Payback Is A Bitch

Spying her dearly beloved's eyes trained on a passing posterior, a fair lady reacted with righteous indignation.

" How dare you ogle another in my presence?" she exclaimed with barely suppressed annoyance.
"Don't deny it" She snapped as her guilty partner opened his mouth to defend the rogue eyeballs, "...I just saw you leching at that woman out of the corners of your eyes.....Seriously, what is wrong with you men???"

From the depths of his mind, he dredged up an age-old martian platitude to launch his counter-offensive "There is nothing wrong with us. We are men. And, we are wired to look. What is the harm in looking? It isn't that I am cheating on you...I am just looking"

Attack, they say, is the best form of defence.
But, not when one has pledged his body, mind and soul to a watchful virago.

"Just looking?......Just looking???"
Her lilting voice was now pitched to lethal sonority.
"You don't think it is offensive for me stand by your side and watch you ogling shamelessly at every woman we pass?? How would you feel if I leered at every pair of pants that came our way? "

" Stop yelling...You know women are different that way. Why ARE YOU making a fuss over nothing? I told you, looking does not mean cheating...Just what is IT with you women??? "

" There is nothing wrong with us women. We are women and we are wired to react when we are hurt. You look, I react...Live with it!!!"

Payback is a bitch, huh??
:) :)

Capitalism For Souls...

Last weekend was rather extraordinary. 
On Saturday morning, we woke up to the loud chanting of sanskrit mantras in the neighbourhood. 
Not a surprising turn of events one might say in a country dominated by Hindus. But, it was surprising in a neighbourhood that has been home to a sizable Christian and Muslim population and their religious edifices for decades.
Even more surprising was that the mantra chanting was often interspersed with the muezzin's call to prayers, without an effort from either to outshout the other.

That  evening, Ging and I cooked dinner to the pulsating beats of Christian rock and then, turned up the volume on our television so that Manny Mammoth and his ludicrous herd could drown the booming music from the outside. As happy as we were to witness the religious harmony in our surrounds, we were looking forward to a lazy, quiet Sunday. 

But, it seemed that the Gods had not had enough. 
For come Sunday morning and there were more mantras and songs blaring.

Muttering and grumbling at insensibility of the Powers Above who should have doused the fervent chants with a deluge of rain or a thunderstorm, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and decided to make the best of a bad day by catching up on my chores. 

As I dashed out of the house for a spot of weekend shopping at the shop round the corner, I ran into my neighbours dressed in their Sunday burkhas, all set for a day out at the most fashionable mall in town. 
We were standing at my doorstep making polite small-talk about the weather, the merits of KFC chicken vis-a-vis other native impostors and the shopping hot spots in  town, when all at once, one of them who had been avidly scanning the insides of my house caught sight of the Buddha at my door.

" Buddha is a Hindu God also?" she asked me with hesitant curiosity.  

"No" I clarified " Buddha was a wise, noble sage who found enlightenment as well as a whole new religion...He is not a  Hindu God"

" Oh, when I saw the statue I thought he might be another one of your Gods like that Ganesha in that corner"
The lady was quick to extend the olive branch, lest her query had caused umbrage.
After all, discretion is the better part of valour, especially when one ventures into uncharted territory. 

But then, when her darting eyes spotted a stone sculpture of Mother Mary, a wall hanging with an evil eye and an Arabic inscription, a few more Buddhas and Ganeshas, as well as an array of  gleaming lamps and colourful candles glittering and twinkling in different corners of my house, she threw caution to the winds to exclaim " But you have different Gods from differnt religions in your house".

Her announcement had the desired effect on her sisters in black who looked suitably shocked and intrigued.
But before any of them could join in the inquisition, my questioner continued " Do you pray to all of these Gods? How is it possible?" 

For a moment, I was lost for words. 
How could I explain my spiritual beliefs to a gaggle of women whose approach to God, religion and spirituality was similar to that of a horse with blinders?  

So I flippantly remarked "We Hindus are used to having many Gods and Goddesses who co-exist in harmony. If I can pray to Ganesha, Durga, Shiva and Krishna in the same breath, why would it be a problem to call upon Mother Mary or Jesus or Buddha or Allah for comfort, peace and guidance"

I don't think the ladies in black quite expected that, for I could see a few eyes widen in shock.
Others were looking around distractedly- at the floor, the walls, and even invisible people next door.  

Etiquette and prudence must have demanded a graceful and hasty retreat, for one of them laughed nervously and quickly chirped an awkward "we must not keep you from your shopping"  to signal to the rest of her herd to lift the ends of their black robes and run for their lives before the brazen heathen corrupted their immortal souls with her heresy. 

As I walked down to the shop at the corner, I could not help but wonder why we humans tend to complicate God and Religion, insisting upon the need for die hard loyalties to a single God especially when we revel in the power of choices in every other aspect of our lives.

We are not confused when faced with an endless array of choices at the local supermarket, are we ?
Chicken, Fish or Mutton?  Breast, Thighs, or Wings?
Whole Wheat, Multi Grain, Rye or Just Plain Sandwich Bread?
Red Wine or White?  Sula, Grover, Australian, Italian.....?
Surf and Ariel Vs the 'sastha' brand on the lowest rack?
Plain Cornflakes or Flavoured?
Or, should we ditch breakfast cereal for Muesli or Porridge?.....

Are we confused while making selections off an excruciatingly extensive but mouthwatering menu card?
North Indian, South Indian or Indian Chinese?
Oh wait, there are Burgers, Sandwiches and Indian Continental too!!!
Soup? Starters? Paneer? Chicken? Fish?
One by two? Or each to his own?
Dessert anyone?

The truth is that, choice is the least of our worries.

The truth is that we consider choice as our due rather than a privilege.

And, in every other aspect of life, we pride ourselves on our ability to pack as much of the goodies as we can into our wallets.

So, why should there be a dilemma when it comes to deities or religions? 

For the life of me, I could not comprehend my neighbours' quandary at my spiritual style. 

Was it that they had overlooked the possibility of Hindus, with their plethora of Gods and Goddesses, having been the original capitalists of our world?
Come ye, Come all...
A God for every need & mood...
Take your pick...
Pick as many as you wish...
Pray as you will...
Pray where you want...

Was it that they had overlooked the truth, that most of the old religions - Hinduism, Paganism, the religions of ancient Greece, Rome, Germany and Egypt - all offered a free market of Gods and Goddesses where the souls were kings and queens?

Or, could it have been that the ladies in black were suffering from the classic " My God is better than yours, and no, before you say it, more IS not merrier" syndrome - a particularly infectious and mind rotting disease that is fast proliferating in the world today.

Can we imagine such an attitude towards, say, Coke and Pepsi?

Or, the possibility of a group of die-hard Baklava fans flying an air-plane through the World Trade Center to terrorise the unsuspecting population into declaring Baklava as the one and only true dessert?

Can we conceive of a situation where the teetotallers of the world unite to declare a spirited Jihad on alcohol and resort to covert and overt acts of terror enforce their choice on everyone else?

Silly as these may sound, the fact is, would any of these topics result in heated discussions, mulish obstinacy or a stand-off from one or both participants if there ever was an argument on the subject?

So why then, about which, and, how many Gods one prays to? 

Why is it hard to logically assume that a polytheist, like any other consumer in a capitalist society, would choose a God or Gods who delivered the maximum value to his soul?

And, if there are doubts and uncertainties, one always has the option of experimenting, as with a detergent or a cereal, before settling on a favourite.....
Nirma one month, Surf the next, Henko in the third, so on and so forth before Mr. White is crowned the favourite! 

Easy peasy, ain't it?


Disclaimer: I am not a axe wielding, gun toting die-hard Hindu, and, this post is not meant to promote Hinduism in anyway. If my words offend the religious sentiments of any reader, please do accept my apologies for having done so. The intention is not to hurt, but to merely point out that religion and God, like every other thing in our life, is a matter of personal choice, and, it is up to us to exercise our Right of Choice in a matter we think fit. 

Speak Up!

The Power of Sound.
T'is the one secret that cats know well.
And, men not at all.

It doesn't matter if you go through your entire life knowing just one word, or a single syllable.
As long as you SPEAK UP!

You can cajole responses with short, sweet chirps that roll fluidly off your tongue
Stretch nerves to a frazzle with high pitched trebles, to get yourself the attention you want

Growl a fierce hssssst to warn off offenders...
Or, to lash out, if need be

Send chills down the spine with blood curling shrieks

Warble in happiness for the sheer joy of living
And, caress the ones you love with your gentle crooning.

After all, it isn't the number of words you know that matters. 
It is, what you choose to say, that makes the difference. 

So, Speak Up!

Enlightenment

Strange are the ways of men.

They spend the first many years of their lives looking ahead to a bright, glittering future, unaware of the fetters that the mind slowly, but surely, clamps around their feet.

The fetters grow in weight over time...unseen, but never unfelt.
And, man, unmindful of the weights that bear him down, plods along wearily towards his dreams, one heavy step at a time, often wondering from sheer exhaustion where he has gone wrong.

Some men reach their destinations, sooner or the later, with bleeding feet and a weary soul.
Only to be disappointed to discover that the sheen of the glitzy dream has dulled a tad.
Perhaps, it is the bleeding flesh and iron bound feet that diminishes the joy of achievement.

Others fall by the wayside.
Still wondering what went wrong.
Still oblivious to the fetters biting into their flesh.

But, there are those whose course is altered by life.

I suppose I should call them fortune's favoured ones, for, it is not everyone who is able to emerge stronger, wiser or happier after being walloped over the head by one of life's giant candy stripped cushions.When you are at the receiving end of a blow, it is a rare man who can stand back to admire the beauty of the candy striped cushion.

For most of us, a blow is a blow is a blow.
It knocks us over.
Punches the wind out of our sails.
Scares the living daylights out of us.
Angers us, warping our soul a wee bit with negativity.
But mostly, it has us scurry for cover to a safe haven, where we can lick our wounds in peace and regain our breath before we resume our wearisome journey.

At times, a blow....well, let's make that a series of blows..lays us so low that we have no choice but to sit awhile and contemplate on the unfairness of life. And, as we sit lost in our thoughts, weeping for what is not, berating the Gods above for our misfortunes, our sight may perchance fall on the bleeding flesh and the cruel fetters.

This, my friends, is the moment of truth.
When it slowly, but surely, dawns on us that there is no God, Family or Society to present our glittering dreams to us on a silver platter.
There is just us, our dreams and the biting irons on our feet.

It is the moment when we can see, if we so chose, with crystal clarity, what is, what was and what has to be. When we know, with unquestionable certainty, what needs to be done, if we can muster the courage to do so.

The defining moment when we realise that we need, no longer, be the prisoners of our mind, but, can be the architects of our dreams.
If ...and only if, we dare undo the fetters on our feet.

Not the easiest of tasks, I know.

Despite the pain we suffer and the awareness of being restrained, there is a comfort these fetters offer that are born of habit and makes it difficult for us to cast them aside easily. That, and the crippling fear of being a free bird in a world filled with anguished souls groaning under the weight of their foot-cuffs.

For those of us who would dare cast the chains aside, well, be warned, life will not change overnight.
Nor, are there any guarantees of dreams coming true.

The bleeding flesh will hurt long after the irons fall off. And, temptation to revert to type is strong.

But, in time, the wounds will heal, the scabs will fall, and we will walk on unhindered....faster....without pain,doubt and fear.

We may or may not reach the destinations we dreamed of as young people.
But, arrive we will at our homes.
At the end of a journey, that is well travelled.

A Squeeze In Time Keeps The Cancer Away!

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
And, it being a cause close to my heart, how could I not devote a post to it?

Cancer, particularly that of the breast, hits a raw nerve.

Maybe it is that I am reminded of my loved ones who have fought losing battles with the dreaded disease.

Two years ago, I lost a favourite aunt.
A lump in the breast ignored for too long, eventually permeated her lungs and claimed her life.
In contrast another aunt whom I love deeply, acted promptly when she discovered a lump in her breast and today, leads a happy, fulfilling life.
Yes, the shadow of uncertainty does hang over her like the Sword of Damocles.
But, she is alive, and, most of us who know her are grateful for that.

There isn't a woman on this planet whose heart goes cold with dread at the prospect of being a victim of Breast Cancer.

For many, the fear of loosing a breast, and therefore being less feminine, is as terrifying as losing one's life.

However, despite the fear, despite the statistics that report on breast cancer being the most common cancer in women (aside from skin cancer), a sizable portion of the female population continue to remain apathetic in caring for themselves.

We women have a plethora of reasons and excuses to hide behind.
And, they come in all forms and tones.....

The self-assured, cocky.......Me & Breast Cancer? No way!'

The defiant challenge.......' If it was all that serious, surely my doctor would have suggested checks'

The weary, I-have-the-weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders.....' Where do I have the time? '
The patient, why-am-I-talking-to-a-retard....'I don't have a family history of breast cancer.'

The paranoid ' Because it will hurt...and besides, I hate hospitals and doctors and anything remotely associated with the medical sciences'
Which, I confess, is my preferred response to illness or any such threat to my physical self.

The terrified, ' What if I do have cancer? What if I die? I would rather live my last days in peace and not knowing...'
Not to mention the even more terrifying worries about the financial burden a positive test can lead to

The excuses are dime a dozen...And, so unreal.

It is amazing that a woman who would brush aside all such excuses when the health of a loved one is at risk, would resort to them when it comes to caring for herself.

Amazing.
Tragic.
And, depressing.

Breast cancer has claimed enough victims.

It is time for us to step out of denial and value ourselves better.
To accept our prime responsibilty to ourselves.
And, realise that no one else will fulfill our responsibilities to ourselves.

It is time for us to stand up and take charge of our health and well being.
Because good health is critical for our functioning in all spheres of life.
And, the key lies well within our grasp.

But above all, it is time for us women to free our minds from fear and understand that breast cancer does not necessarily mean the loss of a breast.

Even if it does, it is important to understand that a breast does not a woman make.

Femininity is a state of mind.
And for that to endure, it is important that a woman be alive and healthy.

So ladies, don't be shy.
Go ahead and cop a feel
Remember, a squeeze in time, will not only save that boob, but your life as well.

CREDITS

The Pink Ribbon Graphic used in this post has been designed by Kim West & downloaded from Pink For October

The Pink Ribbon that the Mad Moggies blog proudly sports has been designed by Denis Ryan & downloaded from Carol Sutton's website.

The Message On The Auto !

All my life, I have heard people talk about the wickedness of the world we live in today.

This is Kaliyug...trust no one
Pray that God keeps you...
Today's world has no conscience

Parents vs children, siblings at war, friends betrayed for a song, greed, theft, anger, violence...all the signs of a world gone wrong. Not to mention the incidents of catastrophe, natural & man-made, that strike at the foundations of our society at regular intervals.

Yet, there are moments in life, when the strength & generosity of the human spirit overwhelms me.
And, fills me with hope.

Like this morning.
I was in desperate need of fruit, and other such mundane essentials of survival that one only finds in a large supermarket. I confess, I love supermarkets and meandering about a large, well stocked supe is one of my favourite Sunday past-times.

As I stood on the lonely road, scanning the horizon for an obliging auto rickshaw, I was rather surprised to see a vehicle dressed in white heading my way.

It was a rickshaw, seemingly draped in a white dhoti!
Well, a white dhoti with red and blue words and squiggles all over it.
Pretty much like one of those privileged permed and coiffed pets on TV, which is forced into designer clothes by its doting owner.

As I squinted disbelievingly, the auto in white cruised to a slow stop next to me.

And, a young cheerful face popped out of the side, oblivious to my expression of shock and curiosity.

I was not entirely sure if I wanted to ride into town in a shrouded rickshaw, covered in squiggles that I did not understand.

What if it was propaganda of sorts?

And yet, I did not seem to have very many choices by way of transport....

Which is why when he enquired nonchalantly, I could only stammer out my destination..distractedly.

His accepting nod suddenly resolved the conflict raging within.

I had to know before I hopped on.

And so, hesitantly, in pidgin Kannada, I asked him what the message on his auto was.

" Oh, I am collecting funds for the flood victimsin Karnataka & Andra Pradesh. I do not like to ask people for money, which is why I have a banner on my auto and a collection box inside. Anyone who wants to contribute is welcome to do so."

This, he said, in a matter of fact tone which asked neither for applause nor appreciation.

It was merely an answer to a question.

And one, which piqued my curiosity.

As we sped along, I could not resist asking Ramakrishna as to how he planned to ensure that his money reached the intended recipients.

" Madam, I hand this over to the TV 9 office where they are collecting funds for relief activities. It is explained on the banner so people will know I am not a cheat."

And did people contribute? I asked

" Yes they do...In tens and twenties. I collect about 600-700 Rs. each day "

The numbers he cited jolted me.

And, my skepticism about the generosity of the society we lived in.

Are people more giving that I had imagined them to be?

Are they capable of more compassion and caring?

As I mulled over these questions, my eyes fixed unseeingly on the crude collection jar in front of me, Ramakrishna added

" Actually madam, the fares I have received this past week have also gone into that jar. I must set an example, no? So I ask the passengers to put the fares into the jar and a lot of them add a few rupees extra."

The man flummoxed me.

Why would he deprive himself of a week's earnings for people he did not know?

Had never met and probably never would in his whole life.

Maybe he was a mind reader.

Or perhaps, it was the incredulous expression on my face that prompted him to explain his motives.

" I feel bad when I see the plight of the people in these flooded villages. Imagine that, madam. Imagine loosing every single thing you posses and not have anyone to turn to because everyone you know is in the same desperate situation? And still they refuse to give up. When I see the hope on their faces, I feel I should help them..even if it is a small effort, at least I know I have done something"

His words struck a chord deep within me.

I could not, for the life of me, imagine being in such a plight.

Or, having the courage to cope with a catastrophe of this magnitude.

I don't know how many of us can.

Every single day, the world wakes up to news of such disasters.

Yet, many of us go about our daily lives without a second thought about the people afflicted by these disasters.

We tell ourselves that there isn't much that we can do.

Little realising that every little effort counts.

And that we can make a difference.

We do not need to make extravagant gestures.

Nor, do we need to deprive ourselves vastly.

Sometimes, a little goes a long way.

And this, I learnt from a humble auto driver today.

As I alighted at my destination, I gingerly pushed the fare into the box and then, some more.

Ramakrishna's delighted thank-yous sent waves of shame rippling through my being.

Here was a man who was donating a whole week's earnings, incurring costs to go about his daily work and uninhibitedly urging the rest of us to do our bit for people in need.

And, the grandness of his gesture did not prevent him from appreciating me for having donated just the cost of a decent meal.

What could I tell him?......Other than Salut.

An Affair Not To Remember?

The times....they are a changing!

Gone are the days, when men like Romeo and Devdas either died, or drank themselves to destruction to forget the pangs of a love lost.

At the movies this afternoon, a friend and I watched with aching hearts as the hero's friend broke his pensive contemplation of his drink, to hold aloft a diamond ring before mournfully informing his friend that his girlfriend had not only rejected his proposal, but had also dumped him.

As we blinked back the early prickles of salty tears at the back of our eyes, we were surprised to hear scattered laughter in the theatre. Despite the darkness, we could not help exchanging bewildered glances.

" People are laughing???" Every syllable of mine, resonated with consternation and indignation.

"New age wisdom, I suppose?" She hissed back at me, sarcasm writ all over her words .

And, we turned our attention back to the silver screen, expecting the hero to console his friend in the time honoured manner of Hindi movies. With sympathy, liquor and maybe, even a song and a dance.

Well, we were in for a disappointment.

For, on the large screen, the hero gleefully gurgled " I told you so..", amidst paroxysms of laughter.
And, the heart broken lover concurred " You told me so", with equal gay abandon.

" You are such a fool..."
They were, by now, rolling around, clutching their sides, barely able to contain their tears of mirth.
" I am such a fool...."

As the duo chortled away the last wisps of tragic romance out of the theatre, the two disillusioned romantics slumped into their seats, grateful for the anonymity of the darkness, as they manfully tried to join in the laughter that now echoed around them.

New Age Wisdom?
The Age of Cynicism?
Or, The End of Tragic Romance as we knew it?