Sun rise Sun set

He used to be a rainbow

Now, he's just a cloud.

The sun doesn't shine through him

He failed, it grew too proud.

From colour and jubliation

To filled with ansgt and woe,

From morn to morrow he journeys

The sun is now his foe.

He rains on others beauty

He mourns for the yesterday

When light and life were on his side

And awesome was his way.

Don worry, say i to him

for happiness is just that-

A momentary dance with luck

Who leaves, but then comes back.

49 oh.

I spent much of last morning is a maggi noodle shaped line. Yes, food was on my mind, despite an unduly warm breeze - a breeze that occasionally kept whipping up the scraggly hair of the lady in front of me causing my hands to itch. Marbles of perspiration rolled down under what I had hoped would be my most summer friendly kurta.

Now I knew the only way to survive the hot morning would be, and ironically so, to chill out. One to ten, inhale – exhale, observe.

Behind me stood a line of seemingly patriotic citizens such as I - 18 to 80 alike, under the brilliant Chennai sun, sweating, gossiping, plotting, cursing, praying.

I, was praying. Praying that they wouldn’t make my anti-India, anti-democracy, anti-the-entire-exercise-we-were-undertaking brother come back again because he didn’t have his original driver’s license. India’s like that. If you’re one of those relatively law abiding citizens, the second you screw up, you’ll get caught. If you’re not a seasoned liar, seasoned liars will sniff out your inexperience. So in my head, I was going over a whole bunch of excuses as to why we didn’t have the original so that we didn’t get screwed and sent home because his copy looked like a copy, though fake original licenses would be accepted.

While the wheels in my head struggled to produce believable lies, along came cunning and paan-eroded-teeth granny. So paavam she looked- head wrapped in her pallu, hands folded, hunching a bit, she came and stood next to me in the little gap I had left to keep myself away from itchy hair. She looked up at me occasionally and her eyes were saying what her pride prevented her from asking. “Beti, I’m old. It’s hot. Would it be too much to ask to cut in before you?”. Now, I, being a convent school girl, had grown up believing that if I had a seat and there was an elderly person around, the acceptable thing to do, would be to offer the seat to them, despite the fact that sometimes, my concern would be fake. But the morning had been long, and as I’ve mentioned, itchy and sweaty. And my self-preservation instincts had seemed to have gotten the better of my conscience. So I contemplated; and thankfully so. Because in that second of hesitation, she decided to go back to her original place and just as I turned around to offer her a place in front of me, I saw her rejoin her family of around 10! Can selfishness be the key to personal success?

Before me, the aunty with the scraggly hair had taken on the role of a moral police man – “walk around, walk around, don’t cut through the line”. I, however, of much lesser an assertive nature, would occasionally let someone pass only to receive a reprimanding look from itchy hair. I pulled out my application and held it in front of me. If not policy changing, at least it served well as an itch guard.

5 minutes turned to 15, 15 to 50 and the line slowly grew shorter and shorter till at last I came face to face with the woman who was one in the first line of ‘officers’ that would grant me my right to universal adult franchise. Now, there are 3 problems I have with this three worded phrase –
Universal (Yeah, sure. When half the votes of the people who really feel the change in government are rumored to be forged, universal takes on a whole new meaning.)
Adult (Who? Me?).
Franchise (Such an important sounding word, like I have been bestowed the honor and the privilege of voting by the governance of the country. The fact is that the government needs theses ‘franchisees ’more than the franchisees need the government. And they call voting a privilege.)

Anyway, problems aside, I submitted my form to the lady at the counter, probably a government school teacher who had been bullied into spending time between invigilation and corrections in helping grant people like me the ‘privilege’. Though hassled, frustrated and absolutely disillusioned by days of monotonously copying addresses into her un-ruled notebook, her eyes shone with a taunting madness that said, “There’s a hundred of you waiting for just one me. I, I single handedly decide the success of this mission of yours so don’t think you can come here and act smart. See, I benefit from our government gross disability to use the country’s human resource. There’s a billion people in this country, but I, I am the one and only, a chose one, at this office. It sure would be helpful to my nerves if the country appointed another 10 people to share my workload. 10 : 10 is a much better proportion that 100: 1. But that would divide my power, you see. So, I’m ok. Ha ha”. And you don’t want to mess with madness.

So I waited patiently as she took her own time writing my address, probably contemplating my nature by analyzing my address (or at least id’ like to believe there was some bigger reason as to why she was writing so immaculately slow). She didn’t bother about the originals so we were spared the lies.

“Thank you”, I said to her, as she clumsily tore of the acknowledgment slip and handed it to me. That’s probably the biggest insult I’ve thrown at someone in my life, or so I learnt. She looked up at me. I expected her to return my acknowledgment with a smile. But instead, I received one of those insulting, demeaning looks that only government employees can give that said, “Sister, I din’ do you no favour. Don’t make me seem like a servant who’s done you a favour. “Thanks?” Pft!”

Though finishing this exercise should have left me with a sense of satisfaction that most completions will leave you with, it did not. For as I walked out, I realized that what I had just done was not complete anything. I had in fact, just lived through stage one of the many government lines that would come in the process of exercising my right.

Horrid isn’t it, the state of our country? But none of the above excuses us from voting. For the fact is this – if we, the ‘literate youth’, abstain from voting, we our giving up our one chance to have a say in where our parents tax money goes. When we abstain, we leave the results of the elections up to the vote forgers and the simple agricultural people who are satisfied with colour tvs. And we sit in our Coffee Days, occasionally discussing how sloppy our country is, when in fact, we have done absolutely nothing to help make it better. We don’t have to become politicians. We just have to care enough to do our own little bit of research and vote for the least evil.

The government has given us a mockery of a deal saying that if we don’t like any of the candidates, we can register a null vote. But our high tech electronic polling machines do not give us this option. We have to physically, and thus, non-anonymously “register” our null vote at the polling booth. So, the best thing to do, would be to get a little involved in the state of affairs of our country. And hat's of to you if you register a null vote!

Read a little, weigh your options, and spend a morning at the polling booth. If nothing else, all this research will at least enhance your coffee pub conversations.




The truth:
There is a Corporation office is situated on Poonnamalle High Road.
The last day to register for a voters ID is the 13th of April.
You need a copy of 2 documents proving you are in fact old enough to waste your time at a polling booth.
The document is rumored to be rather important, so whether you believe in democracy or not, get the ID. Unless your family has political friends, you are not above the law.
A line in a corporation office is never straight.
Never thank an Indian unless he has gone out of his way to help you. Thanks as a mark of courtesy is regarded as an insult in most cases.
Be on your best behavior. You just might become page 2 news. I did. Some reporter took a photo of the desk as I was at it and I got labeled as one of the people “rushing” to register.
You are the creator of your own destiny. Not having an opinion is the worst opinion.
Wear sunscreen and dress light.

light, dance and mystery

6 years old. Wide eyed. Transfixed. Starring at the dashboard of the wayside truck. Red and green lights dance around a statue of a goddess, their routine mirrored by his eyes.

20 years old. Wide eyed. Transfixed. Starring upward at red and green lights, following them as they dance around his goddess, mirrored in his eyes, immortalized by his mind.

Barr Age, none is too less or too old to enjoy light, dance and mystery.

The Law

The line between right and wrong is the most imaginary of all.

What I see as most pertinent a reaction, most appropriate an action, is just that, but only to me.
And that's OK.

Irrespective of where we learnt our ABC's, where we knelt down to pray and who we spent our childhood in discovery with, we, each of us, is anomalous.

The paradox lies in the failure to believe this of ourselves.
As unique and as different as we are, we shy away from acceptance. We look to quote from institutions and laws. Those of us who are lucky enough, find congruence in these documents and feel empowered by the adherence to them over time. Those who do not, who have the courage to be otherwise, are deemed rebels.

However, we are all rebels to some law or the other.

The only law we abide by, is our own - laws oft larger than reason and explanation - Because we have different, and often contradicting requirements for every portion of our lives, subject to amendment as and when we see it fit.

And that's OK too - Because we are anomalous, our laws written to best befit our capabilities and faults.

So this is the law i choose to live by - that nobody acts without reason. And though i may not agree with their method, I agree with their motive - which is that, to get from day to day, we can't live by the laws of others; We live for, and only for ourselves.

And that's OK.

The truth - When i can summon no explanation, acceptance is an easier tenant.