Saturday 29 November 2014

onam.

Onam is one of those things every malayali takes time out of their lives to celebrate. Irrespective of where they are, what their lives otherwise look like, and how busy they are. This year’s onam just went by, I had exams in college, and I had lots of work to do, now that our professors have decided that we are way too grown up for them to cut us any sort of slack. 

I woke up on the day of onam, and grabbed all my things so that I could go and sit in the library, to study for a particularly tough exam. I felt something amiss. There was this hole, and it was making me uncomfortable.  I stopped everything I was doing, draped on a saree, put on some flowers, and went ahead to the library.  The stares and looks and faces I got were too many in number and variety for me to count. I’m pretty sure that if I were at home and had an exam the next day, I wouldn’t bother doing any of that, onam or not. But here, it made me feel like I was at home. That small act provided me with the comfort I was looking for. Whether or not I related to the festival, or understood its purpose or reason for such pomp and splendor, none of it mattered.

We all had an exam the next morning, and hence on the day after that, everybody decked up and went to class, malayali or non malayali. To us, who had roots in that culture, it was our way of hanging onto those bits of home that we miss even now, 4 years into the journey. To the rest, it was a matter of solidarity, and ofcourse the happy association they had made to it, having celebrated it thrice before.

It has been centuries since the advert of Onam. Things have changed so much, lifestyle, preferences, living conditions, even geographic setting. But this one festival has remained, as the ultimate mark of identity. Celebrating it is a matter of pride, and a matter of hanging onto those last bits of the umbilical cord. Where every sign of you ever having belonged to that land has been erased, there still will be those feelings that stir up, at the time of Onam.  As I have said before, having been brought up outside the overwhelming influence of an Indian culture and everything that come with it, I pretty much never understood how some things were just automatically supposed to be yours, how you were supposed to be feeling a sort of belonging towards it. But when I realized that if I had to be reading up Derrida and Foucault and Barthes on the day of Onam, I would rather do it with a saree and some flowers on, it surprised me. That was my first bout of ‘automatic’ enthusiasm.

When there are so many things I don’t like about the same people, when so many things sadden me, and infuriate me, when in other occasions their extreme sense of territory maddens me, this one time of the year, I look at every fellow malayali with a huge smile on my face. And it is as good as a hug that you desperately need, when somebody else gives you that happy smile. Does celebrating the festival do anything to fulfill some sort of an inner dilemma? Do I achieve anything morally satisfactory from it? Is it going to bring any good to somebody else? No, I don’t think so. But there is no reason for every action of mine to be an answer to one of those questions. Especially when it is about something that makes me happy, that brings my home to me, wherever I am. 

Friday 12 September 2014

generation gap or some such.

Generation gap. It is probably the only phrase that has come to our rescue as many times as it has smothered us. In 1965, when 41% of the American population consisted of 17 – 25 year olds, and when a predominantly white cultural zeitgeist that shunned all convention came into place, the phrase generation gap was given birth to, as a means to explain the chaos. I think it is now, just an excuse. 

Lets see why. There are elders who don’t think it is appropriate to get married as many times as Elizabeth Taylor did. If anybody has gotten married more than twice, they call it the Hollywood syndrome. Now hypothetically, if I think it is okay to do so, as long as you know what you are doing, and this leads to a fight, then the last word on that would be – generation gap.

There are quite a few things that people my age dismiss as an outcome of this ‘generation gap’. There is respect lost, both ways, since nobody likes the output (s) of this essential fundamentalism.

While reading up on the origins of this unnecessary phenomenon, I noticed a few interesting things. There apparently have been programs designed to ‘bridge this gap’. These would include bringing people of different generations together, for a music based orientation session, getting people to interact with people of different age groups, etc. Effective methods have been sending the ‘bookend generations’ (senior citizens, and pre schoolers) to a day care, where one generation takes care of the other. So you mean to say, sitting down and talking face to face dispels this excuse that we have developed as a part of our ingrained fight or flight instincts?

Let’s try and redefine it now. This phrase was introduced as a means to express the inherent conservatism present in every ‘older’ generation, when the ‘newer’ generation backs off from what is the norm, and find easier, and arguably better ways, to get things done. This is what we call growth. It is a continuous process, and not a gap. Every society, every thought, and every human aims to go forward, to be more ideologically, and otherwise, advanced. How is the process that enables the advancement, any sort of gap?

Its not only the older generation that lends a helping hand in dismissing ideas. The new generation does that too. Anything old is a cliché, and rebellion is our motto. There are some things that are the norms for a reason, but how can we hold our heads high and claim to be youngsters if we don’t rebel, and constructively break the rules? The new roads then go on to being the norm, while the generation that formed them, hold it close to their hearts, and blame everybody else, when the positions are changed. This too, is a vicious circle. 

An equally interesting observation would be the rush to make any positivity in thought or action, be it an increase in rationale, technological advancements, progressive ideologies, the product of one’s own generation. Whoever claims it has a blanket opinion on the people of the older generation, forming a never ending cycle of stereotypes.

How many of us get exasperated by the number of times we have to teach our parents how to use their devices? How many times have we laughed at their attempts to try to get something done on an electronic device?  How many times have our parents told us about their childhood, how they climbed the trees, and played in the water, and how everything was simple and happy then, and how they take pity on us, because of the kind of world we live in? These emotions, occurrences are all also classified as generation gap. But think about it. They are merely trying to catch up to the material and physical advances that make their life difficult in just the same manner as it makes ours easy. We will soon be doing this too, and we will take pity on the next generation that 'has missed out' on so much that we had! 

couch potato.not.

I have been writing and talking a lot about growing up, facing changes, handling situations, multiple epiphanies, et al. It’s probably just a curve everybody goes through, either fussing over it, or pragmatically. Some say we are the dreamers, and we can afford to do so only because our parents were being rational, when they were our age. Another oft handled phrase “ when I was your age…”. It could be the prefix to any number of annoying/amusing phrases, like, “ … I used to wake up at 5, do x y z, and then go to school, come back, and help mom/dad, study, and sleep early” or “ … I never depended on the idiot box to give me life” or “ … I was already working two jobs and paying my way through university”.

We have been the generation that went through sort of a sluggish transition in cultural values, ideologies, and such. The one before us were all up in arms for revolutions, fighting for their voices, fighting for their rights, fighting for the right to control their thoughts. They defied authority, they overturned hierarchy, and they openly expressed disgust at anybody’s attempt to control what shouldn’t be controlled. There were some changes that came as a result of it. A lot of us have been brought up with respect and concern, rather than a mere sense of duty. We were taught to think for ourselves, and for the most part, choose what our basis of life would be. A lot of us, not all of us. The freedom to do that, is often underestimated, and neglected.

I was recently asked, what is it that I live, or hope to live, upto? Frankly, I didn’t even know what that question meant. There are two connotations to this question. Both arising from a personal level, but one that would affect and determine, very directly put, the world. Sweeping statement, yes. The first one would be, the direct, what is it that I live upto? Do I confirm to any school of thought? Do I identify myself with any particular religion? Is there atleast a general rule of thumb that I go by? Well, my answer to all of them are – no. While acknowledging the fact that that’s scary, I must ask, is there a need to adhere to a rationale? That doesn’t mean that I think it is okay to go around doing anything I want because I don’t think anybody is watching over me, or because I don’t believe in karma. Neither am I somebody who lives without principles. I draw a line at lots of things, though most of them are criminal offenses.


And the next, what do I want for the world? All of us will immediately sprout the quintessential beauty pageant answer – world peace. Apart from that, what? Liberation of human beings. Gender equality. Poverty eradication. To be able to live without the looming fear of a nuclear d-day. Trying not to drown inch by inch in the melting glaciers. Patching up ozone holes. Figuring out a practical alternate source of energy.  A form of regime more apt and adequate than ‘democracy’. There are more. And there are some that don’t want any of these. Are we the kind that has our blood boiling at the thought of it? Or are we more inclined to overthrow superpowers by very slowly but efficiently devastating their economy? I think I fall under the latter category.  Rioting and revolting and rampant resistance worked then, still work in some places now. But I think it’s old game, old tactics, and people have learnt how to get past them. Maybe, not jumping up and demanding a strike in compensation for a wrong doing, or immediately having a dharna in front of the offending place, does not mean that we have given up, or that we don’t care. Maybe, we just have found smarter means to both get to, and justify, the ends. Atleast that’s what I’m choosing to believe in, for right now.

Sunday 8 June 2014

break their will if not their mind, or do both.

It’s the time for the school pass outs and their parents to freak out, worry about admissions, colleges, quality of courses, cutoff marks, quotas, and the huge question of what will I, or he or she, become, at the end of 3 / 4 years.
There was a time, not long ago, when 18 year olds at the turning points of their lives, were pretty much given no choice regarding their careers. They had obligations; their parents had to face a multitude of fears. They immediately hit for engineering or medicine, or the next closest thing, in accordance with their pre university performances. My parents, and their generation, belonged to this category. I’m going to ignore the privileged, for a bit.
Then came the time, when people started feeling more comfortable in their skins, they started delving deeper into, and boldly choosing to study, fields they actually wanted to know more about, or excel in. This also pushed for avenues of better education in non-mainstream subjects, at least in India. Parents were more inclined to letting their kids experiment a little bit, as long as they did well.
And now, almost as if completing some crazy cycle, we have come back to the stage where parents are once again pushing for the ‘mainstream’. The only difference is that they are now pushing for quality education, as well. Ask them why, the response is, there is job security;  he/she will be assured a pay.
To add fuel to fire, or maybe they are the ones that started the recent fire, there are coaching centers. Ones that think of all students as clay, and have a particular shape in mind that this clay needs to be tortured and molded into, no matter what. Somehow, the more strict, inhuman, stringent, cruel, punishing,  and torturing they are, the more they appeal to the public! The more they are capable of pushing their students to breaking points, the more fame they receive. Their success rates count as well, but only so much.
Privileged now, and privileged then (around 40 years ago), have been different things. Privileged then were rich people, who didn’t have to count on their kids to set them free from the suffering, by adding their pay to the income of the household.  Privileged now, are the kids lucky enough to have parents who think and realize that aptitude and interest matter. The ones who know that pushing them to do something they don’t want to do, or worse, are not capable of doing, would eventually break the person, or atleast turn them into something unrecognizable.
There are a million arguments of success rates of these torture institutions, or of other people choosing for their kids, etcetera. But why is it that we never think about the person they want to become?  I am one amongst those privileged ones, whose parents completely left the choosing to me. I study in a prestigious institution, but not in the field it has gained the name for. The difference between us, and the others who come there to study what the institute is famous for, after almost a lifetime of torture, is palpable.
One of the students who just got shortlisted for the course I pursue, doesn’t know how to convince his parents to let him do this, and not what they think would secure his future. He requested me to talk to his mother, to try and convince her. She has two questions. What will he become after 5 years, and how much will he be earning. I have no answer to these questions.
 As much as the prospective of an assured income, which is on the decline, irrespective of what you study, is an issue, is that all we think about? Doesn’t even the joy of seeing your child excel in something he/she loves, matter to you? Or is there no joy in that anymore?

 I think that’s too damn scary a place to be in.

home is where the heart is? or where my ancestors are?

We’ve all grown up watching that dreamy look, and a small, indescribable smile on our parents faces, as they told us stories of their childhood homes. The mountains or the seas, the trees, their pets, their grandparents, and a million other relatives formed an inseparable part of their lives, and their stories.  They have told us far too many tales of how they celebrated festivals and occasions. I was always awed by these recollections, and have always yearned to meet these people, visit these places.

Vacations, for us who have been brought up outside India, have always been about visiting our parents’ homes, and relatives. When I was small, it never struck me that my parents called these places our home. Oblivious to everything, I enjoyed the sights, the smells, and the sheer joy of visiting new places. But as I grew older, and started taking lots of other things like availability of facilities, the general demeanor of people, cleanliness, and company, into consideration, I realized that these places have never felt like home. They were plain vacation spots to me. Recently, I’ve started making a huge fuss about having to go to Kerala again, for my vacation. My parents’ response: we can’t not go home. Home? What are they talking about? My home is right here.

I was born in this country, I was brought up in this country. I made friends here. I love the food here. I have all my memories here. Bahrain has always been my platform. As much as I’ve never climbed trees or never bathed in brooks, it’s here that I had my first birthday party, it’s here that I love going to the sea. The sea, again, has been a bone of contention, always. My parents have never failed to ask, every single time, how I could like this dead, unmoving sea. Well, this is the sea that I remember seeing, this the sea where I swim, this the sea beside which I’ve spent nights singing, and sitting around fires. My paternal home address is what has been given in my passport. That, and the few memories from vacations, are the only things that tie me to that place. I’m a Malayali in the way that I primarily speak in Malayalam, eat authentic kerala cuisine at home, and am more or less familiar with the culture. But Bahrain, is my home.


Most of us connect with atleast one parent perfectly, these days. Their views and feelings about their homes, perfectly fine. It is their incapability in understanding that these feelings, in the same intensity, are the ones that we have about their homes, that baffles me. And we are not the only ones that are baffled. They have no clue either, as to why we wouldn’t see their homes  the same way that they do. Infact, it’s not their home, but ours! One issue all of us second generation children from countries outside India face would be the question of true identity. We are all, technically, Indians. Not only officially, but also by practice. And yet, our hearts belong to another nation. A place that we call home, but we don’t really belong to. We all go off to other countries to continue our education, and slowly, we get acclimatized to those places. That infinitely strong bond that our parents have with their homes, we miss out on that. There is no knowing if we will ever come back to these countries that we grew up in. I’ve always wondered if I’ll be able to show my children the place I think I belong to.