Dignity of Labor

This is something that I have thought of for quite some time now. Let me begin with something that t according to many people shows me as a snob. I mostly watch English movies, vow away from Hindi ones and watch the Tamil ones that are prescribed by Balu, who shares my taste in movies, at least the good ones. It is usually a norm that he will watch a Tamil movie first and then if he finds it good and wants to go another time, he will go along with me.
In all the English movies that I have seen, people follow all kinds of professions, they are waiters, janitors, truck drivers, firemen, cops, business magnets, run of the mill farmers; you name a profession and they are in it. However, they are not given preferential treatment as I see happening in our country. What I fail to understand is why is that to us a person who cleans a drain is socially below the one that calls him to do so? Should it not be the other way around; he is able to do something you are not, therefore he is better than you are?
I do agree that there is a certain comparison going on, something that I vowed never to do however, when it is staring you in the face, there is not much that you can do about it. It pisses me off to see someone call a waiter the way that you call a dog, pouting your lips and making noises that sound like you are sucking hard on something. I use this example because it is the most obvious. Quite some people do not even know the names of the servant maid who come to clean their houses and cook for them. After all, they say, "She does a job, which I pay her to do and why should I know her past, her present and her future?" What do they have to benefit?
Let me tell you something that I have tried and has paid off. The next time you take a rickshaw, try indulging the driver in harmless banter. You do not notice the traffic you are stuck in and at the end of the ride; you have made your self an acquaintance. The other day, I got into a rickshaw and the driver did not even ask me where I was headed. He drove as if he knew where I was to go. Having been in a bad mood and lost in thought, I did not even notice until he pulled up in front of my office, apparently, I had talked to him a few days before and he remembered me.
Try talking to your maid the next time, ask her about her kids, about her life and I am sure that you will notice the improvement in the quality of work and the involvement that she has.
Why do a few words said in what can be described as kindness make such a difference? The reason is simple; you are treating them like a human being. You are giving them the most important thing that a person needs- dignity - dignity of labor. You are telling them that no matter what work you do, you are doing it to feed yourself and your children, the same way that I work. Just because you earn lesser than I do, that does not give me the right to look down on you (I beg you, please refrain from asking if there is anything that gives me the right to look down on you, the only thing that does if I am taller than you are and I am literally looking down on you).
In the end, I wish that no one would have to undergo what millions undergo in this country, of being denied the dignity of labor. The government talks about equality, unless there is dignity of labor, there cannot be any equality, for equality comes from within and not without.
You no better than I am,
For I am no better than you are.

First rains

Stuck in this small room,
On the seventh floor,
I look out at the world,
So hot, so humid,
Months of summer
Behind her, as she lies in wait
For the first rains.

The clouds linger over,
Promising relief,
Delivering nothing,
Pass on by, a game they play.
She is parched,
Her children faded,
Yearning for a drink
The drink of life.

Finally the day arrives
When the first raindrops fall
Bringing with them
Cool relief from the heat,
Tenderness for the parched throat.
She hugs the raindrops
As they fall into her,

The earth below
And the drops from above
Dance their cosmic dance,
Emitting smells
Heavenly, yet earthbound.

Her children, they bloom,
With all their might,
For father has come,
To give them life.
It is the first rains
It is the start of new life.

Alone to the theater

If one wants to really watch a movie, I recommend a visit to a theatre on a weekend, especially the early morning show. This has two advantages; the cost of the ticket is comparatively lesser (Rs. 70 as compared to Rs. 170 in the evening) and the feeling that the movie is being screened exclusively for you. Even if the cost is not a factor, one must experience the second one. It is an amazing experience to sit in a theater, with a sprinkling of patrons all seated in the top row. I would recommend getting a seat in the middle rows. This way, one is again away from the crowd (which tends to concentrate at the top rows) and you get a better feel of the movie. The sides of the screen do not come into the point of view and the sound is better. Most of the theaters have DTS Surround sound and this is the best way of experiencing the sound systems. One of my friends tells me that these days the theaters have seats akin to barcaloungers. He tells me that it is possible to get a normal ticket and proceed to sit in these extremely comfortable seats. Please do remember that when you are in the theater on a weekend morning, the probability of finding “love birds” cooing away in the dark nooks is high. Be ready to ignore them. Do not embarrass yourself and them by gawking at them. There is bound to be the few people who come for time-pass; they will pass comments, make inappropriate jokes at the inappropriate times, and have a ball. You have two options, you can either pick fight, and chances are that you are grossly outnumbered. Else, you can shut up and try to watch the movie. There is no typical response for this. The best solution for an unruly crowd is to request once. If they do not oblige, then if the theater is empty, move. These days, the kinds of movies being produced has improved significantly in quality. I still abhor the running around the trees romance, with dishoom dishooms. A movie was ideally meant to provide an escape from reality. One could forget the tribulations of daily life when he/she was at a movie. Is there any other reason that will validate the crowds at a Rajinikant or a Shah Rukh Khan starrer? People do not want to have to think during a movie. They are happiest when everything is spoon-fed, the story is plain and simple, and the hero is united with the heroine. However, I believe that a movie like a book must be thought provoking. it must make you think and question. It must try to say something and allude to even more things. A movie is not an escape from reality, it is just another person’s view of reality. The movies I enjoy are the ones that make me think, even if they are animated versions. Lately I have found that the animated versions have more to think about than the others. Whatever else I have blabbered, I do recommend strongly going to a movie alone. It is like reading a book, a highly personal experience. Once you go alone, you would keep doing that.

Indifference

This post shall begin, like most of my other posts, with thanks to the person who brought this conversation to the fore, Suchitra. If it were not for your questions, I would not be even half the thinker that I think I am.

The question under consideration is what is indifference? We are not going to talk about whether it is beneficial or not. All I am interested is in what it is.

Indifference as defined would mean the ability to come face to face with something and not be affected by it. It seems to mean that the something that one is indifferent to does not hold any importance in my books.

In my opinion, that cannot be indifference. If something is not important to us, then we cannot be indifferent to it. Rather, when something is not important to us, it does not matter what we are to it. We can pay heed to what it is; we can choose to ignore it, neither matter, for once we place it in the realm of unimportant, even the emotion that it triggers is unimportant.

Therefore, I understand that we can be indifferent only to the things that are important to us. The next question is, “Are we indifferent to things that we do not know of?” That too, I believe does not constitute indifference, it is obliviousness. When we are not in the know of something, to say we are unaware of neither its existence nor its non-existence, we are oblivious to it; therefore not indifferent to it.

Therefore, we can be indifferent to things that we know exist and are important to us. This seems to be a self-contradictory statement. How can one consider important and yet be indifferent to it?

The answer, according to me, lies in what indifference means. If it means that we do not pay heed to what happens to it, then we are not indifferent. It should ideally mean that we consider it important; however, it does not have the capacity to run our emotions. The indifference is not to the presence or absence of an entity, it is to the effect that it has on us.

The above statement means that even though something is not present, we can still be not indifferent to it, for it plays an important role in our psychological well-being. I do accept that there is a very thin line between what constitutes indifference what constitutes the opposite. I do accept that with an overview, indifference means no important. However, I can see a subtle difference that lies in the area of importance.

Indifference is in my head,
As is everything else.
I can need you,
Yet be indifferent,
I can have no use for you,
Yet hold you in high esteem.
It is not importance you see,
For indifference lies in my head.

The final farewell

She had held on enough,
Treasuring memories,
Recalling them every time.
He’d moved on,
Leaving her behind,
Removing traces
She’s left.
This was her turn,
Her salve.
Remove picture
Tear letters
Throw mementos.
Everything that reminded
Her of him.
Long enough
Building sand castles
That broke with each wave.
Long enough,
Hoping against hope,
For events that'd never happen
Long enough
She’d said
For things must end.
She changed locks,
She changed keys
She even changed the door,
For it reminded of him.
Long enough
She’d waited
To accept what she knew
Things had moved on
It was her turn now.

My unknown woman

Oh unknown woman,
I pray to you,
Do not get up and leave.
I know not who you are
Or of whence you came.
Let us fool each other a little longer,
Let us fool we know each other,
That we are friends,
That you are my lover.
The stops are rushing by,
Each more frightening than the last.
With each approaching stop,
I pray this is not the one,
The stop where you get off.
As the bus pulls out of the stop,
I am scared to turn,
Lest you catch me
Looking at you.
I sit there looking ahead,
Looking at nothing in particular
Trying to hear every sound,
That comes out of you.
From the moment you sat beside,
I have not looked at your face.
All I see are your hands
As you finger your book
One that you are not reading.
Fingers, so slender,
With nails so pretty
A touch so ginger, the lightness I feel,
When your skins brushes mine.
I think of things I can say,
A joke, a comment, a wisecrack.
But nothing comes to my mind
All I can offer is my silence.
You accept my silence
And offer me more,
That which is the foundation of our love.
You are sitting there,
So close,
That I can smell your perfume,
The one I did not purchase
For our non-existent anniversary.
You look at the watch on your wrist,
A wrist so slim,
I am scared the watch will fall off.
As you seem to be in a hurry
To go somewhere
Without me.
The bus rolls on, oblivious to us,
Everyone seems oblivious
To what is not going on between us.
You start packing your things,
You are telling me,
Without actually saying a word,
That you are going to leave soon,
Leaving me here,
Ruing the silence
That hung between us.
Oh woman who was beside me
Whence you came from,
Where did you go?
My woman, who shared a seat
Who left, without sharing a life.

Horizon

She was vast,
Expanse-less, I thought.
She covered me from all sides,
As she held me up,
So I would not sink.
She seemed all powerful,
moving with an ease,
an ease that came from within
and one that seen on her skin.
Her skin was flawless,
Though with many a trough;
She let you feel each one
As you rode over
Making your way
To where you wanted to go.
Then you looked in the distance,
Until you saw she too was being held up.
By the even more expanse-less sky.
He gently reached down,
And kissed her with his blue lips
For she was not truly blue,
She was made blue,
By his kiss.
He gave her strength,
The blue was her strength,
The blue which hid her depths
From all those at the surface.
These lovers,
They stared at each other for million miles
They held each other at a thin line,
A line that no one but them could ever see.

Calvin and Hobbes - Thoughts of a sage

Bill Watterson created the ultimate six-year old when he penned the characters of Calvin and Hobbes. These two have brought untold joy to millions of people all over the world. I too am one of those who have seen the world through Calvin's eyes. The strips below are some that I could not personally believe came from a six year old for they contain wisdom which even we as adults lack. Agreed that they are on death, but hey they are really good.

What is in a name?

The basic idea for this post is not mine; it is something I read in “The unbearable lightness of being” by one Milan Kundera. The fact that he is a Nobel laureate is something else.

The question he asks is why one loves his or her name so much. As I ask the question, I can hear most of us raise an eyebrow, “Why do I love my name? Is it not simple? Because it is mine and how can I not like something that is mine.”

The question that I would like to ask, and the question is not mine, is that how did that name, with which we identify so much become ours? Did we choose it? Did we ever think that of all the names in this world, this is the one that I identify with and therefore I like to be called that?

In all cases, expect for those (un)fortunate few who did not have parents, all the names were chosen by our relatives, parents in most cases, grandparents aunts uncles and friends of parents in others. The parent or relative thinks of all the names that they have heard thus far in life and then proceed to give their child that name. Do they ever think that once grown up, their child may not like the name that they gave them, or does it cross their minds that their children may not live up to the names that they were given?

Imagine the preconceived burden that a child named Gandhi or Jawaharlal has. Take for that matter an Indira, or now a Laloo. These children are named in the parent's hope that they will turn out to be as great if not greater than the personality they were named after. Just think of the scandal if a person named Gandhi decided to be a professional criminal, a thief who was apprehended by the police. The first sentence that they would hear would be, “How could you, with the name of Gandhi commit such a crime?”

This could work both ways. Imagine that some person who disliked Mahatma Gandhi (there are a few people who do and they have a right to) and named their son Nathuram. Even if the child turned out to be a saint, the society will always retort, “How could you do something right? After all, your name is Nathuram” Now we are not here to debate if Ghodse did a correct thing or not, the one crime he committed, which is not pardonable is that he killed another human being. Now the fact that Gandhi was not just another human being is something that is secondary to the fact. If we stop giving names of people who have committed a murder, I am sure that we will end up with no names to give.

This is not restricted to the name alone. There are so many of us who are such narcissists that we spend hours looking into the mirror, reveling in our reflection. As most of us already know the root of the word, Narcissus, the story of the young man who saw his own reflection in the water and was smitten by it. He was so smitten that he did not move and kept glaring into the water until he turned to stone or something like that.

Taking the question of the name a bit further, we do not have a choice of how we look, unless we were the children of plastic surgeons who have the power to change how we look. When what we appear to be is the sum of a large set of permutations and combinations over the pair of genes we receive from our parents. It is a factor of which gene is dominant, which is recessive and which one is dormant.

The face structure, the physical build, the hair color, the eye color, the length of the nose, the shape of the nose bridge, the nature of the hair, the amount of facial and bodily hair, everything that we think of as an indicator of beauty is something that is not ours. By complimenting someone on his or her looks, are we not complementing something that has been handed down over generations?

If this is the state of our being, then how can we be proud of what we appear to be? I am not talking about my usual perceptions and perceptions of perceptions, but of the possessive nature of our physical appearance. Is this why we were told that beauty is skin deep and ephemeral? Or was it something else, which had the same effect? I do not know. All I know is I am Aditya Rajaraman, a name whose choice that was made by my parents. I thank them for that for I have built my identity around that name, if I were not “Aditya Rajaraman”, son of V Rajaraman, I am not sure what I am. There is nothing else that I am. However, it is something to identify myself and it is not me. I start much above the name and I end much below my face and skin. What those start and end is, I do not know, but I know they are there.

Marriage or Bust

I guess that I have already discussed the impossibility of having a plain platonic relation with a member of the opposite sex. If I remember correctly, there is a lot of hiding of urges and feeling involved. I did mention that it is not the lack of urges, rather the hiding which makes the platonicity (not a real word) possible.

I have a thought. By telling a member of the opposite sex that we do not think of them “in that way”, whatever that way is, are we not insulting them? What I mean is we are with them because we like them, but then we are not attracted to them? Is it not like telling them that if they were more attractive, we would be interested in them “in that way”, but since they are not, we are not attracted to them. What does this leave them with? Why are we friends then? So that when we do not have company, they can come and listen to our sob stories, so that we can bitch about other members of the opposite sex whom we find attractive to the one we don’t?

What do we gain from such a relationship, other than the agony aunt/uncle? Are they supposed to be a reserve, in case we do not find someone more attractive and have no option; we will begin to look at them “in that way”? Is this not the biggest insult?

It seems to me that heterosexual people should have friends of their sex only and only be friend with people who they think they can be with “in that way”. Homosexual people on the other hand should have friends only of the opposite sex. At least in this way, we will not be insulting the intelligence of the other person.