For(S)tress

Sundays have a special place in every person’s heart. The only thing that comes close to occupying the mind of an Indian may be a cricket victory or a Bollywood blockbuster, closely followed by the Water/Electricity/Ration/Petrol/House Rent/Fee/Sabzi bills. For the many housewives of this country the second most craved thing after diamond/gold/kanjeevaram saree is a family outing on a Sunday. But this post is not about Sundays. This post is not about any such family either.

Many homes have a debate about the Sunday Outing which sometimes exacerbates the room temperature more than the tyranny at the equator. The kids make a big sacrifice of leaving their evening cricket match with friends and are made to dress up as if the idea is to enrol them for some beauty pageant. Maybe it is these small things that constitute the family bond. But this post is not about family bonding either.

Some families love to go out to gardens and spread garbage there. They take their home sheet, spread it and get the feel of a picnic. While relishing savouries like Chana Chor garam or popcorn, they take it as one of the duties stated in the Directive Principles of State policy rested on their shoulders, to spread garbage at the hangout spot. Others simply choose to go for a movie where, if any of the member (mostly men) doesn't like cinema per se,atleast peaceful sleep wont be denied except for purchase of cold drinks and pop corns during interval. For some families, the idea of a hangout is to go out and eat. That’s it!! But as you may have rightly guessed by now, this write up is not about the places where family hangs out on holidays either.

Before I play too much on the edge with the patience of the readers and the skills of this writer to express my opinions properly, let us try coming to the point. One of the favourite spots for a Sunday trip for families to spread garbage is the historical monuments that bless many cities of our country. Yes, this is the story of one such monument. This is my story- once shining with pride, now whining without prejudice structure, a body with some pieces of flesh left on it but sans the rib cage. I am the “Unchi Dukaan, No more Pakwaan” Kila.

Well how times change, and those who said that change is always for the good deserve a punch from either Rocky Balboa(Even Sunny Deol’s dhai kilo ka haath would suffice).

Let’s rewind a few centuries to get a hang of what I’m talking about:

FLASHBACK in Eastman Colour:

I don’t want to bask too much in the vainglory, but the glory back then was indeed magnificent. I was at my prime, with my edifice rock solid to guard the royal family. I saw the bravest of warriors in my lifetime who were never afraid to fight to protect the cause of their mighty motherland. The essence of royalty was evident in their demeanor as well as in the respect in the eyes of their subjects. I witnessed true blue blood instead of the desperation to bleed blue. I witnessed the strongest of men and the most gorgeous of women. In retrospect, it seems like staying with a different species altogether.

I was given prime importance and even a single chink in my walls was attended to with due diligence. Blood was sacrificed for a cause which was much bigger than just smearing names of lovers on my walls (or are they using just red ink these days??), not that romance was an alien concept then. To put it in a box-of-cookies-without-any-nuts( pardon the eccentricity of the writer, I shall have him fired soon), Life was indeed beautiful then.

CUT TO PRESENT TIME IN BLACK AND WHITE:

After seeing generations pass through and such turbulent changes in the political/social and economic setup, I wonder what else is left for me to see. What is this democracy and egalitarianism farce anyway, cant people have respect for their innate

nature of being ruled??Anyhow, anything said here should not be held against me as I’m strictly apolitical and if that isn’t sufficient for my defence then buy the theory that I’m very old and hence crazy. The only one to beat me as far as age is concerned is my very good friend since those times, Mr.A.K.Hungal.

My importance in the life of people around me has come crashing down over years like my wall on the southern end did in 1436 in a brutal war. My importance has been reduced to the mercy and the mood of the skinny and the fake accent guide who cooks up stories about me which leaves me in splits at times( as if the ones on my walls aren’t enough). Fancy the one where the broken pieces of the wall on the eastern half of the front gate hav

e been attributed to the vandalization caused by the attack in 1442 when the reality is that the strong breeze did the final rites of the already dead wall in 2001. ASI is too busy to notice, maybe still excavating Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa ruins as they find a mention quickly in the history books.

The purpose of people’s visits to my premise couldn’t be more diverse than the agenda of Capitalists and Communists. Just the invisible hand of having a good time is the common thread. Parents bring their kids so that they can understand the cultural heritage of the country as well as the richness of the history that our country has to offer, much to the bewilderment of the kids who somehow just can’t relate to the mystic beauty of the ruins. The Artillery section is the only one where I have seen sparkling eyes of boys who get excited on seeing all the weapons. I can see it in their eyes that they start dreaming about themselves battling it out in those costumes fighting the mighty enemy and emerging victorious to conquer kingdoms. Since people aren’t charged much to visit us because of our supposed importance t

o the country’s heritage, they throng in large numbers and needless to say the larger the visitors, the more employment generation for the cleaners.

I’ve witnessed some of the finest artists this country has ever been blessed with. The artists with their scintillating carvings and paintings have adorned my anatomy over years. The modern day, however, seems to have a clear deficiency of quality artists and thus they are substituted by obsessive lovers who decide to engrave their immortal love on my walls. Although I never asked for it myself, but I have been made part of millions of love stories like Ramu loves Kamala, Pokiri Loves Missamma, Anjaana loves Anjaani and lyrical masterpieces like “Hogi Pyar Ki jeet”. The word spellbound has a new found meaning in my existence now.

The generosity of the lovers does not end here. They take the onus proactively to show me how deeply and madly they are in love with each other with highly innovative ways of Public Display of Affection. One of the first lessons of marketing does talk about understanding the Target Group and then going all out to acquire them and retain them. Well, atleast on weekdays, these lovers are my main audience ( or am I the audience to their escapades, whatever !!). The acquisition and now the compelled retention is proving a tough cookie to digest.

The peculiarity of people who visit does not end here. One such wonderful yet slightly amusing category is of the foreign tourists. They are astonished at anything and everything. I’m not sure it’s the novelty factor or the fact that our guides are wonderful raconteurs, but they leave my premise as if they have just reinvented the wheel. The only sad part about their visits is the illustrations and anecdotes they narrate of all the places they have visited and start comparing me with my competitors. Why wouldn’t a neglected fort like me be disheartened to know that some fort in Rajasthan is so majestic or is still without a sign of ageing? Adding oregano to injury isn’t basic manners, now is it???

Time is an illusion and the mirage does seem to show uncanny things which might not even exist. Even though I’m left in ruins, I live with the pride of being the carrier of preserving the last remains of a kingdom and maybe a civilization for that matter. I’ve been a silent spectator to the rise and fall of generations. I don’t expect one to respect heritage and preserve it, maybe its too much for ask for. The only

courtesy that would be sane to expect is that people would not at least ruin the sanctity of the place that once was a symbol of pride and glory. After all, I may be your last hope of a Time Machine to relive that era.

The Bold Face Of Beauty

There are three magical words which have defined some of the most prized moments of human history. They have been at the nub of some of the biggest battles, some of the uncanniest contentions or the subject of the most ubiquitous desire in Almighty’s most prized creation- human beings. The three magical words aren’t every lover’s karaoke song “I Love You” but instead the three cornerstones of every civilization, the mitochondria of the most defining emotions. They are – Beauty, Power and Money.

Considering the fact that we live in a world where we are taught virtues from the time we leave our prams, it is highly ironical that the virtues are not ably reflected or rather absorbed by our wisdom. Call it lack of egalitarianism on the part of God to spread wisdom equitably or sheer ignorance (deliberate or undeliberate is something we won’t deliberate on) on the part of few, but what becomes a muse for some of the world’s finest creations holds an equally potent capacity to open the doors of destruction for Satan to come and impart his blitzkrieg.

Beauty is one such potion that has inspired the most gifted artists to come up with their best works and at the same time has led barbarians to annihilate lives. Is it pure hedonism or sheer lack of character that allures people to physical beauty, making them nonchalant to everything else in the world?

What persuaded Dorian Gray to sell his soul just to retain his nonpareil beauty forever? Can we really blame Lord Henry that his immoral influence led to the change of heart in Dorian Gray? Or was it just his innate desire, concocted with deep insecurity, which came out under the veil of hedonistic pleasures to bring out his true side?

The truth as a matter of fact is, whether we like it or not, there is a part of us which falls into the trap of this black hole. We do discard all such conjectures with able assertiveness calling them “Mediocre thoughts”, but the fact remains that we are part of this loop as well. What else could possibly explain the fact that in every movie the hero falls for the most beautiful girl of the group a.k.a the heroine? Doers he ever make even a remote attempt to find out how the other girls of her group might be like? Does he even care about the fact that her friend might be a much better person than the protagonist? Doesn’t the adage proudly engraved in the “We-are-the-real-lovers-“ rosy Lalaland about “Love at first sight” actually corroborate this whole hypothesis? What else draws a person otherwise in the “love at first sight” case if not the other person’s beauty ?

We live in a world where our face acts as the medium of our endorsement. It is a harsh truth to accept but that’s how it is. Even if I move away from the realms of personal relationships and move to a ground that is portrayed to be highly organized and meticulous, the situation changes as much as a dog’s twisted tail. We are unfortunately reaching a stage where being presentable may not be presentable enough. It has become a stark reality to witness the multiplier effect of the X-factor, a highly adorned but rarely understood concept, around us. Looking good is fast becoming one of the prerequisites, and if it continues this way then we may not be far enough from the day where the entire concept of a geeky look may become obsolete. Although it may lead to celebrations in a school of thought who apostle the theory, but does that mean that someone like Mr. Kalam would actually have to go to a beauty salon before a missile launch? Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder they say, but what if the eye lashes become overcritical to lash everyone around.

Face is meant to be a reflection of our thoughts. It is meant to be a mirror which displays the mirage of our thoughts without any bias. It is a book that only the privileged can read to absorb the thoughts running in a person’s mind. Not everyone has the acumen to read a face and gauge the mood of a person(unless you are a clairvoyant or the other person is an over dramatized wannabe performer).

It is the same face which is one of the biggest motivators for vanity. Vanity is a trait we all have ingrained deeply in our DNA. It is highly unrealistic to expect a person not to like himself/herself. Even people who are suffering from low self esteem do have their moments when they admire themselves. We all have a balloon called ego which craves to be inflated with airs about it. Compliment and attention are the favourite travel companions of ego whenever it decides to visit Vanity land. It is an equally flummoxing yet realistic truth that there is something about being praised of one’s looks that instills an unparalleled pride in a person.

Now some may argue that the trait rests more predominantly in the fairer sex compared to the male counterparts. Maybe it does, but it is difficult to segregate. It is more than apt to accept the fact that men are equally if not more stuck in this whirlpool. Although we all love to use our defence mechanism of modesty to confirm first whether it was a genuine compliment or sarcastic mockery, there is a certain feel good thing associated with the entire phenomenon. Human race is fascinated with physical beauty and would continue to do so.

The World has seen Gods/ Goddesses who are embodiments of beauty. Aphrodite, Venus, Hathor and even Lakshmi. They are revered and considered to be highly powerful in their own rights. The modern day cosmetic surgeons and cosmetic good manufacturers do strive hard to see their name in the list, but the destination still seems away from them. Maybe they need better subjects to deal with (No pun intended).

Beauty is a circe that does allure a person towards it and some of them may be turned to swine later on. But this is not the real danger. The real danger lies in the fundamental problem we all have. We have to accept this reality and move out of the comfort zone of our hypocrisy.

There is nothing wrong in being enamoured by it, where things may go horribly wrong is when you start questioning and discarding other characteristic traits by keeping this as the ultimate cornerstone.