Chachu’s Column #15: From Microcosm to Macrocosm (Part 2)

A new furnace is being built,
will increase the turnover to 1000 crores,
the factory will then be the largest,
Not just in India but in Asia.
There are minor impediments,
Very minor you may say,
You may even choose to ignore them,
Will not block the progress.
But hiding them is difficult.
Actually, it is the debris.
Dug in huge quantities.
Abrading earth's flesh,
through earth-guzzling cranes,
dumped in open spaces,
where a banner says "Do not throw debris here".
But what are the options?
Expansion is imminent,
to create jobs.
The women-folk are trapped,
in fetters of families and
fetters of space.
They want a park,
where the evenings can be spent,
cribbing about the mother-in-laws,
they also seek few benches,
to give their tired bones a rest,
after a hectic day at the kitchen.
Promises are made,
but orders of benches presumably not,
The debris needs space,
lots and lot of them.
Park is too small a thing,
trucks of earth will submerge it all.
"The park?" feeble voices utter.
But there are no takers.
If fact there is reproach and admonishment,
"Get your priorities right,
Park can wait,
If not you, your children may get,
the life has been spent anyway,
what's the need now?
At the threshold of salvation,
it is sacrilege to have such material desires."
The parking lot for the truck has not been spared
either,
eaten by the debris,
so the truckers dine in the open and sleep under it.
Demands are made again,
"How about a cabin,
where the truckers can relax after a long journey?"
There is more admonishment,
"The employees near the furnace don't even have a
fan,
and you seek a rest house?
You can either engage in charity,
or you can earn profits.
And if there are no profits,
there will be no truckers to sleep under the truck,
nor any employees to die in accidents,
in poorly maintained factories,
that are Asia's largest .
Get your priorities right,
Get your priorities right!"
But the boast has to continue,
largest in Asia,
second largest in the world.
Invisible from moon,
insignificant in the universe.

There is no cure,
to the problem of loneliness.
What is this loneliness,
What is this solitude?
Where does it come from,
where does it reside?
Or is it nothing,
a nothing that we seek to fill?
Fill with what one wonders?
Some take solace in companionship
and seek to marry.
But there are caste problems to settle,
and janampatris to match.
Caste must match, but gotras must not.
All the precaution and all the effort,
cannot guarantee marital bliss.
In far off land, the problems remain the same,
only the abstractions differ.
"Marry an Indian my son,
no matter what caste,
be it Tamil or Kannada.
Make sure she is Indian."
But two states are up in arms,
cannot stand each other,
just for water,
just for water.
The cable TV and the movies are the casualty,
so are the innocent cars,
and the torched trains,
The trains refuse to run.
Whose problem is being solved,
and whose being created
no one bothers to think.
The solution lies in padayatra,
akin to Dandi march,
there are more protests and more violence,
but there is no solution.
The country binds them together,
else there could be a war,
a state attacking other,
like in olden days,
a king attacking other
But civilization has dawned upon us,
so we resort to Bandhs,
and to torching our own cars and trains,
even those of our neighbours would do,
as long there is one to torch,
there is no problem ¾
a temporary vent to the unemployment problem.
While the foreign lady still laments,
"Marry an Indian my son?"
an Indian lady leaves her husband,
for her lover of another caste,
the traces of vermilion still in her hair-parting.
The mangal-sutra not bothered to be worn at all.

The problem of loneliness is not yet solved,
so there is alcohol,
and partying whole night.
Drunken driving is not a problem,
at least not in this country,
the bail is just 950 rupees,
when the entry fee in the disco is more than a
thousand.
Occasional lapse of concentration does happen,
and the imported smuggled jeep kills a few,
breaking the legs of few others.
You will get away you think,
that is the way things have been,
hit and run,
run and hit,
hit and run.
The old haggards sleeping on the pavements
were half dead in any case.
Death is not that bad,
it liberates from the shackles of life.
But there are exceptions,
a few caring souls raise a cry,
and for a change there is hearing,
and attempts of justice.
Some say it is witch-hunting,
so many hit and run everyday,
and no one bothering to raise an eyebrow?
So why this fuss when there is one more?
What if there is no license to drive,
and there is booze up to the brim,
This is still witch hunting.
So many hitting and running,
one more or one less makes no difference .

But at a temple it is not one,
there are many.
The state has been silent for a while,
the silence has been killing,
cannot be digested by few,
those seeking action.
The population is rising,
and if there is no forcible sterilization,
what better way than to hack a few.
So few perish in this noble cause,
and few more in the grief of it.
But at an island there is not just few,
few more than few,
and a few less than more,
vacationers sauntering at a paradise,
sacrificed for a noble cause.
Life is getting dull,
so few crackers ignite hidden passion.
Travel warning is then issued,
and embassy closed.
But who can fight destiny,
or the whims of the Almighty,
so whether you run away from danger,
or you run towards it,
what difference does it make?
The earth is round, remember,
you come back to where you started.

Another thing will come back,
but not now,
after fifty thousand years.
Keo is the name.
The campaign seeks message,
"What will you want your future generation to read,
what legacy do you want to leave behind?"
Words are aplenty,
no shortage of space,
for once,
thousands of words,
to be read after thousands of years.
What to say is difficult to decide,
The next day is itself an enigma,
thousands of years seems an eternity.
Till yesterday, the name was third from bottom,
but the last two were dropped,
so the name became last.
Profits will keep the position intact,
else that name too will be dropped,
and new names will then become last,
waiting to be dropped,
and the cycle will continue,
do,
while you have something to do.
drop,
while you have something to drop,
kill,
while you have something to kill,
loot,
while you have something to loot,
Profits, Loot, Space, Kill,
Right, Death, Morality, Torture,
Good, Evil, Happiness, Bad
Smile, Loneliness, Pleasure, Desperation do,
while you have something to do.

Dropping has caused further loneliness,
and the unpaid home loans further anxiety,
some fear this and don't opt for a loan,
they will die debt free.
The nation has a debt too,
so the brave countrymen fight adverse conditions,
protecting the frontiers,
protecting barren lands,
for whom, for what, for why,
The barren land is integral part,
whose integrity and whose part?
The other side is not very different.
The population problem comes again.
Already one billion,
more following every day, every second.
So new lands is required,
the integral part,
where no one treads,
where no one lives,
except brave men,
braving brave conditions,
developing psychological disorders,
and physical ones.
But the sacrifice is worth it,
the enemy cannot get the advantage,
the integral part,
The world will laugh at us,
if there is a loss.
So there will be more deployment,
and more men to brave the integral part,
to prevent further loss.

But few medals are lost,
after being caught in a dope test,
there are cries of innocence,
but no one listens.
The medals are snatched anyway.
Just few days of stardom,
but many days of anguish.
The loss of medals is not a bother,
what remains is still aplenty,
to boast the sporting skills of the nation.
Good or bad is just a matter of reference frame,
as is right and wrong,
depends on what you compare with,
like theory of relativity.
And when looked from far above,
or from very close,
all the accumulated wealth,
and name and fame,
and movies directed, and books written,
and medals gathered, and goals scored,
seems a speck of speck,
nothing of anything.
From microcosm to macrocosm,
everything is nothing,
and nothing anything.

Chachu (15/10/2002)

List Managment
--------------
To subscribe, send a blank email to chachus_pen-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
To unsubscribe, send a blank email to chachus_pen-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com

Chachu's Column #5: From Microcosm to Macrocosm

Thy sit in the drawing room,
flipping 100 channels through the remote,
waiting for thy death,
Thy neighbour is not so unlucky,
thee does not have to wait,
thee is burnt in the train,
or, if thee is luckier,
in the house itself,
Then, there is a debate,
'who started the fire' thy ask?
but the earth is round,
who can say where it starts and where it ends,
but this does not affect the debate,
'thou were provoked' thy still protest.
Same may be said for death itself
Who knows what is life, what is death,
Where it starts and where it ends,
When the body dies, the soul still lives,
and when the body lives, the soul is killed -
the definition then becomes nebulous.
So are thy living or are thy dead?
And if thee are dead, then does it matter - who started the fire
because a dead does not die again,
Or does it?
Thy sister shrieks nearby,
thee is raped there, two here,
in a mob, there is no villain,
the time is ripe, to have some fun,
to shed the bedroom boredom.
And there is more debate
whether thy ate beef some thousand years back,
or a particular leader did something amoral,
or few pages were purged from history book or not.
Whatever,
the inferno is not visible from moon,
Nor the twin towers,
Only great wall of china,
so does it matter if the towers remain or not?
What about the loss of human lives,
Or, the financial losses,
'I want revenge' thy proclaim,
And a savaged nation is further battered,
Thy bemoan ¾ 'the cost of life is not worth a penny,
The missiles are million dollars apiece.'
Still, the missiles do not stop coming down,
Occasionally, with food packets,
a mother then wonders,
whether the lost limb of her son is important,
or food to survive for another week.

Uranus is oblivious to all this,
It has its own share of problems.
Neptune has started eyeing Pluto,
Uranus seeks help.
Scientist offer a new planet - Planet X,
But this is not the end of the problem,
who knows how long the relationship will last,
these are trying times,
Everyone wants independence,
a small skirmish and it is adios.
The sun too is seething in anger,
burning ever since,
but no help is forthcoming.

The commuters burn too,
in a heated debate,
For those in the air-conditioned car,
it is better,
But what about those,
who use the diesel buses,
These buses belch black smoke,
which seek a place in the infinity,
Some do not like this, want cleaner air.
And there is a debate - what is clean?
Carbon mono-oxide or sulphur-dioxide,
CNG or Ultr-low-sulphur.
Unwittingly, the 'ultra' is dropped'
but 'low-sulphur diesel' remains,
but the debate continues ¾ what is clean?
the diesel company pays for a research,
to prove why diesel is not that bad,
and few CNG buses explode,
who knows why,
and the question of safety
subverts the issue of pollution.
Does it matter whether thy get burnt in the bus,
or through asthma and other disease,
waiting for thy death on thy's funeral pyre,
many are dying anyway,
if not in bus then in train.
Death is above all,
does not differentiate between the cause.
But who cares about death,
or an impending disaster,
I want my money thy say,
by selling whatever I can,
what the next generation gets is immaterial.
The fossil fuel is depleting anyway,
will last for another hundred year or so.
It is all banality, thy holler,
when nothing is left, how will thy pollute,
it is the last chance,
so make the best use of it.

Somewhere, an old man sits on a fast,
demands a review of certain artifact,
the canvas is the planet itself,
the master plan has a line,
and the course of a river is altered,
few valleys are drowned,
and few million displaced,
some of these will perish,
others will survive,
contributing to the urban squalor,
but the debate will continue,
what is good and what bad,
what is life and what is death.
Whatever,
the supremacy of mankind will be reaffirmed,
while research on AIDS will continue,
and unknown diseases will continue to cause death.
But death is not that bad,
it liberates from the fetters of life.
And more debate will happen,
'What is God' but a fool's chimera
and whether 'Euthanasia is good for health.'

Thy profundity is unexceptionable,
but what lies beyond narrow realm?
The space is expanding,
into what thy question?
And few space-ships are launched,
again seeking a place in the infinity.
But there is only nothingness in the infinity,
and infinite energy in the atom.
The energy is again debated,
'Only for deterrence' thy proclaim,
and a truant neighbour threatens misuse,
but some do not threaten,
thy hegemony must be established,
so few bombs are dropped, and millions die,
but the appetite for power is satiated,
temporarily at least.

A certain tax proposal creates furore,
the additional burden is unbearable,
thy do not have a voice,
so thy will suffer,
the weak will meekly yield to the powerful,
those who can kill, will,
this is nothing new,
but thy protest, 'Aren't we not civilized -
At least we proclaim so?'
Laws are made,
presumably,
but are they followed,
thy do not have an answer.
Then why this pretense?
Then, there is action and reaction,
Newton's third law,
Thy kill one,
I kill two, and rape two,
the reaction then equals action,
The math is somewhat different here,
the definition of civility too,
in fact, the very concept of civility is a myth,
to give comfort to the meek and the timid,
actually, we are progeny of savagery,
our ancestors hunted and looted,
now, the form differs,
the scale differs,
but the act remains,
those who can kill, will.
'Then why this debate of morality,
and what about conscience' thy ask
but how these notions came,
to cause needless misgivings,
the body will live and soul will die,
and the debate on life and death will continue.

El nino is giving some problem,
and the choked sewage lines,
which are full of polythene bags,
but what is life without them,
and who will sort the vegetables if there are none,
thy mother and wife fights with thee,
there is already lot of trouble,
thy do not seek more,
what happened with Uranus thy remember,
so thy will have one bag for each type of vegetable,
the half life of polythene being a million years notwithstanding.
The national average is still two kilograms,
while the world averages seven,
there is lot of scope of improvement,
lot of forest lands still
do not have a polythene cover.
There is a ban,
'no bags less than twenty microns' thy declare,
but thy do not say how to measure,
so twenty or two makes no difference,
and more bags in the market,
and more money in pocket,
the magazine will then proclaim,
thy have become seventh richest.
But thy neighbour still thinks,
what is money but wads of paper,
money does not bring happiness,
but then nor does poverty?
Thou should be happy when thy have love,
but thou art not when thy have,
thou seek something else,
may be name, may be fame,
to be known even after death.
But how to be known after death,
or is death just an illusion,
just like life itself,
and like many other things,
including time.

The Almighty is sleeping,
the two children playing with the universe,
the noise is disconcerting,
and the sleep is disturbed.
The Almighty picks a hammer,
and breaks the universe with a big bang,
the pieces try to escape,
some successfully run away, some tire mid-way.
One of them is the milky-way,
in it is the angry solar-system,
comprising the angry sun,
and the earthly matter.
What is earth but a speck of dust,
in the canvas of universe.
And what about the so called masters,
the rulers of earth,
when everything is nothing,
and nothing anything,
And the accumulated wealth,
and name and fame,
and movies directed, and books written,
and runs gathered, and goals scored,
and heights conquered,
and depths traversed,
and persons burnt, and women raped,
what is what, and why is why,
but a speck of speck,
nothing of anything.
Millions of years before,
and so many after,
only seconds seen,
and day's missed.
The haughty dinosaur too bit the dust,
but the measly mosquitoes and ants survived.
Who's turn is next, who knows,
till then there are things to be debated,
names of places to be changed,
and problems to be found in solutions,
and questions to be asked,
how black is black hole,
and when was the civilization created
(when the definition of civility is unclear),
and whether a minister should administer anymore.
But some will still worry about mundane issues,
how to get the next bread,
and how to get employment for the son.
And the refugees in the relief camp will wait,
for death or for food, both will do,
From microcosm to macrocosm,
everything is nothing,
and nothing anything.

Chachu (13th April, 2002)