I Feel Good...

 

I own no empire
nor am I a princess,

no kingdom gives me the title

no guard salutes I get

no piper blows trumpet for me

yet my day begins with

a christening ceremony

followed by coronation

makes my memory vibrant

when you say, Hey Princess!

                                      I feel good.

                                                                                                                                                   

When you wait at the window sill                                               

just to get a glimpse of me

I rush through my chores

to share my day and more

strange colours spread on

my incomplete canvas of life.

                                        I feel good.

When you reverse my stubborn

‘No’ to ‘On’ a rainbow of joy

arches your face of triumph

compensating years of tears .

                                  I feel good.

You see life as a dream

my life is a silent scream

but when you listen its music

and appreciate its logic .

                                    I feel good.

At times my taunts pierce,

your delicate heart bleeds,

but with your magnanimity

you smile it away and tease me

to change my taunts to love.

                                     I feel good.

Sabita Sahu                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

India Leaks

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

None could ever imagine in 1947, an ancient civilization with hoary traditions would come to a divided, leaking society almost disintegrating with contradictions. A country with the legacy of Gandhi, Nehru, Patel, just after 70 years of democracy has become self- stultifying with intolerance, religion-caste divisions, ruling-opposition conflicts and many other self created ills for which no cure is in sight.  It seems there are no Indians here, they are all individuals or groups or communities with un-Indian loyalties. The National Flag, National Anthem are mired in competitive logic of defiance. Defence secrets are leaked and sold for a few chips of gold. Data of unsuspecting people leak through willing hands to psych the voters. Privacy leaks through Adhar cards originally meant for protecting individual identities. Secret files of government offices are flaunted by unwanted people to harass and blackmail men in power and authority. Election dates reach interested parties before the Election commission announces them. Money , the hard earned money of tax payers is leaked into unholy pockets through the banks with the connivance of officers and other agents of depravity.  And the question papers of matriculation boards, CBSE and even SSB are leaked to the paying public without regard for the meritorious students who give their day and night, to their studies.

And who does it? Not the agency of Hell or the Satanic elements of enemy territories. It’s done by Indians, who boast of their pedigree, their culture and history; who believe in soul and immortality; who visit temples, mosques and other shrines to show off their purity, their moral beings. Almost every year in some state or other examination question papers are leaked. Some enquiry and ho halla go on for a week and retests are done to assess the merit of our future generations. About  a year ago a girl student topped the Bihar Board Examination results: she did not know the difference between Home Science and Political Science. The CBSE is a very hallowed organization. This Board stands at the mid point between the school and the University education. Its role and function therefore are significant and important. But its question papers are often sold in the market hours before the examination starts  .

In recent memory leaks occurred in 2011 and 2013.  The usual shouting matches happened but no one was the wiser. This year too class XII   Economics and class X Maths papers were leaked. Since 2018 is a pre –election year the din raised was at its highest pitch- which is natural- protest marches, gheraos and media commotion with debates by all and sundry followed. The Chairman of the Board, it appears, was informed about the leaks much before the dates of examinations by a so called whistleblower. But the Chairman CBSE perhaps took it as mischievous rumour mongering (which is not new in this country)   and slept over it. When the protest by angry and disappointed students and parents hit the streets and the door steps of the authorities, the Board announced a re-test for Economics. The Central Government HRD minister made promises of fair play and the usual things followed.   

But the question is not about paper leak or re tests. In these days of digital expertise dominating systems all over the country, why didn’t the Board take precautions at every step? If we respect merit, if examinations are meant to test merit and select the best for higher studies the Board should have left no stone unturned to make the whole process leak proof. But no; it doesn’t matter. If there is a leak of papers, there will be a retest: problem and solution are historically established.

 Of course such things will happen again. None can guarantee a system that will not crack under the weight of cynical, unpatriotic thieves. Indians with love for the country and her future generations are no more here. The bankers do not guard peoples’ money towards controlled and well planned economic growth, for they are salaried employees not proud Indians.  Teachers merely make a living. Corporates are meant for success whatever be the stakes. Governments are for wielding power enjoying peoples’ mandate: They want to spend their chair-years and pass into history. There is no heroism left anymore. No one hesitates to sell the secrets of the country or the treasures nourished over centuries to the enemies of the country. The Indians are the enemies of their own people. We are the villains of necessity, knaves by our own compulsions of self generated greed. If this mind set does not change leaks cannot be plugged. Our pride has leaks. Our culture has leaks. India now leaks and waits, perhaps for a messiah to seal the holes in our souls.

                                                                                                                                    

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