Ixobrychus flavicollis...

...JATINGA DESIRES

मौत के बाद याद आ रहा है कोइ,
मेरि कब्र से मित्ति उथा रहा है कोइ,
एह खुदा दो पल कि ज़िंदगि और देदे,
मेरि कब्र से उदास जा रहा है कोइ...

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Game Theory Revisited

ignorance is bliss.

honestly, i never really felt so powerless, angry - and nearly numb in pain 'n' speechless in anguish.

for the past few days i was everything but ignorant.



as mera bhai Mumbai kept bleedin', fallin' prey to the ruthless game of urban terrorism, whose only rule is to kill the innocents - i sat as lifeless as the Stonehenge in front of the idiot box.

hey Ram! how this could just happen to you my bro?

i know you as much as i know the lines on my palms.

i know you from the day i bought a copy of Second Thoughts from Oxford.



the Magarmachs kept fightin'. so also the NSG. and so did the cops.

the braves of the braves fought till their last breath 'n' final drop of blood to save humanity, to teach those Islamic extremists a hard lesson, who foolishly thought commitin' such perverted acts will win them their goal - and what was that?

i'm not surprised at all to witness them jealous - nope!

where else on Earth you'd find a Christian celebratin' the Onam, a Moslem takin' part in Dussehra, and a Hindu rejoicin' at Eid?

even at the time of jottin' down my mind, right at this moment, my eyes couldn't help but moistened - as Shyaazaadidi wrote to me just before the Pujas 'bari ese fota diye jabo...'. wish you a joyous Id-Uz-Zoha didi.

this pluralism's my pride which creates a lil' Hindustan in every alley of it - be it known or unknown.

our Hindustan, she's as meaningful as Nippon to every Japanese, and there exist only one mazhab of her children - Hindustani.

the indivisive entity which can cut its head if required, but never bows down to the nefarious demands of evil forces, never ever - and those zombies programed to zap us were too wise to understand this simple truth.



after the intial shock of disbelief was over - a chillin' sensation ran thru my spine.

just how it'd feel if i were to meet a similar fate?

well, it could be, very well - as terror changed its face. he's my neighbor now, he's waitin' to poach me inside the Metro, on the grass when i go to the Lake for joggin', or in front of the Victoria.

or even in my home.

he knows me and it might also be the case that i reciprocated his howdy with a casual smile, when he met me in traditional denim at Saltlec sec V, flauntin' the latest Versace-pair and enjoyin' the frappe - yet i can't recognize him.



i'm yet to meet my bosom dost Vodka Ahmed, i already accepted bhabiji's invitation for the pithes but am yet to taste them, which she volantarily promised to make for me - the day i'll be able to squeeze out as much time as i could from my insanely buzy schedule only to board the earliest jet to Dacca.

and i'm yet to meet my bachchi dearest Nishu, to watch her blush in surprise, the moment i'll tell her that very secret my heart guarded closely for months - do you know honey what's gonna be the first name of your niece? Nisha!

am i gonna turn into a piece of momo, floatin' in a sauce of you-know-what, just before - when all these sweet short episodes are eagerly waitin' in my life to commence?

i tried to swallow it, coudn't, the bitterness you know - my earlobes were feverishly hot.

i sprinkled Gangaa Jaal on my forehead, ladened with iron-grief, and started chantin' the Gayatri - coz this mantra inculcates you with all the wisdom you need when you're lost.

i was, already late for my daily saadhanaa.

help me Maa, i cried, and she listened - she always.

relieved 'n' calm, standin' up from the Dhyaan Mudraa in Padmaasanaa, now i was able to recall with much ease the name of the book of life - which never failed to come to my rescue whenever i found myself trapped under the dark shadow of distress.



i quickly flipped thru the pages of Geetaa until i found just what i was lookin' for.

na jayate mriyate va kadacin
nayam bhutva bhavita va na bhuyah
ajo nityah sasvato 'yam purano
na hanyate hanyamane sarire


my soul can't be killed as the atma is amara.

the failed state whom we gifted the Samjhota Express, sent those Islamist executionists to harm our body, they wanted to rip this gateway apart which connects the mind to the outside - and by doin' this they tried to override our minds with terror.

but your mind should listen to you only - right?

i was already beginnin' to listen to mine which assured me that nothing'll become obscure with the tide of time.

i might die the next moment, but the feeling of happiness, this continuous stream of consciousness that travels many a times faster than the particles in LHC - it won't.

...the happiness which engulfed me after receivin' Nisha's SMS on Raksha-Bandhan and on Vijayadasami, and then again, on Bhaiduj.

i was elated that my bahen cared to pray for my long life.

i bursted into tears as the cellular carriers worked in perfect tandem and dropped my sister's exited voice in my anxious ears - dadabhai!

no bombs or bullets can ever penetrate this lust for life, Durga Maiya ki kasam.



i also understood i'm just like the sand that flows freely from your fist, but if you put it inside a bag, it becomes harder than the hardest.

needless to say - the sandbag is our religion ie Hindustani which binds all of us with a single cause to annihilate this neo-Ravana of Islamic terrorism.






long long ago, some rag imon of somewhereinblog asked me, hey - don't you ever feel bad? you should be, shame on you, you guys don't even have your own flag!

sometimes the best answer to someone's void prudishness is to remain silent - i chose so.

can you be holier while tryin' to make others inferior?

as quite obvious, my every word would fall short to document the undaunted spirit of Hindustan and her kids, it's much easier for that individual in question pennin' a few lucky flukes - which may also resonate as sensible rhythmic poems to the untrained ears of the intellectually-impotent.

and practically impossible for that person to fathom the depth of a Hindustani dil.

and equally important, on that very day this preposterous query had had put the questioner, at par with those religious fanatics who stupidly dared to challenge our secularity 'n' integrity.

in the midst of the arisin' adharma, the Shakti who conceived this universe will come to my lap also bein' my beti, as she generously reflects her tejas in the heart of every single girl-child in this globe - to make that god-gifted prism glow with prajna 'n' courage.

my daughter, Nisha, once born - will be a Hindustani. a proud one. period.





( 29th Nov-08. Kowshik Ahmed, or Vodka Ahmed, as i coined this very nomenclature and use to call him fondly for his unpredictable binge drinkin' habits - is an well-known intelligentsia of Dacca. apart from him, i also met with Satia Muntaha Nisha and discovered the ocean of sweet sisterly love in her, and also in Shyaazaadidi who's from Kolkata - i came across them in a Bangladesi community site called somewhereinblog. now, this place's fulla strong anti-India sentiments fuelled by radical Islamists like rag imon and other like-minded orthodox Sunni racists. )

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