Diwali: An ironical festival: why do we celebrate it?!!!

Diwali Time is here again. It’s the time people go crazy in India. It is the time when a lot of Hindu deities did a lot of great stuff incidentally in this particular time of the year which gives lots of Indians, who worship different Ista devatas and in the case of Islam, no devata but the formless Allah. However, as far as my limited knowledge of Indian Mythology goes, the story which is most familiar for me to understand the significance of a particular festival of Diwali in North India, is the comeback of King Ram Chandra along with his sibling Lakshman and wife Sita after 14 years of exile to claim his thrown in Ayodhya from his dutiful brother Bharat, who fulfilled the King's responsibility in his absence. The fateful day of their return in antiquity was marked by a natural obstacle of the arrival time coinciding with a night of Amavasya (a moonless light). In the absence of the moonlight, every house in the city of Ayodhya lit several lights (via dias) and the reception was brilliantly lit. The infrastructural set up under Bharat's leadership along with the support of the citizens of the kingdom resulted in a night to remember.

As it so happened, the period of exile just mentioned included participation in a war which has now been symbolised as the victory of ‘good over evil.’ A case of honour killing of Lord Ravana is also celebrated in India few days before Diwali. For those who might not know, Ravana was an evil genius who abducted Ram's wife Sita in an attempt to defend the honour of his sister who was incidentally insulted by Ram's brother, Lakshman. This insult had resulted in a physical injury, so I guess, physical assault by men on women was not unheard of even back then. So basically a mythological feud resulted in a war which was won by Ram and his supporters. Every year on Dusshera, an ‘inhuman act of burning someone’....sorry....’the inhuman act of burning three persons at stake’ is recreated when Ravan and his two companions, a brother and a son, are burned around 6 pm in the evening as the sun goes down. People find nothing derogatory,  immoral or sadistic in such celebrations. I don’t think that even Hitler, undoubtedly one of the most hateful character in entire history is celebrated with such vigour even though all might remember that day mentioned on history books when he committed suicide.   And while I might even submit to an interpretation of Dushera being a good event, (if someone exhausts me into accepting defeat by being over-zealous about this event being the best example of victory over good over evil),  Diwali is still hard to similarly digest.

My objection is based on what followed Diwali, which people tend to forget. Lord Ram, who fought a kingdom run by supposed 'demons' to rescue his rightful wife, separated from his wife, who by the way, also happened to be pregnant at the time, when questions were raised about the chastity of the tainted queen due to the time she spent in a foreign land under the reign of a man other than her husband during her abduction. The dutiful Ram, who ironically trusted his wife, left his feelings aside and sacrificed by leaving his pregnant wife. Celebration of a day when all was rosy for the couple who had returned after years of obstacles and difficulties seems justifiable. However, the joy turns sour after reflecting on the outcome of that marriage. What finally did become of Ram-Sita? To interpret this mythical story in contemporary terms, celebrating Diwali is akin to celebrating a significant memory for a couple who ultimately did not end up together. No matter how beautiful a relationship is, no matter how true love is, when the relationship is mentioned in past tense, memories turn bitter-sweet. Celebrating Diwali is like celebrating a special event for a couple after their break-up. Any normal person with reasonable amount of emotional quotient will agree that such celebrations are indeed in very bad taste. Forget the contemporary example, I shudder to empathize with our 'Sita' of antiquity, the single mother who tried to raise the King's twin, must have had to go through each year on Diwali. If Diwali has been celebrated every year from the year when Ram-Sita returned to Ayodhya, then Sita would have had to go through an emotional turmoil any heartbroken girl who loved and lost would feel thinking about the memories of a special day of a past relationship. So, in retrospect, celebrating Diwali is just so cruel.

Again, to think about Diwali in terms of contemporary vocabulary, let’s say, our country hosted a magnanimous event, Olympic games or marriage of two very important Indians, and the government invested a lot of money on decorations and infrastructural advantages for the day, I doubt, whether we will feel it necessary to attempt to re-enact such an extravagant event. What you might do, is recall, 'remember, that wedding was so memorable because of the food, the lighting, clothes.' That is where we would stop. But we don’t for Diwali, do we?

Last year, my reasons to get annoyed by the paraphernalia of Diwali were different. I mean, the separation of Ram-Sita was also on the back of my mind but it is not something most Right wing Hindus are even mature enough to hear. Anyhow, previously, the reasons which I voiced out were economical.  I remember having argued that festival time is a season of wasteful activities of gift giving, shopping, extra traffic and a lot on the pockets of people who do regular jobs, most of whom don't get a hike in salary or diwali bonuses during this festival season. Festivals do not let them budget the way such people would have done otherwise. I remember somebody arguing, saying, it is a time when the average working guy, the picture of whom I seemed to have painted, is capable of buying several things, because of special diwali discounts. I was also told that festivals give a reason for people to celebrate and that gift giving during this season doesn't raise any suspicions. I had counter argued that people should not wait for festivals to celebrate and that gift giving during Diwali always have social prejudices. A person might have spent some good amount of money on a Diwali gift. The recipient might not appreciate it much and take it for granted, thinking, 'of course, I deserve a gift on Diwali. I will reciprocate accordingly. Perhaps I can keep this gift I have received to re-gift someone else I don't want to buy a gift for, but still entertain.' The value of a gift which is becomes necessary in social situations is not as much as the value of a gift given for no particular reason.

The only thing that I find is commendable on Diwali was Bharat and the common citizens’ efforts to light up a place on a moonless night. What they did at that time was perhaps an achievement at that point in history. Now, fortunately, it’s not required. There are other achievements which me can celebrate. (But no, we continue celebrating burning someone to death and a good day in the life of a couple who ultimately separated.) On Diwali, if I have to give credit to anyone or respect anyone, it would be Bharat, who  I hear, was a wonderful Vice President to the President (so to speak) for the kingdom advanced and developed in terms of economics and infrastructure while the righteous king went on an exile and ended up costing more to the kingdom by engaging in a war over a family feud.  Unfortunately, in all these years of having been present in India during Diwali celebrations this event against my better judgment, not once did I ever find a figurine of Bharat. The market is flooded with figurines of Ram, Sita, Ganesh and Lakshmi but there is no space for Bharat(the good man) in Bhaarat(the country). And while I have nothing against Ganesh or Lakshmi, (for I am not aware of an obvious problem in their mythological story line) I frankly have no respect of a deity called Ram. And Sita just reminds me of a wronged heartbroken single mother who was the punching pillow for a horrible, indifferent and insensitive society, I'd rather not remember. 

A scarecrow's open sky

Life is at a crossroad. Usually that signifies a choice to be made. Instead I feel I stand in the middle and am looking up at the open empty clear blue sky - a sky without clouds - white or black, without sunlight, without stars and the moon, an absolute blank. And yet I feel soaked in this void. I recall in primary school, we were given assignments about writing autobiographies of inanimate objects. Today I feel like writing from the point of view of a scarecrow but I still wish to call it 'it'. Perhaps that is the only way I can look at myself objectively, if I make myself an inanimate object and get rid of the 'I-ness' and also 'my ego'.

Only, this scarecrow....its not in the field of lush green life and yellow flowers. It's ill placed, in an arid zone. It is in the middle of nowhere from where two roads lead to a far off destination. There is no one to scare, no birds around, no humans, nothing. Just the road and the ground and that sky and that scarecrow. It is there, ready in its costume - designed to scare. But its head, is up in the sky. Its least bothered to scare anyone or anything. There is a solace of just being there. It looks ready for a fight but it is really not interested.

And still, it can feel the pain in standing it that position, in that posture. It can feel the pain in its artificial arms and feet made of hay as I can feel in my arms and legs right now after a long day. The body is tired and wants to float in mid air. But the mind, yes, this scarecrow seems to have one, is elsewhere. It is looking up at that beautiful clear sky. It doesn't have to choose. It doesn't have to succumb to the odd circumstances of its placement.

The choice is of not having to make a choice and still choose a path just by looking up and away from both the roads.And still, strangely such peaceful and strange thoughts are keeping me up at this odd hour of complete and utter silence.  There is no mystery, there is no desire, there is no hope, there is no angst, there are no expectations, there are no disappointments, but there just is this silence and a clear blue open empty ever extending sky and not just its promise with life being at a standstill. 

Reflections on the demise of Jiah Khan

While I do not condone suicide for many reasons, I cannot but help understand what may have led Jiah Khan to take such a drastic step so quickly. It is hard to get a taste of success and then just sit back. It seems that her professional life and personal life did not seem to be going well. I can relate to that. However, what she failed to realize or recognize is that there are a number of people who cared deeply for her.

Despite being talented, having done some good films, she didn't get the kind of work she deserved. The nature of her work also did not provide her stability. Quite often, actors like her completely devote themselves to a project. And when the project gets over, it is over. The wait between two projects may be long. And it might not end. That leads to a lot of despair. Usually, when one's professional life is not working well, one can always feel successful in one's personal life. However, when it is rocky in one's personal life too, it must definitely get difficult. The problem really is that most often some women tend to make the man in their life the center of their universe. And when situations turn sour, they feel worse than lonely. There seem to be no ‘telos’ (purpose) for them. The parameter of success is judged by them by their relationship with the man in their lives and their standing in their professional realm. These women ignore the fact that they also have a set of friends and family, which dote over them. They seem to forget that life can have more meaning, in one's personal and professional life. If only they realize that their personal life should not be dependent on one individual and that there is not necessarily that one profession for them, they would find life worth living. Currently, my life too seems to be at a stagnant point, personally and professionally. I am a single woman (not defined by the presence of a man in my life) who is currently not associated with anything professionally despite having a hell lot of work experience at some of the best places in my field. Jiah Khan went for auditions. I go for interviews and I apply wherever I deem fit. She was told to shed a few pounds. I am told to shed a lot of pounds regularly. I have every reason to be depressed. I am not. I am quite alright with this stagnant phase too. I learn to enjoy it. I plan my day, each day. I do the things I love. I love myself. I am proud of my credentials. I love my body. I love my mind. I love my smile. I am optimistic that something will happen when the time is right. My optimism is not blind. I do oscillate between an optimist and a skeptic. Even so, when the skeptic devil takes over, I still feel glad. Though single and out of work, I still get to do what I love. I plan each day. And I enjoy each day. And while I seldom resort to religious prayers, I do pray that Jiah Khan's soul rest in peace. And I would like to be thankful to a God, if there is one, or perhaps my own subconscious, to allow me to enjoy each day of my life.

Never in my life do I ever want to take the path taken by Jiah Khan and so many other deceased personalities. 

And there is good reason for that. Some are cited below: 

1. Does our live really belong to us? If birth is not a choice, death shouldn't be either.

2. There is no guarantee that an after-life is not going to be just as bad if not worse. So, there is a probable possibility that the act of suicide itself will defeat its purpose.

3. It is selfish to die and haunt one's loved ones and caregivers and care getters stranded with a horrible and haunting memory of one's last moments.

4. Just about anything can be a reason to kill oneself. And if one rationally analyses it, each such reason can be found to be a non reason to kill oneself. It is conceivable to live or not live due to some hypothetical reason. So, it is really hard to be driven rationally to take such a step to end one's life.

5. As death is an inevitable fact, everybody can be replaced. Everybody will be replaced. The only way we can make our lives treasured is to let people register our presence in their lives. 

The pigeon's death at the doorsteps...Deja Vu

Today as I was leaving for office, mamma told me to be careful for there is a dead pigeon outside our house. Of all the things I could say, I asked 'where is it?' I was expecting one of the following replies: Right outside the door or in the drive way or outside the main gate?

Hoping that if she tells me exactly where, I would avoid looking at it.She didn't know where. She told me just to be careful. I did as I was told and fearing to see a dead body so early in the morning, I flinched and walked. I barely saw the body and ran outside the driveway. But something made me stop and look back.

Deja vu.

Right outside the door there are two steps. The beak of the pigeon was resting on one of these, quite like how people at temples touch their forehead to a stone platform nearest to the foot of the idol of God. Instantly, I recalled how a dog also died at the same spot some years ago. That time, I was deeply disturbed. I remember writing something about it. I looked for it and I found it under the heading 'a kid cried and a dog died'. This was in 2008. That time, I thought that it was nice that the dog found a resting place to spend his last moment. I am not sure I can say the same thing about the pigeon. For one, I don't know how did he die and land there. Did someone kill it or did it just stop flying and fell from the air. Was it another bird or was it some dog or other animal, who ended this life? Did the pigeon come looking for food? (Papa feeds birds and occasionally dogs everyday these days). I don't know. Unfortunately, I was not only bothered that the pigeon died, but scared for it is kind of eerie that two animals died exactly at the same spot, with the gap of six years!!! Maybe the doorstep of my house is a good place to die. This very sentence makes me scared of my thoughts occasionally. Interestingly, I really don't know what to make of it, if not this. Does it mean anything at all or should I just say its a coincidence. It would have been nice if I believed in coincidences. However, I don't believe there is any such thing - a coincidence. So I'd let you, whoever is reading, contemplate about it while I try to forget about it like so many other things.

This is what I had written in 2008, (on 13 October 2008 to be precise).....

Last Tuesday, when I went out for a movie, I saw a kid cry. Last Friday, when I came back from another movie, I saw a dog die. And both these unrelated incidents, possibly remotely connected by a fallacy of false cause, are not unusual events. As life would have it, kids cry and dogs do die! Suffering after all is inevitable. But what was unusual was the kid who cried, and the way the dog died.

The first incident took place outside Westside at 3Cs Lajpat Nagar where I got free parking, that superficiality made me very happy. This kid was a beggar, sitting on the concrete varanda with a child in his hand, probably a younger sibling. There was a packet of what looked like milk, and some food in a polythene bag. He must have said something earlier, but I didn’t notice him earlier. My friend did. She mentioned he was crying. I wanted to look away but when she mentioned it, the way she mentioned it, I didn’t. She asked me if I was keeping the Prasad kept in the car, if I plan to eat it. I understood immediately and went to get it. I gave it to the kid, asked him why he was crying, and told him not to cry and have something to eat. He pointed at his sibling and said that Ma wants Rs 30,she won’t come, my sister is sick. I didn’t understand what to do. I wanted to give him Rs 30 and probably also get a bottle of water besides the food. I just told him, not to cry and first have something to eat, Acha rona band karo, pehle kuch khalo. I wondered if the kid was faking to get attention or not. But he was not. These kids, my friend told me, are strong. They are tough. Something really bad has to happen for them to break down. The mother abandoned the child with the sibling. That made him cry! I didn’t debate with her, not only because she did an M. Sc in Child Development, but because I felt that she was right.

These kids who beg on streets and traffic light for money, have a tough life, they face the harsh realities, not with a constant pathos with the understanding that is part of their everyday life. It might seem sad to me or to you sitting in front of our pcs and laptops reading this email, but the truth is that life makes them tough, gives them an immunity to the kind of misery we might feel to ….walk in the sun, barefoot, in tattered pieces of cloth, not covering the body properly, knocking on a strangers’ window. I am not saying that is a good thing, that is the way they have molded themselves to adjust to their surroundings, but that is the silver lining in their lives, that is what makes them survive it.

I thought that maybe I should give him water. That is my initial reaction of ‘things to do’ when confronted by a social situation in which someone cries. That’s the there there, it will get better, I do. And in fact it does. When one cries, there is secretion of some amount of water from the body and so drinking water is advisable. Also if one splashes water on the face of someone who is upset or angry or crying, it does have a surprisingly calming effect, irrespective of the ‘slap in the face’ connotation of throwing a drink at someone’s face drama serials would have it.

In the movie incidentally that I watched which was filled with clichés and really badly written script and dialogues, the protagonist says that well ‘I have lived night mares you can’t even bear to hear about.’ But for some reason the way Imran Khan said it, and Manisha Lamba reacted to that, it was just funny and we laughed. But that was the truth, in the case of the kid I saw. It was a story of the revenge of a person who had spent his life in a juvenile delinquent center and incurred injuries. But that was reel life, this was real life. The kid outside the cinema was real, with a sibling to look after, when the mother had apparently scared him enough to break down a kid who was used to bear misery of the underprivileged in the daily course of life.

The movie was called Kidnap, as far as the kid is concerned, well I don’t even know his name, which is ironical considering that it was the kid that occupied my thoughts, for a longer period of duration than the temporary escapism the film provided me.

 I came back from a movie at 3.30 with mamma (we went for Hello at DT), didn’t latch the main gate, at around 4, the door bell rang and mamma opened the front door to see a dead dying dog at the doorstep. He just lay there, hurt and injured, covered in mud and dust. Mamma tells me what happens, and in my absent mindedness I wondered how did he ring the bell? That was my initial response, cold and calculated, just my initial neglected response to the cries of the kid until my friend had pointed it out to the human being within me. It was the second floor neighbor who rang the bell from the outside the main gate. I have recently moved in to a rental house at Gurgaon, where the structure is such that there is an L shape free space within the premises and outside the domains of the house. When one enters the main gate, towards the right side there is a varanda facing my room and the living room, and an aisle corridor straight ahead the main gate hitting a dead end, unless one takes a right turn and climbs two steps, where incidentally there was a dead dog lying at the doorstep this last Friday. And just as I was wondering, if the kid was faking tears or not, I was wondering if the dog had come there to seek help or to just die. I am not a dog person, otherwise I would probably know what to do to help the dog, would have perhaps called a vet maybe or bandaged him. But I didn’t. There was no use really, he was already dead. He was just a street dog who would enter the house occasionally and sit at the entrance or in the varanda outside my room....which is why we insisted that the door be latched each time anyone (including the neignbours on the first and second floor) entered the gate besides obvious safety issues. It doesn’t speak well of us as a society does it, wondering if a kid begging for food is really crying or if his monetary need is real or if he earns the food which we give him in our apparent act of charity and goodwill, when it is not, or when we latch gates to prevent stray animals and people, the homeless, just because we want to keep our veranda clean and not get disturbed. But that is again something like splashing water on a stranger if one did allow that to happen, that is, it is unacceptable in the social convention we live in, to fear trespassing. For what its worth, the dog that died, never really disturbed my studies when he was alive, nor did he make any sound before he passed away. What bothered me was the way he was found outside the doorstep, his Samadhi, if you will. Did he come to die in peace or in familiarity or did he really came for some help which he didn't get...in which case I should feel guilty...I shall rot in hell for not being a dog person and not being able to do anything to save the poor soul. My friend speculated that maybe the dog came there because he might be used to that house, because of the previous owners. That could not have been the case as no one lived where we moved in. Some talk about karmic connections and maybe it signifies a past relatives’ visit. But I don’t believe in that, in karmic connection, or past life etc, nor am I a dog person ( dog lover) to forge that bond. What intrigued or rather fascinated my thought was the way in which the street dog finally chose a place of comfort and peace when death was near. The poor thing still managed to get inside the gate, push it open a little enough to get inside and even climb up three marble steps to just lie at the door. He might have as well as knocked on the door I thought. It was a pretty sad and upsetting.

What hit me in these two incidences was the way to deal with the apparent suffering which is among the daily chores of these ‘less human’ creatures, the way we see it, be it the underprivileged child or the street dog. They are both abandoned, homeless, knocking on a strangers’ door. There is a dread to be them. This is probably what Historical Buddha Prince Siddhartha must have felt too when he encountered suffering. But the way I see it, what is suffering for us, is what is ‘life’ for them, real enough, that they live and they breath, it makes them resistant to feel the pain in it, unless something ‘really bad’ happens, and the definition of which is subjective. A life which is so harsh, that it has made them tough. Perfection after all lies in repetition. One is so accustomed to a certain things and activities and people, that after a point of time, these things and activities and people, they just become one with us, and one accommodates to mould oneself accordingly. One may thing that the pain may lesson each time one gets hurt. But the truth is that each time when one gets hurt, the pain remains, which indicates that got hurt in the first place, but one is so used to bear the pain, and to get hurt, that it becomes somewhat easier to live with the pain, instead of protesting and fighting and struggling to be happy. Men and Women go through so much, abusive relationships, corruption, disease and natural disasters, the city goes through bomb blasts and useless industrialization, the traffic, the workload, the competition, the grown up adult world. After a point of time, one is just too tired to be happy, or to seek happiness. Going through life over and over again, day after day, with the same intricacies, issues, problems in relationships, people, work, one just gets so tired and exhausted. It is just so exhausting at times, that one just doesn’t want to fight back. People look for happiness but Greys’ Anatomy Writers told me this week that it is also futile. Meredith, the protagonist decides that since she was happy and had a breakthrough in her relationship, she did not want therapy anymore. But then she asks her doctor on an elevator, ‘What is the point?’ ‘All those hours and all that money….what is the point? The world is a horrible place, young people die of diseases, (or in our city, more likely in a blast while returning that does not belong to them to the rightful owner…while doing a good thing) it makes absolutely no sense to try to be happy in a world that is such a horrible place.’ And she gets the reply, ‘Yes. Horrible things do happen. Happiness in the face of all that, is not the goal. Feeling the horrible and knowing that you are not going to die from those feelings, that’s the point.’ While one might agree there, but one can’t blame anyone to try to find some solace, some happiness, some comfort, when in the face of all that, is about to come to an end.

I think at the end of the day, one would be lucky to die like that dog at the doorstep who decided instead of compromising in his life and die in the street, exerted himself despite the pain and the injury, to find a safe comfortable place to find peace. Maybe the first noble truth is not suffering? What is suffering? It is something which makes us tough, which makes us tough out our daily existences. Maybe it is just apparent. Maybe it becomes apparent when we considers those factors as a fact one has to live with, so there is no point fighting. But even then maybe we do strive like that dog for some comfort, some peace, some sort of nirvana or moksha, moments before we are dying. Maybe that feeling of nothing to lose but something to gain makes us take that step towards a strangers’ doorstep, in a bloody injured condition. We are striving for happiness, for comfort, for peace, a way out of the exhaustion, not an end to suffering, for suffering becomes apparent when one stops fighting, but a way to just be happy without trying to be worthy of that happiness, without fighting to deserve it, because that too is exhausting and adds to the apparent suffering.

Basically in life, whether I get to watch two movies in a week or if I am like that kid with the responsibility of a sibling on me, the everyday chores, and dynamics of life, there will be something repetitive and with patterns, which I might get used to, or I might already get used to, which toughens me up enough to think that I do not feel the pain. But I would be lucky if I get to die like that dog, in peace and comfort and not fight for it anymore because that is just exhausting or accommodate and not becoming accustomed to the environment of survival, but if I can exert enough before life or rather its meaning comes to an end or a hold or a standstill, give it one good last shot in an attempt to climb that three steps and knock on a strangers’ door to find peace or at least ring that doorbell as a sign of victory to have achieved it, crossed the finishing line.

A kid cried today, and a dog died!  .....

....and now the pigeon died too.

An odd and over-stated day

Today was rather an odd day at work. I guess it started as I left from home to office. My mom wished me. I planned to not take my lunch box today, for I did n’t like the kababs I would get for lunch otherwise,  I did n’t want my mom to go through the trouble of packing food for me or prepare anything else,  so early in the morning. I don’t really cook for myself, (although so many times I feel I should start doing that, I am a good cook after all). However, she presumed that I plan to eat lunch with someone at work. The thought was just so absurd for me that I smiled as I denied any such plans. She smiled too. I don’t think she believed me.

As I happen to forget my headset at home, I planned to seclude myself in an empty cabin at office as I worked today. And honestly, I felt much at peace with this solitude listening to music by Elvis and Eagles. I could concentrate at work better and listen to light music, without the possibility of my co-workers getting distracted by the tracks on my playlist.

These days, in fact for quite some time now, I like to dress up nicely when I go to work or anywhere else, for that matter. I do that some days more than others. I get noticed, I get compliments, I get curious glances. Many times I am asked, ‘what’s so special today?’ or ‘how come you are looking so nice today?’ besides the usual ‘you look really nice.’ While I find the latter question derogatory, I hate to get compliments in the former form too, mostly because despite being rhetorical, my first instinct is to attempt to answer it, and I have no answer. And again, I find that question so absurd to have to give a reason to dress well that all I can do is smile and shake my head, ‘nothing really’ or 'no reason in particular' And again, like my mamma, no one believes my truly honest replies!!!!

Today, in that cabin, I successfully avoided these questions, compliments and curious glances. Although I love to stop and chat occasionally from one cubical to the other, today, I avoided doing that too. I also avoided sharing food, mints, or anything with anyone for any action can easily get misinterpreted today. My actions, my words, me...I get misunderstood quite often. Primarily I guess that is because in my head, I feel older and wiser than everybody around me. I act like an affectionate grandmother. Only, in the real world, I am not as old as I think I am in my head. However, I am still affectionate. I am aware that this makes me quite odd, but it is hard not to be true to how one perceives oneself in one’s head. While I try to remember that distinction, quite often, like the distinction between academics and philosophy, it is lost to me. Anyways, for a person who gets misunderstood quiet often, it is best to not let the tongues wagging. So, today, I chose to seclude myself completely and work quietly in the corner cabin.

However, while I never mind eating lunch alone, today, thanks to this overstated day, the menu was particularly annoying. I went from one food franchise to the next, trying to decide what to eat which did not come in ridiculous heart shapes. Out of all the restaurants in my office complex, two south Indian joints had special menu for the day, CDC not only had heart shaped cakes and candies but actually had a special gift corner. I thought I’d go to Pizza hut and have an economical meal, but the meal I would have wanted to eat was for two, not one. Away from the heart shaped idlis, utapams, donuts and pizzas I relished a meal in a restaurant which was not that popular. I don’t know whether it was the irritation of hoping from one joint to the next, in search of a similar ‘cabin solace’ or the food at that not-so-popular restaurant, which did not have a special menu, which made me dawn on the thought 'I did not really enjoy eating food/junk outside anymore.' There was a time I went all out and relished to eat what is not good for my health but what I considered worth indulging in a gluttonous manner. I realised that - that had changed about me. Still determined to not give up that easy and in an attempt to enjoy the treat I gave myself, I did have one Dunkin’s donut with a cup of hot chocolate.  It was not a heart shaped donut – the devil’s kiss, though.  

When I reached home from work, after an honest day’s work, I realised that my family had also succumbed to the celebratory mood, by the light side. There were chocolates and flowers, my brother got for my bhabhi. Mamma papa too went out to eat food and did plan to watch a movie, I was told. We all had chocolates. It was very nice. I thought I’d check my facebook and there too there were so many posts , so many wishes, again all very nice. I sighed and I smiled in the same hopeless manner I do when people choose not to believe my honest replies. I liked some posts, I shared others. 

What really made my day of solitude and peace complete in the whirlpool of the madness of this overstated day was watching back to back episodes of The Following. Its a TV series staring Kevin Bacon where a serial-killer professor (psychopath) who romanticizes and philosophizes about the beauty of death has a cult, with equally disturbed followers. Of course, there are good people too, who try to stop the murders and the madness. But, ‘good over evil’ in series such as these, quite like life, is always a work in progress. Watching this series with gruesome murders, helped balance out the day of cotton candies and heart shaped food. I feel strangely relaxed.

It's over

Last year of my teenage life was spent with a new beginning at LSR, that is Lady Shri Ram College for Women. It was a fresh start at both a professional and personal level. I made some friends for life. I thought, for a very long time in my life, that my association with Philosophy would last as long as I am associated with college. During masters and then later as a member of the faculty that did happen. However, the rendezvous with philosophy continued till much later. Masters of Arts, Masters of Philosophy, contractual jobs as guest faculty in other colleges of Delhi University, academic research assistant, an unfinished manuscript, an enrollment at Bristol University, with an unconditional offer which is pinned at my office cubical with a miniature figurine of Santa Claus dangling on the pin. I look at it everyday.

I am currently working in a real estate company with a huge online presence in the capacity of Assistant Manager - Content and IIT IIM professionals in the management. It is not as gripping as Philosophy but my work keeps me busy. I am surrounded by educated, brilliant, engineers and managers. Most of them are nerds but strangely I get along with nerds just as much as I got along with people in academics. Last week I flew to Mumbai for a cousin's wedding. Both my mamas, the elder one and the younger one, though glad that I liked my current job, suggested that eventually I should take up academics. And there was agreement from my side too. One funny incident was when I introduced myself to someone at the party as a person who worked in the real estate sector. Moments later, my uncle introduced me as a lecturer of philosophy who teaches at St Stephens. She looked from him to me after these contradicting introductions and I did not know where to look or rather hide. I smiled. Some years back, I would have been offended by such an incident, thinking that my loved ones would rather tell people that I am teaching than doing anything else. It did happen at a party in Delhi some years ago. This was when I had finished teaching at LSR and was just finishing my Mphil Dissertation. So, at the time, I was a research scholar at Delhi University. Yet my aunty introduced me as a lecturer at LSR. You see since my family, specially the extended family, is not from academics, some of them believe it is more respectable to tell people I teach at famous under graduate colleges than be a research scholar who sits at home in front of a computer and meets her supervisor every week on a Saturday. They did not understand that to be work, worth respecting or bragging about. Atleast, that is what I thought a few years back. Now, that the same thing happened, although I was working and not just studying, I realised that my family continued to introduce me as what I did last year, not because they were embarrassed by what I did currently but because they were proud of what I did in academics. A lot of people were proud of me.

In the academic community, I have been appreciated, admired, even ridiculed and been insulted by some interior human beings in terms of ethical and intellectual calibre. Many people believed, and still believe that I achieved, whatever little I did achieve, through contacts and not because of my profile or academic sincerity. Maybe, because externally, I come across as a bubbly Punjabi girl, who loves to talk and socialize. However, inside, deep inside, I am a philosophy student, who thinks, questions, argues and is extremely serious. Some people get deceived by what they see. I have a good repo with most of my professors and teachers but not because of any other reason but because I respect them and I do get along with them, even at a personal level. Most of my professors are also very good human beings. I did get letters of recommendations. Some times I had to ask. Sometimes, I was just given. However, my relationships at Delhi University with my teachers are much more pure and honest than many people would believe. I get along with my teachers not because I have to for ulterior motives, but because I do. It doesn't matter if I am in academics or not, I always keep in touch. It doesn't matter if they have retired or have not.

Each time, the shift towards non academic jobs seem like a final one. And then an academic opportunity presents itself and I take it up, leaving a different life behind. I don't always ask for it. At the end of the day, although I cherish philosophy, I have understood that it is important to keep oneself busy, and that every profession is worth respecting. Every job I have ever done has taught me skills I couldn't have learned pursuing academic jobs. The thing about jobs is, jobs come and jobs go. Work should never stop. However, philosophy has never only been about a job, although to pursue it full time eventually, one is required for practical reasons.

Eventually I will take up academics, I would usually tell myself. Its written in the stars, its mentioned on my hands, on tarrot cards and even on an ancient Tamilian leaf. So as my family and even people at work call me Professor Sahib or Dr Garima or misrepresent me to strangers at parties and I smile.

All these years can't go to waste, can it? Many people, those close to me and some well wishes, those who have met me only for a brief period of three to four days at conferences outstation have told me, years after years, over incoming phone calls, that my destiny lies with me. I am meant to be in academics and achieve greatness. I am told by a palmist that I have two head lines. That means there is creative intelligence and there is logical intelligence and I have both, which is rare. A tarrot card reader also told me, that this year is my year. I will fulfill my heart's ambition. The only ambition I seek, is to complete my PhD from Bristol. It ends there for the short term. Once that is over, I will have to come back to India and take up a job, an academic one, following a PhD and to pay back a loan, if I have to take one. This does not imply I do not like my job in the real estate market. I love it here too. I won't mind doing my PhD and coming back to real estate too, although that sounds absolutely absurd and I am not sure I will get that option after a sabbatical from real estate. I can seek a future here if I wish to. Its just that I believed I am taking a sabbatical from academics. I will go back to academics, when the time is right. Patience pays, they say.

I will be thirty this year in October. Nearly 10 to 11 years have flown past. My rendezvous with philosophy kept on recurring. I fail to understand what would be the most appropriate word, should I choose to personify philosophy. Would that be a short lived affair or a long lasting marriage?

Even this week, I was thinking about whether or not should I apply for a partial scholarship besides a full scholarship. I was thinking if I could raise that amount of money and would it be a good investment, a practical one? Will I be able to repay the loan, should I avail it? Such repayment is mainly based on capitals, which will come from taking up a job. That should be easy. Once I clear my PhD from one of the best institutions in the world, given my background of teaching in some of the best undergraduate colleges in India and passing the eligibility criteria of teaching for a long term duration this time, a job seemed guaranteed, despite possible contingencies. I was communicating with German scholars, one of whom was kind enough to help me out with options to pursue Philosophy in Germany instead. I was actually thinking that my philosophers' block has been lifted and I can work on that unfinished manuscript again. I organized photocopies of my attested certificates and admit card for NET to submit to the University Grants Commission to procure my e certificate for NET exam. I had my papers submitted yesterday. I was told that while others have got an e certificate, the reason my delayed is because of a clerical error – my paperwork had been lost. That seemed to be the only explanations by the babus there if I had submitted my form online correctly. I checked. I had. Strangely, I was told it will still take a month and a half for me to get my certificate. I didn't worry. These things happen.

Until today, when I logged on to facebook to post what I thought about Gandhi's death, Gandhi's ironical death. I mean he was synonymous with non violence and he was killed on 30 January. Anyways, a post by a person I recall as an MA student at Stephen's when I taught there, informed me that there is a possibility that UGC might not give certificates to those who have cleared the cut off list but just the top 15 % as per the new rules. Incidentally, there is a court case going on in Kerala regarding this despite where as per a directive UGC must give the certificates to those who cleared it. I don't know what is the top 15 percentile to know if I made it to the list. If I did, I will cross check my marks. I am now suspect, if I will get my e certificate in a month and a half. This sadly has a series of repercussions on my professional life and apparently 'my life's' ambition. 

• If I haven't cleared NET, I will never get a permanent job in India in academics. 
• If I don't get a job in India, I will not be able to repay the loan, should I require to raise money for 50 percent of it. 
• If I can't raise that money, I will not be able to do my PhD. 
• It makes no sense to pursue higher studies from an international institution and not be able to work in India based on such a prestigious qualification for me, because besides educational exposure, I do not see my life anywhere else but at home. 
• So, its over. 

My career, my destiny, 10 years of hard work, studying, researching, writing, teaching, everything. Its finally over. Now I can begin on the quest of fulfilling my most cherished dreams. Just don't know what it is yet, because obviously, I just can't sleep anymore now.