Things Taken For Granted

Everyone who is born in India, is brought up with words like karma, dharma, yoga, dhyan and many more, so frivolously, that we, of all people in the world, grow oblivious to their meanings. When a firang talks about yoga online, we step forward to take the credit, even though practically we may know nothing about it. When a firang goes crazy after Sadhus in Haridwar and Banaras, clicking pictures and meditating with them at the banks of Ganga, we chuckle at the sight, while most of the time we ourselves know nothing about meditation. This is the reason why most of the new age books on meditation and yoga and any other form of Eastern spirituality are all written by foreigners. In fact, I learnt about the Tantrik sect and practices of India from someone who had been schooled in the subject in the West.

This is our national version of a micro concept of "taking things for granted". We often overlook things that are attained with little efforts, be them admissions in dream colleges, jobs, relationships or even personal attributes. If the effort doesn't leave a lasting memory in your psychology, you tend to forget how important it once was for you. But the objective thus achieved, held in ignorance and disrespect develops a tendency to break free in many karmic ways. A disregarded creativity may never convert to substantial results. You might have heard this oft quoted statement, "His is a wasted talent." A discounted relationship may result in tussles and fights and low threshold points of irritation and misconduct. 

The answer or a solution to this situation is an easy one, i.e. if you are lucky to not have left a permanent mark. Stop taking things for granted any more. It sounds too simple to create any effects at all. But in all its honesty this is a foolproof and the only solution. Only if you give the due share of respect and attention to that neglected object, you'll see how situations take a U-turn, back to the desired, always wished for paths. This involves another simple logic of returning the karmic debts to that and those which and what have been taken for granted. If not anything else, this is your moral obligation to hold those things--- that sometimes made you feel good and special--- in top regard. As added brownie points to better situations, you will also feel a sense of immense satisfaction and happiness.

So much for Freedom of Press

Freedom of Press is a non linear, unwritten understanding that generally is not and must not be tempered with, either by the government or the media itself. A huge ruckus was raised over an Indian journalist, Ved Prakash Vaidik interviewing an international terrorist, Hafiz Saeed. The terrorist, recognized so by the UN has been held responsible for the notorious Mumbai attacks of 2008 and few even before that. His organization, Jama’at ud Da’wah was banned by India, the US, the UK, the EU, Russia and Australia following the Mumbai attacks. However, he is 
free to move in Pakistan without any restrictions. Vaidik’s fault was that he happened to have 
met him and ask some questions as a journalist.

The Congress, as in many cases in the past, was the first one to raise objections in a high 
pitched tone and trigger the news hungry media to step forward for a hatchet job. (Past references? The Babri Masjid demolishing, for one.) It was most disappointing to see Indian media 
question the freedom of press that a freelance journalist, Vaidik took the liberty of practicing. 
They built some stories on undisclosed sources and created a case against him. Vaidik, in turn appeared on as many news channels as he could to answer the same questions over and over.

Observation and Analysis

Two things were clear. First, the media wasn’t interested in knowing what had actually passed between the two (Vaidik and Saeed) in the interview. They only wanted Vaidik to accept that 
their versions of his interview were more authentic than any other.

Second, they were not happy that an Indian journalist had managed to get an interview of a 
state enemy. I don’t remember them holding a media trial against any of the people who have 
interviewed other terrorists in India before, or made statements in support of Kashmiri freedom (which by the way, the old man hasn’t, and his throat is sore from denying and re-quoting himself for the Indian press).

Now objectively, I don’t understand why would the media want to belittle something pretty 
huge! A terrorist’s interview involves certain risks. (Remember Daniel Pearl?) Don’t laud him 
if he hurts your ego. But as a freelance journalist he was not under an obligation to get a 
clearance from a media group or the Indian government, which was surprisingly supportive of 
the freedom of media more than the media itself. (Union Minister Venkaiah Naidu said: "It's a private affair. The government has nothing to do with it. He was neither authorised nor 
representing the government or the party. We have nothing to do with the meeting. This 
country is a free country. People are going to different places.")

The Congress, as a crooked party of the opposition, will obviously try every measure to take 
on the government, but what is with the media? Should this really be made mandatory to get a government clearance for every research that the media gets involved in? It’s funny that people have found an opportunity to earn oven hot brownie points with this issue. A hitherto 
unknown lawyer of Varanasi, K C Tripathy, has filed a case of sedition against Vaidik and has become a famous figure overnight. 

It’s common knowledge that the court case does not hold a chance. But the moral and 
intellectual decadence that it unwraps is scary. Is this really the future of Indian media? Where people will be tried for sedition and stupid stuff like that for reporting? Do we just need 
reporters who bring back interviews of easy cakes like politicians and film stars?

A Dilli Haat trip after ages!

Places like Dilli Haat never grow old, however you do. I went to the place with a friend today after a very long time and everything was still the same. The types of shops, the types of people, the types of stalls and the types of tourists roaming about...all were exactly the same. Walking there like a grown up was an interestingly melancholic feeling. Untill...certain things cheered my mood up.

Let me register them in the memory lane...

This funny little place did not exactly cheer me up, but re-established the belief that I had not lost all my patience after all. We went there for a small earthen ghatam that bore the words Aam Panna. Having already downed a sinisterly buttery vada pav and a dry sev puri at the Maharashtra food stall Aam Panna came to the rescue. But only visually. It was hot and humid even in the late evening and a fan was not a luxury but a necessity. The gentleman sitting at the counter refused to acknowledge his having heard our quintuple requests to switch the standing fan on that rested in peace at a corner. Nevermind. We decided to take a look at the menu only to locate the Aam Panna. But what we saw made up for all the discomfort we'd been cursing the godforsaken man for...

        They were serving 'Thails' and if that wasn't enough you could always go for some extra 'Greavey'. 

Next, my friend wanted to have some fresh coconut water, as the Aam Panna was a disaster. So we went to an interesting machine manned by one Jeetendra who somehow squeezed the water from a coconut by only placing it on top of it. The mechanism was cool and we drank the most water-like water from the insides of a coconut.

Then we caught some very colourful shops and products, and my disappointment on the friend's bahalf, as this was her first visit, that it was already night and she would have liked to see things in the day light, vanished.

                                    Beautiful lampshades, not made of paper, but specially made leather.

Proud owners of the leather-lampshades shop from Karnataka. Their shop did not just have lampshades but a lot many colourful products...all made of leather.

             A shop of  very beautiful handicrafts from Odisha...manned by the most disinterested guy around.

                                                                      A sample from Odisha

For the entire time my friend spent checking out things at the Odisha shop, this dude never changed his position even once. And no he wasn't a mannequin, nor did he think that I was a producer of low budget films...I just know that one!

She was the most chatty shopkeeper in the haat. From Manipur, the shop had special stone made utensils and artefacts. The black bowls and kettles are all made of a light weighing stone called "serpentinite", a type of metamorphic rock. I ended up buying a small box with a lid from here. Haven't thought of what I'll put in there yet. But her sad and probably bogus story that nobody had come to her shop since morning melted my heart a little.

                                             "Sands of Time"...this remained the star of the evening.

                                                 Things of beauty...products from the valley.

The most ingenious depiction of Mahavira I'd ever seen. I was about to ask the shopkeeper to get these on a table so that I could better photograph them, but just then he saw me clicking pictures and showed aversion to my doing so.

There had been too much walking and I was hungry again. I was just too happy to see my plate of momos arriving at the Sikkim food stall. My mug of chilled fruit beer had already left a pool of condensation around.

                                 Yes...and the momos were fried and greasy. Ah...still remember them!

Cherry on top was this poster as we walked out of the gates of Dilli Haat. Such amazing art. And the man who was selling these posters and boxes refused to remove the boxes from in front of the poster as he realized that I was only going to click a couple of shots and not buy anything. Still...very interesting.

So, this was the end of a neverland journey to an odd place, reeking of nostalgia for me. What followed was the everyday struggle with reality as we tried to convince stern auto wallahs to take us to our respective homes.