The Final Bow

The Final Bow

I had thought hard and long, for many days the pain and anxiety churned inside me, I had no option, I simply had to exit this world stage. Life had no meaning, inhaling and exhaling was now purely mechanical, no one would notice that it had stopped, no one -not even I.

My existence was only a piece of gold ornament that could be pawned to satisfy one’s financial need without having to make an effort to retrieve it, a piece of family silver that could be brought out and embellished whenever there was a family gathering. That this particular silver had long lost its sheen meant nothing to the exhibitors, the marked depreciation in its looks nobody was ready to fathom. The pain of the silver could not be explained with the severe scrubbing it received before every outing. It wanted to cry out to be left alone, to just let it be, no scrubbing, no attention, no vows, it only wanted to be withdrawn from public gaze, it wanted to be left alone in peace without having to pay for the joy of others.

How long would it have to stand in for the joy of others, how long would it have to sacrifice its being for others, was there no end to this, when would it dawn so that it could say enough is enough, from now on I am going to start afresh, from now on I am going to enjoy a little of the joys for myself. But alas, now it was impossible, I had got to the stage where all calculations led me to square one, I didn’t stand a chance, I was like a paper cup in the hands of my loved ones, one they would use and throw at their will and fancy, one that was destined to be crushed. I am tired of changing shape and colour to present myself before them so that they could drink out of my bounties. Somewhere along the way the propensity to live has been lost.

Looking around I found a long piece of cloth and proceeded to tie it high onto the ceiling fan. Having tied one end into a noose I stuck my head in. All that was left was the final kick, when the stool I was standing on had only to be kicked leaving me gasping and lunging for life. At that very moment memories flashed in my mind, what would they call my widow, my children, wouldn’t society refer to them as children of an ill-fated father who hung himself to escape life’s punishment.

I closed my eyes trying to shut out all thoughts. I consoled myself, hadn’t I thought over this for days, now why was I quivering. They say that only a coward commits suicide, he is a coward because he runs away from life’s problems, does not have the courage to face them like a man. Yes I am weak, the spirit is flickering like a candle in the wind, one hard blow and the light will be knocked out.

This wasn’t so some time back, I was a strapping young man eager to go out and capture the world. The materialistic gains that could be had from a life lived hard beckoned me, and I ventured out determined to slog my guts out to have them all. Along the way I tripped and fell way behind the others in this rat race. My loved ones were eager to have their pay checks every month irrespective of whether I earned it or not, whether I ate or starved, whether I was happy or sad. I yearned for the touch of my wife and kids for their warm and comforting embrace; I turned over in bed several nights in soulful misery unable to sleep. The sweet scent of my wife, the naughty but innocent look on the face of my kids all seemed to fade away.

The rare occasions I talked to them, no loving words were exchanged, we talked business like. I often thought on why I had come here, on what I had gained. In fact I had lost the closeness that once pulled me home from distant places where I used to work in my home country. I had purchased their joy having lost my own. Would I make it home, would my pleas be heard by my superiors, did I have the funds required to take me home. I tried to stave off every annual leave that would come up, counting on the money saved, money which could end my woes.

I sacrificed my worldly pleasures, my innate craving, and my physical yearnings. I told myself all this is temporary, when the money would be paid off; I would be in the clear and could go home as I pleased. I even thought of the various gifts that I would carry for my children. Some of them I had bought and stored under my bed for the D-day. Unfortunately the demands grew stronger and longer, shattering my dreams of a comeback. I tried to make life as pleasant as I could. The never ending demand for money and materials hasn’t ended; I am forced to forgo my personal pleasures to meet the demands of the family.

Last time I had gone home, my wife wanted to know when I would be going back, we even fought over the fact that all that I had provided for in these years of solitude did not measure up to her expectations, in fact there was more work to be done, probably I would have to be reborn to fulfill all aspirations. She even taunted me on the others who had done better. I wanted to smell the flowers in her hair, to touch her to embrace her to make me feel like a man, but discussions centered on materialistic gains.

Was this the way the world went about it chores? The tight embrace that I longed for, the physical proximity that I so much yearned for, the chance to kiss my wife and fondle her were all wasted in fights and inglorious missile of words to and fro. Of what use is this life for me, I feel I am being used, I have no personal wish, no personal preference, I am an outcast in my own home, everyone goes about their tasks, as if I am not wanted, as If I had over stayed my hospitality. I feel like an intruder in my own home, the very house I slogged to build into the home that it is now. I feel dejected, defeated, love has no more meaning, my big foot-LOVE, who cares, certainly not my own.

How can I make up, there doesn’t seem to be a chance, I am caught up in my own problematic maze. I feel like an animal trapped in a hunter net, the more I try to wriggle out the more I entangle myself. I yearn to get out, to break free from the bonds of insecurity, from the bonds of distrust, from the bonds of uneasiness, from the bonds of lost love.

I wish I could start all over again, I prayed for a miracle, some angel who would pull me out of this rut, oh, how I dreamt that some lottery would proclaim me as the winner. I wish I could rewind life to where it all began; I wish I was a child playing in the backyard oblivious of my surroundings. I wish I was born again. But deep inside me I know that I did not have another chance, life is lived only once, there was no way I could go back, I had made too many mistakes and now I must pay for it.

They say life is a great leveler, but it’s been far too long, far too much pain, no one to bid farewell to, no hugs and kisses, memories fade into the dark tunnel of my sub conscious mind, I must hurry, yes indeed it was time to close the chapter, on my life. The only way out was to be born again, I promise to do better next time, since this life has taught me valuable lessons, alas for that to happen, this one had to end, and to end this life all that was required was one last kick.

Robin Varghese

Mail to: robin_vargh@yahoo.com

(This article is inspired from the numerous instances of suicides taking place in the Middle East, all of south Asian laborers mainly Indian more so in the Kingdom of Bahrain)

Kicking my way to Heaven

Kicking my way to Heaven

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, I used to walk to school hardly a km away from where I lived and used to be so carefree without a worry or a care about kicking pebbles or small stones along my path. It used to be so much fun, being able to aim a kick to an intended destination. Of course when I got home I used to look silly with the kick marks clearly visible over my finely polished shoes. The marks would be erased the next day with more sooth added to the leather. Those were the days I did not fear anything in my path, I could whistle, I could sing, I could throw pebbles or stones without reason at empty spaces and feel that I was growing up.

Though I was carefree my poor parents must have been utterly worried what with my shoes opening their mouth like a fish taken out of water. The Local cobbler had his day tied up with the little naughty ones all lined up with their mouth wide open waiting to be shut ready for another day of battle ample proof of our pastime. 

Those were the days when we all coexisted peacefully; there weren’t any cracks or divisions amongst us, even though we were of different religions and denominations. We all had fun and we all enjoyed our time under the sun. Never did I think that a day would come when I would have to keep my playful legs in check, or it would be blown up by roadside plants. I never dreamt of reaching heaven with a harmless kick that so reminded me of my childhood and those playful times.

Unfortunately I am now in heaven because I forgot that the world of today is highly explosive what with different sects and religions all trying to prove its superiority. Along the way I forgot that in trying to prove ones superiority the pebbles and stones on the way have changed to little handmade explosive devices. Was it my fault that I did not care to be troubled by the world, all I wanted was to earn a few bucks for the family and live life joyfully kicking about in a playful manner.

All I do now is pray in heaven “God forgive them for they do not know what they do”. By ‘they’ I mean all these destructive forces anywhere in the world that are out to kill one another. I pray for peace to return and a new dawn when my children would be able to kick around like me. I pray for the peace and calmness that once engulfed my childhood. I pray so that my children may experience what joy I had living life the way I lived. I shall keep praying for the others so that they do not end up like me.

Robin Varghese- robin_vargh@yahoo.com

This article appeared in the Daily Tribune, Bahrain dated 7^th November 2012

(inspiration from little roadside bombs going off in Bahrain as a new ploy by the fighting parties to reassert their prominence and of people dying from just kicking something that seems harmless)

Reflections of an officer

Reflections of an officer

I wake up at 4.30 AM hardly having had a good night’s sleep. The scenes of yesterday keep rewinding in my head all night, after all I had just buried one of my pals in the forces before going off to sleep. His cries for help and his helplessness showed up in my mental canvas,

I felt a little jittery going out to report but a job was a job and had to be done well. At the end of the day a job done well in the day allows me a good night’s sleep, except when incidents like these mar my nights. I ask myself why I am the target of vandalism and mayhem. I immediately reprimand myself for thinking this way, since it is akin to being in the army and praying that you may never have to be on the front, akin to rowing a boat tied to the bank.

I had always fancied being a police officer, a handsome 20’s something, with tucked in belly, lean but strong arms and hands, swift on foot, taking in the landscape with my gaze, dark glasses to comfort me from the distant but burning sun, and a small firearm hanging lazily on its holster strung across my waist for company. My cap perched obediently on my head with its shade tapering over my eyes would complete this grand picture that would turn many an eye in my direction. I would be prone to inviting looks from the opposite sex, and I would derive this unsettling sense of joy, unsettling because it would enormously enhance my reputation and worth in my own eyes. Young ones would look to me with respect, admiration and a sense of awe.

With this image I could give strong competition to the cowboys in western classics, (except that we are not allowed to be trigger happy) what a fulfilling existence with the satisfaction derived out of serving one’s own country. What hurts me though is the senseless and seamless violence on the streets by a few people, young enough to be my brothers and similar to my next door neighbors kids. Some so young that they could be blown away in a strong wind. I have had to use force intermittently and sparingly, but the bloodletting cringes me and my head reels at the sight of blood.

I realize that it is someone’s son, brother, husband friend or neighbor that is injured due to my action, but what to do if I didn’t I wouldn’t being doing justice to my role, I wouldn’t be earning my salary. There is a difference between getting and earning my salary, getting is mechanical while earning is compulsive. My job is to stop and control lawlessness and ensure the law of the land rules large. No exceptions neither for me, my kin, friends or acquaintances. Still when I see this kind of madness on the streets, I wonder if all this is necessary. Do we have to let blood to score our points?

After all, the colour on both sides is red and unites us to the core human being. Whether it is a terrorist or soldier the colour of his blood remains the same, all are related to someone on this earth be it in the form of father, husband, brother, friend or acquaintances. I wish there was a truce, an attempt to reconcile from both sides, I wish I could stand like a cowboy in the movies without being concerned about missiles directed at me, I wish I could stare back at the lovely ones and dream of being the charming prince, I wish I did not have to wield a baton leave alone a pistol. Oh, if only things would return to normal, and I could be allowed to continue with my dreams.

There is a nip in the air as I step out of my house for the day’s work and think whether more of this precious colour be spilt on the streets today, because of our difference in opinions, to prove our points do we have to shed blood, can’t we process issues in peace, what if we don’t, the land will be coloured in red and no one would be able to differentiate between the stalker or the stalked, the enemy or the friend, the attacker or the defender, the right or the wrong for blood has only one colour- Red anywhere and everywhere in this world irrespective of where it flows from.

 

Robin Varghese

Mail to: robin_vargh@yahoo.com

(This article is based on the internal strife in Bahrain and how the poor policemen bear the brunt of opposition attack)

You get what you deserve

You get what you deserve

How often have we sat back with dismay and disdain at the actions and cockiness of our political class? How often have we been left stranded without an explanation as to the logic of certain decisions taken by them? How often have we considered painting them all with the same brush simply because there is a common finality in all their actions? Think a while and ponder if anyone is different including the ones like the newly formed Aam Aadmi Party (AAP).

They all claim to be different from the others; they all claim to act differently from the others; they all claim not to encourage nepotism, dynasty and follow the rule book. But facts are different and do not reflect their initial exuberance and clean speak. The AAP candidate Santosh Kohli died in an accident and the party names her brother as the candidate- why? Obviously to garner sympathy votes and work on the legacy of the lady who passed away, being an active member and staunch supporter of the righteous.

How can the AAP claim to be different from other parties? All the national parties blame the Congress of dynasty politics, but aren’t they themselves with the probable exception of the Marxist party following the same path. Lalu Yadav when out of power anoints his wife. Now he has inducted his children into the fold. Mulayam Singh has made his son the Chief Minister of one of the largest states of the country. He goes one up by appointing his brothers in prominent positions in the party and his daughter in law (son’s wife) into parliament. The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has the same problem in numerous states where the father son duo in Himachal and Husband wife duo in Kerala are only some of the examples. The Marxist, somehow seem to have been able to buck the trend.

Double speak- All parties are famous for their doubles speak, they will go hammer and tong at their rivals when it suits them and remain passive when their own members or sympathizers are involved. The AAP had members been questioned on certain land deals, the party is yet to come clean on this. They famously claimed to fight for the lokpal and vowed to install one in their own party. Unfortunately we fail to hear anything from them on purported questionable land deals of their members in Mumbai. They however have the cheek to question the land deals of others including. Robert Vadra. The appointment of lokpal in Gujarat was challenged by the government and the lokpal appointee put in his papers out of sheer frustration.

The BJP famously unleashes its women brigade in case of rape and molestation when other party members are involved, but chooses to stay silent when their own backer a fraud god man Asaram is allegedly involved. Here they say law will take its own course. Why should the law take its own course only in the case of Asaram and not when the leader of a rival party had been involved?

Organising funds for elections- Here in spite of the election commission’s directives, all parties spend more than the sanctioned limits and cheekily admit to it in public forums. The AAP has just got into the mode and we have to wait to pass a judgment in this context. So what is different in any party? It is very hard to spot the difference; they all behave the same, speak the same language and bare their claws in the same manner. Or is it that to be in politics you have to follow the old phrase ‘when in Rome do as the Romans do’?

It is the public who are foolish to think that anyone is going to be different, because what we forget is that the leaders come out of society a society that you and I are represented in. Charity begins at home, so let everyone strive to make the changes that he wants to see in society in him/her to be able to crave for changes in society. Leaders, parties and ways will not change unless we ourselves as individuals change and thereby change society.

Robin Varghese

Mail to: robin_vargh@yahoo.com

30^th August 2013

 

Forgive me for I do not know what I've done

Forgive me for I do not know what I’ve done

These could very well have been the last words uttered by the rapist and child abductor Ariel Castro before he hung to his death in a prison cell in Ohio.

I am reminded of his final day in the court room in Cuyahoga after having entered a guilty plea bargain. When faced by the very girls who he had abducted, he asked for forgiveness and described himself as a hard working guy who had worked hard as a normal person for over 20 years which showed glimpses of a normal person lurking somewhere inside him, even as the judge computed his sentence.  He never seemed nervous and was even seen arguing with the judge when the judge was reading out his observations and reasons for the conviction and subsequent punishment.

Ariel Castro was a man who thought he lived a normal life and considered himself to be a person who was just like the rest of us. To him the abduction of a couple of girls did not seem to be outrageous, nor had he contemplated the law catching up with him. He swaggered along in daily life as a contended soul, who now had the comfort of having slave girls to fulfil his sexual desires. To him it was nothing unnatural. He had the urge to be violent at times and the urge to be addicted to pornography and sex, and to him all that was part of a normal life, since he did not realise the extent of his sickness.

This explains why he was arguing with the judge. Any normal being would have kept quite in front of a judge, especially when he knew beforehand the enormity of the sentence that was to follow. I am sure his lawyers would have briefed him even before he entered a plea bargain and explained to him the pros and cons of taking that route. They must have also explained to him the chances of getting off the hangman’s noose and avoiding trial due to the plea bargain.

It was while in prison he realised the enormity of his crime and the past came to haunt him. He was bound to the confines of space both in physical terms and in mental terms that which were not to his liking. He did not have the freedom of choice, nor could he indulge in his favourite addictions of sex and sensual pleasure derived out of his addiction to pornography. He suddenly realised the folly of having spent life in the wasted lane where all his achievement counted to naught, where he had neither friends nor relatives. His very own shunned him and were disgraced by his actions. His assets and valuables were surrendered to the state and he was laid bare naked for all to see and despise.

Suddenly the world came crashing down on him, the things he thought as normal were being held to scrutiny by society and the courts. He thought that a part of life spent in playing by the rules prescribed by society, would exempt him for his misdemeanours. As explained in court he was sick and he needed to be treated, but the problem was that he did not realise this sickness  even while the going was good for him, it is only when he was cornered and bound hat he realised there was a problem.

Alas if he or his kin or friends had realised that he was man prone to violent moods and madness and addicted to sex and pornography, maybe something could be done. Had he confessed to his inner trauma and acknowledged his addictions he might have been saved. The cure to any ailment is to know and accept that you are having a problem and need treatment. In the case of Ariel Castro sadly, neither did he nor his friends, kin or society realise that the man was sick and needed correction.

If only someone would have realised, society and the girls would have been saved the pain and suffering and ignominy of having lived through this episode. Anyway now it is too late and he has decided to terminate his own suffering, the suffering borne out of the fact that realisation has dawned but albeit too late to necessitate corrective measures. He was doomed to a life in jail and what he did was to break the shackles of his misery, the shackles of non-realisation and indulgence, sickness and problems that was staring him in the face and which could not be erased from memory no matter how.

Robin Varghese

Mail to: robin_vargh@yahoo.com

4^th September 2013

Age is only a number

Age is only a number

Age has never been an impediment to achievements constructive or illegal, be it Ankit Fadia who at fifteen wrote a book on hacking, or our little juvenile friend basking in the glory of having been declared a juvenile and therefore not prone to the legal system of the country.

This juvenile was reported to be the most brutal of them all in the brutal rape and murder of a medical student in Delhi last December. But today he has been left off by the juvenile court trying him for his deeds with a gentle reprimand of 3 years in a special observatory home for juveniles hoping that he will be reformed.

Society is enraged at his judgement and would like the juvenile to face the law in equal proportion to his crime. When I look around me in society I find the younger lot more forthright, crisp and blatant while being confident with their actions that point to a matured mind. When we were young, we were more introverts, morally confined within the space set by society, forbearing, less forthwith and generally noncommittal and unsure of ourselves.

Probably that is why there is serious discussion going on about lowering the age for juveniles. It is time this age is bridged according to the maturity levels in the youth of today. When the age for consensual sex is sixteen, when they can stand up in rallies for their cause, when they can be sexually active without restraint there is no reason to consider them as juveniles.

Some say that the juvenile act was framed keeping view the general trend in society and that is why the above explanation should suffice, because the young are maturing fast at a faster rate added reason why the juvenile age should be brought down. Others say that in the justice system there should be a repentance and rehabilitation process so that the culprits come out as a new entity worthy to be assimilated into society. 

Criminals are not born but made and the growth of a criminal starts during his younger days. Once hardened he loses all sense of purpose to life and is committed to rebel in society without so much as bat an eyelid. Again the progress of these criminals beyond a certain hardened stage makes them beyond redemption. No amount of cajoling or soft measures will do the job and they act as a tiger that has tasted blood. Therefore it is useless to suggest that these kinds of hardened offenders will repent and reform.

Last week the newspapers reported a band of disgruntled boys in the juvenile homes who kept the police and administration at bay by hurling stones at them when the authorities came to discipline them having received a complaint from the hostel warden that they had turned unruly and was destroying asset in the home. They kept up a continuous barrage of stone throwing and abuses that made it difficult for the police to round them up. All of them knew that they were designated juveniles and therefore the law of the land did not allow for punishment in spite of all their misdeeds and rampage in society. They enjoyed themselves at the expense of the state and society, a society which rules on trends and not provide for exceptions.

It is high time society and law makers put pressure to change the law to incorporate punishment in proportion to the crime irrespective of the age of the offender, because one who is old enough to commit a crime should be old enough to face up to the consequences. Otherwise we will be left with people of the kind who were battling the cops under protection of the law and society will be all the poorer for not having applied our mind.

 

Robin Varghese

Mail to: robin_vargh@yahoo.com

31^st August 2013  

Holier than thou

Holier than thou

Man is a highly insecure mammal fraught with doubts about his own ability to see life through the rough edges of everyday living and social implications. It is this questioning and insecure attitude of ours that have led to the sprouting of God men in the country.

The people of India have been highly religious and wear it on their sleeves. They believe, all that happens is for a general good planned and executed by the almighty and therefore not to be questioned nor changed. He does not have the courage to squarely take on his inhibitions and failures through constructive work and refined knowledge. Failure often leads to self-doubt and this creates a space for soothsayers and fortune tellers. Here is where the self-styled god men walk in and claim their space.

In course of time they gather around them an army of lieutenants and foot soldiers through sleight of hand or scientifically proven methods that the gullible and illiterate followers eagerly gulp in their impatience to seek god’s divine blessings through the god man. This army of followers will go to any length to protect the brand of their guru, with blindfolded devotion and enviable zeal. This discourages the non-believers and atheists to question their scope and region of activity. Very often the believers of various sects and sub sects clash on religious and sect lines portraying the underbelly of stark opportunism of the religious leaders and what they prophesize.

Large gatherings often lead to pockets of influence and the god man is at liberty to side politically even while in doctoring his disciplines and followers through the use of the scriptures and oratory skills. The common man in his want to decipher the various colours of life while seeming to be pious scrambles for a place under the god man’s tent even at a price. This makes the purportedly holy man invincible even to the law of the land. In their unease to let go of the spoils they hoist their sons and relatives as head of these sects.

How else can one explain Asaram Bapu’s crisp reply to summons served on him by the Jodhpur police? He says he is so darned busy with instilling morals into his followers and believers that he has no time to join investigations into an alleged rape charge against him filed by a 15 year old girl. Bolstered by his backers in political circles he is cocking a snook at the law. He and his son further have the grumpiness to call this complainant as mad and full of lies.

His spokesperson a lady indulges in desecrating other religious leaders to maintain the claim to fame of her own Guru.  Religion is intoxicating in that it sways the literate and the illiterate, the ones with logic and those who defy all logic. There is no way of channelling a logical path to the mind once intoxicated with religion.

The Bharatiya Janata Party the main opposition party at the local level runs to the god man’s rescue by blaming it as a conspiracy of the ruling Congress. The Congress leaders are finding it hard to initiate proceedings after haven been photographed seeking the god man’s blessings at some point in time.  At a time when unquestionable followers of faith are needed it is stupid to criticize religious god men especially the ones professing the majority religion.

The truth is that these so called God men indulge in nepotism, ungodly and unholy nexus with politicians and at times immoral activities as has been seen in the past too. There are numerous instances of their ilk indulging in outrageous behaviour with women devotees and then applying all kinds of pressures to stifle stray voices of dissent. The politicians kowtow to these crooked god men in the fond hope that the disciples will automatically convert to willing vote bank when the occasion demands.

No point in blaming the politicians for they will try every trick in the book to gather fish of all hue and colour with their small and large fishing nets. No point blaming these God men for making us unsuspecting followers of their practice. No point blaming the system for siding with the high and the mighty and the influential even through influences may be earned through covert and illegal means.

Blame yourself for not being worth your salt and therefore feeling insecure. Blame yourself for not having the conviction to stand up to your abilities. Blame yourself for chasing the future to stabilize the present, Plainly put, blame yourself for being insecure and biting your nails in anticipation, when the alternative would be to go out and do a good days work, earn your wages, and sleep snoring into the night without having to unnecessarily grapple with the unknown, the unknown that comes with every rising of the sun.

Robin Varghese

Mail to: robin_vargh@yahoo.com

29^th August 2013