Monday, April 8, 2013

Mentor


Mentor

How nice and refreshing it is to have a mentor in an otherwise lonely and desultory life! She sort of becomes a champion of your long-stifled quirkiness, an agent to find those connections that you have been terribly missing, a tad different from the usual set you have been interacting with. She could definitely be a friend and yet much more than that- a mother, a sister, a teacher and in fact all of that combined together in a fabulous package. 

I have had several mentors at different stages of my life- back in junior school, high-school and then at a more mature stage of life. And in fact all of them have brought in a lot of joy into my life, embraced my odd sides, avoided their close and intimate people to hang out with me and brought in pleasant surprises. They have also been terribly kind; showered me with love and affection and expected nothing in return. They have been interesting people- with clever, shrewd, unusual minds- I could see things freshly with them and everything was not deadness and repetition. What I could connect with them was the most human core of their beings. At a time when time seemed to blur into a black, empty zone, they always stood by me and gave me the necessary moral strength. They would point out the multiple people in me and help me get down to my real self. Such relationships ride along its own wild course.

My mentors have all come and gone from my life. And I started looking at each of them as an agent of some sort of change, a messenger with a deliberate attempt to change the old order of things and usher in new possibilities. Each meeting gave way to a larger journey. I was prepared to meet and let go, welcome a temporary imagined future and greet a new identity each time. And in that transition, in between two mentors, I learnt to get liberated from the uncomfortable truth that the time would soon come to end the trip.

Meghna Maiti

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Spring


Spring

I cannot thank god enough for the beautiful season called 'spring' bestowed on the humankind, in especially our part of the world. We may love the cold waves and fluffy snows of the winter; spatter of gentle rain in monsoon and even the searing heat of the summer with its passion and intensities. Yet one can’t feel better when there is spring in the air, a sort of light-footedness, clear blue sky, new flowers and the sweet call of cuckoo in even oddest of the hours.

I just love to lie quietly on the grassland, stare at the vast expanse of sky and even beyond that until the boundaries between the land and sky blur and blend swiftly and beautifully. A flight of birds hop and play and then disappears in the wilderness. The cool air is filled with mild floral fragrance. The big trees spread out their branches; their spirits dance to the tune of nature. It is a season of beginnings and creation when the daytime lengthens and spreads out before us and we are filled with strange hopes and desires.

The spring ushers in new light and leaves behind darkness. All of a sudden, the spring day seems to close doors of all uncertainties and clings close to us, caressing, whispering tales of happiness that set our souls trembling with awe. Till summer comes in, spring is an ideal time for dreamers to spin their yarns. Their dreams are woven by the silky threads of nature as the green creepers trail their wreaths. We all can feel a link with all creatures of nature and understand the essence of “stream of consciousness” running through each of us.

All sorts of happy thoughts seem to bring in melancholic thoughts. Or to quote Wordsworth:

“I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.”

It is indeed a holy season that sets us reeling.

Meghna Maiti

ENDS

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Great Expectations

 Great Expectations

ON a recent trip to my hometown Kolkata, I hit upon my favourite childhood book Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, in our attic library. As I flipped through its dusty, yellow pages, years flashed past fast; its eternal characters, old London appeared to me as the road to human endurance and truth. The story filled with dark, unacceptable thoughts seemed so enchanting.

The novel is full of a sense of threat that makes it so intriguing. It is replete with imageries of poverty, prison ships, the hulks, barriers and chains, and fights to the death that are boundless and deep. And then there are those reflections of Pip, the protagonist, and Abel Magwitch, the escaped convict and the strange relationship between them.

The mists of infatuations always invite half-baked, unfulfilled yet passionate relationships. When Pip met married Estella in the ruins of Satis House, he could see “the shadow of no parting from her“ to “the shadow of another parting from her.“ As I would read that part over and over again, I could sense dangerous love. Even a child reader would get a sense of ambiguous and original love, and a feeling that “life is unfair but it's still good“.


The story speaks of unconventional forms of love and how beauty, grace and prospects could spice up a humble existence. Yet even then, this could lead to unrequited love, hatred and a failed relationship. The fact that most intense of relationships could lurk in most unlikely of situations comes across in the book. 

These days I read a lot of contemporary literature, and I'm not particularly convinced by their rosy and clean version of love. They lack obsession, passion and the dark, beautiful world, the necessary negativities to open up a magnetic life. Yes we need to shun negative impulses and people, but it is not wise to be shut in a mundane, happy existence. I want to look at the boundless world and its infinite possibilities and marvel like an eight-year old, forever.

Meghna Maiti



Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Summer


Summer

This summer seems strangely similar to my childhood days, just when the whirling heat and dust came from nowhere to play along the eucalyptus and mango trees and then vanish just as freakishly, as if its sole mission had been to romance with the curves and bends of the numerous trees of a certain idyllic region of Bengal. The sky would give off a phantom light. We would feel the blaze and know for certain something desirous was headed our way.

I could see the stray dog wagging its tail near a small puddle of water as the first sign of heat struck us. Strong sun charred the tin roofs of the grocery shops. The lanes would be populated with sweating people, speeding up and down the road, brushing against each other as they yelled maniacally. The aroma of barbecued meat, chello kebab and the flavours of bengali cuisines wafted through the burning inferno. In strident white sparks, I could see those vivid faces, loving gestures, longing hearts, looking into my eyes.

Those were the days when I would get tempted to hide inside the cool confines of my grandparents’ house. I would just lie quietly on the floor, stare at the beam, listen to the discordant noise of the ceiling fan and wait for sundown. The occasional breeze from gulmohar and neem trees would turn the room cooler. I would be at peace and read on.

Then perhaps, roused by the sadness in my eyes, a band of pigeons would fall out of the sheltered nest, tumble frantically in the still, sizzling area, sort out their way and streak away across the white sky.

The summer is a lethal combination of intensity, desire, nostalgia and sometimes breathes of strained relationships. It builds its sandcastle, the somewhat dreamy, beloved abode that speaks of love and passions. It drives you insane. Then suddenly on a whim, on days with cold breeze, it collapses the house and disappears.


ENDS

Thursday, February 28, 2013

South Mumbai: state of mind

Duality of existence in Mumbai city

Meghna Maiti
Mumbai

What if a raging monster comes and censures you in your loneliest moment, “After this life, you will have to come back again in pure flesh and blood. There’s no escaping the cycle of re-birth!” You would probably grit your teeth in anger and feel cheated. All of a sudden you would treasure every moment and little joys of your present life for fear of being perpetually condemned to damnation. Slowly, you would feel the ‘light’ in your present life and the ‘darkness’ in afterlife. And in realizing the polarities of existence, your appreciation of present life will increase manifold. Then perhaps we can say with confidence that lives of some special human beings represent the strange phenomena of ‘dualism’ that is constantly passing onto one another, through light and dark, truth and lie, misery and joy, that eventually enlightens, glorifies and then annihilates just as easily.

Simply put, dualism or co-existence of two different realities is vital for evolution. This is as much evident in the greatest of cities as in most complex of beings. For example, Mumbai is one such city where ‘duality of existence’ is palpable. Let us take a detour through Kalaghoda and Fort region in the most throbbing locality of south Mumbai, a place where clear blue sky merges with fine, filmy cobweb of a land. Kalaghoda, the heritage art district of Mumbai, seems to allow ordinary human voices to traverse freely across the expansive space, without trying to manipulate it or drown it with other noises. In a sense, the area is full of freedom and no bondage. It is visible in the way the soft tune of a flute-seller, chirping of birds intensify the ‘silence’; the wide-eyed wonder of a bunch of hippie foreigners, sudden flutter of a wild-red butterfly from nowhere creates ‘magic’ in nature.

Jehangir art gallery, David Sasoon library, Prince of Wales museum, Max Mueller bhavan and Rhythm House- the age-old music store bears testimony to kitsch in Kalaghoda.  Also, Sabyasachi’s showroom, Fabindia, Hermes marks the place as an exclusive hub for design and creation where aesthetics is the main theme.

Just around the turn of Kalaghoda circle towards Fort area, one would see a series of innocuous cafes dotting the street where it is easy to spot one of those lonely souls, dressed in loose cotton, stirring his cup of coffee and staring at it in a dazed, fixed manner. While on the next table, a bespectacled woman maybe pouring over her book and right across, the air could be turning thicker with the smoke of cigarette and whispers of dark secrets of a couple in a forbidden relationship. As the day proceeds, a slight nip in the air and the orange radiance of the lamp-posts add to the mystic, trance-like charm of the place. For a moment when we shut our eyes the evening could feel like a dream bubble, light and soaring, never touching the ground.

In stark contrast to it, comes Dalal Street, located around Kalaghoda. The street seems to reek of blood on a cold, wet earth. Its main claimant Bombay Stock Exchange (BSE) makes its presence felt like a snarling monster in charge of fortune of many. It exudes a certain subhuman, flashy charm, all ready to take on the world with its fangs. Its nouveau rich employees can be traced along Dalal Street, consumed fully by stocks and shares, culturally bankrupt and oblivious to life. They walk with a robotic pace and like to stay enchanted in their own moneyed circle. And over the years, they slowly transform into wolves and hyenas in human form.

In Chinese philosophy, a pair of opposites is considered to be complimentary forces, interacting to form a whole greater than each separate part, to form a dynamic system. As mentioned on wikipedia, the concept of yin-yang describes how seemingly opposite or contrary forces are interconnected and interdependent in the natural world; and how they give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another. Natural dualities such as light and dark, low and high, cold and hot are thought of as physical manifestations of the yin-yang concept. This concept when applied in context of Mumbai perhaps explains its mind-blowing success in art and business, self and pelf, spirit and material among others. We understand how each of these realities can reach its full potential with the co-existence of a different realm of life.

Ambani’s 27-storey high Antilla, located on Altamount road in Mumbai is again a world apart from the city’s Dickensian tenements in its neighbourhood area, known as chawls. City experts say it is a ‘soaring monument’ which seems to draw a line between the rich and the poor. It is reportedly the most expensive home in the world, maintained by a permanent stuff of 600 (source: wikipedia).

If Mumbai suburbs, where majority of the citizens live is considered to be 'black', south Mumbai with its elite populace, sea-viewing million dollar homes and manicured gardens should be 'white'. The easy, comfortable lives of the town people are a world apart from the daily drudgery of the suburbanites. South Mumbai and the rest of the city seem to be two distinct realities surrounded by the sea. From a distance we realize how the interconnecting forces are always at play to balance the dichotomy of existence in this sea of swelling multitude.

The spirits of some of the world’s greatest cities live on this sense of dualism. In stark contrast to the billion-dollar suave apartments in Shanghai, the migrant laborers get to stay in cramped dormitories. So it is with Chicago, New York among others where Lamborghinis, Porsches on the road cannot hide its rising unemployment. From city to daily life, dualism slowly permeates into human beings from the heat, dust and grime of city air.

However, irrespective of nations or countries, the sense of two poles should usher in harmony and coherence and help us find our own meaning of ‘black’ and ‘white’. Black means strength: white means love. And grey is the in-between state of positivity. The union of two can only result in individual and collective happiness.


ENDS

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Meditation

Meditation

THERE are days when we feel exasperated with an inner turbulence that completely zaps our energy, enthusiasm and life-force. It is like strongly feeling the presence of a gang of raging monsters invading our mind-space. We suddenly realise the importance of `silence' in our daily lives. I do not mean to preach on the necessities of sacramental yoga, meditations in our daily lives. Yet we cannot dismiss the magic of `quietness' and solitude.


It's like listening to the same tapes again and again, yet not holding on to them or criticising and just letting them pass like a gurgling spring. In order to master our inner storms, we have to create spaces in our mind, be silent, pay attention to our own consciousness and breath, temporarily stop `thinking' and `looking' at things outside. We should just observe our own thoughts and not judge them.


We will slowly realise some thoughts are just conditioned by our minds, that there is no basis to it, no element of truth. Some thoughts are basically a blend of complex emotions. With such observations, the chaotic range of thoughts takes shapes and forms, become lighter and flows through the mind like whirring mild breeze. Eventually, such practice will help us get to our deeper selves and get intimate with our emotional core. We will also learn who we are and understand exactly what we must do, without evasion. It helps us become more enlightened by a thorough acceptance of pains and losses in our lives.


We learn the virtues of forgiveness, love and compassion, pity people who have backstabbed us and develop a self greater than our own. The stories of many evolved minds are rooted in such kind of meditation. It's quite amazing. We do not necessarily have to renounce the sensuous self in pursuit of a higher realm, but just to stay afloat in an ideal reality far removed from the `quotidian' world. It makes both the worlds, spiritual and sensual, richer, and leads to a greater sense of fulfilment and joy.

Meghna Maiti

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Grief


Grief

Grief is like a tempest blurring the boundaries between sky and sea. It is an intense experience when people go into a sort of 'shutdown' mode and the world around seems to be drowned in abysmal darkness. We all go through such phases of sorrow and emptiness where clarity seems to be the most unattainable thing. It could be due to a sense of loss, fear, rejection, illusion. The hours seem long and the days longer. The entire meaning of existence seems to be spinning on a single event or individual. 

To an outsider, a grief-stricken person would seem weak and bizarre, the changes in her behaviour unusual, her laziness annoying and strange. In a way it is the most unproductive phase of a person’s life when her mind is buzzing with whirling, snarling emotions that can only leave her incapable of doing anything useful. Even daily chores such as cleaning up the house, arranging the kitchen or folding clothes seem Herculean task. And one just wants to sit in a corner and brood over the weight of life. 

It is also a period of intense loneliness when even the best of artists fail to express themselves. One completely loses track of reality and thinks, thinks and thinks. And the thoughts are often self-created dark, devilish sparks of the mind.

So how do we come out of it? The first remedy for this, perhaps, would be to accept the cause of grief in one’s life. It is also important to come to terms with the fact that life embraces you only when you open up to it. It is not wise to get stuck into a particularly interesting situation, phase or a person. The greatest of human experiences lie in embracing change, discomfort and work. We should not define ourselves on the basis of any external agent. And in being so, we can open up endless possibilities for ourselves and connect with the deeper realities, mysteries and magic of the world. 


ENDS