Posts

Nearing the end, perhaps

I started my journalism career in 2004. I had a good innings so far, got a few awards, a fellowship of IMF-World Bank. Love from readers, and quite a lot of trolling by anonymous cowards on social media, which these days is a certificate of a journalist doing his or her job properly.That innings is probably coming to an end in 2020. Coronavirus may not have killed me yet, it is very much raging everywhere around me and so far either I am lucky, or I am one of those super lucky asymptomatic 80 per cent. But I may lose my job anytime now. Even if I don’t, life and journalism won’t be the same again. This week they fired a bunch of my dear colleagues, including my boss, the resident editor of my newspaper. I have never seen a more dedicated person. We all were expecting he would succeed the paper’s editor who is retiring in October. But no, my boss had to face the ignominy of hearing his service is no longer required. What chance I have in this profession even if I survive the present pu…

Ian, my friend

Ian and I don’t interact much these days, at least not now. There was a time when I wanted to be a writer, and I thought Ian was my gateway to the world of fame and eternity. I don’t know myself well, but as far as I do, I am not selfish. But in Ian, I initially saw profit. And so, he edited my stories and I dreamt of writing ten stories and getting them published and become an instant hit. This is partly because he himself used to think that my stories were wonderful and fresh. I pitied him really, for I knew I was not special. Not at all.  I was never sure about myself, but Ian was. He persisted when I long gave up. We started interacting on emails, I think it all started in 2005 or 2006. I was 25-26. By the time I was 28, Ian turned into a friend, and I no longer could think of him as my ladder to success. This is also the time I came to Mumbai and soon lost interest in writing. The city overwhelmed me with its daily struggle. Life was no longer comfortable and fun as it was in Ban…

really random

Now that we are all stuck at our house, many wonderful things should have happened. to start with, I should have finished writing my book, but I didn't. rather, whilst away my time doing nothing and playing video games. or maybe listening to podcasts, which can still be considered a good habit, maybe productive even. but that's about it. I have no valid reason to complain that I don't get time for myself to concentrate on my writing career. I do, as I can see here. and what have I done with it? I have precious nothing to show really. so, the oversimplified answer is that I don't have it in me to become a writer, I was never a writer material, but simply a statistician who thought himself as a great mathemetician. my apologies to statisticians here, but I sheltered behind the oft-used expression that you guys are all too familiar with I am sure. but it is not that I still don't have an alibi left. working from home doesn't mean that I am working less. my writing…

Betrayal

Today I dropped Mithi at the day care centre. She looked at me with a gaping mouth. Her eyes were getting moist. She couldn't believe it. Her mother does this to her, not Baba.
She will have to stay here for the next six-seven hours till her mom comes and rescues her. Mithi is just two and a half.It is a crime upon her, millions like her, who have to leave their parents and get caged in an unknown place. Here they are not pampered, here they are not special. They are one among many, and they must behave. It is a crime and a crime for which the parents should not be forgiven.We, as children, never had to face this. We were all very secured children. Happy kids. Our fathers worked from morning to evening, they were strangers. Our mothers stayed at home to take care of us. Mothers were our personal heroes and trusted friends. Mithi's generation, at least a sizeable chunk of it, are not that lucky.
Us parents deserve harsh punishment for this negligence. Mithi, my love, may you r…

One day …

When sadness overflows the urn, it is the perfect time to understand yourself. Unfortunate are those people who have never felt overwhelming sadness, something that can be given to you by your very own. Just like extreme anger, sadness also liberates you. One doesn’t feel the need to justify anything or be accountable to anyone. One must meditate that time. It is irrelevant if this leads to enlightenment, or some such concept the conscious among us spend every living moment of theirs. Perhaps it exists, most probably it is an escape route for those who have lost all. Losing everything happens in a moment, but life is long. One has to live on. Some stay like a zombie, some search enlightenment by turning inwards, rejecting life and thus trying to gain a larger life. Living like a zombie is not possible, seeking something bigger than life is extreme greed. But one must meditate. Meditation, in fact, is the automatic outcome of sadness. And it is a beautiful feeling. I can't medit…

Let it rain hard

About a dozen years back, I started writing blog posts out of sheer boredom in office. The work was repetitive and the bosses were menacing. Not the fault of bosses as much as the systems put in place. It was a real-time world and you perish in seconds or become a hero. No, I was not a stock market trader, but close. I was perhaps in deep agony. I had left my family members, my root, my friends and my culture. Those years were the most important in my life, the early twenties. I was free for the first time. Free to do whatever I wanted to do. It was a lot of pent-up sexual energy really looking for an avenue to be released. I found my moksha in creativity, especially as my office colleagues started appreciating my writing, albeit with no hint of grammar in it. Slowly strangers came to my blog and I visited theirs and we became friends. And then I started connecting with people far away from my place, across oceans. With one I became friends for life – Ian Vincent Mulder. But that’s ano…

Meditations

What is maturity?
This realisation that you were born innocent, like a flower, presented by gods to your human parents. And the realisation that you have, by your own actions, or through the machinations of the society, sullied the flower all these years. Maturity is removing the dirt from the flower so that when you return to your source, your God, you be clean again, or at least try to return to the original clean state as much as possible. 
That point of understanding is maturity. Life after attaining maturity is meaningful living.  And that understanding revealed itself to me only now, after becoming a father, after seeing my daughter. She is my spiritual guru i was in search for so long. 
The rest of my life will be a long struggle to return to my original clean state before i return to my God, my source.
I now have a fair idea how God’s flower looks like. 
My flower is trying to snatch this pen so that I may focus fully on her. 
I must obey my Guru’s command. 
12.45 am, 20 September 201…