A city. A city that embraces positivity. When I first arrived in the city and stepped down from the bus, I had so many doubts. So many events trying to compete in my mind to convince me of their occurrence! I was waiting there, barely bearing the burden of thoughts. My buddy, a heart-core Barodian, arrived with a broad smile on the face. That, kind of relieved me from torture of my doubts and thoughts. The new place gives a feeling of uneasiness and little anxiety. They were taken care of very easily.

It did not take much time to shift to the city to pursue the career that I wished. This city has this tendency of making people fall in love with it. At least in my case it is true. It gives you the feeling of being content yet makes you crave for more! It gives you feeling of safety, yet makes you fall in pits dug everywhere! It makes you dance to the beats of Garba in traditional attire yet seduces you with the labels and makes you jive in New Year party. Oh and yes, it offers you one of the most sophisticated hotels and restaurants yet tempts you to the irresistible street food. When I came to this city – is when I enjoyed myself playing Garba, authetnic Garba. I enjoyed riding the bike in rain for the first time (yes, really!). A long, chilling, early morning winter trip to Pavagadh. Some dinners at Kismat Kathiyawadi on the highway are always to cherish. Taking a dip at wonderful Mahi river with friends! Hanging out with them in city and doing crazy things on lucky long weekends. And such fun goes on.

Whenever I see architecture here, i think about these landmarks that Gaekwadi rule has given to this city. It can be the view of palace from my 10th floor office, Sursagar lake’s scenic beauty at night, the graceful Maharaja Sayajirao University building or beautiful Kirti Mandir. Whenever I pass from Alkapuri main road, two things always grab my attention – the circuit house building and thousands of birds chirping in the trees. Sometimes the melody of birds makes the noise of that busy road fade away, and at that time I involuntarily smile.

Recently, a man tied a stray dog and gunned it down at Alkapuri Road, Vadodara in the dead of the night. A guy poured acid over a stray dog’s face simply because it was bugging him. The dog lives a lonely life incarcerated at VSPCA, a shelter for stray dogs at Chapad village, Vadodara.

Cars running down stray dogs are a common sight. So common that we conveniently walk past dead corpses without bothering whether anybody must have informed the Vadodara Municipal Corporation about the accident. All we complain about is the intolerable odor of sloshed limbs and smashed head.

A group from my society walked all the way to the office of Vadodara Municipal Corporation and complained about the stray dogs in the vicinity. According to them, the stray dogs not only rob them of their ‘important’ slumber, but also pose threat to their kids, despite the fact that no stray dog has ever bitten them.

When the Vadodara Municipal Corporation didn’t respond or maybe adjourned their action, this battalion decided to poison their food. On being questioned, they coyly denied of harbouring any such noble intentions of securing their child’s future.

Just the day after Uttarayan (Kite Festival), I went for a walk at a nearby park and was amazed to find chopped wings and legs of pigeons scattered all around the pathway. While cycling my way home, I realised that even the main roads had pigeon’s legs still entangled in the mighty maanjaas and stray dogs relishing them.

Since decades, our home has been a sort of vet clinic for stray animals. Almost every week, we find a stray dog limping towards our gate, sure of the fact that it will get healed here. We know who the usual suspects are, but all we can do is warn them – a caveat so hollow that hardly gets registered in their minds. The very sight of a stray dog consuming food in our neighbourhood makes me cringe with fear that their plan just might get ‘executed’.

There’s no law that prohibits them against hitting a stray dog with a stick, pelting stones in their eyes, teaching their kids to kick them in the gut while walking. Even if there was any such law, would a police station ever register a case of a man throwing acid on a stray dog or running down a cat on the road? Is peaceful coexistence between man and animal so colossal a task? Well, peaceful coexistence has always been difficult for us.

The newspapers will surely report it somewhere in their right column about a dog being gunned down. The news will vanish the next day and nobody would bother to trace the culprit. The dog is dead anyway, so why not the news? After all, it’s just the headline that matters, isn’t it?

www.prakashgowda.wordpress.com

“If an idle mind is a devil’s workshop, a preoccupied one is probably where he goes for a vacation.”

Read this statement carefully, folks! It is a Murthism that has arrived to me after a long long time.. Sometimes, I really miss those days of abject haplessness, unintentional solitude (also known as loneliness) and self-deprecating sorrows.. I admit that I didn’t have much, but I at least had things to vent out… A process that invariably led to a somewhat steady production cycle of Murthisms and blog posts.. But one fine day, Happiness struck with a vengeance…

So, the United States of Happiness toppled the creatively fruitful but an unarguably dictatorial regime of Masochism.. And thereafter, gave M/s Smiles Inc. the job of reconstructing the dilapidated infrastructure and reinstated democracy by bringing in a rubber stamp government headed by Mr. Contentment in coalition with a certain Mr. Complacency.

The result? A period where every day is so good that I can’t really differentiate one day from another; a period where I doubt my perceptions about the world because I feel that I’m looking through rose tinted glasses; a period where I feel that everything needs to be experienced and not necessarily written about.

Now, I will get to the point (finally!!)…. Till the time, this existing government is not voted out through an incumbency wave or thrown out due to a military coup, please bear with the irregular blog updates and murthisms. Thank you for your patience, it will be tested rather rigorously.

I went out for a walk this morning instead of hitting the gym. I drove after a long time. Blessedly alone. When I parked, the skies were ominously dark. It was cold. I wondered to myself, “Should I wear my jacket? I might not need it after I start walking. Should I leave my wallet in the car or take it with me? Perhaps I should leave my wallet but take my phone.”

You get the drift; I was over-thinking it as I seem to over-think most things in my life. I stopped the mindless fear flow with a succinct: “Enough Avani. Just get out of the car and walk. “So off I went. Car keys in hand. Cell phone in my jacket pocket.

More thoughts set in immediately: “How far should I walk? I used to walk six rounds two years back. Will I be able to walk that much today? Six rounds in half and hour. Will that be too fast? What if something happens to me and I need my phone? It gets so crowded in there. Some walk in large groups. Some alone. Some with their family. Kids on their bikes. Some kids on skates. Enough Avani. Just start walking.

The following is an account of some of what I saw and what I thought as I walked.

Families walking: babies in strollers, kids on bikes and skates.
Did that woman give birth to those tiny little twins? They are so cute. She is in such great shape. What a great looking family. Wait! Wonder why the kid is not wearing a helmet. I would hate to see him fall on his head. There is something so beautiful about seeing families together, walking, talking, and growing closer – and there is something wonderful about being here without my family, walking, thinking, praying, dreaming, and experiencing this glorious morning all by myself.

Dogs: great danes and pomeranians. Alsatians and the occasional mixed breed.
I like dogs but never thought of bringing one home. Dogs are great companions and even better teachers. They seem to love every minute of their lives. They are so trusting, so hopeful. It seems like they are always looking forward to the next adventure, the next walk, the next meal, but also perfectly contented with where they are right now. Every little bit is enough for them. No big plans. No big dreams. They are just fine at any given point of time. When am I going to learn to live that contentedly and happily and gratefully?

Runners and walkers.
Will he drink all the water in all of those bottles hanging around his waist? I should have carried one too. What does it feel like to have all that stuff bouncing up and down on your hips while you run? It sure looks weird, but if it helps you get thru your run, then who am I to judge? Look at that woman’s legs. She is clearly a regular runner. I wonder how long it would take me to lose these extra pounds and be able to run a marathon. I should talk to my trainer and see what the first step should be. What the heck are you thinking, Avani? You are not a runner. You are a walker. Be grateful to be able to walk; stop fantasizing about a way of life that doesn’t interest you in the least. Now pay attention to where you are walking or you might slip or just bump into someone. Walk. Walk. Walk.

Men with men. Women with women. Men with women. Lots of people alone.
They look like they are having a great conversation. Are they married to each other or just friends out for a walk? Who wears flip flops on such a long walk? I guess she does. What language are they speaking at home? I greeted them; why didn’t they greet me in return? They act like they didn’t even see me walking past. Am I invisible this morning? Avani, are you planning to say “hello” to everyone you see? Why bother? Just leave them alone. Why does it feel like, no matter which way I am walking on this path, most of the people are going the other way? I am glad I’m here alone, so glad I came out this morning. People are so interesting and fun to watch. And your thoughts are quite interesting to observe too. Why do I sometimes think in the first person and sometimes in the second person? Why am I such a geek that I think about which subject and what form of the verb I use when I’m talking to myself? Maybe I should just stop talking to myself and watch where I’m walking.

Ipods and cell phones in action, and the unconnected and unplugged.
I cannot imagine walking with my ipod on. The sounds of birds and squirrels and frogs captivate me and move me more than any prerecorded song. It’s scary enough to have the joggers pass me when I cannot hear them coming; with my ears plugged, I’d have a series of heart attacks or small strokes everytime someone passed me unexpectedly. But then again, I prefer silence over noise in almost every situation. I don’t usually turn on the music in the car and almost never turn it on in the house. It is in the gym on the treadmill and out for walks that my best thinking happens, my best prayers are raised, my biggest dreams are incubated and hatched. Looks like I had forgotten that walking is my favorite form of exercise. It is so good to be out here this morning.

This morning, as my thoughts wandered, so did my feet; I ended up walking more than I ever had before. I did not feel the cold. I listened to people as they passed me and as I passed them. I smiled at what I heard and saw. I was awed by the varied beauty of the people I saw. I marveled at their determination to be outside, moving, breathing, stretching, and giving themselves the gift of better health. I wondered who was training for an event of some kind. I wondered who was in financial difficulties, whose children were sick, whose parents were ailing, whether or not some wished for more children or fewer. I wanted to know what it felt like to be such an elite athlete, to own such a large dog, and to wear such short shorts in public.

In between all those thoughts and questions and all that wondering along the trail, I was pondering the many ways in which this morning’s walk was similar to my life walk. Sometimes I walk my life journey with others and sometimes, most times, I am alone. Sometimes there are storms and falls and frights, and sometimes, most times, all is perfectly well. Sometimes people go running past me with deeply chiseled and taut spiritual muscles while I feel more and more like a novice athlete running this spiritual marathon trying to figure out the pace at which I will move and the intensity of the training I am willing to endure. Sometimes I get caught up in the comparison game – I am better or worse than… I am more fit or less fit than… I am smarter or denser than… I am kinder or meaner than…  Sometimes I take myself out of the equation and simply applaud the successes of others and give thanks for simply being able to even live and breathe and move at all. Sometimes I am alert to the sounds and voices and music that are all around me, and sometimes I do my best to shut everyone and everything out and tune in to all that is being spoken into and within me. As fit and strong and determined as I sometimes feel along this marathon of life, I know that there are miles to go before I sleep, so very many miles to go before I sleep.

This is my life journey.
I am taking it one mile at a time.
One prayer at a time.
One journal page at a time.
One morning walk at a time.

Many moons ago, Don Williams sang, “I try to find a way to explain to you, what’s on my mind and not sound so plain to you, but you’ll realize if you close your eyes, the feelings my words can’t show, they’re playing on the radio. Listen to the radio, Oh listen to the radio…”

Decades after, in the age of FM Radio Channels, I wonder what the veteran might have to say. Like me, he would have surely deleted this song from every playlist. To begin with, I don’t eat pan masalas. Buying property is the last thing on my mind. Marathon doesn’t excite me. Jewelry is for the Bhappi Laheris. So why on earth should I be subjected to a series of radio spots playing to a torturous schedule of almost 60 spots per 60 minutes? Isn’t radio supposed to play more songs?

Well they do, but songs between the ads, whereas it should be vice versa. And what is it about yelling in front of a microphone? Aren’t the RJs taught that the microphones they are yelling at are super sensitive? Just like our ears. The only seeming way to teach them a lesson or two is to make them hear to their own program on a headphone.

Ads no longer inform us on radio channels. They are crammed between the songs and force-fed to us, day in day out. The motor-mouth RJs keep blabbering stuff they could well share with their friends over cutting chaais or suuttaas, why would any listener be interested why they got late for a particular film or how they felt during a trip to grandparents’ home or how they spent their holidays or festivals?

How about sharing anecdotes of actors, composers, lyricists, producers and directors, which has a connection with the songs being played? There’s a treasure of film literature (beyond lazy Google searches) yet unexplored, which could be shared everyday over a cuppa. There are surely many radio channels actually practicing this, but are marred by the incessant number of radio jingles and spots overshadowing the show’s content.

“So shall we stop broadcasting advertisements? If we do that, how the hell would we run the channel, you moron? If you don’t like them, you always have an I-pod, isn’t it?” – Might be the obvious retort. The key is learning to say ‘no’ to clients when they ask for a schedule where their spot or jingle is played every few seconds. The radio channel can always explain them that they run the risk of losing their listeners. Without listeners, why would a realty developer or jeweler offer hefty amount to block those 30 seconds to announce their new property, jewelry range, food, cosmetic, garment, pan masala, and almost everything under the sun? (I am tempted to name the usual suspects, but naming them would again, promote their brands).

On the other hand, if you tune into the Vividh Bharti, they are always soft-spoken and the number of radio spots are negligible or at least don’t grate on your nerves. Nevertheless, you do have to endure those long lists of names like Munna, Nita, Rita, Mohan, Sohan, Seema, Nandu etc, which is thankfully aborted by that golden line – aur unke bahut saare saathi. The content intrigues you. The anchors win over you. But by the time you are hooked, they are quick to announce, ‘Is ke saath hi hamara yeh karyakram samaapt hota hain, namaskar”.

www.prakashgowda.wordpress.com

For a change, instead of jaw-dropping semi-clad women and yawn-inducing politician’s photographs, the front page of newspapers these days feature Bhagwad Gita, reporting on the state prosecutor’s office in the Russian city of Tomsk, Siberia, who filed a petition seeking a ban on the Gita. According to them, the Bhagwad Gita is a war-mongering and extremist literature. The 700-versed scripture is something we’ve always highly revered and put on the top pedestal or rather top shelf of our book. Sadly though, there’s where it has always remained. It takes a Russian city to wake us to the importance or maybe futility of the scripture.

The dust on your copy of Bhagwad Gita’s cover hides many a truths that has stood the test of time. But again, was it ever applied in the first place? In this ‘tweet age’ of short attention span, do we really need those voluminous Bhagwad Gita, Vedas, Puranas, Upanishads, Bible, Quran, Tora, Guru Granth Sahib, Avesta, and all those religious scriptures of the yore? Does anybody ever bother to read them, except using them in law courts (who ironically, end up banning them), temples, mosques and churches, where people sing verses without actually understanding them? Suddenly, the much-ignored scripture becomes a topic of national debate.

So we type pithy angry tweets, furious status messages, gang up for ‘weekend morchas’ on street-side, and sing praises of politicians and celebrities who echo our sentiments. A book that we never bothered to read up suddenly becomes so important to us that we nod in acquiesce when Sushma Swaraj asks the government to declare Bhagwad Gita as national book. We applaud Javed Akhtar when he states, “This great book of wisdom belongs not only to Hindus but to the whole humanity.”

A symbol of ‘communal harmony’. Oh really? So, what next? Wait for Amitabh Bachchan to blark (blog+bark) against someone who proposes a ban on the Qur’an for being war-mongering and extremist literature? Well, this reminds of the most misunderstood word, ‘Jihaad’, which actually means ‘struggle’ and not ‘war’ for God’s sake (you can say ‘Allah’s sake’ because Allah is just another word for ‘God’ and is not a ‘Muslim God’).

As for the concept of ‘one god’, almost all major religions speak of one god, which includes Bhagwad Gita. For instance, the Bhagwad Gita makes it very clear that: “Those whose intelligence has been stolen by material desires surrender unto demigods and follow the particular rules and regulations of worship according to their own natures” (Bhagwad Gita Chapter 7, Verse 30).

Despite being condemned, idol worship finds a prominent place in all major religions. Reason: We never bother to read up the scriptures and revere it without understanding it. At least, the Russian official who proposed to ban Bhagwad Gita made an attempt to read it. You need to read something to misinterpret it. The Bhagwad Gita indeed contains verses which run the risk of being misunderstood as a ‘war motivational manual’. Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra made a film called ‘Aks’, where he featured the antagonist (played by Manoj Bajpai) as a guy who misinterpreted Bhagwad Gita. This reel-life character seems to have been reborn in real life, maybe in Russia.

Some, perhaps in a desperate attempt to sanitize Bhagwad Gita, proclaimed its story as an allegory. For instance, Mahatma Gandhi interpreted the battle as “An allegory in which the battlefield is the soul and Arjuna, man’s higher impulses struggling against evil.” Shri. Aurobindo called it as, “An allegory of the inner life, and has nothing to do with our outward human life and actions”. In the same vein, Swami Vivekananda wrote, “This Kurukshetra War is only an allegory.”

In a world of morally, philosophically, spiritually, and politically correct men, kudos to a lady like Dr. Annie Besant, who was sane enough to translate it verse-by-verse in English for lesser mortals like ‘yours truly’ to interpret the Bhagwad Gita. Swami Prabhupada of ISKON chartered the cobbled path of spoon-feeding people with his interpretation. No wonder some just couldn’t digest it. Hence this kolaveri (I am sure the latest edition of Oxford Dictionary will include this much googled word after Sunny Leone).

It seems the writer of Bhagwad Gita (we’re told Lord Krishna wrote it but wasn’t he busy riding the chariot? Or was it Sanjay?) must have foreseen these days of folly. This is precisely why the writer must have written, “The mind acts like an enemy for those who do not control it.” (Bhagwad Gita Ch. 6). Quite a befitting rebuttal! Go ahead, tweet it, or rather blark aloud. The world needs your opinion.

www.prakashgowda.wordpress.com

At the very outset, I’d like to proclaim that this isn’t an obituary, hell no, it’s not a eulogy either. Obituaries, tributes, eulogies, elegies, and requiems are meant for the dead, not someone as alive and kicking as Dev Anand. Pick up any DVD of this debonair actor and you’ll know what I mean. Better still, read up his biography, ‘Romancing with life’ and you’ll wish you’d RIP apart all those who add the abbreviation, ‘RIP’ as prefix or suffix to Dev Anand on social networking sites.

The actor had always been special to me, as the first film that I remember watching on television as child was ‘Paying Guest’, starring Nutan and Dev Anand. The next one to follow was his film, ‘Vidya’. The actor left an indelible mark on my mind. Like many would claim, I, too, used to emulate him by creating a puff on my stubborn curly hair. The puff lasted for few hours, but the fascination for ‘the actor with a puff on his head’ has always been an integral part of my life.

I could never fathom his ability to enamor women in the most effortless fashion. He lip-synced to the voice of singers like Mohd. Rafi, Kishore Kumar, and Hemant Kumar so convincingly that it’d give any actor worth his salt some serious competition. Watch him singing, ‘Tere mere sapne ab ek rang hain’ in Guide, and you believe that it’s Dev Anand singing, not Mohd. Rafi. The peculiarity of Dev Anand was the fact that the songs were essentially honey-strewn and characters fundamentally grey shaded. The way he ‘sang’ ‘Ek buut banaunga tera aur pooja karunga’ in the film, Asli Naqli reaffirms this fact. The experience of watching Hum Dono in colour along with family will always remain one of the most cherished moments of my life. After all, it was the first time I watched him on big screen. I like all his movies till Tere Mere Sapne (didn’t like any of the films directed by him including Hare Rama Hare Krishna). Hence my credentials as a diehard Dev Anand fan, is indeed doubtful.
As an adolescent, I remember walking up to a music shop and asking, “Uncle, I want Dev Anand’s cassette.” It was never a cassette of Mohd. Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Hemant Kumar or any other singer. I was a proud owner of almost all major cassette compilations of Dev Anand released by HMV in the nineties. I bought the copy of ‘Romancing with life’, his biography, on the very first day it was released at Crossword Vadodara, where I was the second customer to buy it. His friendship with Guru Dutt described in the book took me by surprise as both were of completely different personalities. Dev Anand and Guru Dutt, during their struggling days, promised to each other that they’d give each other a break if they were ever to make a film. Inspired by this anecdote, I made a similar pact with a close friend who is currently assisting leading filmmakers in Indian film industry. We are nevertheless, yet to find the opportunity to fulfill the promise and honour the pact.

My cupboard proudly displays every DVD compilation of Dev Anand’s songs, and yes, I am doing a show-off, by sharing this: Films like Tere Ghar Ke Saamne, Asli Naqli, Jab Pyar Kisise Hota hain, Love Marriage, Hum Dono, Taxi Driver, Pocketmaar, Kala Pani, Baazi, CID, House No. 44, Baat Ek Raat Ki, Tere Mere Sapne, Guide, Jewel Thief, Johny Mera Naam, and Joshila have been my all-time favourites. The original DVDs of these films cohabit in my DVD cupboard along with films directed by Guru Dutt, Satyajit Ray, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Bimal Roy, Gulzar, Ram Gopal Varma, Anurag Kashyap, Clint Eastwood, Alfred Hitchcock, Akira Kurosawa, and Tarantino – a treasure trove, which I explore every weekend.

The Saturday of 3rd December 2011 was no different. I instinctively picked up the DVD of Guide. “How many times will you watch this film?” remarked my mother, prodding me to play something else. The first fifteen minutes of the film was enough to make my mother join me and watch the classic. The end scene in Guide, where Raju is leaving his body and his soul is speaking of life and death is a scene, which as a rule, I watch at least twice, going back and forth and reflecting for hours on the character of Raju guide.

Never did I know that the very next day, these lines would completely change its meaning forever. From now on, whenever I would listen to those lines, they’ll remind me of Dev Anand, and not Raju Guide.

Here’s what Dev Saab must be saying from up above:

Lagta hai aaj har iccha poori ho gayi,
Par ab maza dekho, aaj koi iccha hi nahi rahi !

Zindagi pighalkar prakash ban gayi,
Aur sacchaai mera roop hai !
Tan rahe na rahe , main rahoonga!

Na sukh hai, na dukh hai
Na deen hai, na duniya
Na insaan , na bhagwaan
Sirf main hoon, main hoon….
Sirf main!

Long Live Dev Saab. You can abbreviate it as LL Dev Saab. Dare you not write RIP, as Dev Anand has always been a restless soul.

www.prakashgowda.wordpress.com

Maneuvering through life’s labyrinth,
With many a challenges to catch up with;
We took a break to lace three days with blithe,
To celebrate eighteen ‘wonder years’ with the kith.

What does it take to set oneself free and feel like eighteen? A strum, dive, dance, flirt, peg, puff or snort? None. All it takes is the feeling of being part of something big. This is precisely what the ‘Cognito – Coming of age celebration’ taught me. Far from self-congratulatory speeches and mandatory ‘this-is-how-your-future-looks-like’ presentations, the event began on a nostalgic note and smart inspiring film clips. Veterans like Asutosh, Manoj, Ranjan, Salil, Kamlesh spoke eloquently, sharing anecdotes that left us in splits, transporting all and sundry to the days of the yore.

A simple conversation over a few beers (honestly few) led to deep insights of advertising, especially copywriting. Copywriters like Kamlesh, Salil, Ganga, and Hardik belonged to almost different eras of Cognito. If one worked during the times when copywriting meant press ads, the others witnessed emergence of new roles of a copywriter – right from branding for events, writing anchor’s speech, coordinating with dancers, cracking a CSR concept or even proofreading in Japanese, Tamil and Telugu! If Kamlesh hailed from wildlife tourism, Salil from rock band, then Ganga and Hardik joined in after quitting their jobs in dairy technology.

It took three days at Aamby Valley to realize the fact that the more you converse the better you can articulate, the more you observe the better you can imagine, and of course, the less you drink, the more number of colleagues you can drop to their chalets (Ask Rinoj). The event introduced me to friends whom I had always known, but never met, drinks I had always heard of, but never tasted (Didn’t enjoy the feeling of being inebriated. I was eagerly waiting to get back to my senses), and colleagues with whom I always communicated, but never conversed.

To sum it all up and reiterate, the greatest high of the ‘Cognito – Coming of age celebration’ was the feeling of togetherness that the three days instilled in each of us. This sense of belongingness is, perhaps what keeps Cognito going. After all, Cognito isn’t a noun, it’s a verb.

We blink, you stare
We dream, you dare

We bow, you rise
We whine, you advise

We sow, you reap
We give, you keep

We abort, you beget
We forgive, you forget

We trust, you delude
We clothe, you denude

We invoke, you provoke
We breathe, you smoke

We pay, you scam
We starve, you cram

We feed, you fast
We perish, you last

I remember the first time I stepped into the premise of Islamic Library at Fatehgunj, Vadodara, Gujarat, where I was pleasantly surprised to find a group of well-read and humble young men in skullcaps. After exchanging the usual pleasantries, I shot off: “Why do you make your women wear hijaab? What makes you marry more than one woman? Why do you slaughter animals? Why do you call us kaafirs? What makes your God better than our God, so much so that your shahada proclaims, there is no god but Allah?” My queries were as endless as the differences between the two communities.

Having poured my heart out, I looked around everyone’s faces. A little voice told me a riot is hiding in ambush. The thought scared me, amused me, awed me, froze me, and then confused me. I kept staring at the man sitting opposite to me. He raised his hand (thankfully not to hit me) and rested it on my slumped shoulder saying, “The basic purpose of opening this library is to clear such misconceptions about our religion.” I was relieved. I was in good company and there were full chances of my returning home safe and sound. The assurance of the man fuelled my urge to probe further.

“Isn’t it time you people shun those outdated doctrines and rituals? Why don’t you embrace the change that this generation has to offer?”
“A religious scripture isn’t a newspaper that keeps changing everyday. We have to obey what Allah has commanded to us,” said the man in a firm tone.
“So does my religion. But my religion does not proclaim – there is no God but Ram. Call him Krishna, Jesus, or Allah – Ram exists everywhere, kan kan mein Ram, as they say”. “That’s a politician’s idea of Hinduism. Your religion, like ours, speaks about oneness of God in great detail,” said the man.

A guy intervened and said that their religion doesn’t force them to marry four wives or eat non vegetarian food. “How many Muslims have you seen in India with four wives?” he asked, and further told me that the word ‘Kaafir’ is not an abuse, but is derived from the word, ‘kufr’, which means to conceal or to reject, and is hence another word for ‘Non-Muslim.’

The man in charge of the Islamic Library stated that the Qur’an first asks men to observe veil by lowering their gaze on being confronted by a woman. It later asks women to draw veils over their body and guard their modesty. He looked into my eyes and asked, “Now tell me how many men you find who actually lower their gaze on being confronted by a woman? If they don’t do that, what’s wrong if women cover themselves up? Why are we criticized for asking our women to wear burqa?”

The enlightening experience made me a regular at Islamic Library every Sunday. Hence began my weekly debate sessions. The members increased, so did arguments. The more curious the members were, the more heated the arguments got. It was pure fun and I was enjoying every moment of fighting tooth and nail for protecting the honour of my religion. That Sunday was no exception. After all, I had an interesting topic to discuss – “Secularism”

I began my Sunday debate session by asking “Do you think we are living in a secular nation?” My question was no less than a conch shell marking the beginning of a holy war. The next thing I knew was I found myself being bombarded by a nuclear-missile-query: “Do you know the definition of the word, ‘secularism’?” asked an elderly man.

“Of course I know, it means a country that allows its citizens to follow their own religion.” I muttered. The words were too feeble to feign confidence. I kicked myself for not bothering to even consult a dictionary meaning of the word. I excused myself and made a narrow escape under the pretext of an urgent work that my mother had assigned to me. The word ‘secularism’ kept haunting me all my way home.

To my utter surprise, the dictionary meaning of the word was nowhere close to what our politicians proclaim our nation to be. There are two meanings of the word, ‘secular’ – Worldly spirit, views, or the like; esp., a system of doctrines and practices that disregards or rejects any form of religious faith and worship. Well, I’d dare not call India this kind of secular republic. It dawned to me that this kind of secularism sounds an interesting idea with a lot of meat in it.

Imagine a day in such a ‘secular nation’. This would mean pulling down posters of all those sermonic ‘Aasharam Bapus’ and ‘Morari Bapus’, settle the Babri Masjid dispute, and trash the investigation papers of Godhra carnage. Imagine the plight; or rather fury of religion-based groups and institutions. What will be the agenda of next elections if not uniting two communities who seem to have been at loggerheads since the time the two nations got separated?

Eureka! I’ve got a solution that can herald a true secular nation! Separate Indian system from religions and make each citizen’s religion a personal affair. What if we stop mentioning our religion in our school certificate, curriculum vitae, and passport? What makes it so mandatory for a person to disclose what God he worships? Why not make it a personal affair, just like one’s virginity? As the popular stand-up comedian (I call him a reformer) George Carlin would like to put it: Thou shalt keep thy religion to thyself.

“We might lose our identity, you’d say.” But isn’t the word, ‘secularism’ losing its meaning under the cobweb of ‘Political Hinduism’ which proclaims, “Hindu- Muslim Bhai Bhai, only to later become “Hindu- Muslim thaai thaai?”

Let’s face it; we’ve tried the second and clichéd meaning of secularism we learnt by rote in school, “The belief that religion should not enter into the functions of the state, esp. into public education”. We all know how ‘efficiently’ we’ve succeeded in achieving this kind of secularism. So how about creating a ‘secular nation’? – A nation with a system of doctrines and practices that disregards or rejects any form of religious faith and worship.

My friends at Islamic Library may not like the idea. It will surely put an end to the Sunday debate sessions. No more arguments, revelations, similarities, and differences. No more jehad for them, and no more dharm yuddh for me. Just think of it, there’s nothing to lose. We’ve already lost much, isn’t it?

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