No More Visits To The Libraries

Remember this? A library card that was stamped with the date, on the day the book was borrowed. The popularity of the book was judged by the number of times it was borrowed.

I remember those days when I was more regular at the libraries than in the classrooms. I was allowed to borrow four books from British Library, which was located in South Mumbai. The books were heavy but it did not deter me from carrying that weight. The monthly trips to the library were quite tedious. There were no auto rickshaws in those days, hiring a taxi was out of question; there was no direct route by bus. I used to walk (a good 15 minutes) with that heavy weight from my house to Bandra stations, then a local train ride of 30 minutes from Bandra to Churchgate, and then another walk for 30 minutes to Nariman point, where the library was located. I marvel at my energy quotient at that time. Auto Rickshaws have made me lazy, I think.

The reward after this tedious journey was an entry into an air-conditioned room full of books and magazine.

Rows and rows of books, categorized according to their subject and titles, found their place on the shelf. We could search the book either by going from shelf to shelf or go through the categorized cards that had list of all the books.

Spending a day at the British library was an outing by itself. I used to spend all hours, watching documentary films, reading magazines and then borrowing books. Silence was maintained that allowed us to concentrate on reading. Many times I used to be distracted by young couples, playing footsies while reading, an uneasy distraction perhaps.

Internet had not yet made its entry into my world and I depended on books and magazines for an inspiration to write. Not that I wrote much, but it gave me immense pleasure to read at leisure and be in my own sphere.

I loved being surrounded by books. It was like sitting in the middle of boat where stories are doing their rounds. The words floated in the air, silently attached to each other by series of hyphens. Even during my travels, I looked for a library to spend few moments of peace.

I dreamt of owning a library of my own and had even started a collection, but life took too many turns, the migration to different countries made it impossible for me to carry my heavy books with me. Heart bled as I distributed my books away before moving. Most of my books have not come back, I am not sure if they are safe in their adopted homes.

Books have a life of their own, their own fragrance, and texture that cannot be compromised by e-books. The few books that are left with me are the feast for my eyes.

Condolence: I am Sorry!

In Tenerife, there is a festival at the end of the carnival called Sardina during which burial of sardine takes place. There is a huge procession of men dressed as weeping widows. Women cover their heads with traditional black lace veil. The mourning atmosphere is created with wailing, beating of chest and some pretending to faint and this is all in a game, a mock kind of humor, a tourist attraction.

But, I am surprised at the people who pretend to cry to gain sympathy in real life. There are those who cry just to show off. They don’t feel the pain but feel the need to be part of the group.

Losing a close member of the family is painful only to the immediate family but expressing the pain openly depends on the demography of the person. I don’t wish to be judgmental, but I have noticed that people who live in smaller cities are very loud. We watch the elite wear dark glasses to hide the tears, you see the common people cry openly, head nodding, mouth open, not caring about how they look.

I cannot stop staring at the people who cry so openly with loud wailing sounds, grabbing the person sitting next to them, hugging them tightly, dropping on their shoulder and wetting other people with their own tears. I am too embarrassed to bring myself close to the weeping person; moreover I am afraid of losing my balance with their sudden grip. During funeral, I always sit at a safe distance, away from the crowd.

I remember Mom mention about the custom in Pakistan, (where she spent her childhood before partition), that people had to hire weeping women to cry during funerals to help people who don’t feel like crying. Wailing and expressing sorrow was considered as the sign of respect.

Tears are the personal property to be shed in privacy. I never cry openly at materialistic loss, at farewells, or at the funerals. I don’t feel like it and I don’t like to pretend. Does that mean that I am insensitive?

Death is something that no one can control, it comes to everyone, only once in a lifetime. Where do people go after they die? For whom do we cry? Do we cry for the soul that has left or are we weeping for their loved ones who are left behind without their support?

I am not even sure about the grief shared by people who attend the condolence and prayer meetings. The sentiments are not present; it has just become a head count, to see and to be seen. Many of such meetings that I have attended recently are like fashion parade, an occasion to wear diamonds and white branded suit with matching white bag and shoes.

There is too much crowd for twelve days with people visiting at all odd hours. You don’t actually get time to mourn. Actual mourning takes place, when you start clearing their personal belonging; the clothes, the personal wallet, the empty side of the bed, when you get the death certificate in your hand, when you realize that the person is coming no more.

The heart begins to bleed, the sentiments dig into raw wounds when you begin to understand that you are left on your own and have to move on. The grief arrives and it never ends its stay, ever.

The tears that fall henceforth are the silent tears.

Wordless Wednesday

The Secrets of the Nagas

The Shiva Trilogy part one ends with Sati chasing the retreating hooded Naga.

Part two- The Secrets of the Nagas” continues with the chase still on, it is difficult to understand the story if you have not read the part one,-‘The Immortals of Meluha’ and it gets interesting if it is read as a sequel, same excitement, same curiosity to read more-about-what-happens-next.

While in part one, you grow to like Shiva, Sati and many other people that appear in the story, in part two, you are introduced to two Nagas and you discover that they are not as evil as they were thought to be.

I don't wish to reveal the secrets about who Nagas are and how they are related to Sati.

But, Shiva believes that Nagas are evil and he needs to destroy it but first he has to be sure that they are evil. 

He questions his philosopher guide ‘Gopal’ , he says “the Nagas are obviously the people who are evil right? Almost everyone seems to agree. And yet, the Nagas helped a man in need, in the interest of justice. That’s not how evil is supposed to be.”

“I have travelled through all of India. Met practically all the tribes except the Nagas. And if none are evil, maybe Evil hasn’t risen. Maybe I am not required.”

Shiva searches for truth going across India but finds no answers, only more confused that everything is different from what it appears to be..

My favorite passage on Page 108 because this is what I believe in:

“There is no past life sins, Sati! There is only this life! That is the only reality. Everything else is theory. Believe the theory that gives you peace and reject the one that causes you pain. Why believe in theory if it causes you unhappiness? You have done all you can to take care of your child and your self. Now have faith.”

After reading the two parts of Shiva Trilogy, I begin to respect the author Amish, who has done a great research and presented the story which is fiction and yet so believable.

There is so much truth when he quotes

 "Remember nobody is good or bad. They are either strong or weak. Strong people stick to their morals, no matter what the trials and tribulations. Weak people, many a times, do not even realise how low they have sunk" 

What evil is he talking about? How can we destroy evil when it does not exist by itself?

Good and evil, two sides of the coin, he must visit Panchavati, the city of Nagas to know the secret.

Waiting for part three…..

Me Time

The black crow on my window is singing his favorite song. He has a bad throat. 

Sometimes I wish there were more sweet humming birds singing on my windowsill waking me gently from my slumber. But then this is a wishful thinking. I live in Mumbai where only crows and pigeons can be heard. So its either 'Ghuttar, Ghutter' or it is 'Caw, Caw'. Those beautiful birds with musical sounds have all migrated to smaller rural areas of India.

The day has just begun for me, although my friend who wakes up at wee hours of the morning must already be on other stretch of a day, maybe eating his early lunch. But then his day starts at the time when I have barely taken few hours of sleep; he starts his day, before dawn singing the praise of Gods loud enough to wake up his neighbors too. By the time I wake up, it is too late to pray. Gods are busy on Mumbai streets, taking care of the people who dodge a speedy traffic, bravely crossing the road, also those people who travel dangerously on Mumbai locals and also help those beggars who earn their daily wages at traffic signals post.

Since last two months of bed rest, my time has been ‘Me Time’.

All my social activities are at a standstill. Most of my friends have disappeared. I don’t blame them, I have busy, working friends with whom I normally spend time doing something, like going for an social event or an evening walk, attending a meeting or a workshop, going for shopping, a lunch or a film. Sitting at home on a bed and entertaining has never been on my agenda. Even if some of them have stolen time from their busy schedule to make at least one courtesy call, they had to make their own cup of tea and a snack if they wished to eat. My hospitality is also under bed rest. Most of my visitors have brought me chocolates (even though they know I have diabetes) No don’t misunderstand them, they don’t want to kill me, they are just being nice. But now the question is that what do I do with so many chocolates flooding my fridge? Soon I may have a retail store....er...

Maybe I will give a chocolate party when I am bit more social..or a chocolate milk-shake?

But for now its 'Me-time' it’s not bad too. I am on reading marathon and have spent most of my time reading. Whoever said ‘books are the best friends’ must be a very wise man. Trapped within the four walls of my room, I am no recluse. I have travelled places enjoying the company of fictitious characters, reading about their adventures, they are not just words, but friends who wrap me and tickle me through and through. These have been fun days.

In between my reading is my virtual communication on social media and on my smart phone. This is a great blessing. I have my large family spread all across the world but they all fit into smaller family groups on BlackBerry and WatsApp. Everybody has their own time for saying ‘good-morning’. While I am sipping my first cup of tea, my cousin will say 'Good-night'..Well, sometimes I do pretend I am following their time schedule and sleep late. The jokes and forwards is plenty. Then there is a shared communication of what is happening in their town. It is fun comparing notes. While my cousins are shivering at minus two degrees, I am wrapped in thin sheet of shawl. Every hour there is discussion. Can’t decide what to cook, ask a cousin, want to see a film, ask a cousin, comment on news, discuss. Family is here on watsapp from Europe to America to Asia…all ready to laugh with me….

Loneliness has not visited me as yet. 

I am not grumpy, Nah! This is my 'Me-Time', and I am having a great time. 

Wrote this post specially for Marathon Bloggers who have a theme of 'Me Time this week.