Arbit

There’s hope in my heart and
Hesitation in my mind
A firm determination in my will
And a weakening tremor in my movement
My soul is pure
My desire tainted
Mornings burn in flames
And evenings turn crimson cinder
Creativity has ceased to be innovative
Invention is just a discovery
A goal I know not
The road is often traversed
I weave realities
Dreams happen
I cannot recognize
The image that is me
My being continues to be
Powerful in its resonance
Contradictions no longer exist
Nor do choices
There is no either or
No place for if and but
Life’s a series of commas, semi colons, and ampersands
It is this and that
A flavor on top of the other
All colors flow into each other
The canvas can no longer contain
The musings of a wanderer.

To be or not to be: Form 16

I am sure this entry adds to the zillion other blog entries on ‘taxing’ worries!

I fail to fathom the complexities of the Indian Income Tax Department (actually, of all the Government departments, but then this one currently happens to be no.1 on my s**t list).

Though most financial terms are Greek and Latin to me, and do not interest me a wee bit, I made the horrendous blunder of reading a news snippet about Form 16s no longer mandated for filing of returns. This was sometime in May 2007. Read the news piece here.

Being the extra chilled out (read lazy) bum that I am, I coolly stopped keeping a record of my Form 16s.

So, when last week my FIL called the CA to get all our tax records cleared, I announced that I did not have any of my Form 16s. (Having been in the US for the last two financial years, I have the mammoth task of filing IT return for three years this time.)

Obviously, everybody was livid, but I dutifully quoted the news item and succeeded in dissipating some heat, whew!

However, the CA told us that the new forms require detailed information, which is provided in the Form 16. If we do not have that, all calculations need to be done manually based on the salary slips received each month. I wonder what gave him the impression that I look the kind to store my salary slips for 36 months in some locker, dimwit!

I tried arguing, explaining – nothing helped…I actually realized Form 16 makes everybody’s lives easier as it gives you line by line information that the tax return form asks for.

Fine, will somebody tell me then what is the use of shouting from the roof top that we are moving towards more user-friendly government machineries and mechanisms and are eliminating the need for useless paper work, when in reality we are just moving on to just another arduous way of doing things?

As if not having the Form 16s was not bad enough, I had meanwhile quit my organization a week before this crazy CA landed up at our place. Being in an organization and getting the Finance Department to listen to you sounds quite impossible, imagine trying to get them to reply to your mails after you are no longer an employee!

But, never say die, I did try mailing the corporate finance team and was thrilled to bits when they sent all my Form 16s within a week.
There is mercy and hope for salvation, always!

Lessons Learnt:

1. Avoid reading news bulletins concerning the Indian Government way of functioning. If you happen to come across any such information, ignore it.
2. Form 16 is mandatory; forget what everybody else tells you.
3. You can file your current financial returns only if all your previous returns have been filed, else you have the option of filing them altogether.
4. Save all your salary slips and bank statements for easy retrieval.
5. Actually, forget point 4.
6. On second thoughts, points 1 to 5 are not required, if you just remember this simple cardinal rule – Let your dad/ hubby/ FIL take charge of your tax details, empower them completely and just sign where they ask you to!

Behave like a woman – will ya!

A recent comment of one of the umpteen reality shows on MTV India - Teen Diva, left me flabbergasted. One of the judges told a girl, and I quote here, “You did not dance like a woman. Your dance moves could give a complex to a man.”

Now, will a man tell me how it is to behave like a woman? What the judge really meant was conform to what the society and culture, put in place for years by men for their own advantage, define and dictate how a woman should behave like. You know the kind of declarations your great grandma’s generation made – “Girls should only be seen and not heard”. Well dear, if you wish to see the pretty sight I make, you jolly well learn to hear me!

So what is really expected out of you when you are asked to be feminine?

Using a small flowery handkerchief in the worst of your colds instead of the more practical and convenient “gent’s” white one; Delicately eating small quantities at a candlelight dinner even if you are famished while your date takes the bigger morsels; Smiling ever so softly, barely hinting at your dimple at the funniest of jokes when you would rather laugh out loud showing all your teeth; Screaming at the slightest of cuts in public, forgetting the fact that the waxing last night was more painful than the worst of hurts you have ever had; And of course, feigning ignorance on subjects of science and economics and business and sports if the group of male species that you are in has only superficial knowledge ... aah I could go on...

Fortunately (:)) or unfortunately, men also have “Be a man” statements hurled at them, which I am sure must be suffocating for them as well. They need to foot the bill at a date, they cannot be scared of lizards and cockroaches, and they must know not only how to drive but also how to get around every city they take their girl to.

Many women, and men, are proactively trying to break this kind of gender stereotyping because it limits both sexes. If the minute a baby is born, he or she is compartmentalized into pink and blue, how is the baby supposed to develop its own unique identity? If the society has already cast the mould the personality of the new born must assume, we run the risk of endangering new thought and creative innovation. We have to empower our kids early on to make their own choices – real choices, because we lose the power of distinguishing our own choice and our conditioned choice as we grow up.

My mom always tells me how some relatives used to raise their eyebrows when as a kid I preferred playing with building blocks and cars rather than dolls – she had to shield me from being called a tomboy. I wasn’t. I loved frilly frocks and all colors pastel, but I did not love dolls. That’s my next point, just for the sake of going against what the society pronounces as normal, we need not consciously change ourselves to define an identity unique to the social construct. I need to choose and select what I genuinely like, and I should be allowed to do so.

Many people mistake this kind of an attempt to break free as gender war. The latter is completely different. Even though certain female stereotypes originate from a male-centric psychology, at this point, I only wish to focus on the confining aspect of the typecasting of genders for both males and females.

So, ladies and gentlemen, here’s my take on the age-old rhyme:

Sugar and spice and everything nice,

That's not really what all little girls are made of.

Snips and snails and puppy dog tails,

That's hardly what all little boys are made of.

There’s more to your little boy and little girl,

If only you could let their true selves unfurl.

Just to put on record...

Till almost 10 years back, I remember spending a lot of time drawing, sketching and dabbling with colors - term break, summer vacations, dussehra hols, winter vacation - all were spent in doing a little more than just doodling.

No great artist myself, I am blessed with a super artist mom. Her oil renditions on canvas occupy prominent spaces in our home and leave every guest awestruck.

I have frankly never showed inclination for this (or for that matter any) form of art, however, have some affinity for the art of pencil sketching - maybe one-millionth of my mom's artist gene did find it's way in my DNA ;).

During a recent trip to a wonderful book store in Chennai, Landmark, I spotted some amazing Walter Foster books in the Arts section, and suddenly experienced a strong urge to revive the skill.

So I bought a sketch book, pencils et al and through this blog entry want to put on record, that I finally did my first sketch after a hiatus of a decade. I realize I have become quite scratchy, the pencil strokes took a lot of effort and the final result was much more amateurish than I would have liked it to be.

Nevertheless, never say die, posting a pic of the sketch here to remind me not only that I have miles to go but also that a start has been made. Here's sincerely praying that I am able to keep myself motivated and hoping to be able to post a better sketch sooner than later, and with greater pride.

The King of Pop takes his final bow on the stage of life…

Most of us in this part of the world awoke to the shocking news of the untimely demise of one of the world’s most famous men – Michael Jackson. Though not a real music buff, the headlines reporting MJ’s death did not leave me unaffected.

I fondly recall how in school we use to try to emulate his complicated dance techniques – the most fascinating one being the moonwalk. His highly stylized music videos such as Black or White were the highlights of watching MTV in the 90s. The hugely popular number written by him, ‘We are the World’, is still an all time favorite.

Majority of my growing up years were spent discussing the colorful persona of MJ and the latest scoops. I remember having long serious deliberations with friends and family on his cancelled tour to India - his plastic surgery, the bleached skin - the reason behind it – an attempt to hide his African-American origins or the self-confessed condition of vitiligo, his family history, his childhood years, his marriage to Elvis Presley’s daughter and ofcourse the much talked about accusations of pedophilia slammed at him from multiple quarters.

The loss of this icon to the world of music is undeniable. His distinctive musical sound has, over these glorious five decades, positively influenced so many genres of music including hip hop, pop, R&B and soul music. He remains the greatest entertainer of all times and I am sure millions of fans worldwide echo my sentiments of disbelief and denial at the exit of this star who was raring to make a comeback that was destined not to happen.

May his soul rest in peace.

Sizzling hot and more…

What can be worse than 44 degree Celsius blistering heat that slaps your face 24 hours a day?
A viral attack.

Sweltering temperature outside, frequent power cuts and a bout of viral fever with sore throat and cough – does that sound like the perfect vacation? Well, I just had one :(.

Weather, health and the electricity board - all conspired to play spoilsport during my brief sojourn home – the meticulously planned get-togethers with friends and family were jeopardized, the much awaited shopping trips were truncated, and the staple summer indulgence of ice creams and golas (crushed ice) and colas was forbidden.

On the brighter side, I did get to spend “quality” time with my folks – imagine locked indoors all the time for 7 days ;). Mom baked some awesome cakes – her proprietary date and walnut cake remains unparalleled. I also managed to steal a few short trips to GK–N Block, Noida-Sec 18, Khan Market and Shipra Mall and was able to clinch quite a few good deals – God was very benevolent and went out of His way to reward me considering the fact that I was out shopping with a temperature of 101 degree Celsius.

But, seriously, I have come to the conclusion that I hate summers – I cannot take the god damn sun shining down, dissipating its heat as if there was no tomorrow – searing your skin, damaging your hair, smoldering your eyes.
Everything’s better in winters – falling sick too!

Racial Bias – A constructed narrative or an ugly reality?

The recent attacks on Indian students in Australia have refocused attention of world media and politics to the complex issue of shrinking geographic boundaries and coerced intermingling of cultures and ‘races’.

We are still debating whether the attacks in the Land of the Kangaroos are racial in nature or not. Yes, most seem more opportunistic than planned combat against an entire people, but the obvious racial overtones cannot be undermined. Having said that, we also need to factor in that what we see is through the eyes of media, that is not always unbiased. The pattern in which facts are strung together make a story. Indians were attacked – Indian students who were soft targets were attacked. Indian corporate honchos and business tycoons were not.

These so called racial attacks actually pose a much larger problem for the Australian government than mere intolerance for our gold ol’ desis – it is a problem of accelerated crime rate that needs to be checked sooner than later for its own good.

Here, I wish to zoom out from the pressing current to a more panoramic view that cuts across history and continents. Before I get lost in the maze of my warped mind, trying to write as fast as I think and change opinions (:)), just one clarification – whatever I write is within the basic premise that I abhor any kind of bias – be it on the basis of race, color, origin or gender and I strongly feel that such behavior should be dealt with in the firmest manner possible with the most stringent of punishments given to ensure nobody ever dares to repeat the act.

History is replete with narratives of hatred within people – Let’s face it, we, human beings, homo homo sapiens, are a biased lot with umpteen prejudices. Caste, creed, religion, country, economic background – we are a divided people. There cannot be a more ironic phrase than Unity in Diversity. We are constantly in the Us versus Other comparison mode.
The Other is the Australian aboriginal whose existence was systematically wiped out from his motherland, the Other is the Red Indian who was pushed to the periphery of his own American continent, the Other is the Jew who got caught in the Nazi era, the Other is the African who was forced to subservience thanks to the theory of the white man’s burden.

To observe how racial stereotyping works in a fanatical society, we needn’t go very far. India, the singular form is so deceptive, the many Indias, we inhabit is a glaring example of a xenophobic social order.
We cry hoarse when frustrated mobs in Australia beat up our students, when overwhelmed with the financial downturn in Europe, the government sends permanent residents packing back home and when a distraught American economy explores ways to cut down on Indian immigrants.
But, we forget that in our own country when we fight over the superiority of the Aryans over the Dravidians, when we label the north eastern student in our University campus in Delhi a ‘chinky’, when we beat up a dalit for drinking water from the landlord’s well, when we equate Islam with terrorism, and in our post colonial obsession with ‘all that is white is right’, post ads for a gori (fair) girl in the matrimonial sections of the newspaper, we are being racist. This kind of racial slur is even more dangerous because it goes unnoticed most of the times.

I have always wondered what could be the reason for such extreme abhorrence between two people who have never known each other. Before I get into that, I want to answer the question I set out with. Is racial bias a constructed narrative or an ugly reality? Racial bias IS an ugly reality. There cannot be a second opinion to that. However, it is a much larger issue than media folk-lore. Media constructs narratives that sell to its advantage. That paradigm limits our understanding of issues of race and culture in the context of rapid globalization and the resulting mélange.

So what makes an ordinary person like you and me detest another human being who we have never met.

• The Economics of it – With economies world over crashing and the dismal scene at the job market, it irks me if I, being a native citizen of the country, am sacked while an immigrant with the same skill set and half the age of my total experience is hired for the much talked about “cost advantage’. Yes, I am talking about “outsourcing”. I forget that the decision has not been made by the actual guy who has taken over my position but both of us are victims of the larger game, involving disgusting amount of money, played by citizens of my own country. Someone in my country is making a lot of by having a worker from a different country work here or back home at almost half the wages if not lower. It is still ‘yes to Bangalore and no to Buffalo’. And thus, I make a Frankenstein of this guy who is the epicenter of all my anger.

• Cultural Differences – And I don’t just mean Cricket vs. Football, Brad Pit vs. SRK. There are subtle differences between different cultures and we need to be sensitive to these. People argue that there is a conflict between asserting your individual identity vs. becoming one of them. Well, to me it is a choice between ghettoization and cultural integration. There are positives in each culture and if you have had the opportunity of closely interacting with another ethnicity, I see no harm is assimilating the best of both the worlds.

• Stereotyping – Just because your Indian neighbor creates a ruckus every night post 9 PM, every Indian is not like that. Similarly, if the lady at Walmart cannot calculate the change you must get for the 100 dollar bill you paid for groceries worth $87 without using a calculator, not all Americans suck at math!

• Inherent Superiority and Inferiority complexes – All that is white is not always right. Like my gender does not make me a good or a bad driver, my color should not be a basis for my acceptability in any society.

• Black sheep on both sides – And finally, there are the occasional buggers in all cultures, races, countries. You need to take in your stride the desis who embarrass you by blaring the dard-e-disco number on their car stereo at the crossing and shouting loudly at each other in their native tongue in the elevators, just like you need to ignore the firang who knits his brows together at the mere sight of you.

To conclude on a lighter note, here's one of my favorite quotes that aptly summarizes my stance:

“A group of white South Africans recently killed a black lawyer because he was black. That was wrong. They should have killed him because he was a lawyer.”
- A. Whitney Brown

Dom Moraes

I have been snooping around the house a bit and happened to chance upon my sister-in-law's stash. Thanks Aps! I was able to lay my hands on quite a few good books and have displaced these from their intended location to my room, I promise I'll put them back :).

Have been fond of poetry for a long long time now and so I picked the Collected Poems by Dom Moraes first. I must admit that I have not read the poet before and don't even recall his name as being even remotely familiar. And since Vish had atleast heard of the poet (he couldn't recall the poems, thank god!), I had to swallow his snide remark that expressed his concern on the kind of literature I have been into. Hmmm. Okay. Everyone has their moments of enlightenment. I owe him one now :)

Back to Dom Moraes. Born in Bombay, educated in Oxford, Moraes is one of the select few celebrated English poets that India has ever produced. This particular collection comprises select verses from his large body of work over a period of almost five decades. I read through almost all in no particular order (obviously can't read poetry like a novel - beginning to end).

Maybe I didn't give him too much time and thought but my first reaction was wow, the poems are technically sound, beautifully crafted, characterized with apt and unique imagery and interconnection of themes, but very few poems left the deep impression a good composition leaves on you. Some poems, especially, used loud images rather than subtle cues, the focus seemed on the physical power and enthrallment rather than on discerning emotional involvement. Maybe, I am being a little hasty in writing him off and I need to read him atleast once more and with greater care. After all, everybody deserves a second chance.

However, like I said, Moraes does come across as an elegant craftsman, an experienced artist who commands the readers' interest. Here are some verses that I particularly liked:

Aspects of a City
On a defensible hill, by a river,
The foot rested, the bronze hammer
Tested for the fault in the rock.
Tapped up by one concise stroke,
Shape detached itself, visible,
Chisels scraped, details clarified.
Brushes made colours separate.
The blind man, an unnecessary lamp
Raised, commanded the camp to see.
Women's whispers, imprints of war,
Deathmasks, the prescience of blood.
In the living rock, the first shape.
From the first shape the final form.
In the storm's eye the city stood.

All languages is its own history,
Scarred with eponymous heroes,
Heartsick dictators, martyred tribes,
Gods desecrated on their altars.
The sound of an ancient trumpet,
Summons to war, in the vowels.
The clashed consonants echo
Hammer on rock, blade on blade.
All language is its own landscape.
Where single cities can be made.
If it is reductible to a word,
Each one must find his own.
It is the destiny of a dynasty
To form a language from a language.

Once
It happens to you once and only once.
You stare into yourself for many years,
a childhood habit, followed ever since,
and then by accident the face appears
you recognize but have not ever known.

Delicate features of an ancient race,
a classic beauty chiselled from dark stone,
call back the memory of another place
you were acquainted with in other times.

From your exhausted mind the memory climbs
as after a thrown stone the water clears:
the world made flesh, her body of deep bronze
held in your arms after too many years.
It happens to you once and only once.

Typed with One Finger
Travel with me on the long road
into loneliness, where the hours
offer pardons to those still afraid.
Bursts of white and blue flowers
will surprise you in summer, with
denials of what is called death.
When I am not there in the maze
where the long road ends, think
of the clumsy stutter of my limp
behind you always, hindering you,
trying to help you all my days.

Every word that I wrote was true
this way or that, meant to praise
whatever was worth it on earth.
When my thumb, slowly flexed,
erased vexed lines from your brow,
it did more than my typing finger
achieved in those seasons, for that,
over the endless miles of paper,
scratched in marks like crowfeet.
As so there were always reasons
how are lives became complete.
For me the main one was I loved you.

Endlösung der Judenfrage - Holocaust

The worst gang wars of all time – Nazis against the Jews in the 1930s and 1940s under the rule of Führer, as Adolf Hitler was known - is a testimony to the most abysmal depths to which the human race can ebb. Genocide of approximately six million European Jews and systematic annihilation of millions of people in other groups including ethnic Poles, the Romani, Soviets, and political and religious opponents as part of a program of deliberate state-sponsored extermination planned and executed by the SS (Schutzstaffel) army in Germany is what every human being, irrespective of religious, political and national boundaries, should be ashamed of.

And this is the context of the book I just finished reading - Holocaust by Gerald Green, based on the critically acclaimed NBC-TV series by the same name.

Through the fictional accounts of two men caught on the extreme spectrum of this catastrophe – Erik Dorf, officer in the Nazi Army, swept up in a frenzy of murderous rage and Rudi Weiss, a Berlinian Jew, the anguished victim, the author traces the bloody trail from Berlin to Warsaw to Russia to Czechoslovakia to Prague to Israel, unfolding the searing and contrasting saga of the two interlocked German families.

Green spares no gory detail – the destruction of European Jewry, the confabulations of the architects of Hitler's Final Solution, the slaughter at Babi Yar, the impoverished ghettos, the death trains used to export Jews, the concentration camps, the gas chambers, the Warsaw Ghetto uprising and finally, the liberation of Auschwitz. He chronicles how euphemistic phrases such as Endlösung der Judenfrage (German for ‘the final solution to the Jewish question’), resettlement of Jews, autonomous Jewish territories, among others, were used as means to one end – mass obliteration of a whole race. Add to this, the complete apathy by religious and humanitarian institutions, governments and media organizations across the world.

If Holocaust is a story of extreme hatred, it is also a mesmerizing tale of passionate love. It captures the heroism and courage of the some few who fought to live and died with dignity. In its dismal setting of unparalleled monstrous deeds, it strives to keeps alive the hope in the spirit of human relationships.

The narrative brings alive the sadness beyond tears of the lives of the millions perished for no apparent logical reason, and though there is a sense of survival and triumph towards the end, one realizes that it comes at too exorbitant a price and with too many scars that even the waves o f time may not be able to alleviate.

The unceremonious exit of our visitor…

Self invited guests who barge unannounced at home on weekends are bad enough, and if they choose to stay longer than is absolutely necessary, hell tends to break loose. And this is precisely what happened at our place last evening.

This particular visitor slipped unnoticed into our house, presumably in the wee hours of the morning. As soon as my mother-in-law spotted it in the puja area, a high alert was sounded with orders for all bedroom doors to remain closed till further instructions; severe restrictions were imposed on movement between rooms, almost like a mini curfew.

An exordium to the visitant: A critter from the reptilian species, dry and scaly skin, clawed feet, long tail, and slimy and obnoxious, to put it very mildly.
If my feelings for this being are that of disgust and abhorrence, my hubby’s border on paranoia. While I do my regular shrieks and just curse the damn thing and pray that it goes away, Vish simply cannot tolerate the sight of a lizard. If he sees it, he needs to make it go away. Period. Nothing more, nothing less. And though I totally lack the spirit and passion required for this kind of an operation, Vish finds ample support in his mom. Thank God, I say. Keep me out of this.

Only if words could help me re-create those crazy 30 odd minutes! Nevertheless, I try.

Both mother and son braced themselves for an armed combat with Mr. L (L for ‘lizard’ and Mr. coz Vish insisted on referring to it as “him/he”). Amma equipped herself with a broom and Vish was loaded with Hit spray (used for cockroaches etc.). They both then entered the puja area with the deadliest of intentions, and I was like this curious amateur journalist sans any camera or notepad, reporting from Ground Zero. My peace-loving father-in-law refused to participate in the war without an ample cause and remained locked in his room.

Vish mercilessly sprayed the foul smelling Hit all around, behind the idols and pictures to bring the enemy out in the open, and Mr. L graced us with his scummy presence. What an unfair battle it was. Here was our six inches adversary unarmed and in a state of shock faced with two adult human beings girded with mortal weapons. Panic-stricken, Mr. L tried hiding, but all in vain. The mother-son duo was indefatigable and soon brought Mr. L on the ground with a big thud. The poor guy tried to find a foot-hold but only slithered. After almost half-an-hour of broom stick battering, unpleasant aerosols and loud war-like cries, our soldiers, with a never-before vengeance, threw Mr. L out of the house.

You should’ve seen the triumphant smiles of my MIL and hubby. They were on top of the world. As if the whole episode wasn’t funny enough, their victorious back slapping made me literally roll on the floor in a wild laughter.
Apparently, this has been the fate of all lizards that have been unfortunate enough to be seen by Vish, and to be fair, I’ll admit he is a little less fierce on the intolerable guests.