HOLI NOSTALGIA

‘Where are you leaving for? What time you will be back? Don’t forget to come back and have lunch? Papa will be back by 2. Come on time.’ Shouted mummy.

By the time her sentences finished I was already out. It was way back in 1996 Holi. I was getting ready to go out to be with my friends. Final exams were over for everybody and all the kids were well set to celebrate Holi. Everyday the meeting would start in the morning at 10. Lunch break was in between, from 1.30-2.30.After that, again, the meeting continued. The agenda for the meeting in the afternoon would be how to play Holi in the most happening way. There were various committees. One for deciding the shades of colors, other for devising the strategy for taking revenge from the kids of neighboring colony who used deadly colors to experiment on us in last Holi and many more. The process of collection of wood for Holika Dahan would began at around 4 in the evening. Girls and guys used to compete, which section gets logs of wood faster and in larger number from the neighboring jungle. Now, this jungle surrounded our colony. On the other side of the jungle, stayed villagers, who were adivasis. It is not uncommon in and around coalfields.

The whole process use to take quite a long time and I would reach home by 7 in the evening. Seeing the cuts and bruises on my feet and legs, mum would again shout, ‘

so you again went to jungle with those hooligans. So many times I v asked you not to go there. Have not you heard Jackal howling at night? They stay in that jungle’.

My ears had automatic plugs which use to shut myself from mum’s voice. At the end of her sermon, I would say,

‘Don’t worry, I will manage and things will continue like this till Holi.’

One day before Holi, Holika Dahan: A night of bonfire use to take place.All the kids and elders used to gather at the place where the kids had collected wood, beating drums, dancing and singing.

Holi was a fiesta. That one day when nobody could recognize me. Everybody was colored. We all shed our individual identity. We were all same, colored. It was a collective identity. With each splash of colures, our individual identity got lost and we became more like each other. Morning and afternoon was the time to play wet Holi with colures dissolved in water. Late afternoon was the time for collective bathing of me, my two sisters and mummy. Mummy scolding me again, ‘what all colures your friends have used on you. It is so hard to remove. I v asked you to stay away from the hooligans. Grow up.’ I thinking and smiling, it’s good that it is hard to remove them. At least there would be some sign left of Holi. I would miss it tomorrow. Holi will come one year later and I may grow up by that time and may not play with the Hooligans. ;)

In the evening, the gang of Hooligans used to meet again. This time the task was to touch feet of as many elders possible to get their blessings. In the typical bihari style, we put colors on elders feet and never dared to touch there face. It was a ritual and fun. This business of Holi would end around 10 at night.

I terribly miss my style of HOLI now. Its been almost 8 years, I 'v not played that Holi. Unfortunately, I have grown up. I miss my Hooligan friends and the bihari way of touching feet of elders.( Once I tried doing it outside Bihar and people could not understand what I was trying to do.) I know guys, more than missing each other we miss those moments which we created during Holi Preaparation. Those simple acts during planning of Holi each year, Holika dahan and playing Holi have given us the memories. This Holi, I feel nostalgic.


HAPPY HOLI TO Mala, Neha, Deeprashmi, Abhishek, Pranav, Pranay,Goldy, Indrajeet, Sarvesh, Mangalesh, Prem Prakash, Jolly,didi, Aakanksha, Abhira, Khushboo, Priyanka, Kirti, Shruti, Shruti 2, Saurabh,Puja, Rakhi, Saakhi,Alka, Swati, Biki didi, Kanhaiya, Pinki didi, Chumki didi, Prarthana didi, Monu bhaiya, Bobby bhaiya, Pinku bhaiya, Neetu didi, Seema didi, Gudiya didi, Gudiya, Nidhi,Richa, Ritu, Ruchi, Mitu didi, Sanju, Pinki, Swati, Bappa, Manju didi, Baby didi, Babbal, Laltu……to be continued.(Apart from Hooligans, this list includes people who have made my HOLI memorable in the decade of 90s)

We created moments. Thanks to all of you.

I am still a female

‘In traditional sense women had been a symbol of love and lust. When it comes to selling products it was women .but men are fast escaping this cliché. Men aren’t men anymore –at least not in typical Indian sense.’(Indian Journals of Youth affairs:vol 12(2):July December 2008) I came across these lines recently in an article related to advertising. I had a heartiest laugh. My apologies to the authors. I appreciate their intention with respect to the context.
However, it initiated a different thought in me. The insecurity of custodians of manhood. They seem scared of losing their manhood, at least in a ‘traditional’ sense. Now they have additional parameters coming up to prove their manhood and to their surprise these new parameters are demanded by females. If we trace the history (the time when India slipped into Dark Age), the parameters had always been for females. She has to be pretty, soft spoken, calm and intelligent to be branded as female. She is labeled as goddess so that she can never act as a human being.Godess never complaint or resist afterall.They have this eternal patience and tolerance level. She has to imbibe these characteristics to become a female. She is an evolved sub species of Homo sapiens. Let’s name it Homo sapiens femalis which is culturally more evolved than Homo sapiens malis. To be precise, she has to be what she should be and not what she is.
Males are not god. In none of the verses in the ancient text, he is a god. He has the freedom to be a human being. He has the right to express himself, commit mistakes. Learn from them and move ahead in life. They are suppose to worship the goddess so that she stays calm. Worship by giving her three square meals, kids to play with and being loyal to one version of goddess.

Females are no more goddess now. They are human beings. They experiment, commit mistakes and take concrete lessons from life which are much effective than the lessons being taught traditionally by branding them as goddess. Her experimentation scares the custodian of manhood. The goddess is evolving and they seem confused, how to please her. Some of them have found an easier way by spreading the propaganda that goddess has not remained a goddess. She is undergoing retrogressive evolution from goddess to devil. But personally, I feel happy that she‘ll cross the much awaited human form during this retrogressive evolution from goddess to devil. This would indeed be a moment to celebrate for the females.

and why men are no more men because

‘They are Hot Property! Men are kissing each other, wearing low-slung jeans,stripping at the drop of hat!From the succulent Dhoni to butt revealing Ranbir to beefcake Shah Rukh Khan, men took a women-besotted nation by storm.What is it with new breed of navel bearing sexually liberated men?Are they finally shedding their inhibitions along with their clothes?'
I don’t have an objection with this changing behaviour of men. I reiterate, I am still a female.

Judgement..

Judgment..

This word fills me with fury. I feel like screaming, ‘Who the hell you are to judge me?’
I am not going to listen to you. I respect only my authority. Oh! Did I sound like a self-obsessed dictator? It was not intended to be. I apologize. During the course of the article my mental frame would get clear to you.

The earliest times in my life I can think of, I was in lower K.G. I went to school and there was some sports day. They made me run for some 50 m race. My classmates were full of enthusiasm. Even I was. I never knew what winning meant that time. I was all set to go. A whistle was blown and people start running. After running for a while I stopped. I was too tired and found it a bit boring as well. In 2 mints I had a cocktail of emotions. It was fatigue, thrill, enthusiasm, self-pity (for doing such a stupid task).By the time it ended, I realized I was the last one. Teachers were congratulating the winner. A dumb ass who use to tease me all the time for my short stature This was the first time I learnt words like Competition, fame, and judgment and these words evolved into new set of words like peer pressure. He again teased me and said here you are again last as always. I was speechless. I realized it is not the mixture of emotions I felt during the race were important but WINNING.


It often happened with me that I was put into the tasks which I never liked and which resulted in disappointments. At one point of time I actually started thinking if there is any task which is meant for me. A natural thought which come for such moron (so called) is rigidity, inadaptability, dullness.

‘I OBJECT.’

I was simply not interested in the tasks offered to me. I did not have choices. The only way to prove my heroism was to come first in 50m or 100 m races, excel in academics and a long list goes on. That list never had my choice.

Now as a 24 year old individual, I look myself. I am happy the way I am. I have choices and options under those choices. I believe in excelling in what I choose rather than what is imposed. I still hate the word judgment as before. I should amend it a bit. ‘JUDGEMENT BY AN INCOMPETENT AUTHORITY’ under imposed circumstances. I believe in the authority which helps me in growing, learning and moving forward in life

I want to come up with my interpretation of whatever skills I learn. It would lead to innovations and discoveries each day. Waiting for a certification for my acts will not take me anywhere. Result is a byproduct. It is the ‘process’ which deserves utmost priority.

Do

Do I care?

When, I get up in the morning, collection of water is the last thing which comes in my mind. The only thing related to this aspect which bothers me is going downstairs and getting my bottle filled by landlady which takes maximum of 5 minutes and it really irritates me as I consider it a mindless job which I need to do everyday for my survival. And here I come to college and do literature survey for my M.Sc(Natural Resources Management) dissertation which is on ‘Right to information and access to water’, I find following horrifying facts:

The safest source of water which a lady in Ghana can think of is a muddy puddle and when you ask her about the health concerns, she answers, ‘it’s clean, even animals drink from the same source and I can’t see any winged animals inside. An additional fact that adds to my discomfort is, she travels some 1 Km or more to get this water everyday.’

She does not seem irritated.

In this initial phase of my dissertation, I really don’t know whether I’ll ever file an RTI to safe access to water. I think I am privileged but then lady in Ghana also thinks the same. I pity her from my frame of reference. Somebody must be pitying me from their frame of reference. It is all relative.

Imagine a day, when you get up, collection of water is the only task which you have to do and while going to bed you sleep with the fear or thought of tactics to collect water efficiently for the next day. The collection of water I am talking about here is not for the luxuries but only about drinking water for survival. (Water for hygiene excluded).

WHO, 2003 report divides the people based on water accessibility section into four parts, no access, basic access, intermediate access and optimal access. To my surprise though staying in a developing nation I fall into optimal access category. When I see the map representing the global water supply coverage, my country (India) is in the second worse group in terms of water supply and my continent (Asia) fairs the worse. Another fact says, poverty means degradation in quality of life which, to a large extent depends on water availability. Out of 1.3 billion people living in abject poverty, 70% are women. So here I am belonging to all the three affected categories.

Datas are not false, I am privileged. As, a normal middle class Indian, I don’t see my soul aim for a day being water collection. I am here staying in the national capital for past 6 years and with the kind of water accessibility I have I find it pretty ok. I feel dissatisfied only when I read about the level of water consumption in developed nations. Actually, I get jealous. I feel like entering into higher order of this privilege hierarchy.

However, the biggest dilemma which surrounds me is whether to think about entering the higher order of hierarchy or helping someone like lady in Ghana to enter a better level of hierarchy. I ponder everyday and I am happy that I have started to ponder.