Our Hero

Our Hero,

At this moment,

Did not wish

To be the Hero,

The leader,

Who made unorthodox choices,

And broke glass ceilings.

 

At this moment,

Our Hero wants to be a regular man,

He wants to have a day job,

A grocery list to buy,

And a family with

a couple of children.

 

He did not wish to face any challenges,

Not even as small as climbing a mountain,

Let alone fighting a battle.

He wants the

Romantic embrace of his lover.

 

At this moment,

He does not wish to think about

The moment that led to this mayhem:

Call of Duty, some said

Fight for humanity, others said.

O' Hero, lead the charge,

We will fight with sticks and stones,

Lead us into the holy battle,

Where we can lay our lives

in service of the great nation,

many of them said.

 

Our Hero, because we call him a hero,

Was a fool, felt his chest swell with pride,

Blinded by the cacophony of morality,

Led an untrained and unprepared army

To be slaughtered in the war.

He watched them die

At the hands of the enemy.

 

At this moment,

Our Hero is running away,

From the battlefield,

Not counting the dead,

Not caring for the injured,

or about the countless widows

and orphans, but

hoping to find a haven

and normal life.

 

Our Hero is indeed a coward man.

The Year That Was

The year that was defined

by pandemic,

work from home,

school from home,

and by the establishment's struggle

to show everything was normal.

But if anything,

it wasn't normal.

It was about letting go

social life,

letting go

meeting with the loved ones

even those who lived at seven kilometres,

letting go

small celebrations

and letting go

to gather and protest.

The year that was,

of misinformation,

of lying,

of burying information

of selective justice,

of denying rape and suicide,

of superstition,

of polarisation

of horse-trading,

and elections,

a marker of a new normal.

It was the 'new' normal,

for the working class,

and travellers in public services

with wearing masks,

using sanitisers, and

social distancing.

But in the new normal

we couldn't let go,

Outdated learning,

Outdated methods of doing things,

and being selfish.

When we should have focussed

on health and nutrition,

on fulfilling hobbies,

And on staying happy,

We continued

We pushed,

we fought,

to keep everything as is.

In a way we fulfilled

the ruler's wish.

The year that was

of losing people of all classes,

to suicide,

to the disease,

to fear of disease,

and to walking thousands of kilometre home,

because there wasn't another way,

or money.

The year that was,

of death,

and death alone.

#2020 #bye2020

Moon And Romance

Yesterday at 3:50 a.m. my phone rang. It is not unusual as I work with electrical utility and some consumers who have my number call me, not always at ungodly hours, but quite often. The said number disconnected the call before I could pick up. I did not dial back.

Outside my bedroom balcony, it was dark, and I was half awake when I saw a small blurry arc of the moon trying to make a mark on the sky above the Yeeor hills. Though the full moon is a common sight from my balcony, I have never seen a new moon or a waning moon from this balcony. It could be because I have never been awake or half sleepy at that hour in the day. Anyway, my eyes were droopy, so I tried to get back to sleep, and I did, but I was awake again in few minutes, and my eyes drifted to the moon, and instead of setting behind the hills it had risen in the sky, slightly bigger but the arc was still the same, and it shone brighter.

Without the stars and clouds, the moon still looked romantic, calling upon the lovers of the earth and other realms to share their secret.

As a child, I found the moon fascinating I used to look for shapes in it. I wanted to build a ladder to the moon. Maybe build a house there. Maybe find my favourite crate there.

And then I spotted much talked about rabbit shape on the moon. And I could never unsee it. And I have tried.

I drifted to sleep hoping some romantic was enjoying the beauty of this waning moon, bathing in its bright and cool light on a warm summer morning and sharing a smile with their lover.

Review: The Picture Of Dorian Gray

On the tomb of Oscar Wilde is written:

And alien tears will fill for him

Pity's long-broken urn,

For his mourners will be outcast men,

And outcasts always mourn.

Wilde's Tomb in Paris

The above verse if from Wilde's Poem, The Ballad of Reading Gaol.

Brief Background:

Dorian Gray begins with a conversation between Lord Henry Wotton and an artist Basil Hallward, who are discussing pleasure, and Basil Hallward's immense love for Dorian Gray.  I wondered if I should continue to read the book because men obsessing over men, however romantic isn't really my taste in books.

Last year, when I read A Room One's Own by Virginia Woolf, where she recommends several books and poems to read to women, and where she also adds opinions about authors and their work of her time and those who were there before. This had a great influence on me as a reader and an author. It's a lovely piece of education And so I wondered about her opinion of Wilde, and thus I began to search the internet. 

Wilde is either omitted from her commentary or her opinion about Wilde is not on the internet, which is to say is a tad disappointing.

Wilde's work is grand and stylish. He offers many words to authors to use in work. Wilde was a spokesman for aestheticism, and this novel is also about beauty, pleasure and vulgarity. And above all, it is also about homosexuality, and we know even today LGBTQ communities find it hard to make their voices heard.

But there is a problem, as much philosophies of Lord Wotton are fascinating, his opinion of women is least inspiring.  But it would be odd to not accept that there is a truth in it.

Woolf's opinion or critique would have been handy, and if I have understood her well, she would have asserted the importance of reading Dorian Gray, but she hasn't, and so it was for me as a reader to decide which looking glass I should apply to this piece of literature.

                                                            ***

Basil Hallward draws up Portrait of an attractive young man Dorian Gray, which Lord Henry Wotton thinks is no less than a masterpiece. Hallward confesses his love for Dorian to Lord Henry but does not dare to express to Dorian.

Lord Henry Wotton and Basil Hallward looking at picture of Dorian Gray.
 Pic source: Wiki

He also thinks, Wotton shouldn't meet Dorian because he will corrupt the young man's life. And there is no stopping to Wotton, an elite in London's affluent circle, Dorian is smitten by Lord's philosophy of seeking pleasure and new hedonistic lifestyle.

Dorian wishes to stay young and wishes that picture to grow old, without being aware it could come true.

Under the influence of Wotton, Dorian Gray goes around seeking pleasure, and he falls in love with a small-time actress Sibyl Vane. He wants to marry her and proposes to her, but in reality, Dorian loves the heroine she plays in Shakespeare Drama and the day she ceases to be the heroine Dorian falls out of love.

Sibyl Vane kills herself.

Wotton finds it fascinating and he confesses to Dorian that no-one has ever killed themselves, because they loved him. He even glorifies Vane's act. 

It is also the same day when Dorian discovers that his wish has come true. His portrait has changed, and he has been blessed with eternal youth.

For eighteen years, he doesn't age even a single day, while he pursues his passions for the satisfaction of his senses,  reading every literature, acquiring rare musical instruments, researching Gems and most of all associating himself with young men who look up to him as an icon, some are drawn to shame, and some driven to suicide.  He is also associated with some low-class people near docks and to drugs.

 Even then his youth open more doors to Dorian than the people who leave after he enters the room.

For every sin, he commits, a line or smudge appears on the portrait making it ugly, bringing disgust to Dorian, he carefully locks away the portrait, and never shares his secret with anyone, until the day his path crosses with Hallward who wants to display the picture for an upcoming exhibition.

He shows the horror of the painting to Hallward and holds him responsible for the turn of events and kills him in rage. With the help of an estranged friend, he gets rid of Hallward's body.

It is here one realizes the paradox of Dorian' youth, unlike the old and wizened, Dorian’s repentance is short, and often shallow. At one place, he acknowledges Hallward's high morals but also regards it as a barrier to their relationship.  But Hallward comes across as a dull man, and even after he confesses to 

Dorian about his affection, it does not excite our protagonist.

Throughout Wotton is an undeniable influence on Dorian and both share a bond of love with each other.  But one cannot hold Wotton responsible for Dorian's deed, in the end, it was Dorian's choice to pursue desire that satisfies his senses.  He is also confronted by James Vane, Sybil's brother, and thus Dorian also discovers the feeling of fear for a short time.

How Dorian escape's his mis(?) fortunes of youth I want readers to discover, but the end is no less poetic.

Everything in the novel could be treated as a plot device, including our lead Dorian Gray, to put forth a philosophy. Philosophy of pleasures of the flesh and hedonistic lifestyle. Philosophy of morals in which society is bound. It questions moral ideas of society, and society has scarcely changed in a hundred-plus year.

At one point I was jealous of Dorian for innumerable opportunities youth provides, hedonistic or not. As I slip into middle age Dorian's youth becomes enviable. But it does not escape me that people around Dorian Gray pay the price of his youth. 

With a friend, I also reflected upon if there was a Henry Wotton, or many Wotton in our life, or if we have been a Wotton to another person, opening windows to the world view, which otherwise, we might miss. 

As we move towards end, one reflects upon love, and what we know about love? Have we forgotten what it is to be in love? Or we simply never felt the love. Or we were scared to discover the pleasure of life and satisfaction of senses, but how long we can live with such excitement in life, and do we know that if satiating senses is a sin or a good deed.

Dorian Gray is often classified as horror, and it is horrifying at places, but this genre classification is often misleading.

Reading Dorian Gray gave me immense satisfaction. In the end, I found it fascinating and a must-read. Book is available for free on Kindle, but I recommend to buy a paperback.

A picture they say speaks more than thousand words. Yesterday, I was at Chowpatty with my nephew, son, mom (not in frame), and sister who shot us in this frame.

Why doe this picture standout? May be because wave is just about to ebb, or maybe it's the sun casting its fading rays before setting in the west or is it the kids willing to match their steps with me. Willing to go with me on an adventure. 

But no I am not on any adventure, all I have is a regular life and that is why they also say Pictures lie.

It's just an extraordinaire click by Darshana Bodke

Views And Review -Veere Di Wedding

When the trailer of Veere Di Wedding came out in May, and though it was not coming out from best of the production houses in the country, I thought the trailer had a quirk. Balaji Telefilms is known to draw up the worst regressive plots for the television, and Anil Kapoor productions - the last time they claimed to make a chick lit - they made an Aisha. However, the trailer looked good, and I did think Yogesh would not mind watching four good looking women on the celluloid.


The reviews that came out thrashed the movie. The reviewers said the movie does not pass Bechdel test. Bechdel Test is primarily conducted on movies and work of fiction to ascertain - if women play a significant role and interact with each other in the stories, and talk about anything other than men.

With such bad reviews, I had dropped the idea of watching the movie in the theatre, but a good friend asked if one can watch Salman Khan's masala flick then why not Veere di Wedding. It raises the question of why does one watch a movie, and the answer is entertainment. What else can explain the mindless movies that made it to the hundred crore club?

Then why do people expect a chick lit like Veere di wedding to pass Bechdel test or be feministic or compare it with Lipstick Under My Burkha with which it has nothing in common, except multiple female leads and the production house?  And with all those questions, in the spur of a moment, the ticket was booked in the second row for this chick flick.

There's some charm when you watch a movie in a house full theatre. I heard some loud cheer from the back seats, throughout the movie, attesting the fact the movie indeed had an audience, in all likeness to Tiger Zinda Hai or Grand Masti.

At the end of the movie, my husband said, "I think you liked the movie."

"It was okay, maybe decent."

" Afterall it's about four boisterous women."

I smiled because for him I am that unruly woman. Did I find myself in the shoes of the protagonists?  No, I don't think so. My life is quite different from these four women, their issues and not to forget their financial situations. However, I had fun.

A set of fearless women is a treat to eyes. These women smoke, drink, and swear; and at no point, they look vulgar.  But more than that they have an opinion, even if it is about men and relationships.  They are not bitches. They are best friends and anyone who wants get an idea of how women talk to each other- this could be their chance. To sum up, the characters are simply sensible modern women.

If comparatives are to be drawn with sex comedies such as Grand Masti or House full, the movie was several notches above in portraying the women and gay relationships. At no point, it indulges in male bashing, objectifying women, or making fun of the LGBTQ community. To be honest, I did think the movie would indulge in at least in one scene where it would mock Vivek Mushran and his partner. But there isn't and its a win, we might hope to have a better-focused movie on gay relationships in near future.

Swara Bhaskar proved mettle as an actor as she played the rich kid, with no holds barred. Shikha Talsania and Kareena Kapoor too don't disappoint. Sonam Kapoor -(sigh!), she will reach there in another four-five years.

Now before we move to shameless product plugging, one last thing, Veere di Wedding is a movie and not a book, it needs to be extensively edited to fit a particular runtime to be cost-effective and appealing to an audience. Therefore there are not as many dialogues which one could take note of, however again the one where Swara discloses how her relationship has gone to docks or when she repeats it to her parents, takes the cake.

So, yes the movie plugged lots of products. Air India, Bikaneri sweets, Oxford English Hindi dictionary, Bharat Matrimony, and Amul. Although I am not sure if Oxford and Bharat matrimony paid. But in a country like ours, where women in Bollywood struggle for meatier roles, one needs a viable model. The production would need to recover its costs, unlike Dil Chahta Hai which is held as best friendship movie ever had guaranteed returns, on the other hand, this movie is an out and out gamble. And guess what no one is troubled by all guys trip to Goa, in the spur of a moment.

So, yeah - to conclude the movie might pass Bechdel test because they do talk about other stuff, even though for a short time.

Yes, the movie could have been better so would Bajrangi Bhaijan or Tiger Zinda Hai could have been better.

And the final question - about feminism - the movie doe not identify itself or can be classified as core feminist movie, but I think makers were clear on that - the purpose of the movie was entertainment and not activism.

Last checked, the worldwide movie made hundred crores in collections. Go ahead Bollywood make some more chick lits - let us see more feisty women on screen. You have got an audience

Fault - A Short Story On Kindle

A bit about #Fault. The story was written two years ago for a contest. I did not win it. Then it was made available on Quillrapp. To be honest I did not do much about it.

For past a few months I have been looking at my short stories folder on my computer. Finished Stories. Stories with strong critique by early readers. Stories that are unattended. Ideas worthy of Novel.

And then there was the Novel I am working upon which is nowhere near the finish line. The one that would announce I have arrived. But it will take time. A little long time.

So to test the waters once again, I have published Fault on Amazon. I hope that it will receive an audience.

The link for download: https://www.amazon.in/Fault-Vanita-Bodke-ebook/dp/B079RZ6369

Carthick's Unfairy Tales

Disclaimer: In another world that was without social media, the chances of knowing Karthik would be minuscule. But the bane that social media is which deprives us of our productivity, it has also been the boon that connects us to the people who share our interests.

Incidentally, Karthik and I share similar interests in writing and reading, and hence, I state explicitly: I know Karthik Laxminarayanan, Author of the Carthick's Unfairy Tale.
The review that follows, to the best of my knowledge is without bias.

I close the Kindle app after reading one of the stories, 'The Frog who would be the King' and look out of the window of the taxi and wonder if this should be my favourite story. I am afraid the story had a populist view as if to conform to the guidelines of feminism. Its another bane of social media, you don't know who is not pretending.

At this thought, I decided to come to this book later and move on to The Palace of the Illusions. A retelling of Mahabharata from the Draupadi's POV who I feel is the eternal conflict that women represent and which opposite gender claims to have not fully understood.

Feminism, I realise is a topic worthy of a full blog post. I will write about it, someday.

Before closing the app, I read the title of next story, 'No Country For Wild Beast' and I wondered if it is a retelling of 'Beauty and the Beast', considered as an unfeminist fairy tale of our time. Last year, I read two versions of this fairy tale, one by Grimm, and other by Madame de Villeneuve, translated from French by Rachel Louise Lawrence. Both stories have changed my perspectives about this and many other fairy tales I have watched and read, since.

No Country For Beast is not a Beauty and the Beast story, but another fairy tale, Goldilocks and the three bears. In this story, author amuses about the ways of human beings through a little bear's POV.


Retelling is a tricky business.  Once, Suresh C. who's working on a retelling of Greek myth said, even Neil Gaiman's retelling doesn't sell. And I don't doubt it. If I have read about the blue glass slipper of Cinderella or a mischievious Goldilocks, why should I read Karthik's version?

There are many reasons. The first and foremost is the cover.  It is a well-done cover. The cover depicts elements each of the seven stories in the book. A blue glass slipper, a horseman, a bear, a couple of rats, a hobgoblin, a castle in the background, and a full moon night. The overall purple colour like an adhesive holds the elements together. Not even for a moment, the cover seems crowded. It has a great recall value.

But when you open the book, the titles are - Of Mice and Horses, The Frog who would be the King, No Country for Beasts etc.

A look at these titles and we realise the author borrowed them from famous books.  Of Mice and Horses is inspired by Of mice and men by John Steinback, No Country for Wild Beasts is in inspired from Cormac McCarthy No Country For Old Men and so on.

So, from cover, you know the story, but from the title, you can only make a wild guess about the story.

And the author doesn't stop here. To further engage his audience the author in these stories adopts the narrators who are not 'heroes'.

For example, in 'Beans of Avarice' which is a retelling of (as you may have guessed) 'Jack and the Beanstalk,' the narrator is the vile magician.

It starts with, 'I needed a boy. A proper simpleton at that. I didn't want too smart a boy who would turn on me. Like the one Mustafa found.'

For many fairy tales, it is not easy to spot who is the narrator from the first line. It solely depends on readers knowledge or author's discretion to tell which tale gets a makeover.

This change in narrators gave scope to the author to talk about underlying philosophies.

For example, in A Tale of One City, the city of Hamelin narrates the famous/infamous tale of Pied-Piper. In this story, author repetitively asserts the consequences of famous corporate jargon 'Quick fixes'.  This story is the lesson why we must think holistically before taking each step. The finale of the story defines who we are as readers.

This story I believe achieves the purpose of writing. At a time, when we are not coming out in large numbers, and only a few are telling the stories that matter, or the stories that will shape our future, Karthik braves it with this one and it's smart. The jugheads are going to have a tough time cracking this one.

My favourite is the last story of the book, The Hunger Diaries. This story is the retelling of Hansel and Gretel, the one that has been told and retold several times over centuries. The original story doesn't change, but there are versions, and one of the versions is written by Neil Gaiman.

This story is an important part of the European history, the continent was hit by great famine, and there were instances of cannibalism and abandonment of the children.

I told Karthik, Neil Gaiman would be proud of him if he ever read this story. I say so, after having read the brilliant The Graveyard Book, and Hansel and Gretel and other short stories by the maestro. Both Mr Gaiman and Karthik not only strive to tell a story but also try to give a message through the stories.

Karthik in his book has a message for everyone, women, men, introverts, and the coveted middle management.

The only complaint, Karthik does not deliver punches at the end of the most stories, and I am a huge fan of punchlines. An end that leave jaw dropped.  It's a personal choice.

The book does leave you wanting for more.

You can buy the book here.

Where is your home?

Every time, when someone I know, moves to Canada or Australia, I evaluate if I could live here anymore.If I have the strength to breath stench-ridden air here. Or if I can still travel in overpopulated trains and not worry about being looted or molested.

It's a difficult decision.

In 2011, My sister invited me to visit her in  Dubai. A fine place. Shopping Paradise. Abundantly comfortable lifestyle. I enjoyed my stay there, but one day, my sister asked me a pertinent question, when I grow old, where would I want to spend my life! She answered her own question, probably somewhere with peace and tranquillity, closer to mother nature.

In the backdrop, is Dubai Marina, a palatial skyline.

After a week, when I returned, I had a hearty fight with a taxi driver and it was May, Mumbai was high on humidity, and the drizzling sweat that poured all over my body soothed me to a great extent. I can't tell you how better it felt to be back in my own city.

*

Last week we were at Mahur, a known shakti-peeth, it was an annual visit. We made small donations to the temple. The typist who prepared the receipt asked my husband - Gaav? Now, the translation of Gaav is a village, a place where you stay or a place which is your native, or a place you identify with.

The idyllic city of Mahur

This typist isn't going to verify what we say, we even had the option to say 'Timbuktu' and he would probably raise an eyebrow, ask how it is spelled, and move on.

On the other hand, my husband fumbled a bit, before saying Mumbai. I pointed out to him, technically Aurangabad where his father was born. He replied, "What difference does it make? We are Nomads!"

Nomad. Nomadic Tribe. The caste we belong to. If you ask me, I know nothing about our history. We have been farming for more than a hundred years. The evidence of it is a stone statue, on which our ancestors were carved and placed in our farms. Last April, we resurrected the shrine.

The Shrine, A hundred-year-old village house, and the kitchen in it.

My uncle came to the city with his siblings, after he graduated from Nasik. He stayed in Kalyan and moved to Bandra and later to Andheri. He lived in Kalyan until his brothers moved out for jobs and his sisters got married.

My dad worked, lived, and died in Uran. I was born in Uran. I spent twenty-two years in Uran and now, seventeen years in this city, Mumbai, four of which were for education.

After Dad's death, Mom moved to Andheri, and we bought a house there. Now she lives in Chembur, near one of my sister's house.

On my anniversary, which was last month, Mom and I made the trip to the naval dockyard for some work. I travelled via free-way witnessing a burst of under-construction multistoried towers and wondering if I would buy these houses just for the sake of some status and raise a humongous debt.

Presently, I stay at Navi Mumbai, overlooking Yeoor Hills and a public garden. It's a small place, but I feel it's enough.

On the map, if I have to ever pinpoint a place where I belong, I might not be able to say one -Uran, Nasik, Andheri, or Mumbai, but Maharashtra will win hands down.

Probably, that is why I won't move anytime soon.

Where is Your Heart?

Often, I am regarded as a top performing employee by external stakeholders and internal stakeholders in my set up. Although it does not surprise me, it does gives me a sense of fulfilment. The answer to how I achieve it lies in my experience across five organisations. Here's first of my lessons:

In the early part of my career, during a training program, I met Joseph, an old man well past retirement. He was teaching us the importance of making to-do lists, prioritising, and developing personal skills.

He had no presentation with him. For five hours in between tea and lunch breaks, he spoke to twenty-odd people in a well-lit room. 

He would make us clap between the sessions so that we stay awake and listen to his ramble. A technique, I witnessed for the first time but certainly not the last time. Honestly, he did not ramble.He spoke. He spoke with all his heart and we listened with rapt attention.

As the program ended I asked him why isn't he carrying a presentation with him, a norm in those days. Pointing his finger at his heart, he said, "I remember it here. If you put your heart in things you will not only remember but succeed too."

Unfortunately, social media was unheard of in those days. LinkedIn was not even born.I wanted to keep in touch with that old man but I did not muster up the courage ask for his email or phone number. I always thought I will retrieve it from the HR department. But, I didn't. 

However, ever since his lesson has stayed with me. I use it every day. But there is a consequence. When you put your heart into the work in a professional environment, the challenges are many.

When working across diverse functions, it is possible that people are not as motivated as you, and their priorities are different than yours.

It leads to workplace conflicts. It is said, that one must not be aggressive, and keep their cool when dealing with the conflict. But, I have noticed over all these years, talking softly has never worked in my favour. I have had to put my foot down and stand my ground on numerous occasions.

Surprisingly, the same colleagues forget the rift, move on, and above all, respond to the call of duty. 

I am thankful to Joseph for teaching me to put my heart into doing things personally and professionally.I do hope to get in touch someday.

Invisible Boat

Yesterday Mom was discharged from the hospital.

Before Mom was admitted to the hospital, before she knew that she was in for a long haul at the hospital, she spoke about a dream - a dream where dad spoke to Mom and took her to a paradise. The scenery which mom described was beautiful.

Dad has been gone for more than thirteen years. I miss dad and often I have seen him my dreams. I have dreamt that we lead absolutely normal lives as if he was alive. Sometimes I dreamt that he watched over me like a guardian. But we never talked.

I have many cherished memories with him. On the other hand, Mom had both kind of memories with him - bitter and sweet. Maybe, it was the reason they talked to each other.

I could have explained to Mom about the science of dream then, but I didn't. I couldn't break her reverie. She needed it.

After Mom got admitted to the hospital, I had series of dreams which were scary, funny, and weird.

These dreams drained me, worried me, and ironically, one of them had me in splits. I drew the line here and applied science to dreams.

It was the only way to defeat and master my fear.

And then, I’d a dream yesterday night.

I walked with my partner on a marshy land, among the darkness of dead green mangroves and sea plants, we heard the waves beat against the shore, happy and madly in love.

We soon were on the shore of a creek, and it was along this creek we found a boat, a boat in which we could escape to a boundless horizon.

In the backdrop of a grey sky, quiet sea, and an absent sun was this boat, anchored.

The boat had a wooden outline, when looked upon closely it resembled a broken dried up branch of a tree, which might have washed up on the shore but I could feel the boat, he could too.

But the boat wasn’t there, it was an invisible boat, yet both of us saw the exact same boat.

And then he said, “You know you should write.Finish what you began.”

I smiled.

I woke up.

I could explain the logic and science of this dream and I am sure you could too, but don't break my reverie yet.