My Holi

I don’t even remember

how many years of holi left me

untouched unsmeared by colours.

I don’t know how it feels when

a loved one sprinkles and smears

the  rainbow colours of love:

was it your mellifluous voice

or the magical touch that winged my

feelings to fly away outpacing

the speed of the wind to your

paradise of fresh colours of love?

I sauntered the market looking for

colours unearthly to match you,

looked for the exotic but in vain

nothing pleased me:

I returned with slow heavy steps.

Will this year too the holi would betray

my eager heart and curious soul

empty handed I stood before him

to find in dismay his coloured face

no place was left for me,

but no worry

I had my ways and my dreams

to colour him,

I stepped forward and hugged him

so tight the colours fell off.

I painted his soul with my lips

the long liplock covered the lost years.

How better my holi could have been!!

Sabita sahu

Farmers’ Woes

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Almost fifty percent of India’s population comprises the farming community. We often take pride in speaking from public platforms that India lives in the villages and the farmers are our Annadata. During the seventy years of India’s Independent self-rule right from the first Primeminister Nehru to the present P.M. Modi the same superlative sobriquet is used for the farmers-Annadata. But the giver of the food is never happy. He is half -starved, loanladen and self-destructive.  Sounds ironical, doesn’t it?

Indian agriculture has been mostly rainfed. Appeasement of the rain gods, even after sending a Mars craft successfully in the first attempt, continues till date in several parts of the country. Joining the major rivers of the country for continuous availability of water for irrigation purposes has not yet started. The irrigation projects in most states are inadequate. Farmers take loans from moneylenders and banks to finance their efforts, which is natural, but often they fail to pay back the amount taken for crop failure. The vagaries of monsoon, pests, unseasonal rains, hailstorms and other natural - unnatural menaces play truant with the fate of the farmers rendering him helpless and miserable. If the rainfall is good and farmers launch dream ships in the air, another danger chokes their hopes-the anomaly of plenty. The simple law of demand and supply makes the product cheap and prices fall dashing all their hopes. Scenes of potato, tomato and other vegetables, wheat etc thrown on highways or into rivers are not rare in bumper crop years. Politicians especially in the opposition parties go hoarse in the Parliament shouting for the right MSP for farmer’s products and a few sops are declared. The MSP is raised by a small amount and government becomes the chief buyer. But there is no improvement in their lot.

This story is repeated year after year. Modernization of agriculture is not uniformly done. The farmer though is more aware today because of technology and scientific knowledge -soil testing, fertilizer quality, monsoon forecast- his investments never become gainful. Unable to repay the loans he puts an end to his own life. Farmer suicide is a blight on the people, society and government. The Annadata feeds others but his own family is unfed. His children never go to good schools; they prefer to be tea sellers, peons in offices or drivers than farmers following the parental footsteps.   

When the farmers commit suicide governments at the centre and state pay a sort of compensation ranging from 3 to 5 lakhs. At times popular governments write off the bank loans thereby jeopardizing the economy. Protest marches are taken out in multiple cities, slogans against the state and central governments are loud- speakered much to the annoyance of everybody. But no permanent solutions are found by any government. When the British ruled India there was no industrial growth as there was no agricultural prosperity. Gurucharan Das writes, “The industrial revolution did not occur because the Indian agriculture remained stagnant, and you cannot have an industrial revolution without an agricultural surplus…”

No point blaming the British. In independent India the agricultural growth is hovering around 3%only.To relieve the stress of the farmers Swaminathan, a great agricultural scientist, has suggested that the farmers be given 50% profit over their total investment. No government has done it. Narendra Modi in his election speeches promised the farmers to adopt Swaminathan Commission report, but going into the last year of Modi’s rule this assurance too has fallen flat.

A radical solution could be to release agriculture from protectionism of all kinds. Let them beg, borrow and invest money and repay on their own. Let there be no compassionate compensation for suicides. But let the farming community be free to sell their products in the open market on their own terms. Agriculture may be treated as an industry like the film industry. Let them be taxed on their incomes. Let there be no subsidies of any kind. The farmers however must create their own leadership in collection and distribution without an eye on political positions.  The market forces will determine the price of their products and they will function like other manufacturers of consumer products. The farmers should not become willing vote banks of any party- left right and centre. Let the farmer live with dignity and determine his own fate. Any takers?

                      

Rhapsody

What do you wish to give?

A world trip ticket on concord!

A jade palace carpeted with

gem studded Arabian bulbuls!

No dear, if you wish to give ,

give me your sorrow

which dampens your heart,

I’ll cover my body like a blanket

of Italian roses feeling the spice

of your sobs  to smoothen my nerves.

Give me all the pain of your heart

I’ll stir it with all my love

To churn out the nectar of life.

Give me your lonely tears

I’ll lick it like honey dripping

from the honey comb of life.

Give me a chance to hold your hand

I’ll walk like impish shadow.

Give me your sleepless nights

I’ll play the moon and sing

soft lullabies, as cupid's minion

sings for his moody princess,

In the garden house of your fantasy

where cuckoos hum in ecstasy.

Open the gates of your garden

Which nurses blossoms of beauty and love

I’ll measure the waves of your breath

by blowing kisses of my love.

Sabita Sahu

Tuitions

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

When I was a school boy I always felt excited to be in the class room. My teachers were loving, caring and brilliant. The after school hour games too gave me a sweaty pleasure. My school was more magnetic than my home. At home I lazed around and after early dinner sat with a book -mostly a puran or the Ramayana or Jaimini Mahabharata. I had finished reading the eighteen puranas and the epics by the time I passed class seven. Whether I understood or not I felt attracted by the small book case of my parents where religious literature was stalked.  I never felt any pressure from my parents. I did my home task regularly and enjoyed what I did. In the early evenings I frequented a library, Sadhana Pathagar inside the Hillpatna park in Berhampur. I read odia poetry and fiction and enjoyed reading whether I understood or not the nuances and subtleties: I never questioned myself. My parents never sent me for tuitions. In fact I never needed any coaching as my teachers were so good, intimate and wise.

Today my grandchildren cannot do without private tuitions. Coaching institutes have become more important than schools and colleges. All cities in India, even the rural areas, have more tuition houses than schools. Population has increased, educational institutions too have increased in number and the competition has become tough, at times soul killing. If a boy scores 90 percent of marks the parents are not happy for a seat in a higher institution or a technical college- engineering, medicine, fashion designing etc- is not guaranteed. They have to sit for an All India or All State entrance test and get a position high up the merit list: If not life, they think, is ruined. The boys and girls are always in tension. Their childhood and adolescence or early youth is always under an uncanny fear of failure. Running from one subject expert to another, going through IIT,JEE questions and answers, possible questions etc they forget even their birthdays. Life becomes a lonely hunt for success in a world which does not host a free lunch.

The rich parents as well as the middle class parents spend money on tuitions of their children to give them comparative ease in life. The society today is aspirational, the young persons are ambitious, the parents are aware of the requirements of the job market and the job market is shrinking all over the world. Educare institutes, a euphemism for organized tuition business promise cloud nine through their advertisements. The successful teachers of schools and colleges set shop at home. Children go in batches paying advance money for courses and wait for their turn till midnight. Anxious parents in bikes and cars wait outside the tuition centers to take back their tired sleepy children home.

The poor parents who can't afford tuitions for their children never entertain ambitions. If a determined boy of a rickshaw puller or bus conductor gets into IAS or IIT by sheer hard work and native intelligence it cheers our hearts much to the chagrin of the failed rich. Tuitions have become opium substitutes for children because right from class 1 they are under the tutelage of private tutors. I don’t see anything wrong with tuitions but if a child depends on tuitions all through his/ her schooling when does he/she get the time to think? If the child has no time to relax, play or indulge in child like frolic, it’s ok; he has to make a ‘small’ sacrifice for a settled, secure future. But rote memory or preparing selected questions are of what use in life?  If a boy gets a seat in a medical or engineering college by this method driven into him by his tutors can he ever innovate? Modern jobs, even in commercial enterprises or the IT sector need innovation. The Publish or Perish slogan of the universities and Tech institutes has now changed into Innovate or Perish. How can these tuition- fed children fit into our modern organizations?

But why do children go for tuitions? The ready answer is, the schools and colleges are busy ‘finishing the course’( if at all )  without bothering to see whether their students are inquisitive, innovative and analytical; whether their domain knowledge is adequate and above all whether they are for a profession or a vocation. The teachers have no time for this. The students naturally have no choice but to go for private tuitions.

The schools, first of all must stop the donnish practice of lecturing and focus on individual excellences and cultivate those to flourish innovatively. Rote should be abandoned as rot: the students must have a joyful tryst with learning without curtailing their fun hours.

A Self Exhortation

Let my pen spark off
blasts of light
to illuminate the worlds
of dark and fright.
Let me never stand and speak
of dreams empty
let my pen and heart seek
the heart of reality.

Never bow down before
the proud and guilty
may your words louder  speak
than the dull and freak.
Be ready for blame and rejection,
recognition will follow
worry not for bullets or swords
sharp loud and hollow.

When nightmares will turn
into holy hopes
hold the torch of your soul
on thorny slopes.
One day the cuckoo notes
will sweeten life
one day angels will play
guitar to love's soft lyrics
miseries of life will vanish
end shall fear's gimmicks.

Be ready to work hard
to elevate life
be brave to create a
new sense of life.


Sabita Sahu

Rape

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

In one of the plays in the Absurd Drama genre, in the end a man and woman survive after the whole of the mankind is destroyed. Will these two male and female create mankind again? The answer does not count. What counts is: can sex be without marital relationship, a valid, legal- moral relationship? In the Mahabharata the queen mother Satyabati invites her own illegitimate son to have sex with her two widowed daughters in law only to prolong the clan: was that valid sex or shall we call it authority enforced rape?

The word rape sends shivers down my spine. The modern day mass media (social media) have made the word obnoxious to the limit. The cacophony raised over it and the media trial that happens lays bare the ugly face of man. As the media is vibrant today almost all urban rapes are reported in gory detail. Many cases go unreported. Political bosses make sexist comments. Male prejudice is openly bandied in the name of religion. Debates rape our sensibilities. But nothing happens the next day. Convenient memory relegates the matter to the subconscious level.

Rape is an aggressive expression of male ego. To possess a woman by force paying no heed to her protestations is inhuman to say  the least. The sexual predators are proud of forcing a woman for their own stolen pleasures. They are never ashamed of the fact that such enforced acts are cowardly. They will never understand  that a woman who is raped loses forever her self esteem. The psychological injury like a wound festers. Hate for men and disinterest in sex at times take away their interest in sex. The male world takes it as a done thing. As Mulayam Singh Jadav( Former U.P. Chief Minister) has said -"boys are boys  and they will do such things..." After the Nirvaya case in a Delhi bus, for a few days, the conscience of India rose to a pitch. New rape laws were framed. Justice Burma framed the new law awarding death penalty in rarest of rare cases. Nirvaya's mass rape and brutal murder was definitely a rare case and the rapist deserved the death penalty. But even after four years no one has been hanged. It is now obvious that death penalty is no deterrent. The Indian judiciary is  handicapped by several loop holes in the legal system. Lower court, appellate court, supreme court and finally President's mercy- the process is so long and intricate that the victim or survivor can never savour justice when it comes, if at all. The police and the Central Bureau of Investigation take years to file even the charge sheet. Those who are rich and powerful employ high-priced  lawyers to defend them and the cases hang fire.

But all said and done, who rapes? A man who lives in a family and society which follow certain moral codes, however, flexible they may be. There is a legal system in the country within which the society operates. The Indian Penal Code is very much in operation. Why then rapists commit such heinous crimes? The parents do not have compunction, their conscience is never shaken over the crime of their son. But the woman's parents suffer a hurt pride and in certain communities kill their own wronged daughter to escape so called social stigma. No social moral sense is disturbed; no group accosts the rapists, no social ostracism happens and to cap it all no justice operates: legal or moral.

How can rape be eradicated from society? Advices are dime a dozen. Women activists, police and others dole out free advise. A special corset too has now come to the market to prevent rape. All these things are laughable. Rape is a primordial crime and it may continue as long as the women are considered to be the weaker sex. The day a woman dares a rapist and maims or kills him the men will be on the back foot. Civilization has given polish to men and women but the predatory instinct is beyond civilizational polish. Moral lessons are of no help. The only way, as I see it, is empowerment of woman even in the physical sense. If the society enjoys a comparatively greater degree of freedom and men and women both freely mix with each other openly there may be more of consensual sex; not rape. But I am not sure. Fathers rape daughters. Cenci is still around . Rasputins and Casanovas are in every dark alley; unless men treat women as equals and the society does not make distinctions between man and woman rape would continue. But once the conscience is awakened may be the number of rapes will decrease .                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Spring Indeed...

When the green mantle covers

our earthy brown, the drowsy daisy

awakens to the honey touch of dew

when swallows fly away homeward

kites flaunder in nomadic flights,

wild honey bees hum of youth

nature’s budoir turns fragrant

spring arrives like a comely bride

poets go ga ga over love songs.

Where is that spring , on Siachin heights

in the wailing widow's lonesome cries

in the Kashmir valley we call paradise?

Red light districts of Mumbai shores

never change their  bargaining chores

the poor and hungry eat winter pies

morning haze cancels trains

interview hopes go in flames.

I see no spring in my child’s eyes
my cows don’t chew the cud in peace

no flowers I see in towered lanes

no garlands hang from window panes.

Sprint back spring this misty morn

play with  kids who move forlorn

leave us to our shabby fate

let's cook poetry for our plate.

Sabita Sahu

Holi

Prafulla Kumar  Mohanty

Holi is an official declaration of the end of winter. The indoor life of the people is over in the villages. The rising temperature compels the people to spend the nights outside in the mango groves or in the familiar forest areas. This was the reality of India in those days when the joys of electricity were not available. Life moved along the agrarian cycle; the poor farmers, artisans and the illiterate god-fearing people choicelessly followed the adjustments called for by seasonal changes. Myths and scriptural accounts of Creation priestly enunciations and religious practices, rituals were the entire cultural matrix within which the people had to live. There was no light of civilization for living, and life was confined to needs of the body - food, shelter and some clothes to hide shame. In this reality sickness and other infirmities the flesh is heir to, had to be mitigated by divine mercy. But the ancients never ignored the body and related pleasures. If winter brought discontent spring brought mirth; the body beautiful indulged in orgies of pleasure too. 

Holi as a festival celebrates joy,  the joy of life stolen from the pain of human condition. Two myths inspired this festival. One is Vaishnabite Rasa stemming from the Radha-Krishna union and consecration of love celebrated with dance, music and sexual frenzy. Spring awakens the libido, men and women instinctually react to the feast of flowers, song of the nightingale and the greenery slowly replacing the dull baldness of the earth. Gratitude to the Maker, for relieving them from bone chilling winter and shrinking sensibilities, is expressed through song and dance. Colours of love are strewn over the lovers in cacophonous glee. Pastes are smeared on the faces of the Radhas and Radhas to drench the Krishna's with their pichkaris spraying riotous colours. Poets compose songs of love on the theme of R-K and assume their persona. The sky gets technicoloured, the jealous sun glares much to the indifference of the revellers. Mridanga, khol, kartal, cymbals and conch shells create sexual ecstasy. Sweets are distributed, bhang and madira flow, drowning men and women in the ocean of hallucinatory creativity. Feet falter but not the dance steps. Fancy and fantasy  go reinless to absurdity: but who cares! A day of amorous physicality releases all tensions of living.

The other myth is woven around evil. The demoness Holika is thrown into fire by the redeemer of man, the divine agency saves the humans from evil. Hence Holi is celebrated with a sense of release and relief. Evil burns. Humans light up symbolic pyres and beat the demoness, and then follows the dance- song-sex  in ritualistic freedom.

Holi also means the death of winter.The pyre is set to burn winter and welcome spring with creative energy. If fire burns evil and the agency of death water is welcomed with open arms. After spraying colours and the song-dance display of energy, men and women go for a ceremonial clensing of the body and mind. In ancient days R-K must have gone to the yamuna, elsewhere people must have gone to the rivers and ponds. This bath purifies them. Thereafter men will find other sources to survive. The agricultural season is over. Food is inside the homes. The womenfolk normally mind the home, housekeeping and the other  chores. Men go to the forest for  wood. But at night they rehearse the stage plays and get busy in practising musical instruments etc.

Now a days the rigours of the season are not felt by the people. Even the poor  villages enjoy  electricity. The outdoor is no more a compulsion. But today Holi is celebrated in a crude manner. The rich dissolve their conscience in alchol and the not so rich in country liquor and other less expensive beverages. But chemicals are added to the colours and make them almost indelible. Processions on bikes move causing traffic jam. The divinity and purity associated with Holi are now absent.  But the ostentation is mind boggling which, however, is natural in the upper classes. Yet ,Holi hooliganism by the misguided revellers is going on. I condemn it with all the vehemence at my command.

Holi is a festival of fire and water. It is a celebration of Spring that rejuvenates life to meet the challenges of another cycle of seasons. It relaxes and releases tension. Above all it celebrates love. May this Holi spread the message of love and friendship. May the colours spray off the differences. May we emerge as true lovers of life in all its nuances.