we call him…Mahabali please come and look us all up. Your kingdom is not the same anymore. We wait for you to come and transform the world into your kingdom- into your own Eutopia.

CHILD'S PLAY

It’s going to be exactly two months, and I haven’t slept a wink. No, I am not woken up by daunting images of the ruthless blasts….I am already awake. I can hear the child wailing. It began as a whimper a few decades ago but has progressed to a deafening howl that just doesn’t let me sleep. I can hear him, and I don’t understand how no one else has heard him yet.

The blasts were a tantrum- a deadly tantrum. His wishes were left unfulfilled. While we ran around to gather the toys that scattered in the train compartments, we forgot that it’s a price we paid for raising the child the way we did. The way we are still doing…

A senior bureaucrat, a very intelligent one at that once told me, how the child we ignored has now spiraled into an existence that we all cannot afford to ignore. The market is devoid of pacifiers, they have all run out of stock. How do we pacify our child now?

When the child stared his whimpers, he was complaining. He thought we were at fault. We said to ourselves, “What does a little child know about what is good or the bad.” Yes, unfortunately, he didn’t know and we never told him. He grew up with his notions, very staunch notions. A thin demarcation existed between what we adults call ‘terror’ and what the child called ‘tantrum.’ He throws his tantrums, oblivious of the fact that tantrums have never got a child his favourite play, never will.

Today, the psyche of the world has become synonymous with that of America post the 9/11 bombings. Fighting ‘tantrums,’ is no longer a matter of choice but a matter of necessity for us ‘adults.’ So are we doing a good job of it? Did we really have to end up fighting, or could we have helped our children? We failed as adults and now what do we have here?
An adult and a child- and a huge generation gap between them.

LADAKH

Every now and then, my self dissolves into an eddy of confusion. The devious dance of masks, untitled grief and an insatiable quest for happiness. Abandon the rules of civilization, urges a devilish voice inside, and head for solitude. In October 2003, my sensibilities transported me to no man's land. It was destination Ladakh.

Flying over the snow-sheeted Himalayas and cruising through blinding white clouds, I arrived to a minus 4-degree, chilling welcome. What in heaven's name was I doing here? Were my sensibilities in deep freeze? I was sniffling badly and couldn't walk a hundred meters without wheezing. Inhaling icy droplets at 13,000 feet above sea level is hardly a breeze.But once we broke the ice, she began to speak. Slowly, I warmed to the seemingly frigid land of the llamas, the pink-cheeked, shaven monks draped in maroon, complimenting the land they epitomise. I spotted a few of them after every couple of kilometers; going back to where they belonged: the mystical monasteries. Each one located aeons away from the other.

I trod a lonely path, barely a soul around, only the autumn landscape, patches of orange-yellow foliage among yaks and furry donkeys. Looking out of the car window, I suddenly found a lot of people staring at me. Where did they all come from? I looked closely; they were chiselled out of the mountains and resembled people. They were everywhere. Each mountain was carved into the face of a man. My deduction; nature compensates for the dearth of people.

As my passage through time continued, an ever-changing tableau greeted me. School children waved out customarily, I realised that the Kendriya Vidyalays that I studied in stand where no other school dared. I felt a sense of pride.

I smiled and continued to the Shey Palace, the oldest monastery in Ladakh, where a three-storey statue of Buddha awaited me. The massive golden monument was intimidating. I felt small, burdened with the guilt of not contributing to his cause.

I resolved to stay back, work here, maybe with an NGO that helps provide quality education to Ladhaki children. I could work in a gumpa (monastry), or abandon religion (tired of it anyway), or journey with my mane (Buddhist religious accessory) into Tibet, wishing everyone juley (`hello' in Ladakhi). I would do anything, anything; to shun the crowd I was fleeing. I was happy here and I needed nothing more.

My soul melted into the mountains. For seven days, I had scarcely spoken; my communion with those silent, stoic sentinels was complete.

A week later, I found myself back in the crowd: taming masks, burdened with unknown grief, desperately seeking solace. Every time I lose myself in the muddle, I pledge to return. But cast iron pegs anchor me amid the whirlpool. I had fallen prey to being human again: material ambitions, the weight of responsibilities, and the illusory lure of security. But no, I don't belong. And so, head bowed in upturned palms, I pondered the human condition. I was back at the proverbial contradiction.

Sooner or later, I returned to that clichéd truism: the circle of life vexed or not, continues. Destinations abound. As for that elusive wisp of happiness, I knew I had left it far behind.