Voice from Gorakhpur

It's been a few days since the Baba Raghav Das Medical College, Gorakhpur story broke out. 

There has been a lot of discussion about it since. Normally I'm never at a loss for words or for an opinion, but, to be honest, right now, I'm in no frame of mind to discuss the subject here.

Anyway, I’m sure it will eventually settle down, like all stories do. And everyone will just move on.

But right now, I'm STILL struggling to get my head around it.

How can we be SO callous as a society, that too towards babies? 

Some have tried to brush this off, saying it is routine for Gorakhpur due to encephalitis attacks. I’ve seen claims that there have been about 40,000 such deaths in the last four decades, so what’s the big deal now?

That is a horrendous number – I don’t even know if it is anywhere close to the truth. But whatever it is, this is a truly pathetic attempt to rationalize, or justify, these deaths.

If anything, it only shows how shamefully inadequate our healthcare is, especially outside the major metros. And, in particular, for those depending on government hospitals, not being of the AIIMS (or near-equivalent) label.

One can only hope that at least this shocking incident is a catalyst for serious and immediate action to step up healthcare in India.

None of this helps my current, tormented, state of mind though.

I've just not been able to get these deaths out of my head. Those pictures of babies in their parents' arms are haunting me.

Today, after a very long time, I wrote a few rhyming lines (I wouldn't dignify this by calling it poetry). I still write random stuff, mostly in my head, when I'm troubled within. It usually gives me a bit of relief.

So this is what I wrote today, with the face of that little dead baby in my mind all the time. I felt like he was talking to me, talking to all of us. 

Aaya tha jahaan mein tumhaare
main ek nanhaa taara
socha tha aanchal mein tumhaare
milega mujhe sahaara

chhod diya kyon maut ke dar par
tha nahin main bechaara?
jeene ka mujhe haq nahin kya
haq hai ye sirf tumhaara?

yaad main aaoon, aansoon laoon
mujhe nahin ye ganwaara
jab tak na hota yakeen mujhko
ye kabhi na hoga dobaara

I'm SO sorry, I'm SO sorry! 

The Demonetisation Saga

"Demonetisation Saga", this thread

Let's see, where it has led

“Couldn’t have done better”, they said

Yet in queues, people falling dead

“No pain, no gain”, they said

Ever smug, not a tear shed

 “Minor inconvenience”, they said

Across the country, havoc spread

“For long-term good”, they said

What good ,and when, left unsaid

“Think of soldiers at the border”, they said

Just another way, to mess with your head 

“Kept it top-secret”, they said

But clear signs some did know ahead

“The corrupt are quaking”, they said

It’s the poor who’re breaking instead

“Will eliminate black money”, they said

Looks like it’s turning white instead

“Just go cashless”, they said

Nonchalant, as cash-heavy India bled

“Give us fifty days”, they said

Soon made it hundred-and-eighty instead

“Worked on it for ten months”, they said

So it wasn't a "rush of blood" to head

While "success" stories to us are daily fed

All we can do is keep banging our head

***

Namma Bengaluru (Our Bangalore)

The purpose of this poem is not to criticize, but to reflect.
Not just on WHAT we are doing, but HOW we're doing it.
Ask ourselves: Even if what we're doing makes sense, is this the best way?

---------
I remember a Bangalore green

Its roads lined with trees

Its weather, everyone’s envy

All day, a cool breeze

‘Twas the pride of India

Its Garden City, no less

Who could’ve thought this city of charm

Would end up in such a mess

But the state and people alike

Gave in to their innate greed

The once “pensioners’ paradise”

Was left to go to seed

Aye, a city must grow

To modern times, adapt

If only this were done with care

The changes would’ve been apt

But now just bricks and mortar

Stack up each corner and nook

Broken pavements, traffic and crowds

Anywhere you look

The summer sun now burns

As it does the city taunt

No escape from me, it says

Try as hard as you want

Oh, how the heart now yearns

For that cool breeze of yore

But the sad truth for one and all

Is, it’ll return no more

Morning coffee

The hustle, the bustle

The flexing of the muscle

Cars at the signal

Like ants in a beeline

Furrowed foreheads

Impatient, raring to press on

From a distance I observe

This world around me

Buzzing, frenzied, frenetic

I quietly smile to myself

Lazing in my chair

Sipping my morning coffee

Is the world mad?
Or am I?

When you say nothing at all...

When you say nothing at all

I feel you tell me more

Than when you speak

When you say nothing at all

Your eyes tell me

What words can never express

When you say nothing at all

I know that within

You are hurting, real bad

When you say nothing at all

Inside you are crying

Even if your eyes are dry

When you say nothing at all

You cause me more pain

Than when you speak

So talk to me, tell me

I implore you, tell me

Speak to me

Tell me what pains you

Tell me what’s hurting you

Tell me

Speak to me

That I may share your pain

For what it’s worth

Speak to me

For you kill me

When you say nothing at all

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Ode to the humble rose

From the day you first see light

From when you breathe as a bud

You know it’s a matter of time

‘Fore you lie crushed in mud

To bloom is to surely die

Ripe for an eager pluck

Yet bloom you certainly must

It’s a fate you cannot buck

A lady’s hair you adorn

Or to a bouquet you belong

Or, into a garland you go

You know you can never do wrong

Even as petals, you serve

To the Lord, they offer you so

Or, you lie on a person’s grave

On his last journey, with him you go

So short though your life may be

You have no grouse, grief or ire

For a rose lives not for its own sake

It lives for another’s desire.

(Pic courtesy http://sarabbit.openphoto.net/gallery/ )

This post is written as part of the write tribe initiative.

RIP Cricket (1877-2013)

Once upon a time

Not so long ago

There was a sport called cricket

That I loved to follow.

With bat and ball

And stumps and bails

Runs and wickets

And legends and tales.

The Ashes and Bradman

Sobers, and games tied

I read up on them all

With eyes ever wide.

Marshall to Gavaskar

Chandra to Richards

The magic, sheer magic

Of contests revered.

Was simpler back then

Little money, less support

Players, made but a bit

The game, much a sport.

Then along came the merchants

With dollars in their eyes

One mantra on their lips

Monetize, monetize, monetize.

Fair game indeed, why not

For the times were not the same

And he, who goes not with the flow

Has only himself to blame.

But then, alas, disaster

For it all went just too far

The greed, it killed the sport

A million cuts, many a scar.

So died the game called cricket

A business now in its place

In the quest for money and more

The game died, nary a trace.

R.I.P, cricket (as I knew it).

Moving on!

I hear tales

Of lands, far and near

From people who’ve lived

Across oceans, without fear

Tales, rich with fabric

Of discoveries new

Sounding ever so often                   

Just too good to be true

My schoolmates from days gone

Now miles and miles away

Scattered around the world

Australia, Europe, USA

But I’ve stayed put here

This same home since birth

Sometimes when I reflect

I wonder what it’s worth

Yes, seeds I once sowed

Are now fully grown trees

I look at them with pride

When they sway in the breeze

But not all’s been good

There’s been sadness too

There’ve been losses along the way

That I have had to rue

My friendly grocer’s no more

I do so miss his smile

He used to give me goodies

And compliment my style

The library’s gone as well

There’s a gaming club instead

What was once a regular haunt

Is now a place I dread

The field where once I played

Now all bricks and mortar

The sky, once bright and clear

Now more and more a blur

I fear if I’m here longer

I’ll be a relic of the past

The body’s not quite itself now

And the mind’s losing it fast

True, where you grow up is special

And fond memories do remain

But it’s time for new pastures now

Else life’s too mundane.

The ultimate reality-check

Relativity, best explained

Perspective, best obtained

Brittleness, redefined

White cloak, cloak of God

Nurses, high alert

Every second, pregnant

Tension, knife-cuttable

Atheists, momentary theists

Looks in eyes, desperation-hope mingled

The unthinkable, gaining mindspace

Memories, flashing by at jetspeed

Regrets, lots

Jokes, unfunny

Fingers, crossed

Sleep, alien.

The Emergency ward of a hospital.

Where life gets its ultimate reality-check.

 (Pic courtesy morguefile ). 

This post has been written as part of the write tribe initiative.

In the ultimate analysis

You come into this world with nothin’

And with absolutely nothin’ you go

Twixt this first instant and last

You live the life you know

At first a life as a baby

Face shining with a peaceful glow

Crying, eating, sleeping

One day, into a child you grow

As a child, your world’s a wonder

Every day you feel a hero

Playing games, indoors and outdoors

Into a teenager you grow

As a teen, your mind’s restless

And so tantrums you throw

Everyone’s now on your back

Till into an adult you grow

As an adult, your world’s very different

Work, and a family in tow

It’s a long and arduous journey at times

Till into old age you go

As an old man, you’re counting the years

Your mind and body now slow

Much of your journey’s a flashback

Till one day, it’s time to go

Lying still, bones and flesh

At best, in a suit and a bow

You’re finally back to where you began

With neither friend nor foe

This is the simple truth, my friend

This is all we have to show

In the ultimate analysis, we’re all the same

So please, can we shed that ego?

This crazy mind

This crazy mind

Grabbing at the air

The air laughing mischievously

As if saying

Catch me if you can.

All that’s left

Is a clenched fist.

Open it,

And it’s empty.

Nothingness stares back.

This crazy mind

Needs to pick its battles.

Not the air.

Or the space without.

But the space within.

Its adversary

Or ally, seen another way

Is, but of its own making.

For it is itself

One, or the other.

This crazy mind

Oh, the complexity!

Or the beauty, seen another way.

For it is both,

The one, and the other.

This crazy mind

What it sees, thinks...

Does it see roses?

Or the thorns, seen another way?

For it is both,

The one, and the other.

You are what you think.

  

Paani, paani re... Water! Water!

Shekhar Kapur, noted film director, is far more than just a film director. He has been taking up various public causes from time to time - most recently, and vocally, on water.

Today he has published an article in Tehelka magazine, raising some extremely pertinent questions. Whose water is it anyway? Who owns the groundwater? Who owns the rivers?

His article can be found here.

Inspired by his article, I have penned a few lines myself on this subject.

Paani, paani re (Water! Water!)
-----------------

Kabhi kudrat ki den thi

Amoolya aur bharpoor

Humne hi nahin ki qadr

Hai hamara hi qasoor

Hamari ye nadiyaan

Aur poonji neeche zameen ke

Sabko hamne hai kiya nasht

Rahenge na hum kaheen ke

Makaan banaayen hum zor shor se

Aur tanker se paani mangwaayen

Jo haq hamesha tha har kisi ka

Usi par hum ab mol lagwaayen

Abhi to hai shuruvaat kisse ki

Abhi to hona hai bhayankar

Jab gali gali mein jang chhidegi

Bachaane na aayega Ram ya Shankar

Translation

Once it was a gift of nature

Invaluable and plentiful

It is we who failed to respect it

It is we who are to blame

These rivers of ours

And this wealth under our land

We have destroyed them all

We will end up nowhere

We build buildings with great enthusiasm

And we order water in tankers

What was once every man's right

We now put a price on it

This is just the beginning

This is going to get even scarier

When there are battles on every street

Even your Ram or Shankar (Shiv) will not come to save you!

Transliteration

पानी पानी रॆ
-----------------
कभी कुदरत की देन थी
अमूल्य और भरपूर
हमने ही नही की कद्र 
है हमारा ही कसूर

हमारी सारी नदियाँ 

और पूंजी नीचे ज़मीन के
सबको हमने है किया नष्ट 
रहेंगे ना हम कहीं के

मकान बनाएं हम ज़ोर-शोर से
और टैंकर से पानी मंगवाएं 
जो हक़ हमेशा था हर किसी का
उसी पर हम अब मोल लगवाएं

अभी तो है शुरुवात किस्से की
अभी तो होना है भयंकर
जब गली गली मे जंग छिड़ेगी 
बचाने ना आएगा राम या शंकर

Maharashtra Drought - Reading a farmer's mind!

The Indian state of Maharashtra is facing a drought of gigantic proportions. Vast sections of the state are reeling under drought. 

The deputy Chief Minister of the State, Ajit Pawar, visited the affected areas. He was once Water Resources Minister of the State and, thanks to some shocking decisions taken in his time and large-scale corruption, is largely responsible for the current state of affairs.

In a speech during his recent visit, let alone being of any help or support to the locals, all he could do was to mock at their situation. He made a shocking statement saying something like "What do you expect me to do? Urinate to fill the dams?"

THIS is the level of sensitivity of some of our politicians! This remark just exemplifies the huge chasm that exists between those in power and those on the ground.

I tried to put myself in a farmer's position to imagine what he must be going through. This poem is a result - a reflection of his mind.

-------

Kadakti hai dhoop

Pyaase hain honth

Bache hain bilbilaate

Par ek boond paani nahin

Patte hain sookhe

Daraar hain zameen par

Baarish ki nahin aasha

Haalaat ye insaani nahin

Kis ko sunaayen dukhda

Kya kya hum bataayen

Aankhon mein khud dekh lo

Kya dikhti hairaani nahin

Aaye the sheher se wo

Dekhne haalat apni

Hans diye munh par wo

Jaise unki pareshaani nahin

Jald aayega wo din bhi

Baari hogi hamaari

Dikhayenge unko hum

Chalegi unki man-maani nahin

Translation

The sun beats down relentlessly

The lips are parched

The children cry non-stop

But there's not one drop of water

The leaves have all dried up

There are cracks on the ground

There's no hope of rain

These are inhuman conditions

Who do we tell our tale to

What all do we tell them

If you just look into my eyes

Can't you see for yourself my misery?

He had come from the city

To check out our condition

He laughed at us to our face

As if it is none of his problem

That day is not far away

When it will be our turn

Then we will show you

You cannot always get your way!!!

 ***