Monday, November 28, 2011

of thoughts into exile: Shivdeep lande

“He came, he saw and he fell short of conquering”
This age old adage comes to mind when one thinks of now former city sp of Patna, Shivdeep Wamanrao Lande.
No one remembers clearly when did he actually take charge of his post but when he did it was with élan. Newspapers were suddenly so fondly painted with the pictures of this stylish young man, taken in various poses at various places. Places the man raided. Places like cyber “sex” cafes, fake cosmetic factories, factories where children worked.
Weeks passed and newspapers piled on. So did this man’s achievements. Stylishly dressed in his khaki uniform, he was an extension of bollywood cops of the likes of singham and dabangg into real life. His valor must be praised for he dared to put his hands into the vicious circle of black marketing and other under the table work, something nobody before him had the guts for.
His was an aura that seemed to transcend all barriers of social life. He made his numbers public so that anybody in distress could call him and on more than many occasions it was the girls who solicited for his help. A man with a rank, he was a nightmare to the street hooligans- those who rode their bike in “lahariya” style and taunted girls, made ugly remarks.
He thrashed them, beat them up, and summoned them.
As the months passed, his popularity increased and so did the infamy. More than his work it was his style of work that goaded many.
He began to attend school functions and inauguration of sports meets. He was the face of a ramp shows and cultural programs. He, over a period of months became a celebrity. Camera persons and news reporters flocked him where ever he went. He was snapped  all over as if paparazzi followed him everywhere.
Last month, he raided a record 27 illegal proceedings.
This week, he was transferred.
He was asked to pack his bags to araria, a small district of Bihar in the foothills of Nepal.
What was his fault??
That he dared to expose the vicious circle of crime readily flourishing in the underbelly of the city and around.
Was he a threat to the police nexus, which despite seeing a hundred problems turns its back to rest in peace (pun)?
Or that he was given the title of super cop- a man who could do anything to save the people of his city?
The reason might be any but what disturbs me more is the reaction of people. The way they have responded to his transfer is insulting to every one of us, as individuals or as a society.
Girls and parents of girls gathered together outside the man’s gate and pleaded him not to go. They believed he was the savior of their girl’s dignity.
Is this how weak have we become that we need another man, whosoever he may be, to protect the dignity of our daughters?
Why do we need to rely upon other shoulders, however strong they may be to defend what’s ours?
If newspapers reports are to be believed, then before mr. lande took over, every girl of Patna was raped or at least was tried to rape in almost every street of Patna.
Is this true?
And as they say, nemesis can be delayed but it’s inevitable. He had to be transferred, if not now then may be next year or a year later.
This comes at a time when the chief minister of bihar, mr. nitish kumar is busy producing the report card of his tenure.
Doesn’t it raise a question on its integrity?
Why do we need to engage in imbecilic idol worship and disregard what’s important and matters most?
There’s a why to everything prevalent around.
Why am I not getting my answers??


Friday, November 25, 2011

An open letter to Ajmal Kasab

Time, as they say, is the master of all.  Three years, three long years have so blissfully passed that it’s impossible to think of our existence without you.
Three years ago, on an old November evening of 26/11/ 2008, you with your impaling bullets landed at the VT station, Mumbai and entered straightaway to our hearts. Your blue Armani t shirt and beige cargo pants we all still fondly remember. 
the courage you shot millions of innocent or to put it bluntly, dumb Indians whose life are of no value, with was almost gladiatorial as the AK 47 in your hand that seemed no less than a scepter. 
Court cases, numerous proceedings and the usual political stuff followed after the massacre you and your friends dared to. Your story was so truth defying that some even wanted to make a bollywood potboiler on it.
But you were and still very much are profusely valiant, for it’s not a kid’s joke to enter a country, kill a couple of high rank police officers and a few other hundred people and still hold one’s head high in public just on the account of being a teenager.
We even provided you with  lawyers. not one or two but three , someone to talk on behalf of one who killed and conspired to kill millions others. Doesn’t that sound lame if not quadriplegic that we wanted you to defend you, one who has a visible proof of being mercenary??

Three years, for three long years, we have fed you the most exotic of Indian dishes from biryanis to aloo dums. 
And as you may have heard during your stay in India, we Indians religiously follow the adage “atithi devo bhava”. In English it means, the guest is god. But sadly, you can’t appreciate any of these since you only speak, read and write in Arabic. 
We in India are not much of a technology freak but we have installed CCTV cameras at some places to show off and some of them actually work. Fortunately or unfortunately, blame it on your bad (or was it good?) luck, one of them mistakenly caught you (sic) while you were on the killing spree. But videos can be distorted with. They can be altered and even be animated. You have a valid reason to be free.
To me, you are a celebrity-ette. Newspapers carry your photographs, everybody from our PM Manmohan Singh to the teas stall boy discusses you as you pass your days, lost in the solitary gloom, perhaps thinking of future plans for mass destruction.
Sixteen crore. Sixteen crore is the amount we have spent on you during the past three years. But in a country where ministers so proudly engage in scams worth a couple of thousand crore, sixteen crore is really a minuscule amount. Isn't it ??

Judiciary in India is supposed to be the highest of all but some political parties, for their own benefit tend to influence its decisions. Thus, you with your distant cousin from the world of terror, afzal guru relax in a Indian jail, partly sure that both of you will walk away someday, breathing fresh air, on the wobbly promise of human rights.
America has already finished off your grandpa Osama, but you need not to worry as you will be pretty safe in Indian jails.
As I end this letter, I pray to the god almighty for your long, happy and prosperous stay in India ahead.
Jai hind! 

Friday, November 11, 2011

Nostalgia

A smell sometimes
takes me back to the times
i don't know of
or i don't clearly remember

sometimes, while walking through the lanes
i can smell the fragrance
unsure of what it is
but it evokes a sense of deja vu

on a November evening, when it's not that cold
i freeze in my way, the moment, i feel the smell
restless, i become, and try to remember
but fail, and move on.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

a rain of dispair

the October sun
shone high in the sky
the sun, of a sepia tone
till the clouds came by

clouds of hope, they seemed
but weren't
clouds of rain, uncertainty
they were

they brought with them
the rains of death
and not of belief,
that was shattered

monstrous, ferocious
vehemently dark and gray
they cast a shadow,
a shadow of gloom and dismay

they thundered, and roared
and rained till dark,
and it has rained ever since
to wash away my hopes, miles apart



Monday, October 10, 2011

सड़क और माँ

बात कल शाम की है
सड़क पार करते समय
मेरी चाल कुछ धीमी पड़ गयी
और फूल गयी मेरी सांसें
एक कतार से आती हुई गाड़ियों को देखकर
सकपका गया मैं 
याद आई मुझे मेरी माँ
जो मेरा हाथ पकडती थी,
मैं निर्भीक सड़क पार करता था
आज मैंने देखा
मेरी माँ कहीं नहीं थी 
अंगुली मेरी पकड़ने के लिए
डबडबा आई मेरी आंखें
में हमेशा सोचता, कहता और झगड़ता था
सड़क अकेली पार करने के लिए
आज मैं अकेला था 
और सामने एक अंतहीन सड़क  

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

days to remember


Days to remember
memories to cherish
you gave my sights to behold
in minutes you’ll perish

you were a start
as well an end
my horizons
you helped my transcend
You made me free
from the grips that clutched
you made me sit
and look what mattered

You stayed awake
wide eyed all night
dawn did come, you left
I was alone, with memories to fight


This is an allegorical poem i wrote on the eve of new year 2010.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

from son, to father


I guess, you would never be able to read this or it may not ever reach you, nevertheless, I write this to you because you are special to me. As kid you were my hero- the tallest, strongest and the most intelligent person in the world I knew. You were my superhero, and perhaps you still are and forever will be.
But somehow we grew apart. That I am a part of you and an extension of your being will always be a fact that can not be doubted upon. However, with the course of time, a few things shaped up our course of relationship which can never be forgotten.
I know I am a bad son, and I have my vices yet you could have been a good father. You always had your virtues you could rely on.
I don’t know if you still remember the day I had scored just 47 out of 70 in mathematics in the third grade. You might not be, as you have other things to take care of…but I do. And I do remember your sarcastic remark. I was a kid, and didn’t care about marks. No one does. Nor does one purposely try to score less. You may not have noticed but it felt as if a bullet had pierced my puny chest. It still has the same effect when I remember that. Since then, perhaps in my subconscious I had this motive of proving you wrong every time I did something.
I also remember the cold winter morning you made me stand outside the house just because I was calling out my friend’s name and it disturbed your sleep. It’s not your fault if you don’t remember that incident, as you had other things to indulge in.
Even today, a foggy December morning evokes an identical sentiment.
It was my 10th birthday and I came to the house we lived in, just 10 minutes late after playing with my friends and you shouted at me. I know you apologized for that later that evening but the damage was already done. I didn’t cry that day but I do now…whenever I remember the day.
There are many more things that come rushing to my mind as I write this but it would only fester the wounds.
I also know that sometimes it was my fault. You must have felt bad when they called you at the school to say nasty things about me; but I never wanted to be bad let alone make you feel bad. But I was caught in the cobwebs of this big, bad world.

I still remember the day when I essayed the character of bishop in one of the school plays and you were a proud father, as it was obvious from your smile. And the day the results of class X th board exams were announced and you hugged me because I had scored 92 %. But those were days I brought laurels, days I achieved something.
The picture of you waiting for me after the first day of school is still very fresh in my heart, although it has become a bit faint. Every time I feel lonely on these roads of life I wish you would come out of nowhere and carry my piggyback. I wish you could love me not because I was something but because nothing…just your son.

Every now and then, I feel it would have been different had you understood me…u never did, or at least tried for it. I sometimes hate you for not being tolerant and giving but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. The truth is; I can’t part away from you, for it’s your face I see every time I look into the mirror. And I am going to miss you when you are not around.
Your son!!

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

i wont cry


The pain is inflicted
deep in my heart
yet I won’t
cry tonight

my eyes are laden
with clouds of tears
shaking, convulsing
trembling with fears

yet I have pledged
I won’t cry tonight

much has been said
and written ever since
but I’ll sail through
without crying tonight.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

The song of death

this is something i scribbled in my diary an year ago :

Every time i fall asleep
lying in my dreams deep
a tune i hear
its the lullaby of death

Ennui

sitting alone on my porch
i spend my days alone
with nobody to share my
sorrows with

lonesome,  i look at the sky
gaze at the patterns
which clouds make and fly

only companion, of my nights
is the moon
miles away,
i look at it, in retrospect
sink in abyss
to find my way