a year of pauses

Diseases are strange. Its suddenness, unsettling. That it doesn't care about our plans. That it forces us to reset. Makes us focus on things, which are important, which count, and which remain. 

To a year which forced us to visit whom we fall back on. With whom we choose to share, most anxious of moments. With whom you drop a midnight message or a call, to just say 'this really sucks'.  

To a disease that returned some of us to our families. To make us think and yearn for people you could even risk sharing a disease, than to not be together with.  

To a year, that we would remember. 

And are yet to know if this is it.

To a year that taught us how difficult it is, when we don't have the little things around.

Wishing for you, in this coming year, the joy of holding people close you care about, again.

Of having a casual laugh, of sharing a roadside tea, 

the liberty to take a pause and say goodbye.

Wishing a decent 2021. 

Cheers! :)

Love is a strange affair

to count blessings is strange.
to know when you are broken,
there will be hands to hold
there will be unconditional hugs


to know you are considered that whatsapp dump, where a bill is dropped, just to save it for later

to share happiness of a random click and a jealous meal,
to share a laugh of a silly joke,
to share a pain of a workplace hurdle,
and when you too were lonely, to know you were the one who was sent that random message,
to ping you at 4am, to know if you are okay,
to make you apply for that job advertisement,
to share a bad haircut,
to 20 exchanges of random gifs,
to call you up when drunk.
to share a worry, to share an envy
to scold you everytime, if you haven't yet taken that steam for the cough



when life seems to push you to the wall;
to not drop the call even when there is nothing more to say
to a roommate you could cry with
who hugs you until you rest
to that friend who you can hear breaking down
because life just took a shot at you


to a family, who protects you everytime
in every way possible
for the countless sacrifices, and to smile above all pain,
just so you can share a cheer
to know having a sister who could fight the world, before any harm could come your way
to know a father, who would risk a life, before risk comes your way
and to know a mother, who would stand tirelessly strong, so that you may never fall weak


to people who were just asked to be teachers,
but who instead chose to become companions
who will throw everything to the wind
just to make sure you are okay
who video call you on an airport, tell you 'they will miss you'
to say, 'don't worry about anything else, we are here for you, we will always be'


to count blessings is a strange affair
it is to know life is not for oneself
because for everyone else around you,

it hasn't been for themselves


in the darkness and loneliness, there are often hands to hold
there will be cuddles to take a sigh
in a lonely stroll when you then sit by yourself, 

it can sometimes appear difficult;


waiting in a hospital wards can sometimes be lonely
you find someone driving all the way, saying, `care for a tea together?'
when you unknowingly stare off the balcony
to amma who passes by, asks 'nasta hua?'

an empty flat can haunt at times,
a sudden video call, 'cheers, finally i got the offer -- care for a drink together?'
when a midnight news is distressing you
a call from a different time zone, to tell you how you aren't the only one dealing with this


to know love, is to know on whom to fall back on
to people who stand beside you fighting
who cry with you in hopelessness
who know in how many millions of little ways, they help


those hands may not be immediately present at times
sometimes they might be struggling with something else
but those tired, bruised hands will come again
hold them if you can, wait for them if you can't


to love, in the worst of times
is to know, none of us is perfect,
none of us have best of times always,
but to know, there are ones, who care


Love a strange affair,
it's hard to celebrate a day,

when in every second of this life
you can't celebrate life without them


Love is a strange affair
to all those affairs of love, love.


----------


Happy friendship day, and happy rakshabandhan.
for each of those strings; those relationships you share,
May the tune always ring sweet.

tea

In a quest, in the shadows of story
In our dreams and in mundane
its the tea that seaps


in a running laughter,
in a teasing crackle
its the steam that vacates


in those broken sunshine
in that twirling rain
in that distant noise
thats the numbing sugar


lives pass by, to friendships which last
to the empty tumblers
its the tea
that still simmers.

Institutions of pretense

A contract to stop meeting people. A forced solitude. A necessity to cut off. Why does this 

disease, strike something which is so human?

Pretense is a difficult word to justify. The negative connotation is hard to resist. The underlying ignoniminy of the ulterior is too strong a stain.

A staged protest. An act to argue. A spectacle of a meeting. A collective tea. An occasion to laugh, a genre of laughing. 

Brains need to condition to behave normally. 

Normality is a conditioning, made out of stories, recurrent. 

A nature of act, a role of pretense is as crucial as survival. Its necessary, as 

necessary to dress up. As necessary to use plates. As necessary as a formal glass of wine. 

Life is too short to not pretend. Your masks are not masks. They are skin. The gory muscle

need not be seen. Should not be seen. 

To those institutions of pretense, may you open someday;

 may the cacophony, the noise of the chatter, the cheer, the wail, the loud indecipherable noise, screach through your heads.

May the noise decend someday. 

Pretense, is a beautiful word. 

Ask the one who sells the road side snack. 

Take away his act and he will die. Its not the money, its the act. 

to the privilege, speak

''What did you learn from all these years?"
"Rules are made by us, and they can be changed"

As I had graduated from college on Physics, and sat for an interview in Tata Institute for Social Sciences for a Masters in one of the social sciences course, this was the conversation. I had never realised it until they asked.

I eventually never joined TISS and went back to Science, but this conversation remained with me. Now it has been many years, a PhD in physics away.

Privilege in our society comes rare, in a society where just two or three generations back all of us were farmers. All, who have moved through the tangles of poverty and disease to burgeon into a middle class. Many of the fatty layers on our belly have owed it to our guardians, their toil which probably was the only way to fight for a life, not succumbing to disease, not worrying or praying for our daily bread. This privilege, as it is hard to have fought for, as it is necessary for families and children who surround us, as it is a possession not risk losing, it has a comfort of looking away.

Rarity of privilege has its addictions. And our brains have ways to justify them. Be it a broken love, an extra dessert or our own stories on our inabilities.

My PhD adviser used to remind me so very often "Adhip, what is the big picture?"

In college, I remember going to Jantar Mantar, shouting "Manmohan Singh Murdabad". Strangers would join to sing songs of hope. Hugging together for a shared promise; for a shared future. Privilege, now in hindsight, there sure was, but felt common. I remember, when me and a Kashmiri friend went out in the middle of night to roam around. This was much before now.  He had hugged me then to say this is the first time he has been outside home beyond 6. My privilege took a prick. I remember, when the kids in an orphanage we had celebrated with during Diwali, while leaving, had hugged us. One of them turned to say "Bhaiya, will you come again?". My privilege was shaken a bit. I said yes, absolutely.

I never went back, my privilege went back in control.

Privilege always came first. It can always dictate, arm twist.

But those hugs are worth fighting for. They will not probably always remain.

Twisted arms can't hug.

Too many have already been. Broken, bruised and cheered for while they were been.

The comfort of privilege has a backlog, to the hugs that have seeded it, shaped it, nurtured it.

To that privilege, speak.
Speak when there is still something worth fighting for.

Chalekere -- physics, tea and conversations

Its strange how life throws at you occasions. Not long ago had I signed a petition to IISc, for its brazen act of taking land away from the commons of Chalekere. And in turn of occasions, I was thrown at teaching here for two days.

Away in the village of Chalekere, one finds dogs, monkeys and sheep roaming around. Also fantastic tea, rice and sambar.

‘' the complete setup can be divided in two parts, a system and a bath -- note this is not Kesari bath.” As I crack this joke and audience gets into a nervous laughter, the session on stat-mech starts. I notice 40-50 year olds smiling. I ask them a question, they raise hands. As the 3 hour lecture ends, I meet Prof. Hegde after lunch. He starts to chat on various things, about days in IITK. About days when academia is not just about science, but about learning about various fields, about sociology and history. I curiously stare, as he points to his IITK days. He says more than half the students were leftist. Any day there could be strike. Today there is no fire. People don’t do much. Don’t think much. Don’t say much. It is required for creativity. He talks about how the UG programme at IISc was set up. About various courses, choice of credits. We are all on phones. We just don’t do anything. Don’t want to do anything. We are people with all haves.

As our conversations travel from topic to topic, theme to theme, he suddenly breaks into – you know I am learning how to chant Vedas. One has to kill time. I got retired. I did not want to be like my friends. I saw them taking long walks, 2 hours in morning, 2 hours in evening. I think one day one of them will fall in gutter (He added, exactly that happened with one).

I want purpose. I learnt it well. I am now on Rigveda. I passed all others (there is some kind of an exam, if I understand correctly). Let me show you something – he brings out the Rigveda book, finds a chapter and cites it in rhythm. Tells they had discovered a way of memorizing things. It shuts me from everything. I tried music, but it was too late for me, I could not do it. Beside Rigveda, lies a book by Sashi Tharoor. That guy writes well. Rajdeep Sardesai just has a book out, have you read it? I am just going to read it soon. As we chat about demonetisation -- Raghu Ram's new book is very good. Subramanium Swamy's new book is also good. He calls out the blunders of this government bluntly.

He and his wife, a fellow Professor in Mathematics had joined hands to set up this Talent centre. A government secretary had asked me “what change has this made?”. I couldn't answer him satisfactorily. One day the idea struck me. I got ALL the marks of all SSLC students for last five years of Karnataka. We tracked each school's performance, both where we intervened, where we didn't. Prof. Hegde shows me his report on how school students have improved due to teaching of their teachers.

I didn't do any choice sampling. All data was taken. It shows clearly. I am very happy.

As I come back to my room. It feels strange when I meet some of these few individuals. They read, think, "do vedas", “be leftist”, criticise government, have no qualms about talking to a guy they just met about their lives, they come to Chalekere for 10 years – set up a teaching place for faculty and school students. I am sure he is 70+, and he has fire like an impatient kid. It still feels he is running short on time and has to do so many things.

He tells me about books, he is angry about 10 different things, he is doing something he loves. Back in the institute, I am not sure, what we do. We worry about lives, about loneliness, about research, about things going out of hand.

He points to me – their is lot of stuff there. One should read. More importantly, one should write.

One should write. Learn from experiments. In the course of a 2 hour conversation with him, he tells me about 4-5 odd books worth reading. Tells me, have you read Einstien’s original paper on photoelectric effect. Its a gem. He is not a physics person.

Its strange, how life throws at you occasions, when you least expect.

By the way, what triggered this conversation? I shared on the lunch table “I had cracked a cow joke, I asked them to estimate, how many barbers are present in Bangalore. If a government thinks that each should be given a cow, how many cows are required?”

“You may wonder cow is not related to barbers, but then you never know”.

 And just to be complete, I do still stand by my signature on that petition.

Paris - the noise

Wuf.. after two days in Dresden, the Paris train sounds like a busy market.

The amount of diversity in the one coach I am traveling is more than probably collective ethinicities I have ever seen.

Paris, the city with life, a city with noise*.

*Not to mention the dirty trains and the plastic bottles lined train lines 😛

** Not to mention the roaler coster  journey from Dresden to here:

My booked flight to Dusseldroff is cancelled.

Alternate fights get booked.

Now there is a technical snag in this new flight.

Gets delayed.

Reach Frankfurt in nick of time. Little time to take fight to Paris.

Now this flight gets delayed.

Reached Paris.

Train to orsay ( to Bradraj) breaks down mid way.

Train change.

The changed train decides to stop in between.

Train change.

Another scheduled train change.