Oh Mumbai! War on my city!

Slaughter House Mumbai

If you are a butcher aka terrorist, Mumbai is a great place to slaughter innocent people. Come here where the security forces cannot protect the citizens. Come here where politicians are more concerned with the size of their wallets and their own safety than the welfare of the common people.

My city has been under siege not only from terrorists but by violent gangs and the never ending unholy nexus between politicians of every hue and the ‘Under World”. This is fueled by Black Money (undisclosed wealth) that is a parallel economy. In the past I have witnessed gun fights break out in the streets. Probably this is the reason why the Mumbai Police initially mistook the terrorist attack for a gang war: Brave Mumbai Police officers (Anti-terror Squad Chief Hemant Karkare, Encounter Specialist Cop Vijay Salasker and Additional CP Ashok Kamte) were gunned down by the terrorists.

The sight of policemen pointing their .303 rifles (World War I vintage) at the terrorists holed up in The Taj Mahal Hotel was a brutal reminder of how woefully inadequately armed our policemen are.

What irks me is that our ‘Intelligence Agencies’ failed to preempt such a brazen attack. And further the government’s response was lethargic. The Home Minister, Shivraj Patil’s performance before the TV cameras was ludicrous. His mumblings and incoherency was evident.

I am ashamed to be called an Indian primarily because we have convicted criminals in jail who are legitimate Members of Parliament. They are let out of jail to vote on the business of running my country!

The Shiv Sena (a regional political party of sorts) has always been a legend in its own mind. It’s present leader Raj Thackery wants a Mumbai without taxi drivers and laborers from Uttar Pradesh. The Shiv Sena (SS) are known to beat up these poor fellows. When the attack happened where was the SS? Apparently word on the street has it that they were hiding in their homes with ceremonial swords in hand.

Let’s get real. Let’s smell cowardice and accept it and move on to the stark reality that Indians and in this case Mumbaikers must take control of their city.

The media, in particular NDTV and The Times of India have been responsible and supportive in their reportage. But I can’t say the same about India Today TV which broadcast an interview with one of the terrorists. Thus, glorifying and further assisting the terrorist to communicate to his fellow killers and the world at large. How does our government react to this? Well, for one they have sent India Today TV a ‘Notice’.

The sad truth is that our politicians are like castrated men in a harem. They know how to do it but can’t perform.

The blame game has commenced – dumb charades. Ministers are being sacked. Meetings are being arranged and verbal diarrhea will be the order of the day.

Who will cry for the innocent people who died? Who will protect the Mumbaikers? Who will bite the bullet and finally take on the terrorists wherever they are? And will our government in days to come fall back into complacency as the General Elections come in 2009?

Life is cheap in India. We die because there is really no one to protect the defenseless. This is our Karma. Or is it?

Who is to say? Maybe a day will come when citizens in Mumbai will take control of their city and make the politicians answer for their misdeeds.

In the mean time let us pray that Mumbaikers do not have any more such senseless attacks.

Let us pray for the innocents who died needlessly because they own government failed them.

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om

Two moments at Naughty Nuri’s

Contemplating existence after two martinis.

 

Believe in who you are

And the rest falls in place.

Often we are obsessed with reality

For reality is like a prostitute

That seduces us.

While illusion is the virgin

That mocks our iniquities.

 

And the second moment…

 

Love is a dumb charade

Reality the beast that eats illusion.

Feelings are mere reactions to all this.

Today becomes Cinderella

Who has lost her slipper.

While tomorrow turns the frog into a prince.

Nothing is what it seems

And what it seems is nothing.

Faceless in the Crowd – A beautiful People

This story (published in The Bali Times August 17- 2007 issue) has not been written to “frighten” away the tourists. But simply to tell a story about people that people have forgotten. About children of a lesser God.

Many of us have come to this island to suck the elixir of eternal youth: our notions of living life to the fullest often regardless of the people around us. Just once let us hold the hands of those afflicted with leprosy to help them live a life and to die with dignity.

Often ignorance is an excuse for bliss. But it could also be a way of living in a fool’s paradise. Bali is much more than a paradise. It is and will always be paradoxical: The Yin and Yang controlling the life tides of ebb and flow. We must respect all living beings on this island. So read this story and after doing so let us all walk out of the door and start giving back to Bali what we have taken for so long…Life.

When I was confronted by the thought of actually meeting and talking to leprosy patients I was a bit circumspect about hygiene and worse still being confronted with ugliness amidst beauty. As an Indian who had worked at Mother Theresa’s Home for the Destitute and Dying in Calcutta in the ‘70s and who faced death there every morning, the “leprosy problem” as some so succinctly put it is not really a problem. It is a misplaced common human reaction to a disease that has been the scourge of mankind since time immemorial, but which is easily curable!

Being from a country that has (I presume) one of the largest populations of lepers, I am surprised at the adverse reactions I have received when I have spoken to residents on this island. Surprisingly this has not come from Balinese but from expats who have business interests here and also from international clubs. The most common remarks have been:

“This is Bali, it’s beautiful why are you talking of ugliness we don’t want to see it”.

“Come off it seriously there are no lepers on Bali…ha…ha…ha”.

“You can’t talk about this it will drive the tourists away…Bali doesn’t need this now”.

“You Indians always want to talk of poverty and disease…get real”.

Yes I did get real. I talked to my Balinese friends who were gracious and most helpful in taking me to parts of East Bali that many have not traveled to meet with motley ragged scattered bunches of lepers living on the outskirts of humanity. This journey took me to my soul and I beg to ask the question, “Is there a God?”

Driving from Seminyak to East Bali along dusty village roads to far-flung hamlets it was like searching for an elusive tribe. No one wanted to speak about them. No one acknowledged them. Yet they existed in their filthy clothes, smelling of rotting flesh and worse still the children. In their eyes bore testimony of a generation lost because of ignorance and fear, fear of the unknown and fear of becoming like them.

When I entered an area made up of a few coconut huts I was confronted by a group of ragged adults and children. As someone once said, “The eyes are the windows to the soul”. All I could see were their eyes that stared into oblivion in a catatonic like trance with a hint of hope…hope for succor.

Walking up to a young child and introducing myself with an outstretched hand I received a hearty handshake from a stump of a hand and a smile that dispelled the gloom.

“What’s your name” I asked.

“Kadek” the child replied in a tiny voice.

“How long have you been living like this?”

“As long as I can remember. I don’t feel anything in my hands and feet. You have any food? I’m hungry.”

I hadn’t brought any food but after rummaging in my pockets I found half a roll of Mentos, which I promptly gave him. He put it to his mouth and began peeling the wrapper away. In seconds he was munching the sweet while grimacing. Perplexed I asked him why?

“My teeth hurt.”

Suddenly the motley group turned their backs and started walking down the path towards the road. A few meters away they stopped and waited for a second and then raced forward. I ran after them curious to see what they were doing. Turning the corner I saw them bending over plastic packets. It was food and water left by the villagers.

Back at the “camp site” they shuffled around laying a tattered cloth on the ground. They sat down and began eating. I declined their invitation to join them.Kadek suddenly got up and held my hand.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“My teeth hurt!!”

“Oh okay. Then if you’re not eating why don’t you show me where you sleep”.

Kadek gently held my hand and guided me to a small coconut shelter that I presumed was used for cattle. It was his home. Open to the vagaries of nature this was his room. On the floor of covered with tattered cloth lay bits and pieces of colorful empty packaging of detergents.

“Why do you collect this?”

“I want to be an artist.”

Watching his stump of a hand waving around while he talked and the glimmer of life lurking in his eyes I wanted to carry him away from all the sorrow and pain.

“At night the animals and insects come to me. But I don’t feel anything. I wish they would go away and let me sleep”.

“Do you have any friends to play with?”

“Yes in this group but we have no toys. And we can’t go to the village to play with the children there. Most of the time I like talking to the trees. They are my friends. Only at night they make a noise”.

Suddenly silence blanketed us and for a moment time stood still. Then life returned with a gust of breeze. Probably it was the angel of death reminding us…

Its noon and with the warmth of the sun the flies returned buzzing around us like hungry creatures. Fortunately Made returned from the village to escort me back to the car. I wanted to run away and hide from humanity.

I made my farewells and promised to return with crayons and paper for my little friend. And yes food too.

Kadek stood at a distance and gazed at me waving his little arms and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Suksema” he shouted

“Namasker” I replied folding my hands and bowing ever so gently. And under my breath I whispered, “I wish you well my dear Kadek”.

Back at the car I meet a few villagers whose relatives I had just met. They inquire about their well-being and apologize for having ostracized them.

“What can we do we don’t want to get the disease”

I tell them its curable.Their doubtful looks are not encouraging. One unnamed health official tells me that the government has been fighting a battle educating people, timely detection of the disease and medical help. Though the local communities do their best it is still short of what is required. They need sufficient funds for medicines, nurses and doctors.

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om

Eight Degrees – Love Poems

This is a fragmentation of thoughts poorly disguised as poems. Humor me and read them. Then if you so desire consign them to the recycle bin.

Oh Radha!

Visions of love and passion

Drifting ashore at dusk

Announcing the night to lust

On crumpled sheets of lost thoughts

She sat on the beach

As darkness crept up her feet

And covered her in a cloak

Of twilight madness, eating her soul

Krishna had left with the tide

Leaving her forlorn on the shore

Holding her spent dreams

Afraid of them being washed to sea

The moonlit charcoal waters

Raced between her toes

Flowing up her legs

And drowning her sorrows

She waited long through the night

For Krishna to dance into sight

But there was only music to behold

Mermaids serenading him in the depths below

Wayfarers

I came in sheltering from the storm

Cloaked in loneliness

Carrying the pain and sorrow of a lifetime

Soulless, loveless and barren of thought

I called out to the wilderness surrounding me

You heard my wailing in the hills

And came to my door holding out your lips

For me to caress and your arms to rest

You left behind a warm home of love and children

Opening your self for me to enter

To hide my aching heart and dry my tears on your lips

You too cried in joy as we became one

Days have passed and with it many joys

Lying in each other’s arms resting our souls

Hiding from realities of living

Clutching desperately to the belief that things will work out

Sadly nothing remains the same

Time changes and so do people

Are we just wayfarers meeting between lives?

Or lovers destined to be apart?

Kuta Blues

Watching Kuta sunset, hues across the sky

Cascading like his thoughts fading into twilight

He had come to know the wonders of paradise

That could destroy his soul instead of giving it life.

Sunrises and sunsets, blessings in the cosmic trance

Of memories and joys dissolving into the dark

He frantically reached out to grasp the love

Waiting in the clouds above and wonders of a childhood’s end.

But he found to his dismay spirits riding the waves

Sending messages of farewell of goodbye kisses and reminiscences

He strode the shore through the night gasping for breath, a hint of life

Hiding beneath the foreboding waves

Beckoning him to another hell.

She saw him walking by the sea entranced by the lonely scene

She held him by the hand and asked, stranger what make thee

He looked at her and saw himself through the darkness and torment.

She placed her palms on his face

To calm the rising anguish

Whispering thoughts of belonging

Of love and longing, and yes pain again.

The night began to day bringing with it all the joys of yesterdays

But for them there was no sign

Except for the bloody knife.

Farewell

She said good bye today

Wiping away his joys and hope

A small message by her phone

Passing through the ether waves.

He looked to the sky and wondered why

The love she brought and took away

Made him feel so sad once more

Of being deserted again and again.

Mother, he cried, carry me away

From all this sorrow and pain

To a quiet haven faraway

Where joy and love were alive again.

The night descended across the sea

Darkening the land and he

To the sound of temple bells

On the shores of Gethsemane.

He quietly left to search the land

For love and lust and hope again

He found it in a gutter by

Whimpering, hurt and a terrible fright.

Now she has become a part of him

A little creature called sin

Licking pawing and whining for joy

Bringing him back to life again.

Sisters of Mercy

(A dedication to Sioned Emrys and Nia Williams)

I came into your life like an abscess on your gums.
Bringing a host of uncertainties
of love, life and whatchamaycallit
the cigar smoke, the whisky and
complaints of a lifetime.

I stayed in your home
bitching and crying

weeping and laughing
to the tune of my own voice.

The change of seasons, the rain
and the wind howling outside
brought with it a joy of belonging
of being accepted with all the iniquities
carried from India to Wales.

The food smelt of love,
the whisky of hope
and the wine of forbidden
sex to the sound of Cohen.

Nothing, nothing was more pure
than the sisters who showed their mercy,
placing their soothing palms on my troubled soul.

I shall carry this wherever I go,
remembrance of the joy of having
been loved and cared for and
never being forsaken by true friends.

Wherever you are today
nestling between someone’s thighs
yearning for the ultimate joy
keep this blessing close to your heart
for your karma can do you no wrong.

Life Sentence

She was marooned

Eight degrees south of the Equator

In a life devoid of love

Scampering between beds

And men and hell

Furiously searching for herself.

She had come to this isle

Thinking it was paradise

To absolve her from the past

And start a life anew.

In days she found a man to hold

In innocence to make a whole

And children did she tried to beget

To the silence of dying hopes.

Years have gone by with the tides

Now she sits by the riverside

Crying for her lost soul

Floating down to sea.

She wants to begin her life once more

To the sound of what she knows

For though she was born free

Still she imprisons herself.

Strangers on the Shore

He held her close so she could feel

The fears and tears on the stranger’s cheeks

He swallowed hard and spoke aloud

To the quiet rippling waters

and the moonlit dhows.

She looked at him for she could feel

The fading beats in his breast

She kissed his lips and tasted life

Ebbing from his side.

Stranger, she said, I will love you forever

While gently stroking his thighs

Forever, he said in a dying breath

No, there is no forever.

He kissed her forehead and bade farewell

Turned his back and went.

Alone she stood on the moonlit shore

Gazing at the stars afloat

And with a heavy sigh

Walked into the waters by.

Full Moon

She called him to say goodbye

Nonchalantly uttering the words

The passing traffic drowning out her voice

Trembling he put down the phone

In the distance drums are beating

Cries and shouts in the air

Of ceremonies of the lunatics

Maidens dancing to rhythm of the night

The full moon is up readying itself

Casting shadows in darkened doorways

Waking up the slumbering souls

To another twist of fate

She was the big little woman

The goodbye girl lost within herself

Tasting the moonbeams on his lips

Then moving on to another life

The ethereal light wrapped him in joy

Returning the wayward spirits of the past

Igniting the night with fireflies

That carried his soul away