mmmm... the man who makes 9 to 5 tea, in my college staff room,
standing in a small cramped kitchen area, in an adhoc job for the
past fourteen years, with the FM blaring morbid songs,
sometimes i go in and see him putting in crushed
ginger slices into the tea for the teachers he likes..
they haven't asked for it, he just made it up,
and i am sure he spits into the cups of all those bulldozers -
those big ass mouth nose spectacle professors,
who call out to him like he is a criminal.
and my college-tea-man with those automatic arms,
i see him so angry and irritated these days, something bad
has happened to him, i am sure if he could, he would write
poems and put them in a bottle and let it float in the yamuna..
and one day it would reach his sweetheart, and of course that
day he would be made permanent,
and when he comes to distribute his wedding sweets in the staff room,
the quiet and morose looking teacher in the physics department
would smile at him and say, hey, i was in love with you,
but now its too late, congrats anyways..why not?
and i will come here to write these lines...aren't we all creative?.
what is the big deal, friend, i don't understand..
Friday, January 23, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
: x
o god i hate everybody so much i want to be on the street with
words in my cheeks...
its not bones i want to break, stab their hot face,
just this ugly mistake, want to squeeze it into
a mustard seed, and swallow this hate,
and when my disease lies at their feet
they can say
she was just hot tempered, a barometer,
got up in anger, came down like rain
she was so loving, she was our best friend
and then she went out and called a press conference on truth...
o god what did she do !!!!
words in my cheeks...
its not bones i want to break, stab their hot face,
just this ugly mistake, want to squeeze it into
a mustard seed, and swallow this hate,
and when my disease lies at their feet
they can say
she was just hot tempered, a barometer,
got up in anger, came down like rain
she was so loving, she was our best friend
and then she went out and called a press conference on truth...
o god what did she do !!!!
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Why i am still a hindu: as revealed in a bad dream
This is a real dream i had after i went to sleep, somewhere around 8 this morning.
We want to talk. It is really late. But we are feminists. We are not supposed
to be afraid. We are walking down a dark midnight kerala road. I start getting
more and more afraid. I want to feel safe. Lets go where there are some people,
shyly i tell her. Did she want to walk on? I don't remember...
We see a huge bulding. And even as i say, lets go in, i realize that it is a temple.
Celebrating a midnight festival. Inside the temple in an auditorium made of granite
stones, there are women in bright blue and pink Benares sarees
(aren't dreams supposed to be black and white? But i am so sure i saw pink).
And there are also those letchy, orange, hindu swamis, reputed to having killed many.
We step in without thinking, and the swamis welcome us warmly, making me feel queazy,
uncomfortable...
We sit down on a cold granite seat, under the thick dark starless sky. We see a
huge temple pond before us. And in it there are these specks of light floating.
Something huge is about to happen and all the rich temple people are waiting.
We start to feel guilty. I feel it most coz i am the one who manoeuvred this move,
away from the rape fantasies of the dark, midnight road.
I know we ought not to be sitting here. We who have renounced our crazy religion,
that tells us that we are second hand citizens. That strips us of our healthy humanity
and yet prods us to hate and kill. We try to read an intellectual magazine, which
materializes from nowhere, in some show of feeble resistance.
She lies in my lap. At that moment i find her way too attractive and
i realize that i want to sleep with her. She plays with my hair. The temple
awaits its festivities.
Suddenly i spot Farida's face in the crowd that has formed before me.
She still has her sweet flick on her forehead. It looks prettier than usual.
But Farida looks like a ghost and she looks terrible SAD. Her face is pale,
and she slants it sadly to one side. Her eyes are flowing downward with
sorrow. And she sits there refusing to look at me.
I feel i have done her immesnse wrong. Like i am a scrawny, brown,
broomstick man, who can do nothing but hide his face in shame before
his jilted lover. The way i always have felt with her, especially towards
the end. Now that comes back a hundred fold and the dream becomes
a nightmare.
I want to get away, away from the temple. I tell the woman with me that
i want to leave.
We are on the road now which suddenly turns into a long glass-
framed airport corridor, which is endless. The woman with me
becomes a ballerina in a white billowy skirt and stands talking to a man
in a velvet suit. I am left alone in the corridor.
The glass frame is so transparent that it almost feels like i am standing
in the open, looking at the sky. And i almost forget that i am trapped.
Suddenly i remember, panic and wake up -
We want to talk. It is really late. But we are feminists. We are not supposed
to be afraid. We are walking down a dark midnight kerala road. I start getting
more and more afraid. I want to feel safe. Lets go where there are some people,
shyly i tell her. Did she want to walk on? I don't remember...
We see a huge bulding. And even as i say, lets go in, i realize that it is a temple.
Celebrating a midnight festival. Inside the temple in an auditorium made of granite
stones, there are women in bright blue and pink Benares sarees
(aren't dreams supposed to be black and white? But i am so sure i saw pink).
And there are also those letchy, orange, hindu swamis, reputed to having killed many.
We step in without thinking, and the swamis welcome us warmly, making me feel queazy,
uncomfortable...
We sit down on a cold granite seat, under the thick dark starless sky. We see a
huge temple pond before us. And in it there are these specks of light floating.
Something huge is about to happen and all the rich temple people are waiting.
We start to feel guilty. I feel it most coz i am the one who manoeuvred this move,
away from the rape fantasies of the dark, midnight road.
I know we ought not to be sitting here. We who have renounced our crazy religion,
that tells us that we are second hand citizens. That strips us of our healthy humanity
and yet prods us to hate and kill. We try to read an intellectual magazine, which
materializes from nowhere, in some show of feeble resistance.
She lies in my lap. At that moment i find her way too attractive and
i realize that i want to sleep with her. She plays with my hair. The temple
awaits its festivities.
Suddenly i spot Farida's face in the crowd that has formed before me.
She still has her sweet flick on her forehead. It looks prettier than usual.
But Farida looks like a ghost and she looks terrible SAD. Her face is pale,
and she slants it sadly to one side. Her eyes are flowing downward with
sorrow. And she sits there refusing to look at me.
I feel i have done her immesnse wrong. Like i am a scrawny, brown,
broomstick man, who can do nothing but hide his face in shame before
his jilted lover. The way i always have felt with her, especially towards
the end. Now that comes back a hundred fold and the dream becomes
a nightmare.
I want to get away, away from the temple. I tell the woman with me that
i want to leave.
We are on the road now which suddenly turns into a long glass-
framed airport corridor, which is endless. The woman with me
becomes a ballerina in a white billowy skirt and stands talking to a man
in a velvet suit. I am left alone in the corridor.
The glass frame is so transparent that it almost feels like i am standing
in the open, looking at the sky. And i almost forget that i am trapped.
Suddenly i remember, panic and wake up -
Friday, December 19, 2008
student politics
i must describe her before i sleep tonight. starting with the huge college tree,
that must be deaf by now, listening to all that noise, for the last half of a century.
we sat under it on plastic chairs..
i must tell you about her muddy chocolate skin, her smooth eyes,
the sparkle of her intellectual spectacles.
she denied knowing bhojpuri, though i never asked her.
she denied that she was an intellectual,
though i did not even suggest it,
and she described herself as a kid of the modern world
she did not want to be dry, grey, stay stuck in libraries
yes she was intelligent and her mind never stopped working
(and her tongue never stopped talking)
but she did not want to waste it on a teaching career
(smart kid) lecturing students who knew only
to bunk classes.
instead
she wanted to use her brain to bring in the moolah,
yes that is what she said
coz she wanted a great and comfortable live
and help her poor father out
yes i am reading derrida right now
no its not part of the course,
but i feel fascinated with the way he talks about language
m'am its true what he says, why should we call this tree a tree, m'am,
we can call it a dog, cant we?
but i am not going to get into all that
do you think event management will suit me?
or should i try and be a radio jockey?
and eventually i can start my own channel,
like anil shrivastav of thodi catty thodi meeti?
or is it better i try for the corporate sector?
what do you think m'am?
am i disturbing you?
do tell me if you have any work, like
preparing the mark lists or attendance sheets,
shall i get you some more tea,
from the canteen?
you know i am very traditional,
i believe in guru dakshina, you
are my guru m'am, i am waiting
for you to guide me through !!!
(oh god, now what will i do?)
that must be deaf by now, listening to all that noise, for the last half of a century.
we sat under it on plastic chairs..
i must tell you about her muddy chocolate skin, her smooth eyes,
the sparkle of her intellectual spectacles.
she denied knowing bhojpuri, though i never asked her.
she denied that she was an intellectual,
though i did not even suggest it,
and she described herself as a kid of the modern world
she did not want to be dry, grey, stay stuck in libraries
yes she was intelligent and her mind never stopped working
(and her tongue never stopped talking)
but she did not want to waste it on a teaching career
(smart kid) lecturing students who knew only
to bunk classes.
instead
she wanted to use her brain to bring in the moolah,
yes that is what she said
coz she wanted a great and comfortable live
and help her poor father out
yes i am reading derrida right now
no its not part of the course,
but i feel fascinated with the way he talks about language
m'am its true what he says, why should we call this tree a tree, m'am,
we can call it a dog, cant we?
but i am not going to get into all that
do you think event management will suit me?
or should i try and be a radio jockey?
and eventually i can start my own channel,
like anil shrivastav of thodi catty thodi meeti?
or is it better i try for the corporate sector?
what do you think m'am?
am i disturbing you?
do tell me if you have any work, like
preparing the mark lists or attendance sheets,
shall i get you some more tea,
from the canteen?
you know i am very traditional,
i believe in guru dakshina, you
are my guru m'am, i am waiting
for you to guide me through !!!
(oh god, now what will i do?)
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
c'est la vie
and this is called life..
you wake up to a morning with such swirling winds
lilting upon the curtains, hesitating near the green door
that opens to the garden that has woken up in haste,
all her yellow leaves untangled, and you read
chapter 12 from book 3 for class 202, in room no
047, to a set of students who don't want to
listen to anything..and then you come on a
rickshaw that is so cold and sick, hands like
ice sticks, and you almost cry reading the story
of the rajput guard who went mad, not able to
take shit and the rickshaw mans reminds you
that he has to drop you and go attend
a meeting, you try to whisper to him,
he does not listen. and then in class, where
students get business calls, you control the noise
acting strict.. and they cant believe it, m'am,
its so cold today give us attendance, let us leave..
and this is called life, the best alone day of the month
is spoiled.. and you just want to get into the sheets
and sleep, but the metro, the kid..when i meet her
will i be happier, will the splash of pink on her
lips make me smile..
Monday, November 24, 2008
paradise lost
Psychological impact of violence on Kashmiris in India
Kashif-ul-Huda
Kashif-ul-Huda
Twenty years of violence between Indian Army and Kashmiri militants
has resulted in at least 20,000 deaths and 4,000 displaced, according
to the government figures. But the toll is even greater in terms of
psychological damage to the population. A recent study that looked at
the psychological health found that a third of the study participants
had contemplated suicide, a sign of extreme psychological distress.
The study published in the latest issue of peer reviewed journal
"Conflict and Health" was conducted by organization Medecins Sans
Frontieres (MSF)'s, Simon Fraser University of Canada, and Utrecht
University of Netherlands.
Study interviewed 510 Kashmiris living in Indian Kashmir. It found
over one-third of respondents have symptoms of psychological distress
and women show significantly higher level of distress. Feeling of
insecurity was a major reason for the higher levels of psychological
distress.
Survey was conducted in 2005 and includes 270 males and 240 females.
The most striking finding of the study is that one-third of those
surveyed had thought about ending their life in the past 30 days of
the survey. The survey found that there was a difference in the
reasons of psychological distress between males and females. Males who
had self-experienced i.e. if they had been arrested, tortured, or
abused show higher level of distress. Kashimiri women, on the other
hand displayed psychological problem by just witnessing the events.
In the scientific paper the authors explain that "for males, violation
of modesty, forced displacement, and disability were all associated
with a significantly increased likelihood (three times the odds) of
suffering from psychological distress. For women, the witnessing of
people being killed or tortured or dependency on outside assistance
doubled the odds of suffering psychological distress."
The data tabulated in the paper is very shocking when you consider
that 63% of the respondents have seen wounded people. 40% have
witnessed people being killed, 67% have seen other being tortured and
13% have witnessed rape.
44% of the respondents experienced being abused and 11% claimed that
their modesty was violated.
The level of psychological problem was found to be much higher than
similar studies done elsewhere in India and even when the cutoff score
was set to a conservative standard. When the cutoff score was lowered
to the Indian study the psychological distress was found to be over
71%.
Though one-third reported having suicidal thoughts, it does not always
result in a suicide attempt. But according to one estimate about
60,000 Kashmiris did commit suicide, last year.
Withdrawing themselves or isolating themselves was the most preferred
way of coping with the psychological problem. About half of them
showed aggressive behavior. Many turned to religion as a source of
support and finding peace.
Even though Kashmir lacks proper mental health care facility, still,
over 60% of the respondents visited the health clinic to seek help.
Some visited more than once in the 30 days immediately before the
study interview, and women found to be visiting health facilities more
than men.
The impact of violence, threat, and alertness has adversely affected
armed forces too. Elevated level of psychological problem is seen
among Indian Army personnel deployed in Kashmir. Past January, Indian
Army hired 400 psychiatrists to help control the high numbers of
suicides in its ranks.
Government should spend more money in improving mental health care
facilities for the people and the soldiers. Those fighting this battle
for Kashmir should stop and see what this battle for land is doing to
the people living on this land.
Kashif-ul-Huda
(The author is the Editor of news website: www.TwoCircles.net)
Published in
Asian Tribune, Bangkok, Thailand
Ghana News, Accra, Ghana
The Guatemala Times, Guatemala
Citizen News Service (CNS)
Bihar Times, Patna, Bihar
Zim News, Harare, Zimbabwe
Defence - Pakistan
My News, Delhi
News from Bangladesh, Dhaka, Bangladesh
The Bangladesh Today, Dhaka, Bangladesh
The New Nation, Dhaka, Bangladesh
News Blaze, USA
Pakistan Post, Karachi, Pakistan
Bihar and Jharkhand News Service (BJNS)
Op-Ed News (OEN)
News Track India, Delhi
Media for Freedom, Kathmandu,Nepal
has resulted in at least 20,000 deaths and 4,000 displaced, according
to the government figures. But the toll is even greater in terms of
psychological damage to the population. A recent study that looked at
the psychological health found that a third of the study participants
had contemplated suicide, a sign of extreme psychological distress.
The study published in the latest issue of peer reviewed journal
"Conflict and Health" was conducted by organization Medecins Sans
Frontieres (MSF)'s, Simon Fraser University of Canada, and Utrecht
University of Netherlands.
Study interviewed 510 Kashmiris living in Indian Kashmir. It found
over one-third of respondents have symptoms of psychological distress
and women show significantly higher level of distress. Feeling of
insecurity was a major reason for the higher levels of psychological
distress.
Survey was conducted in 2005 and includes 270 males and 240 females.
The most striking finding of the study is that one-third of those
surveyed had thought about ending their life in the past 30 days of
the survey. The survey found that there was a difference in the
reasons of psychological distress between males and females. Males who
had self-experienced i.e. if they had been arrested, tortured, or
abused show higher level of distress. Kashimiri women, on the other
hand displayed psychological problem by just witnessing the events.
In the scientific paper the authors explain that "for males, violation
of modesty, forced displacement, and disability were all associated
with a significantly increased likelihood (three times the odds) of
suffering from psychological distress. For women, the witnessing of
people being killed or tortured or dependency on outside assistance
doubled the odds of suffering psychological distress."
The data tabulated in the paper is very shocking when you consider
that 63% of the respondents have seen wounded people. 40% have
witnessed people being killed, 67% have seen other being tortured and
13% have witnessed rape.
44% of the respondents experienced being abused and 11% claimed that
their modesty was violated.
The level of psychological problem was found to be much higher than
similar studies done elsewhere in India and even when the cutoff score
was set to a conservative standard. When the cutoff score was lowered
to the Indian study the psychological distress was found to be over
71%.
Though one-third reported having suicidal thoughts, it does not always
result in a suicide attempt. But according to one estimate about
60,000 Kashmiris did commit suicide, last year.
Withdrawing themselves or isolating themselves was the most preferred
way of coping with the psychological problem. About half of them
showed aggressive behavior. Many turned to religion as a source of
support and finding peace.
Even though Kashmir lacks proper mental health care facility, still,
over 60% of the respondents visited the health clinic to seek help.
Some visited more than once in the 30 days immediately before the
study interview, and women found to be visiting health facilities more
than men.
The impact of violence, threat, and alertness has adversely affected
armed forces too. Elevated level of psychological problem is seen
among Indian Army personnel deployed in Kashmir. Past January, Indian
Army hired 400 psychiatrists to help control the high numbers of
suicides in its ranks.
Government should spend more money in improving mental health care
facilities for the people and the soldiers. Those fighting this battle
for Kashmir should stop and see what this battle for land is doing to
the people living on this land.
Kashif-ul-Huda
(The author is the Editor of news website: www.TwoCircles.net)
Published in
Asian Tribune, Bangkok, Thailand
Ghana News, Accra, Ghana
The Guatemala Times, Guatemala
Citizen News Service (CNS)
Bihar Times, Patna, Bihar
Zim News, Harare, Zimbabwe
Defence - Pakistan
My News, Delhi
News from Bangladesh, Dhaka, Bangladesh
The Bangladesh Today, Dhaka, Bangladesh
The New Nation, Dhaka, Bangladesh
News Blaze, USA
Pakistan Post, Karachi, Pakistan
Bihar and Jharkhand News Service (BJNS)
Op-Ed News (OEN)
News Track India, Delhi
Media for Freedom, Kathmandu,Nepal
Saturday, November 22, 2008
tell me what is the time?
even gmail has themes now.
if there is a theme for my life, then this is it..this is it..
the sketch of a careless clock. the long needle is twisted like in a dali painting...the small one does not exist. and i am sitting against a wall where this broken clock hangs like a giant's shadow.and the look on my face looks absolutely desperate.
but there is a bottle of fun in my hand and around my neck there are long necklaces with junk, party jewels. and there is an eerie voice somewhere in the painting, i dont know how to paint that, which keeps repeating in the worst monotone that can ever be imagined: tell me, what is the time? tell me what is the time? tell me what is the time?
oh i have to cook !
i have to make that stupid silly sambar i promised my family and they believed it like stupid silly people.. B even took care to arrange the hing and the sambar powder on the kitchen shelf, with the sullen and silent reminder that i better make dal or else!
or else what? nothing. i will just fall further from the status of being woman, human, mother, wife...
as if i care !!
omg, i have to finish writing that book !!
he will call me today i am sure, with all those smiles and that kindness, which is far worse than axes that break your head. and i will feel my stomach throbbing with what i now recognize as the worst attack of squeamishness or guilt..
but everything passes.. the conversation will end, i will squeeze the end button like a ripe pimple, and i will throw the mobile into the heaps of clothes on the bed - btw i really have to wash my clothes or what will i wear to college on monday? - so that i wont even hear it when he calls me next time, and i will forget all about it !!!
i have to correct that thesis on english language teaching in yemen. that man has been begging and pleading for those last thrity pages: madam, i am writing you again, after waiting for more than three weeks...
as if i even complete reading it! or far worse, am i beginning to get some pleasure making him plead?
i need to get an hair cut. i need to make those life changing calls that i promised to jane, jeena and jessy (and of course, tom, dick and harry) and i need to at least reply mails that have been patiently asking me for the nth time, whether i can find some time to write back at least once, so that they can make some move, some decision, take a position, go hit someone, etc, etc...
i need a new painting on my lonely wall that feels no commitment to no one or anything at all. i need a real clock there, with real solid needles, that show the time. and the eerie ghastly voice needs to be replaced with the mechanics of tick tick tock...
and at any given point, i need to be able to give the right answer to anyone who asks: tell me what is the time?
if there is a theme for my life, then this is it..this is it..
the sketch of a careless clock. the long needle is twisted like in a dali painting...the small one does not exist. and i am sitting against a wall where this broken clock hangs like a giant's shadow.and the look on my face looks absolutely desperate.
but there is a bottle of fun in my hand and around my neck there are long necklaces with junk, party jewels. and there is an eerie voice somewhere in the painting, i dont know how to paint that, which keeps repeating in the worst monotone that can ever be imagined: tell me, what is the time? tell me what is the time? tell me what is the time?
oh i have to cook !
i have to make that stupid silly sambar i promised my family and they believed it like stupid silly people.. B even took care to arrange the hing and the sambar powder on the kitchen shelf, with the sullen and silent reminder that i better make dal or else!
or else what? nothing. i will just fall further from the status of being woman, human, mother, wife...
as if i care !!
omg, i have to finish writing that book !!
he will call me today i am sure, with all those smiles and that kindness, which is far worse than axes that break your head. and i will feel my stomach throbbing with what i now recognize as the worst attack of squeamishness or guilt..
but everything passes.. the conversation will end, i will squeeze the end button like a ripe pimple, and i will throw the mobile into the heaps of clothes on the bed - btw i really have to wash my clothes or what will i wear to college on monday? - so that i wont even hear it when he calls me next time, and i will forget all about it !!!
i have to correct that thesis on english language teaching in yemen. that man has been begging and pleading for those last thrity pages: madam, i am writing you again, after waiting for more than three weeks...
as if i even complete reading it! or far worse, am i beginning to get some pleasure making him plead?
i need to get an hair cut. i need to make those life changing calls that i promised to jane, jeena and jessy (and of course, tom, dick and harry) and i need to at least reply mails that have been patiently asking me for the nth time, whether i can find some time to write back at least once, so that they can make some move, some decision, take a position, go hit someone, etc, etc...
i need a new painting on my lonely wall that feels no commitment to no one or anything at all. i need a real clock there, with real solid needles, that show the time. and the eerie ghastly voice needs to be replaced with the mechanics of tick tick tock...
and at any given point, i need to be able to give the right answer to anyone who asks: tell me what is the time?
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