18) Guilt
Move afar, can’t you smell,
The wolf that sniffs,
It’s sharp nails,
Will tear your body.
Keep silence, can’t you see
The bear that wakes,
It’s huge hands,
Will crush your body.
Don’t touch, can’t you feel
The snake that crawls,
It’s poisonous lips,
Will burn your body.
Run away, can’t you hear
The hoof beats of ram,
It’s upturned horns,
Will bruise your body.
Stay away, can’t you imagine,
The conditioned mind,
It’s guilty thoughts,
Will scar your memory, for life.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Friday, May 06, 2011
short story 2- engineering student
Engineering Student
All engineering students smoke cigarettes, told my Mech. Roommate,
handing me a long, white one. ‘Haven’t you seen around?’ Till then I
had tried smoking only once, my uncle’s foul smelling bidi. But now
in this hostel room of my engineering college it seemed alluring. I
did regret accepting that fag, as I learned the slang for cigarette,
which made me cough and tearful and an amusing story for my roommate
to spread around about his ‘ghati’ (again a slang for naive or
unsophisticated) roommate. Yes, that was me, the first one from my
family to pass 10th standard exam and 2 years later get admission in a
far away engineering college.
I was always a loner. In my village, shunted because I was far ahead
academically there and in here because I am far below in
sophistication and coolness. I am also falling behind academically;
everything is becoming more confusing. I am unable to understand what
my classmates do to manage so many activities together. During
daytime it’s bunking lectures and hanging out in the canteen and at
night going out with girls wearing shockingly short and tight dresses
or partying in somebody’s room and keeping awake half the hostel.
For the first time in my life I started hating my slim, wiry frame,
my dark colored skin. My lousy clothes and white rain shoes which I
thought as hip when I bought them from the town Parnala, near my
village turned traitors and pointed me out for every one as the crude
village idiot and sneer at. And money, it haunted me day and night.
After two terms in college I could have faced all the ghosts in my
village together, but everyone in my family at village refused to
understand my plight, they had remained as village idiots all their
life and also force me to remain one. “You are not supposed to talk to
elder’s like that” or “is this why we sent you to the college?” was
their final statement. By the end of my third term, I was almost
crazee trying to find ways to earn some extra money decently, so that
I won’t have to borrow a few puffs from my hostel mates or have a
peaceful drink at least sometimes.
Things turned when news came from village that my grand uncle is
seriously ill. I left for village immediately as I knew this will
spark few fights for divisions, as most people in my village died
without leaving a will. He was dead and burned by the time reached my
bullock-cart village. There was already tension regarding division of
land etc. And I sensed opportunity and did my best to bring about a
division. After all, I have reached age of legal maturity. I missed
my third term exams, but didn’t miss out on the land deal, though so
many of my uncle’s were selling land after the division the price’s
had gone down. It fetched me a decent amount and I returned to hostel
as a hero. Now I had enough money to enjoy the tid -bits of life.
When you have money then it’s amazing how easy you can deal with
practicals, journals and exams. I always found a bar more soothing
than library to cool off during my next two term examinations and the
waiters were so understanding. But now my backlog was a total mess.
Even though I got one of my journals written by paying a student to do
it, nobody could help me to fill my term admission form as I didn’t
know which subjects I had opted and should opt for. My department
head was also pestering me and I decided to take a break from college.
I had enough of that dreary place, same old faces, same old nervous
freshies, and these days everyone seems so intense and sincere. There
were no fun people anymore out there.
Outside world was like a fresh breeze for me, I found my own room
near the town and I had more privacy, no nosy wardens and no headaches
of college. By now, I had cut off all contacts with my family
members. But living out of college also meant higher living expenses.
Soon I had to leave the town as the people who I owed money started
pestering me.
The new town was bigger and more expensive. But getting a motor bike
was so easy. I could own one by paying a fraction of the actual price
and pay the rest in installments. Zooming around in my bike like the
hero’s I had seen in movies; those were the best days of my life.
But one night that stupid bike slipped and fell, and my leg got
fractured and I had to stay in hospital for a month. The police
troubled me and tried to extract every penny for not charging me with
drunken driving and finally left me alone when I told them I am all
alone and broke and don’t mend spending time in jail. And there was
this one physiotherapist who tried to talk me out of addictions and
prodded me to do all those painful exercises to make my leg better. I
would have listened to him had he not told me about joining his cult,
whose members I had seen enough for a lifetime during my hostel days.
If the ward attendants there couldn’t have smuggled in the stuff I
needed every night I would have crawled out of that filthy place. It
was the longest month in my life.
My inheritance had disappeared so quickly. I had to look for cheaper
housing and I ended up in a hutment area where the rent was cheap and
cheap liquor plenty. Even at those cheap rates just after 23 days of
living in that hut, I was completely broke. Again, my clothes and
appearance became my enemies when I tried to borrow money. People
generally tend to be rude to a person whose appearance is shabby. I
had grown a bear and had only shabby clothes to wear. I had stopped
spending on all non-essential things and on top of that, my accident
had left a live scar and a limp. Now people started treating me like
a cripple. I couldn’t control myself if I didn’t have a drink or two
now and then. Finally, I decided to look for a job.
The only job with dignity, which offered to me, was that of a trainee
mechanic. But I had to take it, as could easily get petrol to drink
if I didn’t have money for alcohol. My engineering background helped
me to learn about repairs quickly. But sooner or later, one of my
drinking spells would be too much for my boss to bear and I would
start looking for another job. My reputation as a good mechanic and
worst drunkard grew quickly. But by now, I had mastered the art of
shifting from one town to another. It was my third town that year; I
had found a very good place to work. It was a large junkyard and a
huge garage. I had found a girl to stay with me also. Though
everyone called her crazy idiot, she could cook well and asked me no
questions and was very comforting during my crying spells when ghosts
from past came to haunt me, even alcohol couldn’t stop them and they
substituted for my violent spells. The crying spells were much better
because nobody hit back or fired me for that. For the first time in
my life, I had started saving up money for the future. But the past
was something I couldn’t do anything about. Those wasted chances to
make it big in college; it seemed I was condemned to live with people
who always want to remain idiots all their life.
It had rained in that night of December 31st and dampened the New Year
festive spirit of many. I had gone to work as usual. Most of my
co-workers were sleeping off their hangovers after the New Year
drinking spell. It was a good opportunity to scourge the junkyard to
see if I could find something small and valuable. It was tedious
working in the rain soaked piles. After some futile searching I saw a
funny type of wire structure with a working digital clock attached to
it. But the clock was not showing time but the date, month and year.
I tried to pull out that contraption but it was all mingled up. I
started prying it out but slipped and fell down into the mass of
wires. I was shocked-literally as electric currents started flowing
though the wires. A pad of lighted switches slid out from the digital
clock. My curiosity over came the mild current and confusion. I
fiddled with the lighted switches, and the date, which came out in the
digital clock, was the first day of my engineering college. Tears
rolled down my eyes and another crying spell started… How I wished I
could go back to that day again. My body writhed out of my control as
it happens during my spell and I fell unconscious as I received a big
jolt of electricity.
When I came to my senses it was night and I was in a strange railway
station. No, it was early morning and the railway station was the one
near my old engineering college. Somebody offered me a coin. I was
too shocked to refuse. After some time, I felt my senses coming back
to me, and I walked to the nearest book shop and bought the newly
arrived English daily. Now people started watching me curiously. I
read out the date and day first and couldn’t believe it. I had gone
back in time and it was exactly the first day of my engineering
college. According to the time shown on the huge station clock, I had
reached my hostel room and would have finished unpacking. My brain
began to race. I sat down near the station entrance, put the unfolded
paper in front of me and started begging...
It took me more than a week to get enough money for decent second
hand clothes so that I can walk in to even a college campus
unobtrusively without everyone staring at me. That one week also gave
enough time to plan what I should do. I went to my hostel room in the
afternoon, and without hesitation knocked loudly. There he was!! The
younger me opened the door apprehensively and after one look at me
started reciting the hostel anthem. It was the ragging season and I
still knew the whole anthem even now. My other self forgot the anthem
in the middle of a swear word and stared stupidly at me. I entered
the room and closed the door and told him to relax. Fortunately, his
room mate was out. It took me around an hour to explain him the
things. I knew he would believe; I would have in his age.
I started working in a garage nearby and we started planning together.
Teaching him about coolness was the toughest part, that it was
nothing but how you feel about yourself and nothing about what others
think. His insecurity and lack of confidence made me to forcefully
change him. I knew it was just a question of time for him to learn
about it himself, but I didn’t have that much time. By the third term
he was prepared and had improved dramatically from his awkward
appearance, academics and my leg and our English improved. We had
long discussions as how to invest the money he received from his
family inheritance. I also knew that a first class or 60% every term
is the margin set by some multinational company’s who come for campus
selection to filter out the crowds, so we would do a lot of
discussions on that but I couldn’t help much in the way of giving him
old question papers as I had forgotten about them. It was the hard way
out for us, and we slogged together. I could help him to understand
to some extend the practical side of theory thanks to my experience as
a motor mechanic.
It was New Year again, after the long wait of four years. It had paid
off. He passed out with flying colors and grabbed a lucrative job in
a big MNC with a car and a flat. Today we are going to inspect the
flat together. I had already made some inquiries at few furniture
shops. But somehow I feel a little uneasy as my other self was not
very enthusiastic about taking me along to the new flat in the posh
housing blocks the company had built recently. But this New Year’s
Eve I am going to celebrate opulently with peace of mind in my own
house, come what may...
It was the first day of another year and Major Balram was standing on
the door of his train and enjoying the rush of air. The train was
slowing for another signal. Major looked around the familiar
territory. He was shocked to see the new building complex with a huge
logo of big MNC come up in one year. These MNC’s thought major sadly,
change things too fast. They were the grounds where he had learned
first lessons in martial arts, and it had become his passion and in
the army had made him a legend. “Major Balram can name a person by
looking at his shadow”, his superior had told while recommending him
to the chief commanding officer. Major shrugged those thoughts aside
and looked angrily at those jutting buildings. Two shadows fighting
in one of the few lighted flats caught his eye, this is a fight which
will end only at death, thought the major and he started betting with
himself.
As the Major watched, some thing confused him, the style and body
movements of the two shadows were so impossibly similar. Major was
sure that not even identical twin brothers could do that. Because of
the similarity the fight went on and on, both seemed to sense the
other person’s movements. The Major observed anxiously but the train
started moving away...
All engineering students smoke cigarettes, told my Mech. Roommate,
handing me a long, white one. ‘Haven’t you seen around?’ Till then I
had tried smoking only once, my uncle’s foul smelling bidi. But now
in this hostel room of my engineering college it seemed alluring. I
did regret accepting that fag, as I learned the slang for cigarette,
which made me cough and tearful and an amusing story for my roommate
to spread around about his ‘ghati’ (again a slang for naive or
unsophisticated) roommate. Yes, that was me, the first one from my
family to pass 10th standard exam and 2 years later get admission in a
far away engineering college.
I was always a loner. In my village, shunted because I was far ahead
academically there and in here because I am far below in
sophistication and coolness. I am also falling behind academically;
everything is becoming more confusing. I am unable to understand what
my classmates do to manage so many activities together. During
daytime it’s bunking lectures and hanging out in the canteen and at
night going out with girls wearing shockingly short and tight dresses
or partying in somebody’s room and keeping awake half the hostel.
For the first time in my life I started hating my slim, wiry frame,
my dark colored skin. My lousy clothes and white rain shoes which I
thought as hip when I bought them from the town Parnala, near my
village turned traitors and pointed me out for every one as the crude
village idiot and sneer at. And money, it haunted me day and night.
After two terms in college I could have faced all the ghosts in my
village together, but everyone in my family at village refused to
understand my plight, they had remained as village idiots all their
life and also force me to remain one. “You are not supposed to talk to
elder’s like that” or “is this why we sent you to the college?” was
their final statement. By the end of my third term, I was almost
crazee trying to find ways to earn some extra money decently, so that
I won’t have to borrow a few puffs from my hostel mates or have a
peaceful drink at least sometimes.
Things turned when news came from village that my grand uncle is
seriously ill. I left for village immediately as I knew this will
spark few fights for divisions, as most people in my village died
without leaving a will. He was dead and burned by the time reached my
bullock-cart village. There was already tension regarding division of
land etc. And I sensed opportunity and did my best to bring about a
division. After all, I have reached age of legal maturity. I missed
my third term exams, but didn’t miss out on the land deal, though so
many of my uncle’s were selling land after the division the price’s
had gone down. It fetched me a decent amount and I returned to hostel
as a hero. Now I had enough money to enjoy the tid -bits of life.
When you have money then it’s amazing how easy you can deal with
practicals, journals and exams. I always found a bar more soothing
than library to cool off during my next two term examinations and the
waiters were so understanding. But now my backlog was a total mess.
Even though I got one of my journals written by paying a student to do
it, nobody could help me to fill my term admission form as I didn’t
know which subjects I had opted and should opt for. My department
head was also pestering me and I decided to take a break from college.
I had enough of that dreary place, same old faces, same old nervous
freshies, and these days everyone seems so intense and sincere. There
were no fun people anymore out there.
Outside world was like a fresh breeze for me, I found my own room
near the town and I had more privacy, no nosy wardens and no headaches
of college. By now, I had cut off all contacts with my family
members. But living out of college also meant higher living expenses.
Soon I had to leave the town as the people who I owed money started
pestering me.
The new town was bigger and more expensive. But getting a motor bike
was so easy. I could own one by paying a fraction of the actual price
and pay the rest in installments. Zooming around in my bike like the
hero’s I had seen in movies; those were the best days of my life.
But one night that stupid bike slipped and fell, and my leg got
fractured and I had to stay in hospital for a month. The police
troubled me and tried to extract every penny for not charging me with
drunken driving and finally left me alone when I told them I am all
alone and broke and don’t mend spending time in jail. And there was
this one physiotherapist who tried to talk me out of addictions and
prodded me to do all those painful exercises to make my leg better. I
would have listened to him had he not told me about joining his cult,
whose members I had seen enough for a lifetime during my hostel days.
If the ward attendants there couldn’t have smuggled in the stuff I
needed every night I would have crawled out of that filthy place. It
was the longest month in my life.
My inheritance had disappeared so quickly. I had to look for cheaper
housing and I ended up in a hutment area where the rent was cheap and
cheap liquor plenty. Even at those cheap rates just after 23 days of
living in that hut, I was completely broke. Again, my clothes and
appearance became my enemies when I tried to borrow money. People
generally tend to be rude to a person whose appearance is shabby. I
had grown a bear and had only shabby clothes to wear. I had stopped
spending on all non-essential things and on top of that, my accident
had left a live scar and a limp. Now people started treating me like
a cripple. I couldn’t control myself if I didn’t have a drink or two
now and then. Finally, I decided to look for a job.
The only job with dignity, which offered to me, was that of a trainee
mechanic. But I had to take it, as could easily get petrol to drink
if I didn’t have money for alcohol. My engineering background helped
me to learn about repairs quickly. But sooner or later, one of my
drinking spells would be too much for my boss to bear and I would
start looking for another job. My reputation as a good mechanic and
worst drunkard grew quickly. But by now, I had mastered the art of
shifting from one town to another. It was my third town that year; I
had found a very good place to work. It was a large junkyard and a
huge garage. I had found a girl to stay with me also. Though
everyone called her crazy idiot, she could cook well and asked me no
questions and was very comforting during my crying spells when ghosts
from past came to haunt me, even alcohol couldn’t stop them and they
substituted for my violent spells. The crying spells were much better
because nobody hit back or fired me for that. For the first time in
my life, I had started saving up money for the future. But the past
was something I couldn’t do anything about. Those wasted chances to
make it big in college; it seemed I was condemned to live with people
who always want to remain idiots all their life.
It had rained in that night of December 31st and dampened the New Year
festive spirit of many. I had gone to work as usual. Most of my
co-workers were sleeping off their hangovers after the New Year
drinking spell. It was a good opportunity to scourge the junkyard to
see if I could find something small and valuable. It was tedious
working in the rain soaked piles. After some futile searching I saw a
funny type of wire structure with a working digital clock attached to
it. But the clock was not showing time but the date, month and year.
I tried to pull out that contraption but it was all mingled up. I
started prying it out but slipped and fell down into the mass of
wires. I was shocked-literally as electric currents started flowing
though the wires. A pad of lighted switches slid out from the digital
clock. My curiosity over came the mild current and confusion. I
fiddled with the lighted switches, and the date, which came out in the
digital clock, was the first day of my engineering college. Tears
rolled down my eyes and another crying spell started… How I wished I
could go back to that day again. My body writhed out of my control as
it happens during my spell and I fell unconscious as I received a big
jolt of electricity.
When I came to my senses it was night and I was in a strange railway
station. No, it was early morning and the railway station was the one
near my old engineering college. Somebody offered me a coin. I was
too shocked to refuse. After some time, I felt my senses coming back
to me, and I walked to the nearest book shop and bought the newly
arrived English daily. Now people started watching me curiously. I
read out the date and day first and couldn’t believe it. I had gone
back in time and it was exactly the first day of my engineering
college. According to the time shown on the huge station clock, I had
reached my hostel room and would have finished unpacking. My brain
began to race. I sat down near the station entrance, put the unfolded
paper in front of me and started begging...
It took me more than a week to get enough money for decent second
hand clothes so that I can walk in to even a college campus
unobtrusively without everyone staring at me. That one week also gave
enough time to plan what I should do. I went to my hostel room in the
afternoon, and without hesitation knocked loudly. There he was!! The
younger me opened the door apprehensively and after one look at me
started reciting the hostel anthem. It was the ragging season and I
still knew the whole anthem even now. My other self forgot the anthem
in the middle of a swear word and stared stupidly at me. I entered
the room and closed the door and told him to relax. Fortunately, his
room mate was out. It took me around an hour to explain him the
things. I knew he would believe; I would have in his age.
I started working in a garage nearby and we started planning together.
Teaching him about coolness was the toughest part, that it was
nothing but how you feel about yourself and nothing about what others
think. His insecurity and lack of confidence made me to forcefully
change him. I knew it was just a question of time for him to learn
about it himself, but I didn’t have that much time. By the third term
he was prepared and had improved dramatically from his awkward
appearance, academics and my leg and our English improved. We had
long discussions as how to invest the money he received from his
family inheritance. I also knew that a first class or 60% every term
is the margin set by some multinational company’s who come for campus
selection to filter out the crowds, so we would do a lot of
discussions on that but I couldn’t help much in the way of giving him
old question papers as I had forgotten about them. It was the hard way
out for us, and we slogged together. I could help him to understand
to some extend the practical side of theory thanks to my experience as
a motor mechanic.
It was New Year again, after the long wait of four years. It had paid
off. He passed out with flying colors and grabbed a lucrative job in
a big MNC with a car and a flat. Today we are going to inspect the
flat together. I had already made some inquiries at few furniture
shops. But somehow I feel a little uneasy as my other self was not
very enthusiastic about taking me along to the new flat in the posh
housing blocks the company had built recently. But this New Year’s
Eve I am going to celebrate opulently with peace of mind in my own
house, come what may...
It was the first day of another year and Major Balram was standing on
the door of his train and enjoying the rush of air. The train was
slowing for another signal. Major looked around the familiar
territory. He was shocked to see the new building complex with a huge
logo of big MNC come up in one year. These MNC’s thought major sadly,
change things too fast. They were the grounds where he had learned
first lessons in martial arts, and it had become his passion and in
the army had made him a legend. “Major Balram can name a person by
looking at his shadow”, his superior had told while recommending him
to the chief commanding officer. Major shrugged those thoughts aside
and looked angrily at those jutting buildings. Two shadows fighting
in one of the few lighted flats caught his eye, this is a fight which
will end only at death, thought the major and he started betting with
himself.
As the Major watched, some thing confused him, the style and body
movements of the two shadows were so impossibly similar. Major was
sure that not even identical twin brothers could do that. Because of
the similarity the fight went on and on, both seemed to sense the
other person’s movements. The Major observed anxiously but the train
started moving away...
short story 1-Two Steers
Two Steers
Carver died yesterday. It came as shock to me even though I was half expecting it. The bartender who told me about Carver’s death looked sad, sad that he had lost a regular customer. Carver wouldn’t have even one real friend, he was too sarcastic; “sorry, may his soul rest in peace, Hell!” I am becoming sentimental, that’s what Carver would’ve said, and that’s what he said, about eight years ago, in this same bar.
Those were the mid sixties, I was then struggling to make my ends meet, in the middle of my second book and in the middle of a countless writing block. The same bar, Two steers, where I am now sitting and guzzling... at that time I was not a loyal regular here just had hopped in.
Ah, all those memories are so near. Those days in my regular bar they had hired a bartend with a switch, ‘he told you sob stories after you got drunk.’ This had made some regulars leave and bought in some curiosity seekers.
I was one of the last one to leave. The bartend was not that bad, he was from some town called Parnala. God knows where on earth it was, and he told stories of famine and exotic things but later also about his fears and anxiety’s. At some point those stories started making me reflect and awaken my own insecurities and I started bar hopping to find a place of tranquillity and the usual listening kind of bartender.
To down multiple frustrations, I had downed too many; that’s when I met him, a seedy looking guy in his mid forties, had thick blond hair and a handsome broad cheeked face, but creased with too many lines; his light brown eyes were sparkling. With some alternations maybe I could put him down as a character in my book, and to know him better invited him over.
But once he opened his mouth I knew I shouldn’t even think about it, but he sure was some character, the minute he sat by me he downed the drink in one gulp, began to comment sarcastically and philosophize and I almost lost my kick. But he kept on buying drinks and I ended up revealing half my personal worries to him and dead drunk. Only alcohol can make you really open up or put you in a coma.
From then on we were together at the pub almost every day. He was always domineering, I guess I never got adjusted to that; but he used to tell me about his many experiences and that filled in for my failure to observe around, an important requirement for an aspiring author, as my creative writing course Prof. used to lecture us.
Carver also was an avid reader, had a naturally healthy body but ill-used it. He never held a regular job. At first I thought he was everything that I wasn’t; happy with himself, doing what he wanted, never worrying about others, no conservative background to haunt him and very handsome with natural talent. As time passed I came to understand him, though never fully. He was very unhappy and kept searching for some goal, but it remained elusive. He had married thrice, now a loner having divorced his third wife a couple of years ago. He got money in spurts and spends it like there is no tomorrow.
The black labeled bottle in front of me shook as a fat guy edged my table. I looked at him drowsily and returned to reminiscing. I came to know about carver’s death from the bartend because I never visited the bar for about a week. I was afraid of seeing carver again, maybe it was me who caused his death, no maybes, it was me, why am I running away from it? Carver always used to tell me that guilt can chase a man better than his own shadow.
Yes now I remember, he even told me about a story of a guilt-laden man always trying to escape from it, it was some Jim, the hero of the story. Jim always wanted to be a hero in his life but when he had a chance, he didn’t risk his life like heroes do; but escaped like a coward; even though later he became successful the guilt and cowardice always haunted him, so the next time when he had to choose between facing death bravely or running away and saving his life, he chose to face death, but didn’t come out alive like book hero’s do. Then I thought it was carver’s own experience, which he told me like a story, which wasn’t unusual.
I got to forget him and his memories. No but I can’t. How can I when it was only about a week ago that I saw him in his apartment, he was very pale, but the sparkle in his eyes were brighter even though he was bed ridden. There was a morose and bored looking nurse near him. It was the first time I had been to his apartment and it looked as if in a sorry state. I was still looking around when he pulled me near him and told me a crazy plan about getting out of the country and resettling in some far away country. He was very excited and suspicious, whenever the nurse came near he stopped talking, then resumed with increased nervousness and speed.
The whole thing was a puzzle, and the smell of medicines uncomfortable. But I sat there and bit by bit his jabbering made sense, but there weren’t even rumors about the country being taken over by the military and communists, and carver’s stomach wound didn’t look like a knife wound. Anyway I knew my country better than an outsider like carver.
I tried to calm him down, but he was becoming paranoid, then the only thing I wanted was to get out of that apartment, even though I could see he was in some serious trouble. So the next time the nurse came near I said a hasty good-bye and rushed out. I still could hear him yelling my name as I was going out. I even stopped going to the pub, and for one week I drank at my apartment and filled a lot of papers with meaningless words. I didn’t want to risk my position and State permit by following a crazy idea, and if anything went wrong I will never be able to return back.. I didn’t want to make any commitment and carver was just a pub friend, he always scared me a little with his unpredictability and was not growing any younger.
For one week I moved around my quarters like a rat, then on an impulse visited the two steers, our pub. Maybe carver wouldn’t speak with me or I was exaggerating the problems by imagining too much, so here I am sitting alone and drunk. The bartend was looking at me nervously. It was almost closing time and I have never been this late. Hell, I may as well as get out, too many old memories here. As I put the money on table I saw a knife underneath on the floor, maybe that fat man’s who nudged my table, he didn’t even apologize, people have no decency left in them anymore. I pocketed the knife and walked out.
Snow was falling, footpaths were almost empty. Trying to spot twin snow flakes I walked, as I was about to give up, heard the sound of heavy snow shoes from behind, then two new shoes passed by me, I looked up and saw a light brown overcoat and sign showing street no. 7. The light from the street lamps were dim, caused by combination of brown out and dirty lamps.
A snowflake hit my face, which was only uncovered part of my body, again I looked up, in snow everything looks grey. I slowed down as I saw street no.9, was looking down at me. Where am I going, to make sure I took up my wallet after a struggle from my back-pocket and looked at my card, street no.5, hell I am becoming absent minded, well, maybe a good habit to develop, absent minded author rhymes too, and a good excuse for not writing as regularly as earlier. That is what they seem to look out for nowadays, just quantity.
I got some money saved and am in a comfortable position enough to overcome it, anyway serious abstract writing always had a niche of its own. Serious abstract writing, it was how carver defined my style. Again carver, why does he still haunt me, why does he keep trying to find the loop hole, that black spot in me all the time. Got to forget him, better think about a new story; ‘bang..... bang’ gunshots, yes, but they have never been a part of my stories; jeee-sus, this is not my thought, it is for real.
I squinted my eyes and looked as far as I could see. Two three men in pointed caps were kicking a man who was on the floor, another was breaking a window. I looked around for a place to hide nearby was a handcart large enough to crawl in, but on side of it was written in big letters, ‘JIM’s... “Good god”, ‘Jim’ what the hell?!! I started to run forward, something wet fell on my thigh, still I kept on running, and from inside my coat took out the knife I had found in the pub. Then in front of me was a man in pointed cap, he came so suddenly and the gun in his hand gleamed.
My steps faltered, my knife stuck some where as I desperately tried to cling on… to keep me from falling. I got balanced a little and looked up. The pointed cap was now red and the knife was inside it and I was hanging on to the knife, which was twitching. I tried to take the knife out but my knees were weakening, the winter grey was turning black as I fell . . . (End)
Carver died yesterday. It came as shock to me even though I was half expecting it. The bartender who told me about Carver’s death looked sad, sad that he had lost a regular customer. Carver wouldn’t have even one real friend, he was too sarcastic; “sorry, may his soul rest in peace, Hell!” I am becoming sentimental, that’s what Carver would’ve said, and that’s what he said, about eight years ago, in this same bar.
Those were the mid sixties, I was then struggling to make my ends meet, in the middle of my second book and in the middle of a countless writing block. The same bar, Two steers, where I am now sitting and guzzling... at that time I was not a loyal regular here just had hopped in.
Ah, all those memories are so near. Those days in my regular bar they had hired a bartend with a switch, ‘he told you sob stories after you got drunk.’ This had made some regulars leave and bought in some curiosity seekers.
I was one of the last one to leave. The bartend was not that bad, he was from some town called Parnala. God knows where on earth it was, and he told stories of famine and exotic things but later also about his fears and anxiety’s. At some point those stories started making me reflect and awaken my own insecurities and I started bar hopping to find a place of tranquillity and the usual listening kind of bartender.
To down multiple frustrations, I had downed too many; that’s when I met him, a seedy looking guy in his mid forties, had thick blond hair and a handsome broad cheeked face, but creased with too many lines; his light brown eyes were sparkling. With some alternations maybe I could put him down as a character in my book, and to know him better invited him over.
But once he opened his mouth I knew I shouldn’t even think about it, but he sure was some character, the minute he sat by me he downed the drink in one gulp, began to comment sarcastically and philosophize and I almost lost my kick. But he kept on buying drinks and I ended up revealing half my personal worries to him and dead drunk. Only alcohol can make you really open up or put you in a coma.
From then on we were together at the pub almost every day. He was always domineering, I guess I never got adjusted to that; but he used to tell me about his many experiences and that filled in for my failure to observe around, an important requirement for an aspiring author, as my creative writing course Prof. used to lecture us.
Carver also was an avid reader, had a naturally healthy body but ill-used it. He never held a regular job. At first I thought he was everything that I wasn’t; happy with himself, doing what he wanted, never worrying about others, no conservative background to haunt him and very handsome with natural talent. As time passed I came to understand him, though never fully. He was very unhappy and kept searching for some goal, but it remained elusive. He had married thrice, now a loner having divorced his third wife a couple of years ago. He got money in spurts and spends it like there is no tomorrow.
The black labeled bottle in front of me shook as a fat guy edged my table. I looked at him drowsily and returned to reminiscing. I came to know about carver’s death from the bartend because I never visited the bar for about a week. I was afraid of seeing carver again, maybe it was me who caused his death, no maybes, it was me, why am I running away from it? Carver always used to tell me that guilt can chase a man better than his own shadow.
Yes now I remember, he even told me about a story of a guilt-laden man always trying to escape from it, it was some Jim, the hero of the story. Jim always wanted to be a hero in his life but when he had a chance, he didn’t risk his life like heroes do; but escaped like a coward; even though later he became successful the guilt and cowardice always haunted him, so the next time when he had to choose between facing death bravely or running away and saving his life, he chose to face death, but didn’t come out alive like book hero’s do. Then I thought it was carver’s own experience, which he told me like a story, which wasn’t unusual.
I got to forget him and his memories. No but I can’t. How can I when it was only about a week ago that I saw him in his apartment, he was very pale, but the sparkle in his eyes were brighter even though he was bed ridden. There was a morose and bored looking nurse near him. It was the first time I had been to his apartment and it looked as if in a sorry state. I was still looking around when he pulled me near him and told me a crazy plan about getting out of the country and resettling in some far away country. He was very excited and suspicious, whenever the nurse came near he stopped talking, then resumed with increased nervousness and speed.
The whole thing was a puzzle, and the smell of medicines uncomfortable. But I sat there and bit by bit his jabbering made sense, but there weren’t even rumors about the country being taken over by the military and communists, and carver’s stomach wound didn’t look like a knife wound. Anyway I knew my country better than an outsider like carver.
I tried to calm him down, but he was becoming paranoid, then the only thing I wanted was to get out of that apartment, even though I could see he was in some serious trouble. So the next time the nurse came near I said a hasty good-bye and rushed out. I still could hear him yelling my name as I was going out. I even stopped going to the pub, and for one week I drank at my apartment and filled a lot of papers with meaningless words. I didn’t want to risk my position and State permit by following a crazy idea, and if anything went wrong I will never be able to return back.. I didn’t want to make any commitment and carver was just a pub friend, he always scared me a little with his unpredictability and was not growing any younger.
For one week I moved around my quarters like a rat, then on an impulse visited the two steers, our pub. Maybe carver wouldn’t speak with me or I was exaggerating the problems by imagining too much, so here I am sitting alone and drunk. The bartend was looking at me nervously. It was almost closing time and I have never been this late. Hell, I may as well as get out, too many old memories here. As I put the money on table I saw a knife underneath on the floor, maybe that fat man’s who nudged my table, he didn’t even apologize, people have no decency left in them anymore. I pocketed the knife and walked out.
Snow was falling, footpaths were almost empty. Trying to spot twin snow flakes I walked, as I was about to give up, heard the sound of heavy snow shoes from behind, then two new shoes passed by me, I looked up and saw a light brown overcoat and sign showing street no. 7. The light from the street lamps were dim, caused by combination of brown out and dirty lamps.
A snowflake hit my face, which was only uncovered part of my body, again I looked up, in snow everything looks grey. I slowed down as I saw street no.9, was looking down at me. Where am I going, to make sure I took up my wallet after a struggle from my back-pocket and looked at my card, street no.5, hell I am becoming absent minded, well, maybe a good habit to develop, absent minded author rhymes too, and a good excuse for not writing as regularly as earlier. That is what they seem to look out for nowadays, just quantity.
I got some money saved and am in a comfortable position enough to overcome it, anyway serious abstract writing always had a niche of its own. Serious abstract writing, it was how carver defined my style. Again carver, why does he still haunt me, why does he keep trying to find the loop hole, that black spot in me all the time. Got to forget him, better think about a new story; ‘bang..... bang’ gunshots, yes, but they have never been a part of my stories; jeee-sus, this is not my thought, it is for real.
I squinted my eyes and looked as far as I could see. Two three men in pointed caps were kicking a man who was on the floor, another was breaking a window. I looked around for a place to hide nearby was a handcart large enough to crawl in, but on side of it was written in big letters, ‘JIM’s... “Good god”, ‘Jim’ what the hell?!! I started to run forward, something wet fell on my thigh, still I kept on running, and from inside my coat took out the knife I had found in the pub. Then in front of me was a man in pointed cap, he came so suddenly and the gun in his hand gleamed.
My steps faltered, my knife stuck some where as I desperately tried to cling on… to keep me from falling. I got balanced a little and looked up. The pointed cap was now red and the knife was inside it and I was hanging on to the knife, which was twitching. I tried to take the knife out but my knees were weakening, the winter grey was turning black as I fell . . . (End)
may 2011- a new era!
each new day can be a new era, if you gain any insight.
anyone who have read OB would remember Hawthorne experiments as well as, Taylor's 'principles of scientific management'. where in a a Steel plant in Philadelphia Taylor began series of experiments aimed at improving the efficiency of the plant’s machinists, about 100 years ago.
He observed and then by breaking down every job into small steps Taylor created an “algorithm,” or a system. the employees felt they were turned into automatons, and
later charlie chaplin showed this in his movie by becoming such a worker himself.
but factory owners used time-and-motion studies with the goal - as Taylor had defined it in his celebrated 1911 treatise, The Principles of Scientific Management, - to develop for every job, best method of work - to create an utopia of perfect efficiency.
and the Taylorism was born:- “In the past the man has been first,” “in the future the system must be first.”
...........what would you think of this quote NOW?
the person who gave industrial psychology or Organizational behavior such a jump a century ago, now helps to give OB / psychologists / HR professionals etc --> more work now... that is of, changing the system to look at human beings in a humane way... (and you thought only computer software people created programs to develop their own future hardware market ;)
lets go some 25 centuries back now...
"as people are beginning to rely on the written word as a substitute for the knowledge they used to carry inside their heads, they would - cease to exercise their memory and become forgetful.”
And because they would be able to “receive a quantity of information without proper instruction,” they would “be thought very knowledgeable when they are for the most part quite ignorant.”
They would be “filled with the conceit of wisdom instead of real wisdom.”
so wrote Socrates, about 2500 years ago.
.........some feel, in next few years, language recognition software will improve a lot, and we wont have to read (we can hear webpages), and we wont have to even type - but just say what we want - and it will get typed on screen.
...and thus signalling the demise of reading & writing skills.
where's the world going to? ;) were the Luddites actually right?
let's see how many comments do i get for this.. ;)
maybe the new generation does like to type much..
anyone who have read OB would remember Hawthorne experiments as well as, Taylor's 'principles of scientific management'. where in a a Steel plant in Philadelphia Taylor began series of experiments aimed at improving the efficiency of the plant’s machinists, about 100 years ago.
He observed and then by breaking down every job into small steps Taylor created an “algorithm,” or a system. the employees felt they were turned into automatons, and
later charlie chaplin showed this in his movie by becoming such a worker himself.
but factory owners used time-and-motion studies with the goal - as Taylor had defined it in his celebrated 1911 treatise, The Principles of Scientific Management, - to develop for every job, best method of work - to create an utopia of perfect efficiency.
and the Taylorism was born:- “In the past the man has been first,” “in the future the system must be first.”
...........what would you think of this quote NOW?
the person who gave industrial psychology or Organizational behavior such a jump a century ago, now helps to give OB / psychologists / HR professionals etc --> more work now... that is of, changing the system to look at human beings in a humane way... (and you thought only computer software people created programs to develop their own future hardware market ;)
lets go some 25 centuries back now...
"as people are beginning to rely on the written word as a substitute for the knowledge they used to carry inside their heads, they would - cease to exercise their memory and become forgetful.”
And because they would be able to “receive a quantity of information without proper instruction,” they would “be thought very knowledgeable when they are for the most part quite ignorant.”
They would be “filled with the conceit of wisdom instead of real wisdom.”
so wrote Socrates, about 2500 years ago.
.........some feel, in next few years, language recognition software will improve a lot, and we wont have to read (we can hear webpages), and we wont have to even type - but just say what we want - and it will get typed on screen.
...and thus signalling the demise of reading & writing skills.
where's the world going to? ;) were the Luddites actually right?
let's see how many comments do i get for this.. ;)
maybe the new generation does like to type much..
17) Grey eyes
17) Grey eyes
Let me not drink,
For I am already drowned,
In her beauty,
Her walk, her whisper,
And an enigmatic glance,
I met her today.
My friends are chattering,
Music is playing,
My eyes are open,
But I see nothing,
Just wishing for one more look,
Oh ! I go mad.
I am going through,
The place we met,
In minds eye, again and again,
Trying to find,
The elusive meaning of that glance,
Even if it takes a life time.
But hope I’ll never see her again,
Only she’ll remain a memory,
Because, I don’t want to face,
Reality, faults find I may.
Now I want to dream again,
The way I met her.
Let me not drink,
For I am already drowned,
In her beauty,
Her walk, her whisper,
And an enigmatic glance,
I met her today.
My friends are chattering,
Music is playing,
My eyes are open,
But I see nothing,
Just wishing for one more look,
Oh ! I go mad.
I am going through,
The place we met,
In minds eye, again and again,
Trying to find,
The elusive meaning of that glance,
Even if it takes a life time.
But hope I’ll never see her again,
Only she’ll remain a memory,
Because, I don’t want to face,
Reality, faults find I may.
Now I want to dream again,
The way I met her.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
16) Graffiti
16) Graffiti
During those carefree days
And countless friends,
Started this a story,
Of Ram and Sally.
It was in the canteen as usual,
Ram met Sally,
And drove us all crazy,
Until he knew her name.
Sent Ram many times,
Cards and roses,
And all of us played cupids;
After a month she relented.
In classes or theatre,
Always remained together,
Till they got married,
The next day of graduation.
They lived happily,
For some time,
Had their fun playing,
Wife, husband and home.
Then career and business,
Became Ram’s new mistress,
In the exam of life,
They both failed, parted.
Sometimes, I still come across,
In the college walls,
A hardly recognizable graffiti,
Ram loves sally.
During those carefree days
And countless friends,
Started this a story,
Of Ram and Sally.
It was in the canteen as usual,
Ram met Sally,
And drove us all crazy,
Until he knew her name.
Sent Ram many times,
Cards and roses,
And all of us played cupids;
After a month she relented.
In classes or theatre,
Always remained together,
Till they got married,
The next day of graduation.
They lived happily,
For some time,
Had their fun playing,
Wife, husband and home.
Then career and business,
Became Ram’s new mistress,
In the exam of life,
They both failed, parted.
Sometimes, I still come across,
In the college walls,
A hardly recognizable graffiti,
Ram loves sally.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
15) Girl Child
15) Girl Child
There she is a white lily…
Now there, she is a curious child
Perplexing adults in her excitement…
And now she flies…
Lengthening shadows, the just-before-dusk
Spread shades of sadness,
But are unable to touch her now,
As she flies fast
Like the full moon,
She reflects the light,
Even on the
Darkest of the nights
Water, sparkling spiritual water,
They say, can cleanse
Even the human soul, and I say,
Her innocence should purify...
But there she is… now a brook,
But how long will this
Transformation endure,
Before engulfed in the ocean?
Never heard before,
But can this brook hold its sheen?
Even in an ocean… like stars in the sky.
Again she transforms...
Becomes hope…
There she is a white lily…
Now there, she is a curious child
Perplexing adults in her excitement…
And now she flies…
Lengthening shadows, the just-before-dusk
Spread shades of sadness,
But are unable to touch her now,
As she flies fast
Like the full moon,
She reflects the light,
Even on the
Darkest of the nights
Water, sparkling spiritual water,
They say, can cleanse
Even the human soul, and I say,
Her innocence should purify...
But there she is… now a brook,
But how long will this
Transformation endure,
Before engulfed in the ocean?
Never heard before,
But can this brook hold its sheen?
Even in an ocean… like stars in the sky.
Again she transforms...
Becomes hope…
Monday, May 02, 2011
14) Gen. Gap
14) Gen. gap
Hegemony:
A world rooted in hegemony,
Heighten the spell of sorcery,
And those paranoid parents,
Thicken the folds of darkness;
On beings, they believe their possessions,
But are free like wind, water, trees
Who lead their own life,
Away from their accidental ancestors.
Sleeping beauty:
The sleeping beauty, stuttered eye lashes,
HIS pale cheeks began to color again,
But the prince will have to sleep,
In that world forever,
Unless she kissed him;
And stood between them,
Wooden boards of coffin,
Which are indifferent to everything,
Except to those sharp instruments,
Which cut them to pieces.
Hegemony:
A world rooted in hegemony,
Heighten the spell of sorcery,
And those paranoid parents,
Thicken the folds of darkness;
On beings, they believe their possessions,
But are free like wind, water, trees
Who lead their own life,
Away from their accidental ancestors.
Sleeping beauty:
The sleeping beauty, stuttered eye lashes,
HIS pale cheeks began to color again,
But the prince will have to sleep,
In that world forever,
Unless she kissed him;
And stood between them,
Wooden boards of coffin,
Which are indifferent to everything,
Except to those sharp instruments,
Which cut them to pieces.
Friday, April 29, 2011
13) Foe
13) Foe
Just let me be on my knees,
Let on my hand be a rose,
Let there be a smile on her face,
Let me that portrait finish,
Grant me this one last wish,
Love .. oh .. love.
I won’t be able to
Live in this sea of hate,
Unless you leave me with
At least a ray of hope,
Don’t maroon without even a drop of tear,
Love .. oh .. love.
Oh ! I would’ve lived always in a dreamland,
I would’ve cherished you, forever in my heartland,
But why didn’t you stop me from,
facing her, loosing her,
Love .. oh .. love.
Why did you become my foe.
Just let me be on my knees,
Let on my hand be a rose,
Let there be a smile on her face,
Let me that portrait finish,
Grant me this one last wish,
Love .. oh .. love.
I won’t be able to
Live in this sea of hate,
Unless you leave me with
At least a ray of hope,
Don’t maroon without even a drop of tear,
Love .. oh .. love.
Oh ! I would’ve lived always in a dreamland,
I would’ve cherished you, forever in my heartland,
But why didn’t you stop me from,
facing her, loosing her,
Love .. oh .. love.
Why did you become my foe.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Street play: Misconceptions about Mental Illnesses
Street play: Misconceptions about Mental Illnesses
(About 6-7 actors are the minimum need, and up to 10 actors can take part as it is flexible.)
Props: about 10 placards. 9 of them needed to be tied at two ends with a thread, or if more elaborate work can be done, then they can be stuck to caps or some head gear. In big lettering they should be written:
1) Pollution,
2) Infection
3) Food poisoning
4) Pickpocket
5) Angry boss
6) Death
7) Typhoid or cancer
8) Mad
9) Recovered mad
10) This will continue
SCENE - 1:
A director is doing his job, setting up a scene of a mental hospital. He is frantically running around, yelling at his actors and actresses to yell out more loudly, attack each other, laugh loudly and cry together, move body more etc. There are a few actors who are trying to look and behave like inmates of a mental hospital from a typical Hindi film. (The attempt is to make the mentally ill people look like they are a mix between insane and intellectually retarded people, who do stupid things, which is supposed to make audience laugh).
The clapboard is closed to indicate the scene has started, and then there is mayhem and chaos. Somebody is crying out loudly and laughing, a doctor is running around giving direct shock from broken wire and hitting people with a big hammer, somebody runs around to attack the audience. Suddenly a guy from outside walks in and the director yells, “cut, cut”.
The guy: (Who just walked in) What’s all this?
Director: We are shooting a mental hospital scene.
Guy: But hey, have you ever been to a mental hospital, seen the inside of a mental hospital?
Director: No, never, I didn’t have to… haha… haha
Guy: Hey, this is not a laughing matter, how can you show all these people about a mental hospital if you have not even bothered to find how it is?, and I don’t understand, even educated people like you (fingering audience) laugh when somebody is insulting your intelligence like this?? (the audience who were having fun till now, quiet down as they realize they had not thought of it earlier).
Director: hey, you got a point there, how does a mental hospital look?
Guy: let’s go to one, and let me show you all.
SCENE - 2:
Scene of a mental hospital as it usually looks in most parts of the world. It is more like any ordinary hospital for physiological diseases. There are a few people going on about their business, some are lost in their own world. Some are doing meaningful work. The doctor is treating people in a humane way. One of the guys is seen as being discharged as he has recovered and moving out. Other inmates wish him luck just in the normal way. The director is walking around observing all this and he claps his hands with other inmates when they clap to give the recovered patient a warm goodbye. Claps and claps.
SCENE - 3:
At the two ends of stage two people are standing. A voice over comes and introduces them. Then guy-1 starts walking forward and is seen walking ahead all the time. Suddenly he closes his nose as if he has neared a smelly place. A person wearing the board pollution runs out to the stage and runs around guy-1 and disappears. Guy-1 gets a bit tired and droops, but within a few seconds straightens up and walks back normally.
Then guy-2 walks ahead, towards him a guy with board of pick-pocket runs and circles and disappears. The guy-2 after few seconds searches and finds his loss and droops for some seconds, then shrugs off and walks back normally. Similarly for guy-1 food poisoning comes and for guy-2 it is firing from his boss, and in the third round, infection through mosquito for guy-1 and death of a close person for guy-2. All three times they recover after momentary affect.
Then in the fourth round for guy-1 all three things come together and dance around him and he falls down, and when the dancers disappear he is wearing a board - typhoid. And for guy-2 all three things dance and he also falls down and is seen wearing a board MAD.
Voice over: when our body is imbalanced it shows symptoms - sometimes they are psychological symptoms and sometimes they are physiological and sometime a mixed effect. The person is not responsible for it totally in either case.
SCENE - 4:
again guy-1 and guy-2 are standing at 2 ends, guy-1 is cared by his family, but guy-2 with MAD as the board on him is kicked out and people are pushing him, laughing at him, kids throw stones at him etc. guy-1 recovers quickly, puts on the board on recovered from typhoid and is welcomed by his colleagues and relatives. Guy-2 is put in mental hospital and recovers slowly alone and is put on the board of recovered MAD.
When guy-2 returns home, a small kid runs to welcome him, but other older members restrain her and tells him to get lost, and that once MAD means always MAD. Onlookers also nod their heads to agree and laugh at the recovered mad guy-2 and push him away, kids throw stones at him, and everyone dance madly around him. When they go back, the guy-2 is put the board of MAD and he is lying down on the floor in pain.
Voice over: “discrimination done between a physiological and a mental disease is due to ignorance, nobody can change the chemical changes that happens in their brain just like nobody can kill cancer cells on their own. Both are diseases and these people need help and co-operation from outside world”.
SCENE - 5:
One guy comes in front and tells the audience that to help people in distress and improve our society we need unity, if we stand together we can overcome problems. Another actor then walks in and says we need mass education, and that knowledge is the key for a better future. The first guy is looking in astonishment when a third actor comes and says we need sympathy for others and peace in our heart and the world will become a paradise.
The two others push the third away and a fourth comes and says we need to have faith and belief, and only God can help us sinners, and fifth and sixth one come together and start saying technological advances are what we need to concentrate and sixth one yells justice and equality should be enforced and their is a pushing match and these people start yelling and hitting each other and mayhem and chaos reigns. One guy with a big placard written, “THIS WILL CONTINUE”, walks around the fighting people as the curtain falls. (To signify, good intentions also require team work and systematic efforts to reach fruitful stage, this is the punch line or twist at the end).
[This street-play won 2nd prize in Bombay Univ. annual fest. in ’97. Written and directed by Venky Iyer, Actors: Shashank, Deepa, Vidya, Indrayani, Atish, Venky (MA Psychology Dept) & Abhijit (Math Dept) and Samir].
(About 6-7 actors are the minimum need, and up to 10 actors can take part as it is flexible.)
Props: about 10 placards. 9 of them needed to be tied at two ends with a thread, or if more elaborate work can be done, then they can be stuck to caps or some head gear. In big lettering they should be written:
1) Pollution,
2) Infection
3) Food poisoning
4) Pickpocket
5) Angry boss
6) Death
7) Typhoid or cancer
8) Mad
9) Recovered mad
10) This will continue
SCENE - 1:
A director is doing his job, setting up a scene of a mental hospital. He is frantically running around, yelling at his actors and actresses to yell out more loudly, attack each other, laugh loudly and cry together, move body more etc. There are a few actors who are trying to look and behave like inmates of a mental hospital from a typical Hindi film. (The attempt is to make the mentally ill people look like they are a mix between insane and intellectually retarded people, who do stupid things, which is supposed to make audience laugh).
The clapboard is closed to indicate the scene has started, and then there is mayhem and chaos. Somebody is crying out loudly and laughing, a doctor is running around giving direct shock from broken wire and hitting people with a big hammer, somebody runs around to attack the audience. Suddenly a guy from outside walks in and the director yells, “cut, cut”.
The guy: (Who just walked in) What’s all this?
Director: We are shooting a mental hospital scene.
Guy: But hey, have you ever been to a mental hospital, seen the inside of a mental hospital?
Director: No, never, I didn’t have to… haha… haha
Guy: Hey, this is not a laughing matter, how can you show all these people about a mental hospital if you have not even bothered to find how it is?, and I don’t understand, even educated people like you (fingering audience) laugh when somebody is insulting your intelligence like this?? (the audience who were having fun till now, quiet down as they realize they had not thought of it earlier).
Director: hey, you got a point there, how does a mental hospital look?
Guy: let’s go to one, and let me show you all.
SCENE - 2:
Scene of a mental hospital as it usually looks in most parts of the world. It is more like any ordinary hospital for physiological diseases. There are a few people going on about their business, some are lost in their own world. Some are doing meaningful work. The doctor is treating people in a humane way. One of the guys is seen as being discharged as he has recovered and moving out. Other inmates wish him luck just in the normal way. The director is walking around observing all this and he claps his hands with other inmates when they clap to give the recovered patient a warm goodbye. Claps and claps.
SCENE - 3:
At the two ends of stage two people are standing. A voice over comes and introduces them. Then guy-1 starts walking forward and is seen walking ahead all the time. Suddenly he closes his nose as if he has neared a smelly place. A person wearing the board pollution runs out to the stage and runs around guy-1 and disappears. Guy-1 gets a bit tired and droops, but within a few seconds straightens up and walks back normally.
Then guy-2 walks ahead, towards him a guy with board of pick-pocket runs and circles and disappears. The guy-2 after few seconds searches and finds his loss and droops for some seconds, then shrugs off and walks back normally. Similarly for guy-1 food poisoning comes and for guy-2 it is firing from his boss, and in the third round, infection through mosquito for guy-1 and death of a close person for guy-2. All three times they recover after momentary affect.
Then in the fourth round for guy-1 all three things come together and dance around him and he falls down, and when the dancers disappear he is wearing a board - typhoid. And for guy-2 all three things dance and he also falls down and is seen wearing a board MAD.
Voice over: when our body is imbalanced it shows symptoms - sometimes they are psychological symptoms and sometimes they are physiological and sometime a mixed effect. The person is not responsible for it totally in either case.
SCENE - 4:
again guy-1 and guy-2 are standing at 2 ends, guy-1 is cared by his family, but guy-2 with MAD as the board on him is kicked out and people are pushing him, laughing at him, kids throw stones at him etc. guy-1 recovers quickly, puts on the board on recovered from typhoid and is welcomed by his colleagues and relatives. Guy-2 is put in mental hospital and recovers slowly alone and is put on the board of recovered MAD.
When guy-2 returns home, a small kid runs to welcome him, but other older members restrain her and tells him to get lost, and that once MAD means always MAD. Onlookers also nod their heads to agree and laugh at the recovered mad guy-2 and push him away, kids throw stones at him, and everyone dance madly around him. When they go back, the guy-2 is put the board of MAD and he is lying down on the floor in pain.
Voice over: “discrimination done between a physiological and a mental disease is due to ignorance, nobody can change the chemical changes that happens in their brain just like nobody can kill cancer cells on their own. Both are diseases and these people need help and co-operation from outside world”.
SCENE - 5:
One guy comes in front and tells the audience that to help people in distress and improve our society we need unity, if we stand together we can overcome problems. Another actor then walks in and says we need mass education, and that knowledge is the key for a better future. The first guy is looking in astonishment when a third actor comes and says we need sympathy for others and peace in our heart and the world will become a paradise.
The two others push the third away and a fourth comes and says we need to have faith and belief, and only God can help us sinners, and fifth and sixth one come together and start saying technological advances are what we need to concentrate and sixth one yells justice and equality should be enforced and their is a pushing match and these people start yelling and hitting each other and mayhem and chaos reigns. One guy with a big placard written, “THIS WILL CONTINUE”, walks around the fighting people as the curtain falls. (To signify, good intentions also require team work and systematic efforts to reach fruitful stage, this is the punch line or twist at the end).
[This street-play won 2nd prize in Bombay Univ. annual fest. in ’97. Written and directed by Venky Iyer, Actors: Shashank, Deepa, Vidya, Indrayani, Atish, Venky (MA Psychology Dept) & Abhijit (Math Dept) and Samir].
Saturday, April 16, 2011
12) Dust
12) Dust
A smoldering fire,
Was blazing erect,
Aided by the windless night,
In the middle of darkness;
In the middle of darkness?
All around the fire,
Ghosts dancing in silent music
Their giant shadows falling,
In asymmetrical patterns;
In asymmetrical patterns?
Through the cracked earth,
Flow scenes from the past,
Broken dolls, burned papers
And rising in midst,
Dust of unrealized dreams.
A smoldering fire,
Was blazing erect,
Aided by the windless night,
In the middle of darkness;
In the middle of darkness?
All around the fire,
Ghosts dancing in silent music
Their giant shadows falling,
In asymmetrical patterns;
In asymmetrical patterns?
Through the cracked earth,
Flow scenes from the past,
Broken dolls, burned papers
And rising in midst,
Dust of unrealized dreams.
Friday, April 15, 2011
11) Dreamer
11) Dreamer
Her laugh defines freedom,
Her clothes casual than denim,
Her glance borders on carelessness,
Her eyes brim with mischievousness,
Her hair reminds me of an unruly child,
Her makeup invisible like wind,
Her attitude so damn cool,
Her books bricks in a wall,
Her face a treasury of myriad expressions,
Her walk breezy like air.
Her specs golden like her heart, I am sure
But her awareness, I am alive zero?
That’s all I want to change,
Maybe tomorrow.
Her laugh defines freedom,
Her clothes casual than denim,
Her glance borders on carelessness,
Her eyes brim with mischievousness,
Her hair reminds me of an unruly child,
Her makeup invisible like wind,
Her attitude so damn cool,
Her books bricks in a wall,
Her face a treasury of myriad expressions,
Her walk breezy like air.
Her specs golden like her heart, I am sure
But her awareness, I am alive zero?
That’s all I want to change,
Maybe tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
10) Dream
10) Dream
I had a long lost dream,
With the innocence of childhood,
Just a few seasons behind,
But unseen like last years rain.
A dream to awake, to hear the
Squeaking of heart, while lost in rat races,
Digging deeper into the mine,
Searching for the glittering dust.
It didn’t matter,
Whether I was waddling or walking,
As I stared through the thickening mist,
Up at the widening sky.
Lack of light, didn’t stop
Me, from stopping,
And to engrave my name in gold,
I am still running.
I had a long lost dream,
With the innocence of childhood,
Just a few seasons behind,
But unseen like last years rain.
A dream to awake, to hear the
Squeaking of heart, while lost in rat races,
Digging deeper into the mine,
Searching for the glittering dust.
It didn’t matter,
Whether I was waddling or walking,
As I stared through the thickening mist,
Up at the widening sky.
Lack of light, didn’t stop
Me, from stopping,
And to engrave my name in gold,
I am still running.
Monday, April 11, 2011
9) Cure
9) Cure
Pigments color the skin,
Climate affects complexion,
Creases come with age,
Changes a person a lot, care
And beauty is only skin deep;
Though curse I myself, later
Can’t seem to help craving,
To converse, caress,
Can’t afford the bills,
Can’t the ceaseless chatter bear
Yet, can’t seem to help suffering,
From countless heartaches.
But stops me not, all this awareness,
From falling again for a pretty face;
And can’t seem to find a cure,
For this confounded thing;
Seem so intense,
During their duration,
And fool me every time,
These hollow emotions…
Pigments color the skin,
Climate affects complexion,
Creases come with age,
Changes a person a lot, care
And beauty is only skin deep;
Though curse I myself, later
Can’t seem to help craving,
To converse, caress,
Can’t afford the bills,
Can’t the ceaseless chatter bear
Yet, can’t seem to help suffering,
From countless heartaches.
But stops me not, all this awareness,
From falling again for a pretty face;
And can’t seem to find a cure,
For this confounded thing;
Seem so intense,
During their duration,
And fool me every time,
These hollow emotions…
Saturday, April 09, 2011
8) Crush
8) Crush
Your casual clothes,
Your careless walk,
Your white hair band,
Your black watch
And the bag you carry,
Only half filled with books,
I like all those things about you.
Your mischievous curly strand of hair,
Which keep falling on your face,
Your black lovely eyes,
Which overflows with innocence,
Your sweet smile,
Which brightens up the whole place;
I like all those things about you.
I don’t know your name,
But it is as beautiful I am sure,
I haven’t heard your voice,
But I won’t come near,
Because I am afraid to hear,
The word, ‘No’
So I’ll stay away from you,
Until I can like even that word from you.
Your casual clothes,
Your careless walk,
Your white hair band,
Your black watch
And the bag you carry,
Only half filled with books,
I like all those things about you.
Your mischievous curly strand of hair,
Which keep falling on your face,
Your black lovely eyes,
Which overflows with innocence,
Your sweet smile,
Which brightens up the whole place;
I like all those things about you.
I don’t know your name,
But it is as beautiful I am sure,
I haven’t heard your voice,
But I won’t come near,
Because I am afraid to hear,
The word, ‘No’
So I’ll stay away from you,
Until I can like even that word from you.
Friday, April 08, 2011
7) Circus
7) Circus
Kids craning their necks,
Amidst feeble claps,
Smell of animal dung
And glaring lights all around.
Unusual acts performed
In colorful costumes.
People living on the edge,
Of fame and lameness.
The phony weights and
Fake roars,
And an accidental death,
In the final act.
In no man’s land,
Almost every year,
It comes and goes,
Leaving tent marks.
Because of a free pass,
I also went to see,
To find forgotten memories,
But were beyond remembrance.
Kids craning their necks,
Amidst feeble claps,
Smell of animal dung
And glaring lights all around.
Unusual acts performed
In colorful costumes.
People living on the edge,
Of fame and lameness.
The phony weights and
Fake roars,
And an accidental death,
In the final act.
In no man’s land,
Almost every year,
It comes and goes,
Leaving tent marks.
Because of a free pass,
I also went to see,
To find forgotten memories,
But were beyond remembrance.
6) Childhood
6) Childhood
Many memories surround,
Around my village pond,
Filled with dark green waters,
And one half with weeds.
School and to play after,
Scattered all over,
Four different god’s houses
And my punctual mates.
A time when home was a shelter,
Parents my protector,
Every companion a friend,
And any place a playground.
All the teachers cruel,
Every girl untouchable,
And each new day
Dawned with bright hopes.
Don’t remember how,
Got I transformed, now
Ask often god, why did you put
The best of life at first?
But it gave me,
A foundation filled with pleasure,
And to reminisce,
An era of happiness?
Many memories surround,
Around my village pond,
Filled with dark green waters,
And one half with weeds.
School and to play after,
Scattered all over,
Four different god’s houses
And my punctual mates.
A time when home was a shelter,
Parents my protector,
Every companion a friend,
And any place a playground.
All the teachers cruel,
Every girl untouchable,
And each new day
Dawned with bright hopes.
Don’t remember how,
Got I transformed, now
Ask often god, why did you put
The best of life at first?
But it gave me,
A foundation filled with pleasure,
And to reminisce,
An era of happiness?
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
5) Burial
5) Burial
As I walked toward sea,
Dark, silent, with quickly
Moving feet,
A funeral procession,
Turned the corner with me.
A black box,
Freshly screwed tight, covered
With white cloth, floated
On shoulders, along with
The rhythmically moving footsteps;
I followed.
Made heavy by dew drops,
Grass blades bent, touched and released,
Their burden on my feet, as I stood,
Alone in the burial grounds, unable to
Wipe out the memories, like tears,
As people did, when they left me,
Standing like the marble slabs
To let dew drops escape to the ground.
I left, trailing behind,
Etching strange patterns,
My unburied coffin.
As I walked toward sea,
Dark, silent, with quickly
Moving feet,
A funeral procession,
Turned the corner with me.
A black box,
Freshly screwed tight, covered
With white cloth, floated
On shoulders, along with
The rhythmically moving footsteps;
I followed.
Made heavy by dew drops,
Grass blades bent, touched and released,
Their burden on my feet, as I stood,
Alone in the burial grounds, unable to
Wipe out the memories, like tears,
As people did, when they left me,
Standing like the marble slabs
To let dew drops escape to the ground.
I left, trailing behind,
Etching strange patterns,
My unburied coffin.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
4) Blackness
4) Blackness
In a spot of darkness,
Changing their forms,
Images appeared,
The more I stared.
A house, a man or trees,
Reflected in the light of stars,
Till ennui took over,
Trying to understand the perceiver.
That vision returned in the night,
Now into a bottomless pit,
It transformed and made me sink,
Rang alarms, but I tried, not to wake.
The body’s weightless feeling,
Giving up of control, without fighting,
But treacherous eyes opened,
Dumping me back in solid bed.
Now without fear I return to the place,
Jump into that spot of darkness,
To explore again my forbidden self,
But bounce back to humdrum life.
In a spot of darkness,
Changing their forms,
Images appeared,
The more I stared.
A house, a man or trees,
Reflected in the light of stars,
Till ennui took over,
Trying to understand the perceiver.
That vision returned in the night,
Now into a bottomless pit,
It transformed and made me sink,
Rang alarms, but I tried, not to wake.
The body’s weightless feeling,
Giving up of control, without fighting,
But treacherous eyes opened,
Dumping me back in solid bed.
Now without fear I return to the place,
Jump into that spot of darkness,
To explore again my forbidden self,
But bounce back to humdrum life.
Monday, April 04, 2011
3) Atheist
3) Atheist
The wasted hours of praying,
In front of a stone carving,
And other ironical rituals,
Sets afire atheistical spirits.
Every god is a symbol,
And all religions a party, political,
They promise you an asylum or salvation;
Just like others, to stay in contention.
Because your parents, forced
You from your childhood,
Fearing the stigmas of society,
Bond you are with a (religious) party.
Held sacred the ancients, best sellers
Helped by longest ever campaigns,
But from mere followers of it,
Fanatical we’ve become, in spirit.
Compete with science, theories;
Like the world was created in seven days,
Or came through the navel, because of people,
Conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs.
The wasted hours of praying,
In front of a stone carving,
And other ironical rituals,
Sets afire atheistical spirits.
Every god is a symbol,
And all religions a party, political,
They promise you an asylum or salvation;
Just like others, to stay in contention.
Because your parents, forced
You from your childhood,
Fearing the stigmas of society,
Bond you are with a (religious) party.
Held sacred the ancients, best sellers
Helped by longest ever campaigns,
But from mere followers of it,
Fanatical we’ve become, in spirit.
Compete with science, theories;
Like the world was created in seven days,
Or came through the navel, because of people,
Conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs.
Friday, April 01, 2011
2) Anti-depressant
2) Anti-depressant
Will you ever know
The way you make me feel…
Even the thought of your tears... Makes me feel
Like a raging storm… blind in its fury.
Your absence… makes me feel
Like a scared, lonely child… on a corner.
Your eyes… make me feel
Like a gentle breeze’s heart… on a desert.
Your upward look… makes me feel
Like a fire, burning on… to consume itself.
Your smile… makes me feel
Like the sky… where birds fly.
Your silence... makes me feel
Like earth’s core… where volcanoes erupt.
Your teasing... makes me feel
Like calmness met chaos... and dance.
Your laughter... makes me feel
Like a mirror... be in that frame forever.
Your kind word... makes me feel
Like the morning… in a prayer.
You… make me feel
Like waking up... to dream again,
To find whether you will ever know
The way you make me feel…
Will you ever know
The way you make me feel…
Even the thought of your tears... Makes me feel
Like a raging storm… blind in its fury.
Your absence… makes me feel
Like a scared, lonely child… on a corner.
Your eyes… make me feel
Like a gentle breeze’s heart… on a desert.
Your upward look… makes me feel
Like a fire, burning on… to consume itself.
Your smile… makes me feel
Like the sky… where birds fly.
Your silence... makes me feel
Like earth’s core… where volcanoes erupt.
Your teasing... makes me feel
Like calmness met chaos... and dance.
Your laughter... makes me feel
Like a mirror... be in that frame forever.
Your kind word... makes me feel
Like the morning… in a prayer.
You… make me feel
Like waking up... to dream again,
To find whether you will ever know
The way you make me feel…
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
1) Another day
1) Another day
Crying children,
Shapeless houses,
Cracked footpaths,
Boisterous vendors,
My creased worn shoes
Moved around a banana peel.
Walking through the flow,
All alone in a sea of faces,
Covering the usual distance,
To the crammed office buildings,
Climbing up the wooden stairs,
Glared at the faulty lift.
Away from the dry brown designs,
Footfalls echoing around me,
Unconsciously adjusting the tie,
Sat on the sagged chair;
Looked through the piles of files,
To see the dress of stenographer.
Drinking the usual tea,
Waiting for the boss to come,
Wishing for an earthquake,
I started another day.
Crying children,
Shapeless houses,
Cracked footpaths,
Boisterous vendors,
My creased worn shoes
Moved around a banana peel.
Walking through the flow,
All alone in a sea of faces,
Covering the usual distance,
To the crammed office buildings,
Climbing up the wooden stairs,
Glared at the faulty lift.
Away from the dry brown designs,
Footfalls echoing around me,
Unconsciously adjusting the tie,
Sat on the sagged chair;
Looked through the piles of files,
To see the dress of stenographer.
Drinking the usual tea,
Waiting for the boss to come,
Wishing for an earthquake,
I started another day.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
who's faith is it anyway?
haven't been blogging since a long time, it seems.
been doing more facebooking than anything else on the net, as it seems to be the trend. everyone tends to go where they get feedback ;)
been hearing many queries about some topics again and again these days.. especially from the youth brigade. and was generally surfing net and found some cool articles - explaining exactly such topics.
so here are those links.
http://nirmukta.com/2010/01/14/reincarnation-rebirth-and-past-life-regression-therapy-in-india/
http://nirmukta.com/2010/01/21/review-the-god-market-how-globalization-is-making-india-more-hindu-by-meera-nanda/
http://nirmukta.com/2010/07/07/misunderstanding-freedom-of-speech-in-india-case-studies-islamist-zakir-naik-maoist-rebels-film-actress-kushboo-artist-mf-hussain/
http://nirmukta.com/2010/04/20/freeing-devi-a-pragmatist-argument-for-gender-equality-in-the-freethought-movement-in-india/
ofcourse, if you dont have time to read such stuff - you can just watch part-2 of kumar and harold go to white castle.. there are some other movies too, kinsey (2004), shortbus (2006), i can't think straight (2008) - which explore hithero taboo aspects of human mind. maybe faith & sexuality are topics not to be discussed at all, when there's weather. but global warming can be a potential disaster as well, as a conversation starter ;)
been doing more facebooking than anything else on the net, as it seems to be the trend. everyone tends to go where they get feedback ;)
been hearing many queries about some topics again and again these days.. especially from the youth brigade. and was generally surfing net and found some cool articles - explaining exactly such topics.
so here are those links.
http://nirmukta.com/2010/01/14/reincarnation-rebirth-and-past-life-regression-therapy-in-india/
http://nirmukta.com/2010/01/21/review-the-god-market-how-globalization-is-making-india-more-hindu-by-meera-nanda/
http://nirmukta.com/2010/07/07/misunderstanding-freedom-of-speech-in-india-case-studies-islamist-zakir-naik-maoist-rebels-film-actress-kushboo-artist-mf-hussain/
http://nirmukta.com/2010/04/20/freeing-devi-a-pragmatist-argument-for-gender-equality-in-the-freethought-movement-in-india/
ofcourse, if you dont have time to read such stuff - you can just watch part-2 of kumar and harold go to white castle.. there are some other movies too, kinsey (2004), shortbus (2006), i can't think straight (2008) - which explore hithero taboo aspects of human mind. maybe faith & sexuality are topics not to be discussed at all, when there's weather. but global warming can be a potential disaster as well, as a conversation starter ;)
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
tribal sports event
A tribal village, which i was able to visit had a lot to tell.
This small tribal village consisting of 8 families took up the challenge of organizing annual sports meet of about 100 villages from that area.
There are 2 other tribal villages villages nearby, with about altogether 50 families in them, who also helped this village to host this event. So in total 58 families are handling sportsmen/women from about 100 villages. there are about 80 teams of volleyball players (each team has at least 6 players), and there are kabaddi & kho-kho teams consisting of women.
A gathering of 700-900 people, how does just 3 villages, consisting of 58 families manage all the organizing and stay of so many people for 2-3 days during this sports meet?
Of course, their preparations had started early. They had collected rs. 100 from each family for expenses of this event. Rice & vegetables were donated by each family. Of course, all the tribal visitors (sports people) also brought in rice & vegetables etc. Which is their custom, and a very logical one in tribal forest areas where resources are not as plenty as in metro cities.
The villagers also had cleared a large area of field and worked together since months to grow vegetables etc. Which would be used during the 2-3 days of the event.
Prior to the event, these 3 village people decorated an open area, where volleyball court, another smaller but similar court for ring throwing, practide areas, ceremony area, small huts where guests can be seated, and a special shelter where tribal everyday artifacts were displayed. Every decoration was made from locally available material, such as bamboo, leaves, chaff, and colored with plant dyes. Even the bouquets given to guests were made from bamboo and local flowers stuck it.
Where would such cooperative work be seen in India except in tribal areas these days? How many families in a same locality would be willing to give up their meagre resources & human-power to host such an event? How many more years would such tribal villages exist? How long would it be before the CWG (common wealth games, which was a corrupt chaotic event in 2010 in India) style management virus will infect such sincere contributions for the community???
This small tribal village consisting of 8 families took up the challenge of organizing annual sports meet of about 100 villages from that area.
There are 2 other tribal villages villages nearby, with about altogether 50 families in them, who also helped this village to host this event. So in total 58 families are handling sportsmen/women from about 100 villages. there are about 80 teams of volleyball players (each team has at least 6 players), and there are kabaddi & kho-kho teams consisting of women.
A gathering of 700-900 people, how does just 3 villages, consisting of 58 families manage all the organizing and stay of so many people for 2-3 days during this sports meet?
Of course, their preparations had started early. They had collected rs. 100 from each family for expenses of this event. Rice & vegetables were donated by each family. Of course, all the tribal visitors (sports people) also brought in rice & vegetables etc. Which is their custom, and a very logical one in tribal forest areas where resources are not as plenty as in metro cities.
The villagers also had cleared a large area of field and worked together since months to grow vegetables etc. Which would be used during the 2-3 days of the event.
Prior to the event, these 3 village people decorated an open area, where volleyball court, another smaller but similar court for ring throwing, practide areas, ceremony area, small huts where guests can be seated, and a special shelter where tribal everyday artifacts were displayed. Every decoration was made from locally available material, such as bamboo, leaves, chaff, and colored with plant dyes. Even the bouquets given to guests were made from bamboo and local flowers stuck it.
Where would such cooperative work be seen in India except in tribal areas these days? How many families in a same locality would be willing to give up their meagre resources & human-power to host such an event? How many more years would such tribal villages exist? How long would it be before the CWG (common wealth games, which was a corrupt chaotic event in 2010 in India) style management virus will infect such sincere contributions for the community???
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
should tobacco be banned?
WHO estimates there are 1.1 billion smokers in the world. Now whether this number includes smokeless tobacco users is something i am trying to find. In developing countries poor people tend to chew tobacco, as its cheaper. Tobacco consumption is decreasing in developed countries and increasing in developing (poorer) countries.
Stats also show that More than 4 million people die each year from smoking related diseases. About half of all long-term smokers die of tobacco-related illnesses, and even more sadly, half of those die in middle age.
Many countries, especially developed countries like Canada, Australia shocking warnings are compulsory on tobacco products (such as, "tobacco is more addictive than heroin", "smoking when pregnant harms your baby")... but even such countries dont dare to ban tobacco products.
why? are they scared that banning tobacco would be bad for economy?
-the land used currently for tobacco farming could be easily utilized for another
eatable crop.
-since tobacco drains out the nutrient chemicals on farmland in larger quantities
than other crops, fertilizers are compulsory for tobacco farming, thus by
quitting tobacco farming, we would actually save our soil.
the people who will lose their jobs, if tobacco industry goes kaput... is a considerable problem initially.
similarly when tobacco is banned, productivity would go up (as people would be more healthy, and there would be less breaks), some more people could end up jobless.. but then VCR (video) cassette stores went out of business, and other such transitions which happen, the market would absorb these unemployed over the years.
the money saved on tobacco related ill health and its cost could be easily utilized to rehabilitate tobacco farmers & unemployed people for these few transitory years.
of course, even if all this doesn't convince the economic loss due to banning tobacco, you cant put money over life of over a million people every year...
the biggest killer of civilized world needs to be dealt with now!
Stats also show that More than 4 million people die each year from smoking related diseases. About half of all long-term smokers die of tobacco-related illnesses, and even more sadly, half of those die in middle age.
Many countries, especially developed countries like Canada, Australia shocking warnings are compulsory on tobacco products (such as, "tobacco is more addictive than heroin", "smoking when pregnant harms your baby")... but even such countries dont dare to ban tobacco products.
why? are they scared that banning tobacco would be bad for economy?
-the land used currently for tobacco farming could be easily utilized for another
eatable crop.
-since tobacco drains out the nutrient chemicals on farmland in larger quantities
than other crops, fertilizers are compulsory for tobacco farming, thus by
quitting tobacco farming, we would actually save our soil.
the people who will lose their jobs, if tobacco industry goes kaput... is a considerable problem initially.
similarly when tobacco is banned, productivity would go up (as people would be more healthy, and there would be less breaks), some more people could end up jobless.. but then VCR (video) cassette stores went out of business, and other such transitions which happen, the market would absorb these unemployed over the years.
the money saved on tobacco related ill health and its cost could be easily utilized to rehabilitate tobacco farmers & unemployed people for these few transitory years.
of course, even if all this doesn't convince the economic loss due to banning tobacco, you cant put money over life of over a million people every year...
the biggest killer of civilized world needs to be dealt with now!
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