Broken

A pall of gloom has settled all around. After the panic, fear, shock, anger, outrage, it was time for all the emotions to congeal into one black mood – a despondent, miserable kind of a feeling that will not leave us anytime soon. We, who are lucky enough to live, will go about our normal chores, but every moment will be a fight to be normal again and not be the psychologically scarred people that we all have become to some extent.
The terrorists are educated, and I mean, in many different things and ways. And the best (worst) part is that they believe so strongly in every bit of that education – the training, the cause, the faith – and they are dedicated enough to die for their mission. They really have a reason to live and die for.
It would be a blessing if our politicians had even one ounce of that dedication towards our country, and to the job they are supposed to do. What our politicians don’t realize is that the country is their responsibility, the country is their office, running the country is their job. They are employees of the government and also of the people. The salaries, perks, incentives and favours they get are for them to run the country safely, smoothly, in a progressive manner.
I’m not ruling out the responsibility of common citizens, but what I’m saying is that the citizens are that much more helpless as the politicians are powerful; and the common man has to struggle every day for his/her survival. Our politicians are inept, incompetent, self-centred and full of empty promises. They don’t do their jobs properly and there is none among them who could inspire or motivate the whole country.
There is not one leader in this country of a billion who the common man can look up to and follow. The terrorists, on the other hand, have plenty to take as examples. So, how can the common man, rightly skeptical of all the leaders in the nation, shake off the fear and be invigorated to take action, to come together as citizens and fight for a cause?
Without anyone to be guided by, we have been left stripped in the face of grave, unknown danger.
The citizens need to know what are the government and intelligence agencies doing to be prepared better to handle such situations, and, more importantly, to prevent such tragedy striking again. We want answers and we want action.

The Visionary

Iksha. Meaning sight. I took the name upon myself, took shelter under it, for its beauty. It seemed to exude an aroma, a halo even. I thought, "I would like to be Iksha, whoever she was." It feels nice to be an ageless, timeless shadow, flitting through time zones easily. (Time zones would also mean from the artificially cooled interiors of a cold, cold office to, say, on the Ganga's ghat .) So, as Iksha, I want to see and see through. See all. To see the world in a larger sense than through my own restricted vision.

A Whole Mew World

I love cats. I've always wanted them as pets and after a few tantrums, my parents (they are such sweethearts) let me have innumerable of them. Actually, we had generations of them. And all of them were darlings. They successfully melted baba & ma's hearts and the three of us cared for them like they were little kids in the family.

Let's start with their names... Mini, Puchki, Kali, Spotty, Betku, Ms Marple, Jhumri, Pushu, Moti -- they were the most pampered of them all.

Mini was a regal feline. We just stopped short of addressing her as "Her Majesty". She was snow white with golden fur on her head. She made sure she was always clean, ate only select fish & sweets from the best sweet shops, snacked on Nahoum's cheese biscuits and carried her "mattress" wherever she went (to avoid sitting on the floor of course). She even knocked before entering a room (trust me on this!)

Spotty's a dainty darling, very feminine and shy. She likes staying cuddling up to us all the time.Moti appeared on our wall one night. We had finished our dinner and she sat there looking so forlorn. I decided to give her a piece of fish. She took it and dissapeared down the road. The next day (night), she was sitting huddled up on the same spot, same time. She was never late or early. Gradually her meals included lunch, then breakfast and then snacks, too. She had her kittens in our "chhota" (small) garage (that place has become the cat's maternity ward ever since), and she would take a stroll with them in the evenings up to our front balcony, call us and proudly display her children.

Betku (one of Moti's offspring) loved showing off her antics. Jumping sideways or as high up as possible, rolling over, doing what looked like a jig.

But what they all have done best is teaching us to love, teaching us that love can only multiply. When they looked at us, we could see their devotion, affection, helplessness without us, their attachment to us. The way they followed my father around while he was gardening, or kept my mother company while she cooked. And while I studied, they sometimes dragged out a book, opened it(!) at a random page and sat staring, mostly at me, sometimes at the book. Puchki once chewed on a page since it was playtime and I, with my exams round the corner, couldn't give her and her ping-pong ball company. Only Spotty's with us till now. I miss them. I miss how they ran to greet me when I came home from school, college, work. My little friends.

Script of a lunatic...

I recently finished reading The Reluctant Fundamentalist. (It is a coincidence that expressive eyes make the cover.) The book is very absorbing, to say the least. It generates the same passion on every page that the glinting eyes on the cover express. It's amazing how a monlogue can hold your attention for the entire length of a novel. And, you can visualise a motion picture all along. And like life, it leaves two roads you can travel. I loved peeping in and out of the characters, to experience the upheavals, to feel the transitions. It has left me restless... disturbed.... yearning... perhaps a little more human...