Month: April 2013

These kids nowadays…

I have met a lot of adults who complain about the young generation. Most people find it difficult to accept that life on earth — from being easy — has now become challenging. Nowadays, mere survival requires enormous effort.

Irresponsible, forgetful, careless, jealous, greedy, inane, insane. These adjectives, we hear almost everyday from parents of teenagers. From their point of view, their teenage children are useless and can’t do anything right. Parents nowadays accuse teenagers of whiling away their time in front of television watching useless programs or surfing the internet, killing time.

There’s something they need to understand though. The period between 10-20 years is the most difficult part of a modern child’s life. Difficult, not only to the child but also to those around him/her. That is the age a child begins to look at himself/herself as an individual. That’s when a sense of self-importance arises. We feel the transition from a child to a person in society. That’s when we desperately try to break through the chains of childhood that our parents and society had restrained us in.

It’s like taking the first step out into the world after a lifetime in prison. Everything and everyone seems strange. It feels like a butterfly breaking out of its cocoon. As a child, we’d have thought everyone we met were good and everyone was a part of a larger family. It’s during those pre-teen years that we figure out that our childhood fancies, were indeed fancies and everything we thought we knew of the world was wrong. It’s when we meet the jealous, the ruthless; the deceiving, and the unfriendly that we realize how wrong we had been all along. It’s hard to accept.

It feels like forcibly being thrust into a group of snarling and unfriendly wild dogs. Suddenly the picture of the ‘beautiful world’ starts to crumble. We see the world for what it really is.

In days of yore, children were either forced into adulthood before they could come out of their cocoon or our society wasn’t as bad and corrupted as it is now. There wasn’t much difference between the family children knew and the society they would soon get to know.

Now, however, things have changed. It’s like balancing two worlds that are in complete contrast with one another. The change, in itself, is a hard-to-bear reality. That causes depression. And to add to the helplessness, the usual duties of school and homework come in harder than ever before.

That’s the age we feel a sudden urge to experiment on relationships; that’s when we learn to make friends of strangers. Making friends with others who feel as insecure as us is easier said than done, we find it difficult to trust anyone; we view even family with a doubtful eye. Inexplicable emotions run amok in our minds and we won’t feel confident enough to confide in anyone.

Bottled up insecurity, frustration, fear and emotions threaten to break out as depression. When they do break out, they result in desperate mood swings. That’s when the rest of the world calls us ‘irresponsible’ and ‘incapable of doing anything right’. These accusations make us feel as if something is indeed wrong with us.

Naturally, we look up to our family for help. Parents are the only ones we trust and if they have problems of their own, that would be a huge let down for us. Of course, there are some families who make efforts to try and understand.

We find it nearly impossible to rest. To overcome the chaos within us, we look for alternatives. And, with some help sometimes, we do find them in drugs.

Most teenagers who do drugs only do it to relieve themselves of the stress of the outside world and try to rest. I am not justifying the use of drugs, but merely stating that they honestly believe that drugs can help them clean up their scattered emotions. Those who escape the claws of drugs turn to the option of suicide to escape the harsh realities of life. It’s only a moment’s foolhardiness and luckily, some come out of it as coming out of a reverie.

Me saying all these might sound odd because I talk for teenagers in general. Of all things I’ve said, I have felt almost everything myself and I am pretty sure other teenagers feel it too. I realized I wasn’t alone when I read Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, Letters. Reading letters from fellow teenagers around the globe, inspired me to muse on my teenage life, and this is what I came up with.

All the world’s a stage

Copy of seven ages of man

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

— Jaques (Act II, Scene VII, lines 139-166)

The seven ages of man, as told by the man who celebrates yet another birthday today.

Alright, he’s done that for years now and will do so in future as well. That’s not the matter. No. I am not going to write another blissful blog post about how Shakespeare influenced the language and literature that we hold dear. That’d be a crappy and boring read; too many people would be doing it. Having read that excellent speech recorded in the pages of literature, I’d be surprised if you are even reading this. That’s the point. Shakespeare’s words need neither prologue nor epilogue. Thus, I wind up.

Earth Day; a camouflage

Early this morning, Google via its doodle, informed me that it is Earth day. When I was younger, I remember discussing this is in school. We never spoke of it again. This topic only popped up in essays of exams. No one in school thought of the necessity to educate or even give us an opportunity to mull this over and voice our thoughts. It may have been because we had grown up and we had more pressing matters to argue at school. Honestly, does anyone really get too old to talk about our Earth? I think not, thus after all these years, I felt the sudden urge to analyse this topic.

Today’s Google doodle is brightly colourful. Pity we seldom see such lush greenery in our busy schedules. Moreover, it’s not just our life style that keeps us away from our Earth’s blessings. Summer is ravaging this part of the world I call home. Nowadays, people prefer staying indoors because the sun is ferociously scorching. This, experts say, is most unnatural. Mother Earth is not so cruel as to torture her children. Who then, can we hold responsible? The obvious answer hangs over our heads, only we don’t make attempts to accept it.

It is natural for a country’s government to face pressures. Of late, one of the huge pressures our government has met is the farmers’ issue. Farmers of Indian villages couldn’t bear to see all their crops in a withered state and thus, heartbroken, they committed suicide. This, is not the story of an individual; it is the life of those villagers without whom our plates wouldn’t be filled with mountains of culinary delights.

Why did the crops wither? Why hasn’t the land been drenched from the blessings of clouds? The answers to these queries are found in our junior school text books. I remember studying something about trees being our life blood; maybe there is a connection. Then why didn’t it ring a bell before we bulldozed these trees?

When I appeared for the Board Exams earlier this year, the examiners instructed us to strike out the pages remaining unwritten. It seemed such an ordinary instruction; it happens all the time. On the first day of exam, once I had finished my writing, I had about five pages unwritten. The hall supervisor reminded me to strike out the extra pages. I took my pencil and ruler to follow instructions; I hadn’t felt anything until then, but when I began to draw those diagonal lines, it struck me how many trees would have been ‘struck out’ as such as unwritten; unused. That’s when I felt guilty of our educational system altogether.

Couldn’t we use recycled paper for our writing purposes? Is writing on whiter paper more significant than the future of our generations? Isn’t the price a bit too high? It’s what I feel.

Scientists discover new things even as I write this. Science and technology have opened up the possibilities of what our ancestors considered impossible. We read articles and hear news of the wonderful services Science has done to humanity. Man is now considered (by himself) as the ‘cleverest’ among creatures that has walked this Earth. Hasn’t it occurred to the ‘cleverest’ people that it is the same inventions and discoveries that led to the puncture in Ozone? It must have occurred to them at some point, because it is in some book that I read of it. So, we know enough to write bestselling books, printed on paper made from felled trees, and displaying concern about preservation of trees and of Ozone’s pity predicament.

Also, the entire concept of ‘Earth Day’, seems like an all new veil to hoodwink; one to convince ourselves that we can actually do something to pull out Earth from the pit we have ruthlessly thrust it into.

Stupid people.

The White Tiger

“All the world’s a stage” said William Shakespeare.

Here, Aravind Adiga, in his novice attempt at a novel, has illustrated the world as a jungle. Not much of a surprise; we meet animals on the streets everyday!

This story ‘The White Tiger’ is about Balram Halwai who is far more intelligent than his classmates and so earns the title ‘White Tiger.’ A white tiger is a rare thing that is born only once in a generation. Thus the name.

Unlike a typical intelligent schoolboy, Balram turns out a different person altogether. The reason is that he was from the Darkness. His was a poor family and he had to drop out of school early. Here’s the secret: India is the only country in which one can find two main partitions; Darkness and Light. The poor families in the ‘underdeveloped’ villages, (not ‘developing’ as the rest of the world calls it (or rather, villages that face barriers to development)) who have to struggle hard daily for half a meal and those who have to drop their children’s education to pay off debts, make up Darkness.

The rest of the world turns a blind eye towards Darkness.

This is the kind of story that helps readers realize the harsh realities of life and the author has made no effort whatsoever to diminish the harshness. It’s blunt and to the point; no beating around the bush.

Mr Ashok Sharma alias Balram Halwai,  a driver; a thief; an entrepreneur; a murderer and the White Tiger, on hearing the news of the Chinese Premier’s visit to India, writes a letter to him explaining the realities of India, which he wouldn’t otherwise know. He narrates his entire life story; the story of how a simple boy from Laxmangarh became the driver of a wealthy man in Dhanbad, his journey to New Delhi; the story of how Delhi corrupted his America-return master and himself, and his transition from a faithful servant to murderer and then an entrepreneur.

The author discusses the concepts of caste, poverty, weakness, vulnerability, corruption, freedom and mainly, the difference between Darkness and Light.

This is not a fast paced story, and I really enjoy some pace in the story. This wasn’t a polished and colourful story, it’s just a narrative of facts. If truth be told, the story didn’t appeal to me; seems hard to accept, maybe because the truth is always bitter or maybe because the incidents are similar to those I’ve seen in movies.

The narrative contains spoilers for those who hold India in sky heights. Nevertheless, the tale gives an insight into another India altogether; another India that lives so close to us, yet remains unnoticed.

P.S: It’s interesting to note that Balram, after slitting his master — Mr Ashok’s — throat and running away to Bangalore, takes up his ex master’s first name as his; he becomes Mr Ashok Sharma the successful entrepreneur.

மேல்படிப்பு

“போறாளே பொண்ணுத்தாயி, பொல பொலவென்று கண்ணீர் விட்டு தண்ணீரும் சோறும் தந்த மண்ணவிட்டு”

 கண்ணீர் மட்டும் தான் இல்லை, அதுவும் அப்பா மனசு காயப்படக்கூடாது என்பதற்காக. தனது ஊரிலிருந்து சென்னைக்கு மேல்படிப்புக்காக செல்லும் முதல் பெண், பொன்னி. அவளை வழியனுப்ப ஊரே திரண்டிருந்தது. வண்டியும் வந்தது.

“ஏம்மா, பொன்னி, போனவுடனையே கடுதாசி போடு. என்ன புரிஞ்சுதா? ஒன் மாமங்காரர் ஹாஸ்டல்ல ரூம் போட்டு வச்சிருப்பான். நீ கவலப்படாம போ” – அப்பா, எப்போதும் போல தைரியம் கூறினார்.

“ஏ பொண்ணு, உனக்காக வண்டி நிக்காது. சீக்கிரம் ஏறு”; கண்டக்டர் அவசரப்படுத்த, சென்னை வண்டியில் ஏறினாள் பொன்னி. பேரூந்து இருக்கையில் அமர்ந்து ஜன்னல் வழி தன் உலகத்தைப் பார்த்தாள். கண்ணீர் கலந்த புன்னகையுடன் நின்றிருந்தார், அப்பா.

பேரூந்து புறப்பட்டது.

இருக்கையில் சாய்ந்து விட்டத்தை பார்த்தாள். வெள்ளந்தி மனிதர்களும் மண்வாசம் மணக்கும் திண்ணையும், தென்னந் தோப்பும், கன்றீனும் பசுவும், துள்ளித்திரியும் ஆட்டுக்குட்டிகளும், பொன்னியின் கண் முன் தோன்றின. பொங்கும் கண்ணீரை மறைக்க கண்களை மூடிக்கொண்டாள். நினைவுகளுடன் தூக்கமும் அலை மோதியது.

“ஏ பொண்ணு, சென்னை வந்துருச்சு, எறங்கு” கணீரென ஒலித்தது கண்டக்டரின் குரல். திடுக்கிட்டு எழுந்தாள் பொன்னி. வண்டிகளின் ஹார்ன் சத்தம் காதை கிழித்தது. ஜன்னலின் வழி, தெரிந்தது புகை மூட்டம் மட்டுமே. வண்டியில் இருந்து இறங்கினாள்.

கண்ணுக்கு எட்டிய தூரம் வரை எண்ணிலடங்காத பஸ் வண்டிகள். மக்கள் கூட்டமும் அலைமோதியது. அவ்வளவு ஜனங்களை ஓரே இடத்தில் பார்த்ததே இல்லை. கிராமத்தில் பெண்கள் நெல் மூட்டைகளை சுமந்து பார்த்திருக்கிறாள்; ஆனால் இந்த ஊரில், மக்கள் இவ்வளவு துணிமூட்டைகளை சுமந்து எங்கு செல்கின்றனர்? புரியவில்லை.

“சீக்கிரம் வாங்க, பஸ் கிளம்பிடப்போவுது”

“வாங்க, வாங்க, சீக்கிரம்…”; பொன்னியை தள்ளியபடி, ஒரு பையன் வண்டியில் ஏறினான். இல்லை, இல்லை, பையன் இல்லை; பொண்ணு! அவளை ஒரு கல்லூரிப் பட்டாளமே பின்தொடர்ந்தது.

இதையெல்லாம் பார்க்க முடியவில்லை. சற்று தள்ளி வந்தாள், பொன்னி. வரிசையாக நின்றன முச்சக்கர வண்டிகள்.

“எங்க போவனும்?”

தன் பையிலிருந்து ஒரு துண்டை எடுத்து ஆட்டோகாரரிடம் குடுத்தாள். வண்டியினுள் ஏறிக்கொண்டாள். கிளம்பியது வண்டி.

புதுமையான சென்னை மாநகரைப் பற்றி மேலும் அறிய, வண்டியிலிருந்து ஆர்வத்துடன் எட்டிப்பார்த்தாள். வேகமாக வந்த ஒரு இருசக்கர வண்டி, இவர்களை முந்திக்கொண்டு சென்றது. நூல் இழையில் தப்பியது பொன்னியின் தலை.

“அட, கைய காலை வச்சுக்கிடு சும்மா இருமா. உசிர விட்ர போற” – எரிந்து விழுந்தார் ஆட்டோகாரர்.

பயந்துவிட்டாள் பொன்னி. ‘என்ன இது, கண்ணு மண்ணு தெரியாம வண்டி ஓட்டுறாங்களே’.

அதன் பின் அவள் வெளியில் எட்டிப் பார்க்கவே இல்லை. இருக்கையை இறுக்கப் பிடித்துக்கொண்டே வேடிக்கைப் பார்த்தாள். நிற்கக்கூட நேரம் இல்லாமல் எதிர்திசையில் ஓடிக்கொண்டிடுந்த சென்னை வாசிகளை கவனித்தாள். ஆண்களும் பெண்களும் வித்தியாசம் இல்லாமல் கும்பல் கும்பலாக சுற்றிக்கொண்டிருந்தனர். அப்போதுதான் குளித்துவிட்டது போல் தலைவிரி கோலத்தில் திரிந்தனர் பெண்கள்.

இவர்களைப் பார்த்தால் ஆத்தா என்ன கூறுவாள்?

“என்னங்கடி, எழவா வுளுந்துருச்சு? இப்படி திரியுறீங்க. ஒழுங்கா எண்ண வச்சு இழுத்து பிண்ணுங்கடி!”; ஆத்தாவின் நினைவு பொன்னியின் உதட்டில் புன்னகை பூக்க வைத்தது.

“இந்தாமா, நீ சொன்ன இடம் இதுதான், இறங்கு”

“எவ்ளோ, அன்னா?”

“70 ரூபா”

திடுக்கிட்டாள். “அவ்வளவா?” அது இரண்டு நெல் மூட்டைகளின் விலையாச்சே!

“இதல்லாம் ரொம்ப கம்மி, வேற எவனா இருந்தா இன்னும் அதிகமா கேட்டிருப்பான்.”

பணம் குடுத்தாள். “நன்றி”

அவள் நன்றிக்கு பதிலாக கிடைத்தது பெரும் புகைமூட்டம். அவள் நின்றுகொண்டிருந்த கட்டிடத்தைப் பார்த்தாள். Women’s Hostel. உள்ளே சென்றாள்.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” – ஆங்கிலத்தில் கேட்ட ரிசப்ஷனிஸ்ட்டிடம் தன் பெயரை கூறினாள்.

“Yes, your room number is 24″

“நன்றி”

பதில் இல்லை.

தனது அறைக்கு சென்றாள். கதவை தாழிட்டுக் கொண்டாள். கட்டிலில் அமர்ந்தாள்.

“அவ்வளவு பெருசா சொன்னாங்களே, இதுதான் சென்னையா?”

X–X