Like a drug, slowly but surely making its home in our veins, yuppie culture is here to stay. Regardless of the fervor with which firangs retain their much-coveted Green Cards, we have willingly and unabashedly granted them a Permanent Residency permit in our homes, in our lives, in our thought processes and everything in between. The penetration of this dye is casting lasting and indelible shadows on the fabric of our lives.
A bow and Namaste have long since been displaced by a perfunctory handshake and hug. As far back as we can remember, the first thing we liked to teach our little boys was Jai Hind and Jai Jai. The windy Hello! and good bye! and flying kisses have been blown along with the west winds and these are our little boys’ first forays into the world of communication.
The exercise of writing our thoughts on paper has long since been abandoned at the altar of computer mania. Yes, writing letters has been and is a skill… but what about the folding of the paper, the sealing of the letter with the index finger and spitting when no one was looking, the affixing of the stamp, the arduous walk to the office of mails? or mailbox? What about waiting for the response and the excitement of receiving it… all these activities have been condensed into a light mouse click on the Send button.
I wonder if the diminishing weight of the postman’s jspeech is directly proportional to the ever-increasing burden on his heart as he is treated less and less with the friendly warmth of the humans he was hitherto accustomed to delivering his mail to.
The romance of a train journey has long been relegated to a thing of the past. The rushing trees and lingering scenery, the smell of burning coal, to wake up to the rumble of Chai! Chai!… Sandwich!… Kapi! everything has merged with the cloistered comfort of air-conditioned enclosures or the hum of jet engines.
A morning or evening stroll would thus far engage you in lively conversation or at least an exchange of greetings with a casual acquaintance or a plodding grandparent. Thanks to… I don’t know who… now we walk to the rhythm of moving rubber bands and look at ourselves in the front mirror.
The soothing fragrance of agarbattis wafting from a corner of one’s home somewhere would tug at one’s consciousness and serve as a gentle reminder that He dwells here along with us. Pour ghee into the lamp, roll the wick, light the match and watch the glow condense into a single flick of a switch and lo and behold, you have a flame that never flickers and an agarbati that never turns to ash!
No, I am not an old guard torchbearer or a crusader from ancient times. But I feel that we are being stripped of our uniqueness, we are cutting the ties that hold us together… We are sacrificing what is sublime in us for what is superficial in others.
We fear the tsunamis that brought waves and winds that swallowed men and devoured our coasts.
We must also fear these Winds of Change that are eroding our psyche. Yes, we need winds for us to navigate and reach our destination, but too much wind can throw us off course and God forbid, even capsize our boat. One day we may look at the map of our existence and find that our boundaries have been altered long ago.
Pray, even if the strong winds catch me,
Pray, give me time to stand and look,