Temple Tango & Political Pandemonium -- Just Not Worth It

There are women who silently steer seminal civil rights movements, there are women who fight against society and its norms for education and upliftment, there are women who constantly lead from the front to nurture a balanced workplace environment, and then there are women who get famous for sneaking in a house.
    House. Yes. In this case, one, where a God resides. Certainly, the women who defied a customary ban to enter a temple has got nothing to do with religious practices or offerings to a faith. They just used a religious shrine for a political podium to get famous.
    And, what was the cost of these two ladies getting famous? Sufferings of common people -- belonging to all kinds of faiths, who never signed up to partake in any political propaganda.
    Small businesses were forced to remain shut, taxi drivers halted services at the fear of being attacked while public transports were damaged, and schools were closed as protests paralyzed a particular Indian state.
    No. This can't be the collateral damage for 'renaissance' in a state, where the ruling governance suggests not being in line with the nation's choice of rulers collated in terms of religious inclinations. To put it simply, Kerala had chosen Left Democratic Front, while India elected a Hindu-nationalist party.
    The very basic context of Sabarimala is not equality of rights, or right to religion, but only and only political.
    Let's take a step back and try reasoning it why of all things, this is anything but religious.
    The very premise of Ayappa and the ban on menstruating women entering his temple is that he's a sworn celibate. And, the polytheistic religion that Hindusim is, allows to associate humane qualities to gods and goddesses as irrespective of geographies across the country, they are worshipped not just as a mother but also as a daughter, or, not just as a father but also as a son.
    In the way-of-life, where you practice your god to be as human as yourself, does necessarily leave the scope of the vices of man even in the deity. That's the crude spiritual way of deciphering why women were not allowed to enter a shrine that houses a celibate young male god.
    Even more interesting is the fact that Ayappa is a syncretic deity, which nurtures a confluence of different tributaries of faith in the names of Shaivism, Shaktism and Vaishnavism. He is even honored by some Muslims in Kerala, thanks to legends and folklores.
    The Sabarimala temple is located within a present-day tiger reserve and if Ayappan iconography is to be resorted, the god's representation depicts him riding tigers. Even a very pragmatic assessment of the association with the carnivore would rest arguments that the fierce animals walked the place.
    So, the sensible reasoning from a societal approach on the ban disallowing women to take a strenuous and dangerous pilgrimage was perhaps, to protect them.
    Yes, of course, what's the need for that now? Women can protect themselves well enough and the temple is no longer inaccessible. But then, we're dealing with a vowed celibate male here. And, there's a reason why the primal part of any Hindu temple complex is called sanctum sanctorum, where sanctity, rituals and beliefs take precedence over whims of desire and motif-driven advocacy.
    If it was about gender equality in access for religious offerings, tradition would have stood guard. But, it was never about that. It was just to prove a point, which itself had no point in the first place.
    The moment it had to adopt a guerilla hide-and-seek tactic, feminism took a hit in the foot. The fact the activists acknowledged this couldn't have been done in broad daylight, or, without police protection defeated the case and belittled the movement if at all there was any. Again, it was never a religious cause. It was just another agenda for some to grab limelight and become famous overnight.
    Have we ever given it a thought, why it has to be Sabarimala in Kerala for all the outrage? Why not Shani Shingnapur in Maharashtra or, Patbausi Satra in Assam?
    If we're talking about gender equality and equal accessibility to worship, why are we talking in splinters? It should be generic and collective for everyone. Let's allow all men to enter each and every temple, where traditions and practices  disallow entry to them. Why is it difficult for some women to admit the diversity in beliefs and abide by the customs that come along with them? Because, they don't know what they want. Rather, why they want!
    The vast stretch of land that India is houses a host of temples, where men are not allowed to enter. Let's take for instance the Attukal Bhagavathy Temple, which not so surprisingly, is also in Kerala. The temple, dedicated for worshipping a form of the Mother Goddess, made it to the Guinness Book of World Records for the single largest gathering of women for a religious activity, where men were not allowed to participate.
    Another such example would be Kanya Kumari, as the name  suggests in vernacular, belongs to a young female goddess who turned ascetic and hence, men are prohibited there as well.
    In the temples of the Bhagwathi in Chengannur (also in modern-day Kerala) and Kamakhya (Assam), divinity marries a very basic human trait. The presiding deities in both the temples, who are goddesses, are believed to menstruate and follow socially-imposed practices of menstrual seclusion and the temples remain shut. But, every time they re-open, there are celebrations in the name of rituals.
    In a religion, which considers women as Prakriti or the nourishing mother, champions health and fertility in the form of voluptuous depictions of female deities, follows rituals to celebrate the moments of girls attaining puberty, cannot be just as shallow to not let women enter a particular temple for being women.
    The problem is traditions begin on rational and moral grounds, but the rhyme or reason dies with time, leaving only preaches and practices. And in most cases, what remains is misrepresentations and misinterpretations.
    It's evidently a memory game, where the one who remembers, wins. But all those who lose, define majority.
    And those who are at fault, always need unwarranted distractions and baseless deliberations. It's just as perennial as the woes and frowns of common people, and smiles and pity on the faces of gods.
 
   

The Burnt Butterfly - Chapter IV

in the entwined tingles of our seemingly messed up lives, if someone somewhere misses you even for a moment, you need to live.
in the unnecessary complexities of our otherwise mundane lives, if someone somewhere craves to be with you just for a moment, you need to live.

amidst the damp polluted abattoir-stenched air around us, if someone somewhere remembers the smell on your neck, you need to exist.
amidst the plausible deniability of lustful bonds that grasps us everyday, if someone somewhere wishes just to be in your arms, you need to exist.

in the falsities of promises,
in the farcical attachments,
in the fantasies of promiscuity,
in the fallacies of compromises,

if someone somewhere just lives
to get a glance of you,
to hold you in a whisper
to get a touch of you,
to hug you in a whimper,

you need to believe in love...

Friendship And Iceberg

When your paychecks determine whom you can hang out with; When your bank-balance decides whom you can vacation with; When the size of your dwelling dictates who comes over; When the number of brands in your closet governs your reach --

You may get to greet
a lot of smiling lips
yet no truly happy eyes

You may get to meet
a lot of sociable beings
yet no true friends...

When your social circle tends to judge you by the size of your TV-set; When they choose to forget to call you thinking about your incapacity to afford an expensive dinner; When your companions heil achievements on monetary thresholds; When they secretly discuss your obligations --

You need to flip
the happy faces that surround
and lie incessantly that you belong

You need to slip
the shoulders that show they care
and sigh you're a burden to hold...



FRIENDS don't judge you on anything
FRIENDS don't ever think you lack
FRIENDS fight with you for not sharing something
FRIENDS always disapprove you slack.

The Burnt Butterfly - Chapter III

With every new sun
    conscience grows sour,
    empathy turns back in its sleep
    and, compassion dies in another sacrifice.

With every new hour
    innocence turns deaf,
    sense of rightousness winks a deceit
    and, morality drowns in another felony.


With every new moment, fades the one born right before
And the mortals complain of a dying humanity!
With every desire fulfilled, bubbles a fresh new greed
And time mocks itself; that the end is a process...

The Joker Has Taken Gotham

It's not even my country. He's not even my President.
And yet, why do I seem to be exasperated with the thought that America is not going to be the same again. Something is amiss. Perhaps, many a thing.

From the understanding of a child about a massive continent nation, to the learnings of a youth about world powers, until the realization of a sensible adult about the cultural intricacies of the first world nation - 'America' has been there in the passive consciousness. But, somehow the feeling about the country has always been it's a better world with better people with a better conscience.

And then, Donald Trump happened to the US of A. The squirm-faced, orange-haired man's antiques as a businessman, reality TV personality, or even as a politician stretching up to his declaration of candidacy for president, wouldn't have bothered me, if he had not become the POTUS. And the man is the apparent successor of Barrack Obama, who is almost a legend in terms of leadership in the world of politics .

A man, who being questioned upon his forceful attempt to have sex with a married woman, said "when you're a star, they let you do it."
A man, who mimicked a disabled reporter at a campaign rally and commented about a child inside an escalator that he would be dating her in ten years.
A man, who thinks it's "smart" to not pay federal income taxes and thinks it's logical to propose a ban on Muslims from entering the United States.
A man, who generalized Mexicans as "rapists" and "drug dealers" and claimed that a Supreme Court judge’s Mexican heritage made him unable to be fair in a case.
A man, who used Twitter as a weapon, firing off insults and mockery towards "Crooked Hillary" and Republican rivals "Little Marco" Rubio, Jeb "Low Energy" Bush and "Lyin' Ted" Cruz.
A man, who is such empty a vessel that it not just sounds much, it sounds nasty, irritating and sickening. And, that man is the Donald, who Trumped the U.S. Presidential election.

Only time will tell whether the new President-elect can dump his baggage of scandals and reform himself, before he brings reforms to the country to nurture the big American Dream -- for Americans and for the rest of the world.

"Please never stop believing that fighting for what’s right is worth it. We need you to keep up these fights now and for the rest of your lives,” said Hillary Clinton and time waited to see if Trump would live up to his campaign claim and actually seek to "lock up" his opponent for her controversial practice of using a private e-mail server for much of her official State Department correspondence or other crimes.

Until then, sitting in a faraway land and in a country, which is itself mired in governance changes and demographic shifts, I'll stay happy with the feeling that I had a chance to be in America -- know its people, up, close and personal, when it was not ruled by a Drumpf!

The Burnt Butterfly - Chapter II

the resonating uncanny whispers that plague
the senses every time you try to sleep,
the life-eaters sing you lullaby in a falsity
as you pretend to show your blunt back
to the daily cacophony.

it's not about the bliss and the beauty
    'ey told you
it's not about the quantum of exploits and grace
    'ey told you

perhaps, it's about the solace
    that you greet against the sacrifices;
perhaps, it's the mirage of fulfilling hopes
    that you keep running after...

you teach yourself the craft
    of replacing the melancholy of exhaustion
    with a fake content...
as sentiments get replaced
    by the whims of desire.

and then,
 the best healer of all wounds
slips away slow and steady to your oblivion.

by the dead hour,
when you pause to realize,
it's just the carcass of skeletal remains.

the promised 'happily ever after', misses you by a whisker
as you finally finish after the after...

Call of the Wild - Chapter One

It was back in the summer of 2012, pretty much before than the formal inception of Wanderlust as a gang. But, the spirits were nonetheless free and friends. It was considerably our first venture into the woods. For the four of us - Gour, Dadu, Prads and Me.

My birthday was just around the corner and Dadu was visiting us in B'lore from Calcutta. The brisk plan for the weekend getaway into the forests near the Karnataka-Tamil Nadu border was flashed green just over a couple of phone calls and a Swiss Cottage deep inside the Mudumalai forest was booked.

Just to add a pinch of clarity about the geography and slight brevity to the narrative, Bandipur National Park is located in the southern state of Karnataka - slightly barren in terms of flora - was once a private hunting reserve for the Maharaja of  Mysore.  The same forest, as it extends toward the state of Tamil Nadu on the northwestern side of the Nilgiri Hills is known by the name of Mudumalai National Park. Mudumalai is comparatively thicker a forest than Bandipur.



We started earlier than the sunrise and had reached close to the forests by late morning. Our stay was booked in Mudumalai, hence, the plan was to deny a stopover at Bandipur for whatever might have been the lure, as we would come back there the next morning.

We were already basking in the spirit of adventure and the nature’s charm at its utmost degree of mystique serenity was taking over our senses. The engulfing lush foliage, the murmur of the leaves in the sweet tease of the flowing breeze, the burble of Moyer river that runs parallel and the rippling sound of the small makeshift waterfalls touching down the road at regular intervals, all, were aptly juxtaposed with the frequent glimpses of prancing deer herds and the fluttering wings of the world's most colorful butterflies. Needless to say, it was just perfect for the cozy lap of mother-nature. Indeed, a gifted break from the humdrums of our banal city-lives.

We were slowly moving deep into the forest, quietly reminded by the road markers that animals have the right of way. Slightly ahead, we spotted a tusker on a stroll, on its silent rampage eating up every tree-branch or twig on its way. It was huge. The massive size of the animal tickled both, awe and fear, in all the four of us. But, we couldn't have been doing away with such an opportunity to capture the moment of wild amidst the wilderness, given the kind of lens-freaks we are.

We ran close, froze quite a few moods of the tusker on our cameras and realized its mahout was nearby. The elephant was not a wild, wild one. We were told, in that forest, it was probably the biggest 'yanai', that's what they call elephants in Tamil. It was a trained one. It helps find home to other wild elephants, when they get lost from their herds at times.




For three of us, our first close encounter inside the forest was sheer blissful. Prads had almost started analyzing the elephantine gestures in his head with drawings inside his mind to presumably design his next animated character. For me and Gour, we were happy with the clicks. But, Dadu didn't say a single word and looked a bit alarmed. Almost evidently, he was a bit tensed and was trying to hide that behind his dark shades. With the friendly leg-pulling and the fun, we wheeled in deeper inside the forest.

By midday, we've had reached our deep jungle home and it was decided we'll gear up for a sunset jungle trek after resting for lunch for some time.  Our cottage was a cozy hearth, much like a big tent, camped just by the bank of a jungle brook. The swampy surrounding of the cottage must have helped invite ‘slytherin’ visitors but Prads was smart to have brought along carbolic acid to keep the reptilian friends at bay. So, there was less to worry.  Meanwhile, we were hungry and the lunch served at the cottage tasted scrumptious.


As we were gearing up with our lenses, water bottles and backpacks, Dadu said, "I think I'm not coming with you guys.  I'm damn sleepy..." And, we were like, REALLY! Well shielded with his excuses of past night's drinks and travel fatigue, he managed to convince us and didn't come for the trek up the jungle slope, into the frontiers, apparently where the predators dwelled. The rest of us, we were enthused a little too much for the experience that was in store -- to walk the lands of the tigers. We were excited and hopeful to spot one of the carnivores from close but we literally had no clue or idea what to do next if one actually gets up-close-and-personal.

Around 3:30 in the afternoon we started with our guide in a small group of eight-nine odd heads. And frankly, it will be kind of a futile effort to try narrating the exact intricacies of the journey’s experience. The songs of the wild winglets, the unfamiliar hoots and chirps of the unknown aves were for a constant company. The thin forest trails were deceiving enough to have led to nowhere inside the forest territory and we were repeatedly told to stick together. The captivating smell of the jungle flowers and the zest to capture the colors of nature through our lenses were persuading us to override the warning again and again. 

The first amusing thing that greeted us inside the forest was a squeaking ball of fur hanging from a high branch. It was a giant Malabar squirrel. I could have never imagined a squirrel as big as that one, if we had not seen it. 

As usual, engrossed with the cameras, Gour and I, were left behind and was lost, yet completely oblivious of that fact.  Meanwhile, we had found something extraordinary. It was a huge tree that appeared like a giant African baobab with its trunk resembling a face, a human face. Had we not been lost, we would probably not have seen something like that. I thought it was something like that comes in fantasy stories of some demigods being cursed into a life on earth as a tree, serving its punishment. But again, thoughts are thoughts and an imaginative flight means no practical limits. When we realized we're lost, it was late. We were already an-hour-long-walk deep inside the forest and it would have been stupid to try figuring out the way back ourselves. We chose to wait thinking our fellows might spot the missing two and our guide might trace us back where we have been left stranded. We were lucky; they did come back for us.

My nitpicking nose for a journalist was not helping me entirely believe on all that our guide was saying. He was a middle-aged Tamil man, who has spent most of his life in and around the Nilgiri forests and working as a guide. He had is fair share of stories inside his bag about those close encounters with tigers and wild boars. He said, "Stay close. There's something nearby." The way he said it in a scampering low voice, we could understand, it was probably something serious. It looked like he had smelt something. We marked his words and followed suit. However, the slightly unwarranted skepticism in me was raising eyebrows on how much his words can actually be believed. Come on! He has been doing it for a living, so probably he can be given a leeway to beef up a suspense scene just to add kicks to the journey. But then, at that particular part of the forest it was actually a belt of dense long grass -- a righteous habitat for tigers. It was getting dark and the sun had sunk behind the hills.

We moved in further with nothing yet in sight. Then all of a sudden, there was a quick loud rustle of dry leaves at a distance and a chain of howls screaming thru' the silence of the forest. "It's a pack of wild dogs," the guide said. "Must have been feasting on the leftovers of a tiger's kill. That’s what they do."  For a moment, I won’t deny, it had sent a shiver down my spine.

He drew our attention to something, couple of yards away. It was a fresh carcass. It sounds like an oxymoron, I know, but it was the flesh-ripped skeleton of an antelope, lying on a big patch of darkened blood stain.

It was quite obvious, that big an antelope can only be a tiger's hunt. Yes, we were standing at a place where perhaps, couple of hours ago, the big cat was having its supper. A few pug marks here and there confirmed our assumption. Thankfully, the heavens timed it right that we did not comprise the carnivore's meal.

It was already beyond sunset. We were asked to pace up as it would not be safe to ramble inside the forest after dark. In order to save us some time and tire, we chose a short-cut route that called for a river crossing. It was a typical hilly stream, not much deep but filled with strong under-currents. With broken branches and hands for support we crossed the running waters. 

It was another 45 minutes of walk to get back to the mainland and we were told from there the route will be pretty much straight. However, the path didn't seem as straight as we thought it would be. Minutes later, our guide, who was walking in front at a visible distance shouted back to us to hold and stop. We couldn't decipher what has happened at first, then we realized the way ahead takes a downward slope and our guide came back to us running and said "this road is not safe as there's a mad elephant tearing and knocking down the forest belt ahead." He was worried we cannot take this route, but going back again all the way in the former path would definitely get us trapped within the forest in the darkness. It was a precarious situation. We didn't know what to do.

"Is there no way possible that we can stealthily walk past the mad elephant?" asked Gour. "It's on the run so can we not avoid its path and run past it too?" It made sense. Or, at least, that was the only option that we had. I thought to myself, this might gift us that one moment of fame, to frame a wild insane mammoth on its riot. I'm sure; the same was going in Gour's mind.  We were forbidden to make the slightest of noise and we trod ahead.

Elephants have always fascinated me. But, I never had delved deeper into their lives. It was the first time, I learnt that sometimes elephants are so attached to their partners that they go mad or even might die if one passes away or gets lost. Same was the story for our mighty friend here. It was a bull elephant that had lost its partner couple of days back and was found to have turned frantic. Our guide had heard about it in the morning from the forest rangers and now, fortunately or unfortunately, it was there, blocking our path. As we tried making our way, we could see the animal at a distance, slightly lower in a slope, going crazily berserk and banging its head against almost every tree and taking them down. I'm not sure why, was it sorrow, was it pity, but it was for one single time I actually didn’t care to take a snapshot. The camera kept hanging round my neck and all I did was to see the big creature running amok in sorrow. Our guide said, "it has been two days. By now it should have calmed down but it hasn't. If this continues, this one too will die soon." It felt weird.  On this deep jungle trot, in a land far away from my home, how could something be so sensitively emphatic that I feel bad for a creature, way bigger than me and way beyond my breed?

And then, someone in our group, a dumb college kid, used his flash to take a photo of the animal on rampage. It happened as was expected. The blinding light of the camera flash had attracted the elephant's attention and it charged on us. We had nothing to do but to run for our lives, literally. Some stumbled, some almost fell, but everybody ran their fastest. Luckily for us, the mammoth was too preoccupied on its own to continue the chase and we were left panting and alive. It was another first of its kind in our kitty.


Famished and tired, we completed our eventful jungle trek. We reached back to our cottage discussing what all Dadu had missed and that he should have come along with us. Guess what, we could hear him snoring from outside the cottage door. Despite all the weary, we broke into a raucous laughter. And then, there was more to come…

Pics Courtesy - Koustav Samanta, Gourav Bakshi, Pradipto Sengupta
[Disclaimer: This piece is written for mie biker-gang, Wanderlust on Nov. 27, 2013]