Faith, Belief and God

God and man are tied together by the thread called Belief. An abstract term, its significance varied from person to person. Some, as I mentioned earlier associate it with God, while others with everything else. Many a times the answer to this question sought by an educated mind results in rationalisation on the altars of science; it results in a divide between the mind(brain) and the soul(heart). The brain, well versed in science and scientific reasoning finds and answer for everything to deny the very foundations of Belief. The heart on the other hand uses belief as a prop to keep going in the right direction. It is Belief in God that sustains a lost soul when he faces a dead end. The anecdote below would perhaps be the best way to convey the message.

Two criminals broke out of jail located in the middle of a desert. It was a hot summer noon and they had no idea where the nearest signs of civilisation were. One of the criminals was a scientist who swore by science and the other, a believer in God. They decided to walk and keep each other company till they reached safety. The walk in the hot sands was an ordeal that was sapping them of all their energy and the zeal of freedom. Yet they dragged along. Suddenly, the Believer started running, shouting, “Water! Water!” and the scientist on hearing these magic words, started running too. The Believer stopped after sometime, looking all around, bewildered on not finding the water. The scientist, puffing and panting caught up with him and pointed out,"You had seen a mirage.” They walked on, the exercise draining a lot out of them.

(I suppose, some of you would have already guessed where this is headed…)

Soon, the Believer saw water again and started running towards it. The Scientist called out behind him, ”That’s a mirage you fool. Stop this non-sense. You are tiring both of us. Just conserve your energy till we can get help.”

“No”, replied the Believer. ”We are being tested for our sins. Keep running and we shall find water.”

“Alright then”, retorted the scientist. “You go ahead. Keep running and get yourself killed. I will not give in to your foolishness any longer. Farewell!”

The Beilever kept following the ‘water’ which eluded him every time. But each time he convinced himself that it was God who was playing tricks with him and prodded on. He walked and ran and walked again. Till it was dark. Soon he saw light in the distance. He ran again and this time he found it was for real. It was a village. It was too dark then to go out looking for the Scientist so he decided to go in the morning. At the break of dawn, he took a camel and ventured out in search of the Scientist. He found the Scientist lying dead near about the same place where they had had parted.

So what is the moral of the story? Perhaps you would still remember the endless number of stories which shows a blind believer, who does not work hard in poor light. I could not agree more. Belief is not what stops one from working towards his goal, it is a source of energy. True Belief is one that helps one move on despite all atrocities and adversities in situations where rational thinking would suggest giving up. God is like that source of light at the end of the tunnel, which gives you the false impression that the tunnel is not dark and prods you to keep walking. In today’s world, Faith is a gift which keeps one in the path of 'Dharma' despite innumerable distractions and incentives to quit that path. It is this faith which therefore still holds the world together saving it from total chaos. So, finally what about God? Well, I believe and I keep the faith!

NH 44

The drive from Guwahati to Shillong, judging from my memories, has been quite pleasant. The ascent from the hot, humid plains to the hills through winding roads, the scent of cold misty air gushing in through the pulled down glass of the speeding vehicle, is an experience to behold. The leaves of trees keep growing smaller and smaller till spiky pine trees decorate the facade of the hills like green rippling curtains. One does come across human habitations, mainly small Khasi villages by the roadside, making a living out of business the commuting vehicles generate. The short statured, shawl clad, red-lipped betel leaf chewing inhabitants going about their daily business is a pleasant sight.Communicating has never been a problem. They speak their own unique dialect of Hindi, bearing the tone of their mother tongue; quite intelligible though.
About ten kilometers before entering Shillong, one drives along the most scenic stretch of the entire journey, along the Barapani reservoir. The placid waters, with the rays of the sun enmeshed, as if dancing with the ripples. Small islans jut out of the water here and there. One of the most picturesque spots one could encounter.
Sadly, things have changed now, as an aftermath of progress perhaps-the thrust towards development.Unknowingly, we are destroying the natural heritages that have lived on for ages. The four laning of the highway has led to excavations of the slopes running along the road. The amount of deforestation is simply heart rendering for anyone who has grown up plying these roads, admiring the beauty of the trees lining the driveway. The tiny hamlets that existed earlier have now been transformed into caverns of concrete. The carpet road which though a narrow one, was a pleasure to drive on, is replete with potholes.It has become nothing less than a nightmare. Adding to the woes are the traffic blockades being caused by the construction work. All in all, another jungle of concrete and malba is being created. Indeed, this is modernisation as some would call it, but i still prefer the same old drive that lingers on as a faint,fading memory.

The Slumdog Revolution!

A lot is being said and discussed about the latest Danny Boyle movie. In India we have discovered every rational reason to call it an Indian movie. Now the question that I bring up out here is whether this movie can really be called Indian?
If I say Yes my justification would be :
a.It is based on a novel by an Indian
b.It is based on Indian reality
c.All the actors and technicians are Indians
Well... reason enought to call it Indian.

But, I personally would say No, and I have good reason for that too. A movie is as good as its director. Actually, a movie is a canvas on which the director paints his ideas. This is a Danny Boyle movie and Danny Boyle definitely has portrayed the movie from a Bristish/Irish perspective. If a Madhur Bhandarkar or (better still) a Karan Johar were to make this movie, would it have been the same or would it have had the same impact? I seriously doubt. For example, in the movie, Danny builds the character of Jamaal as the movie progresses, which helps in making some of the little nuances more pronounce. In typical Bollywood movies, the movie begins with the characters/heroes, who end up stealing the limelight. The movies end up being all about the characters and nothing else. One would hardly find any subtle layer. Indian Bollywood movies stimulate emotions but not the grey cells, and that, I would say is what makes Slumdog Millionaire a Non-Indian film.
Slumdog is already there, and deep down inside I am sure the big guns of Bollywood would be saying, "Shit! We never looked at it this way." Now what? Now, I would expect a cinematic revolution of some sorts in Bollywood. The generation of movie watchers has changed. It is a new generation which can identify and appreciate sensible cinema, be it from anywhere. So, for a change, I would expect to see more movies being made, with the movie being the priority and not the moolah it rakes in. We can already see a beginning with so many art house(read small budget) movies coming out. Many of these small-budget movie actors are quite celebrated today-Rahul Bose, Konkona Sen Sharma, and many others. The revolution has already started; now it will gain pace. As for movie buffs like me, we'll get to watch good cinema :)

Choice

From the shallows of youth to the uncertain depths of manhood, it’s been a long way. But what has hit hard is the sudden shift. Four years of engineering was supposed to serve as the transition but it hardly did. It was four years spent the way I wanted to spend it; shoving away the inflictions as I could choose to do so. What makes it worse now is that I still have the inflictions but not the choice.

Choice is probably the best measure of success, whatever be the definition. The more the number of choices one has at any juncture in life, the more successful he is. Sounds funny, but by sparing a moment of thought we all would eventually agree to a certain extent. Starting from the choice of schools one has after a successful entrance exam to the choice of brides at a latter point in life; it is a stark fact. We could come up with innumerable examples hidden in the hulabaloo of life. We just fail to identify. So, let's start counting our success and feel good about it.

Here's to a successful life!

Life at 21

Life at 21 has a new meaning. Strangely, the entire perspective of life keeps changing as we move along. I no longer crave for those big cartons wrapped in colored papers or the festoons draping the walls, I no longer look forward to blowing the candles, or the greeting cards that follow. But somehow, I miss it all, the innocence especially. I miss the thrill of unwrapping my first Parker or the latest Hot Wheels set. I miss those forceful cuddles and hugs, as I desperately tried to get loose and explore the pile of gifts. I miss the day when I could get away with any tomfoolery, without a penalty to be paid. I miss the Paayesh that Maa used to prepare with utmost care for her darling son, or the huge cake that Baba used to bake. I miss putting the first piece of cake in my brother’s mouth, or the juvenile arguments we had over the ownership of a brand new GIJOE model gifted by someone.
Years passed, priorities changed. I now looked forward to my 16th birhday, when I would be getting my favorite pair of jean trousers or the ‘Metallica’ captioned T-shirt I had spotted in a showroom. That too was left far behind and soon, I was 18, butted into a new, unfamiliar year of my life. I was on my own now, everything at the disposal of my fancy. All shackles that had tied me down till now, lay broken. But I no longer fantasized the Parker or the T-shirt. The new life was my surprise gift. And I agreed with Bryan Adams more with each passing day.
Today I stand at the threshold of another year of my life. I turn 21 today. Perceptions have changed. Ideologies have changed. To start with there’s an ocean spread in front, and no compass to navigate. There’s no start or end, just a notion of it. As we go ahead with life, our longing to go back to the days gone by increases. Fleeting sparks of joy illuminate things momentarily, when we seem to be living the time of our lives, but soon all gets shrouded again. And that’s the case with most of us. At every step we regret the previous one; some regret it a little less, but regret is inevitable. That’s the common outlook towards life that every human has. We try to base our present on the past and the future on our present. And that has been human tradition and nature from time immemorial. Think! A more refined outlook can lead to a refreshed life. Let every rendezvous be the beginning of a new relationship, and every moment a fresh one without any consequences. Let every failure be an adventure and not a blame on life. And let every joy, however little be the reward of this new attitude towards the gift called life. I keep the faith, as I try.