Let's Play Chess

Let's  play chess-

my king is sick, knight on leave

all right, let's forget them

and play with the pawns.

ordinary foot soldiers are vicious

you know! Don't you?

I think this Board
ought to have been a circle
like this frameless world
with seas mountains and valleys
where we would have staked
the flowers to win the stars:

This world is meant for that
where living beauty is pawned
for distant gleam of unreachables.

Make your small square
unmappable space,
widen your heart and mind
make all space your love embrace.


Sabita Sahu

Apartments

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty


An average middle class person dreams of a flat in an apartment complex. He settles for it as it is not within his ken to dream of a sprawling bungalow on a large plot of land. In an overpopulated country like India or for that matter in large cities it is not possible to buy independent plots unless one is very rich. Governments, therefore, try to reduce pressure on land by providing apartments to people. Big builder- contractors too share the concerns of people in exploitative zeal. They take money from potential buyers in advance instalments and often delay delivery much to the disappointment of people. Heartless builders often cheat their customers in quality and other cynical ways. The customers borrow money from banks and pay interest in helpless submission for their dream houses. Finally when they hold in their eager palms the key to their flats their faces turn crimson with a sense of manly pride that finally they now own a shelter: they will open up their universe in the 1300 square feet of space.

Willy Loman, the ubiquitous hero of a world of make belief however complained of being “boxed in“ where the sky is not visible to mount dreams, Most housewives complain how small is this kitchen; no pujaroom. Children set their tables in windowless rooms to study grumbling with a low feeling. The master of the house compromises his pride between selfhood and fate and consoles his wife, “at least we have a house, however, small but see people do not have even half a roof over their heads. Yet a cramping lowliness crowds his lonely moments when he has to curtail other essentials to pay his EMI’s without bank notices.

It’s true that most apartment owners many a time feel that for them there is no earth, no sky, they hang between roof and roof. But there is a consolation of comparative safety. You can lock the house and go out for days and months, the guards and the establishment will take care. Maintenance is not a problem. If light fails or a pipe leaks the staff will come on call for repair. You pay a monthly fee or maintenance charge and stop worrying. Shops, hospitals are nearby; if not conveyance is always available. There is someone at the gate to respond to your call-hopefully – and help is always available on payment. But if you are off guard your daughter may be attacked by predators in connivance with some members of the security guards. This is not really a constant threat unless you are in an area of ill repute. For social functions there are facilities available on payment.  Birthdays, marriages and deaths, the turning points in your life curve can be taken care of. You have to simply loosen your purse strings. For old couples whose children are away- which is the norm these days – an apartment is safe. But if you are rich safety cannot be guaranteed for there is no protection against human greed which often ends up in a criminal act.

But with all its advantages and disadvantages the apartment is our choiceless reality. Over population, urbanization and the limitations of the open space have given birth to this new concept of social life. The idea was first experimented in the hostel buildings of colleges and universities (schools too) to accommodate students coming from different parts of the country, even from abroad. The hostel is a village with an identity of traditions built up over the years.  Similarly the apartment complexes have their own community life. In a hostel students stay for four years and go away to seek pastures new. But in the apartments the birth- marriage- death drama of life is enacted in most cases. The flat owners have their clubs, community halls, recreation centres, shopping areas and also have their own individual functions. But a sense of togetherness and village life reality with urban conveniences grows among the owners. This is the modern form of community life provided one is not a self- imprisoned loner.

Each apartment has its own memory, its own narrative yet in the totalized sense creates a solid human bond. Adiga’s Last Man on the Tower very sensitively brings out its joys, fears and also the horror of apartment life. But modern man has no choice. The middle class especially embraces apartment life and begins to love it as the alternatives are either beyond them or too far away for comfort. We have to accept this hanging feeling of earthlessness as a postmodern tribute to our lost heroism.

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