A Different Form Of Life

 December 14-2020/ Blog #1

Life is at times absolute; 

at times obsolete too.

Life.

So far we know it just by one of its forms.

The form of life, which we are living now.

The one, we say is a Gift of God.

The one, which is given to us by our parents.

Life.

Have we ever thought of it differently?

Have we ever thought of imagining it differently?

No. We haven’t.

There is nor harm in doing that.

Maybe we can discover something which could be better than this form of life.

Life.

I wonder about it often.

Strange questions flood my mind.

Does this LIFE belong to us?

Or

Do we belong to this LIFE?

Life.

I love to imagine it differently.

I often think, life is like a train.

Always in motion.

Travelling from one destination to the other.

And that is where I feel there is a problem.

I wonder what happens to life as a train when it finally reaches a certain destination!

Does it come to a standstill?

Life.

If I say it is like a train; it can be considered an interesting form.

Now consider life being in motion.

A destination; a so-called station is almost round the corner.

Just then someone announces that the so-called station, the train was supposed to stop at doesn’t exist any more!

Or it might happen that someone suddenly reveals - the so-called station has suddenly disappeared!

What will happen to this form of LIFE then?

I meant, what would happen to life, I am imagining in a different form; as a train.

Will Life follow the same?

Life.

I believe it is a strange package of equally strange events and instances.

Life is at times absolute; at times obsolete too. 

Life.

No matter in what form you imagine it as. 

Even if we consider a different form of life.

It will still sound, smell, taste, feel and seem like this LIFE of ours.

Life is life. Nothing else.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

Our Own Biographies

The opening lines of my autobiography

October 19-2020/ Blog #2

Discover ourselves first.
Then rediscover ourselves.

Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? These questions have been within our minds for a long time. But we never set time aside to introspect. But in the past seven months, that we have been living indoors; working from our homes, achieving and failing from the comfort of four walls; starting new things and stopping doing old things; listening and muting conversations; seeing something and then choosing to turn blind; seeking a hug and suddenly acting indifferent; we aren’t realizing that time has been setting us aside to help us introspect. 

No one in this entire world is denying the reality - enough of this; enough of that; enough of me; enough of you; enough of him; enough of them; enough of us. Enough. Yes enough. But just screaming ‘Enough’ at the peak of our voices is not going to push those thoughts in the abyss. In there; in the abyss; down there; many reasons, many more reasons of screaming ‘Enough’ have been choking to death for the past seven months. But is ‘Enough’ the ultimate action and the reaction? What will happen to the questions we had started asking - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? Don’t these questions deserve answers. Or we leave these questions somewhere; ask others; waste time over them and then one day, we will again scream ‘Enough’ and stop thinking about them!

But think about them? Aren’t these questions important? What if I tell you that every question is biographical. Every question is hinting at something very personal, very intimidating. Why can’t we treat these questions as research material to write our personal biographies? Who knows us better than we ourselves? Has anybody ever known about the rare passion, immense love you harbor for your Sundays? Has anybody ever seen the sketches you draw of the person, you had loved more than your life? Does anybody know that when you release the shutter of your camera, you create magic with your third eye? Nobody knows anything about you. Somebody might claim to know you. But how much of you is known to anyone else? Too little. 

I wish to make a confession. In the past seven months, I have been asking the same questions - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? But as a human being, I too have been procrastinating. I feel I had seven fruitful months. These seven fruitful months are not going to return to me or us ever. Maybe we have got a few more months with us to ask those questions again! Perhaps try seeking answers again! Because if we don’t seek these answers now, we will never discover ourselves. In a world where we speak proudly about rediscovering life; rediscovering who we are; rediscovering our childhood; rediscovering our passion; rediscovering our love; we never ever talk about merely discovering ourselves. Maybe we should make that effort to discover ourselves first and then continue with our personal journeys to rediscover ourselves. 

Trust me, we aren’t alone in this journey. The time is with us. The situation is with us. Terms like lockdown, social distancing, precaution, sanitization, hygiene are with us. Every breathing being, living being and struggling being is with us to ask and repeat the same questions - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? Let’s try seeking answers. Let’s have our own biographies. Let these biographies be not verbose but introspective. I have decided. When I write my biography; I will begin with the line - My is is my was and my was is my is…

Maybe by the time, I am done writing my biography, this line; this statement; these words will get stolen. Because we might be maintaining social distancing. But we aren’t going to distance ourselves from the overpowering impact of social media. Because if we aren’t trending, we aren’t living. But we are still being followed; (sometimes) liked; (most of the times) disliked, trolled, threatened, traumatized, chased, etc. But again, with that whatever little we have left with us, let us have our own biography in place.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

The last six months and the next six months

Picture courtesy: Google

It is time to start writing

the story of the

next six months.

It is 1 A.M when I start writing this. By the time I finish writing this, the time might have changed.

But does time really change? Or we use it as a metaphor to talk about the changes, which keep taking place in our life and in the lives of others. Just think about it.

By the time you start thinking, you will realize that there’s a change in the date and in the day.

It is June 30^th. The last day of this month, which also marks the completion of the last six months or the first six months of 2020.

You might now say, ‘Time flies’. Should I then ask, ‘Does time really fly?’

Please don’t mind my questions. I am not questioning you alone. I question myself too. In the last six months, I’ve questioned myself more than I’ve questioned anyone else ever. Did I find answers to my questions? I haven’t; at least not in the last six months. Now, if you ask me about the next six months. I may just remain quiet. Or I may speak plenty. You might then ask me to simply Shut up. I won’t mind being reprimanded.

Would you mind, if I tell you, January 1^st arrived in style. It was a good beginning, isn’t it? Yes, it was. At least I ushered in the New Year in style; hugging, singing, celebrating and of course with a glass of fine wine. The food was cooked with so much love; the memory of its delectable taste hasn’t faded. Going by my fondness for food, I am not going to let it fade either.

Then came February and that quick trip to Kolkata. Accompanied by most loved friends, the joy of being at the Book Fair grew manifold. We went sightseeing, shopping, tram hopping, bus hopping, train hopping. In March, the road trip to Aurangabad again turned out to be exceptional. So much happiness in the first three months; all of which, if transliterated would earn the status of being magnificent.

Unaware of a fast approaching crisis; still footloose and free; in a mood to explore, we were on one-of-its-kind of a joyride. By mid of March, everything changed. The change continues. Some of my friends, family members and loved ones said, ‘Times have changed’. I asked them that question again, ‘Does time really change?’

Of course, they said. They went on to say, ‘Time has changed for us. Time has changed for the world. Time will change for you.’ But, I as ask again, ‘Is time changing or is it us changing?’

This debate won’t end so soon. This debate has been going on for the last six months. In the next six months, this debate might grow fatter with a new layer of interpretation. But I am interested in knowing, if I will ever stop being in question!

So, it is June 30^th. The pandemic hasn’t shown any signs of retreat. The lockdown rules have been reinstated; the vaccines are still being tested in labs; nothing seems to be at as much risk as our level of patience.

We are done with the story of last six months. It is time to start writing the story of the next six months. Some words have already come flying our way - #NewNormal, #StayHomeStaySafe, #LockdownDiaries, #BeSelfReliant, #TameTheDragon, #BeThereForSomeone. There will be newer words. There will be newer thoughts. And there will be a new time? I will be there, asking a new question – Is there anything of that sort called New Time?

So, till you start engineering a reply or orchestrating an answer; let me go ahead and publish this post. Because June 30 will be with us and we will be with it, only for a day. It will take another 365 days to meet the next June 30 (provided 2020 ends on a good note and 2021 promises Good Life).

- Virtuous Vociferous | June 30 | June Blog-2 | What If | 2020

What is the next new thing?

A perception of the outer world on my soft board.
The theme for this whole month is ... WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?
Words: Michelle Obama, BECOMING documentary, Netflix
Art and Photography by: Purnesh Bhattacharya

2020 is a horror story

with surprises

beyond imagination.

-Camelia

When I posted this question on my Instagram update titled ‘NEXT NEW’ on my handle @instapuruinsta, my friend Camelia didn’t waste a second to reply somewhat this way:

The idea of what is in store for us this year is so terrible that I don’t want to know. 2020 is a horror story with surprises beyond imagination.

So true. There has been no dearth of surprises ever since we welcomed the New Year with the magical numbers of 2020. So does this year stand as the year we didn’t expect, imagine or foresee? Replies and interpretations will always stand mixed in their own sphere.

The question (WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?), I pose in here is not of my own. I discovered this question in the 2020 documentary ‘BECOMING’ aired on Netflix this year. The documentary is an intimate journey of Michelle Obama's life, hopes and connection with others during her tours to promote her book of the same name ‘BECOMING’. The question arises and fades out in a flash. During one of the many interviews featured in the documentary, Michelle Obama is seeing musing over a question, which she modulates and repeats in her own signature voice – What is the next new thing? Since then, the thought within the question has stayed with me.

I kept asking myself the same question: WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?

Consider the tough times we are surviving through and ask that question again: What is the next new thing?

Some words, some replies might automatically start floating in your mind.

•         A life, a little more mundane maybe
•         Lockdown after lockdown and some more days of lockdown
•         Louder debates and very less news
•         Bigger blames, shorter claims

I don’t think so anyone of us has a definitive reply to that question, which may also start sounding sickening at times: What is the next new thing?

The next new thing; we may have to think twice before hugging, embracing, kissing our beloved. The next new thing; smiles, expressions, emotions will continue staying hidden behind masks. The next new thing; travel will feature as the last item in the to-do lists of our things.

As restrictions are being eased, curfew hours are relaxed and the idea of freedom is renewed in twenty first century, we are found staring at a bleak portrait. Sometimes termed propaganda; sometimes hailed as achievement, this portrait is drenched in colors of discouragement. The sources of encouragement, inspiration and motivation also seems to have locked themselves behind doors, which have now started jamming.

Summers’ time is up. The new season of monsoon isn’t too far from knocking our doors. The umbrellas will be out and so will be new numbers of sufferers, new numbers of detected, new numbers of mortality and new numbers of recoveries.

As I conclude this blog post in here, I wish to ask myself this question again: WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING? I hope till the next time, I write again, we will be having a definitive reply, an encouraging answer to this question. Till then we have to take our health a little more seriously and may have to continue chanting - #StayHomeStaySafe.

- Virtuous Vociferous | June 08 | June Blog-1 | What If | 2020

A summer so different

Courtesy: Google

This summer

is definitely different

by all means.

It is tough to love summers! No matter how long you stay locked indoors, it is still tough to love summers. And no two summers are comparable. No two summers can be hotter or less hot than the other. No two summers can be more pleasant or less unpleasant than the other. Summers or in that case, every weather is unique by nature. But what about the SUMMER OF 2020. Well, what about it? Simply a memory maybe! Of having stayed indoors throughout the summer of 2020.

Summers; all of us will unanimously agree; no summer sounds as poetic as Bryan Adams had made it sound in his all-time hot song - SUMMER OF 69. He had sung and I quote:

Oh, when I look back now

That summer seemed to last forever

And if I had the choice

Yeah, I'd always wanna be there

Those were the best days of my life

How memorable that summer could have been to inspire an entire song of such intoxicating nature!

Maybe one year down the line, we would look back to this SUMMER OF 2020. By the same time, next year, we should hope that things would be fine; life would be great; travel would be colorful. And we might sing… That summer seemed to last forever; but those days were not the best days of our lives.

This summer is definitely different by all means. No news channel is reporting deaths due to sun stroke. But there are deaths being reported due to a pandemic. A pandemic which shattered a part of our winter, a major part of our spring and now has almost spoiled our entire summer. Airports are lying empty, railway platforms look lifeless, roads wear an abandoned look. Who knew that in the year of 2020; there will be no summer vacations; there will be no summer picnics; there will be no summer escapade to the hill stations; there will be no quick summer breaks by the seaside!

We didn’t dread any of the summers. We braved the odds. Many a times, our skins have turned red, infections have taken over, sweat has turned sticky and throats have run thirsty. Yet, we never wished to miss out on those summers as well. But we are left with no choice; it seems like we have to give this summer a miss.

Mangoes have gone live. Watermelons are trending. Bananas are being shared and mentioned. Yet the fun of eating them during this summer seems to have gone missing. We can only expect the fun to return next year. Hope is our only umbrella. Let us seek some shelter beneath it. Let us enjoy whatever is remaining of this summer; if not being outdoors, at least being indoors!

Maybe ten years down the line, when we would be seated in some corner of the world, we would look back to this summer and take a long breath. We will shut our eyes, think of the tough times and then get back to life to narrate that one story of a summer… A SUMMER SO DIFFERENT.

- Virtuous Vociferous | May 26 | May Blog-3 | What If | 2020

Didu can never be forgotten

Didu always

We still feel

her presence

among us, within us

She spoke the language of love because she knew only to love. Didu, Amma, Thamma as she was addressed by us; her battalion of five grandchildren, she was special, she will remain special. Even though I am the eldest among my siblings, I would often feel that her love was getting a little more shared between the other four. Well, that is how Didu was; ever loved, ever generous, and ever supportive of us. And all the five of us, loved her infinitely.

On many occasions, that we revisit our memories of her, we remember how she was our friend, our mentor, our guide and as my brother put it – our partner in crime. But what were these crimes, which we would commit and she would happily be a part of? Most of these crimes included purchase of few more candies from the shop, a piece more from the crispy French fries made by her or an extra serve of a piece or two of the mutton she cooked or a little extra cash. Beyond that she would sometimes also be supportive of deducting the extra hours, which our parents might demand us to contribute in studies. But Didu would do this only on one condition; she would make us promise that we should make up for the lost hours in our next session.

Didu was our gravity. She took over from where Dadu left. My two sisters and I were lucky to get pampered by Dadu as well as Didu. My brother and my little sister never got to see who Dadu was or the person, the human being that he was. But they got to see Didu. And Didu showered them with love and blessings. Before she breathed her last on April 20, 2018; it was my younger brother and youngest sister who served her and attended to every demand of hers. One of my sister was already married by then.

My relationship with Didu had been that of grandmother and grandchild. But she was my sister during Rakshabandhan; my mother during my mother’s absence while she was teaching in her school; my father during my father’s shift duties; my teacher while studying. During my college days, I stayed with Didu. I would stay awake till she was awake. And I would sleep when she would sleep.

Two years faded away. But even today, her memories remain fresh in our minds. Be it her own children or us; her grandchildren. At times, I remember those moments when I had fought with Didu. These fights were just like the fights, we break into with our friends and forget about them; as immediately as possible. She would never take offence. But yes, she would grow emotional. Still she was strong enough to make us stronger and make sure that we are prepared enough to take up all challenges of the future, she prayed for us.

The fondest memory, which I hold about Didu is the train journey between Mumbai and Kolkata of 1993. I had just appeared for my board exams. My parents took the landmark decision to send us both to Kolkata. This was my first ever solo journey sans my parents. Didu was traveling with me. During the journey, a mother and son were our fellow travelers. The son would demand anything and everything, which her son would demand. My Didu would buy it for him and I was left fuming. On many occasions, I tried stopping her from doing that; Didu didn’t budge. Finally, there was one such moment, when the mother happened to visit the bathroom and I got the opportunity to ask Didu some tough questions. But the compassionate soul that she was, Didu silenced me in two seconds. When I asked her, why was she spending so much for that kid? She replied, ‘His mother has been putting her hand in the wallet to fish out money. But do you know that she is penniless. Her husband made her board the train but didn’t give her any money to spend during travel. She will only have some access to money when this train reaches Howrah station and her brother comes to fetch her.’ I asked Didu, as to who shared this information with her. Didu replied, ‘When you were fuming and being angry at me for buying him that toy, she saw you. She broke down and told me her story.’ The journey ended. The woman and her son were attended by their relative. I looked at the woman and the child; they smiled and waved at us. I felt a lump in my throat.

So, as another year passes by after Didu’s absence from our lives, we still feel her presence among us, within us. Because for the kind and compassionate soul; Didu can never be forgotten.

- Virtuous Vociferous | April 22 | April Blog-2 | What If | 2020

A VERY PERSONAL STORY

To that place of our lives,
we were born in, we might
end up feeling indebted 
to the author who’s penning
down the book for. 

We don’t live there anymore. But we never miss revisiting that place in our conversations. The place is such. It always manages to find a mention in some of our anecdotes from yesteryear.

I would also like to say that we grew with the place in our hearts.

Even though it took me some of those job interviews of initial days to figure out, that this place was yet to find a geographical confirmation. I never gave up mentioning it proudly in my curriculum vitae.

I still remember how people would make faces. Some would say that they had never heard of this place.

During one of the interviews, I had to put up a skit of ten minutes to lie about this town being a place closer to Navi Mumbai.

Yet, the significance of this place remained unexplored.

Until it took one of its own to decide and put this place on a broader spectrum of conversations.  

This place that I’ve been writing about for long is none other than KALWA.

Still a small town of innumerable possibilities, thriving by the banks of the stupendous Thane creek and for once actually serving the common link between Navi Mumbai, Northern Mumbai and Greater Mumbai. And one should not forget to mention; Kalwa even today proudly matches its steps with Thane as its neighboring town. In much better ways as well.

But who is this one of Kalwa’s very own, who has decided to put it on a broader spectrum of conversations? He is Mr Nishant Mhatre. My best friend Mr Anil Mhatre’s younger brother and a son of the same soil that we grew up playing with, shaping our future with.

Nishant’s pursuit is exceptionally interesting. He still prefers to call Kalwa as his native place or his ‘own’ village. He makes it sound more personal when he says it – My Village Kalwa. He supports it with a sub headline, which brings to fore his love for Kalwa. In his sub headline, he mentions Kalwa as his place of birth and his place of workmanship. 

All of us who were born and brought up in Kalwa, should appreciate Nishant’s passion for the place. At the same time, we should support him with whatever we hold closer to our hearts and has to do something about Kalwa. 

I still remember being at his elder’s brother’s place in Pune. As the conversations rolled out and Anil’s wife Anita served me a glass of water; we had Kalwa on our lips. Anita, Anil and I grew up in the same locality. Anil made it more interesting when he called Nishant one of the most important custodians of Kalwa. 

Nishant’s project of passion came into limelight when my mom showed a WhatsApp message. In this message, Nishant had asked her about old photographs of our school; our very own Jnan Vikas Mandal’s New English School. He too remembers our school from our days of black and white memories; a thatched roof, a modest beginning and a memorable metamorphosis of sorts.

If Nishant’s passion for the place is to be believed, he has put himself up for a mammoth task. I only hope he manages to weave in together the time, the energy and the vision to complete this project on time. 

Exclusive copyrights are with the author

He might be writing this book in Marathi. But if he agrees, I would like to be the first official English translator of this book to take it to a wider global audience.

At a stage when I am yet to properly finish work on my second most book, Nishant has already lit the mind with a tiny spark of gigantic inspiration. I would happily want him to surpass me.

For whatever Kalwa has been waiting for, Nishant is going to be the pioneer to make it happen.

To the Kalwa of our lives, we might end up feeling indebted to Nishant Mhatre for his dream to come true.

- Virtuous Vociferous | June 09 | June Blog-1 | Never Settle | 2019