When Public Intimacy Turns Into Public Anxiety

 

When Public Intimacy Turns Into Public Anxiety

The surge in obscene public displays of affection is no longer a fringe concern—it is a social warning bell. Recent incidents, including videos of young couples indulging in explicit sexual behaviour inside the Rapid Rail in Ghaziabad, have exposed a disturbing collapse of public decency. What is being passed off as “freedom” today is, in truth, a brazen disregard for society.

Let us be clear: this is not about love. Love has always existed in India—quietly, deeply, and with dignity. This is about exhibitionism masquerading as modernity. Public transport, parks, and streets are shared civic spaces, not private bedrooms. When intimacy turns explicit in such spaces, it violates not only social norms but the comfort and psychological safety of others—especially children.

What is more alarming is the absence of shame. The current culture does not merely tolerate indecency; it rewards it with views, likes, and viral fame. The camera has become a silent accomplice. This is not rebellion—it is unabashed vulgarity. A generation raised on instant gratification has confused visibility with validation and freedom with excess.

However, placing the entire blame on Gen Z would be dishonest. Young people do not emerge from a vacuum. They are products of parenting that hesitated to discipline, schooling that avoided moral conversations, and a society that labelled every correction as “moral policing.” In our eagerness to appear progressive, we abandoned the responsibility to guide.

India has long prided itself on being a young nation—not merely in numbers, but in values. Youthfulness without restraint is not strength; it is volatility. When public spaces become scenes of discomfort and embarrassment, the collective trust that binds society begins to erode. A nation does not lose its character overnight—it loses it when boundaries are mocked and silence replaces correction.

Freedom was never meant to be lawlessness. Rights without responsibility become entitlement. No constitution, no culture, and no civilisation survives on unchecked individualism. Decency in public is not repression; it is the basic grammar of civil life.

This is not a call for surveillance squads or public shaming. It is a call for cultural introspection. Parents must reclaim their role as moral anchors, not silent spectators. Schools must stop treating value education as outdated. Society must find the courage to draw lines without apologising for them.

If we continue to romanticise public vulgarity as boldness and restraint as regressive, we will raise a generation fluent in desire but illiterate in dignity. And that is a cost far greater than momentary outrage.

The real question is no longer about youth behaviour—it is about adult failure. Have we taught our children that freedom is power, or have we forgotten to teach them that restraint is wisdom?

© Gaurav Sharma Lakhi

#PDA #nudity_in_public #vulgarity #lovemaking #genz #sexuality #sex #publicsex #trains #rapidtrain #metrotrain 

That Quarter-Pune

 That Quarter, Pune (1985–1989)

This small two-room quarter in Pune does not look like much today. Its walls have aged, the paint has dulled, and the door seems tired of opening and closing. It feels as if, after we left, it did not allow anyone else to inhabit it—as if it waited for us to return, like a sincere beloved. Yet between 1985 and 1989, this was not merely a structure; it was a universe—our universe. Those were my formative years, a crucial phase of my school life, when the foundations of who I would become were quietly being laid.

That door opened into our living room—spare in furniture but rich in life. A charpoy, two wooden chairs, a coffee table, a few flower pots (my father was fond of them), and a black-and-white television made up the space. Most evenings, the room glittered with laughter and conversation. My father’s friendly nature ensured a steady stream of visitors, and the house often felt larger than its dimensions.

The adjacent room was bigger and far more versatile. It was was our bedroom, study room, and resting place—our shared retreat. The doors of both rooms opened into a reasonably spacious veranda. On one side were the bathroom and lavatory; on the other, the kitchen—functional, familiar, and always lively with my mother’s culinary skills.

The large backyard was lovingly turned into a garden by my parents. Modest yet generous, it held four trees like four elders in a family: mango, guava, gular, and sharifa. Each had its own season, temperament, and way of enchanting us. The mango taught patience, the guava abundance, the gular silence, and the sharifa unexpected sweetness. I did not know then that I was growing alongside them, quietly building memories that would outlast seasons.

That backyard became my private stadium. I played cricket there through long afternoons—alone. No applause, no teammates, no scores to settle. Just a bat, a ball, and unending conversations with myself. Perhaps that solitude trained me early—to stay with myself, to imagine, to persist without witnesses; to prepare, to plan, to create, to introspect, and to evolve.

Those two rooms shaped more than my daily routine; they shaped my inner geography. Dreams learned to remain small yet stubborn there. Failures learned to sit quietly in corners. Even hope learned not to announce itself. Life was not dramatic in that quarter—but it was steadily, profoundly formative.

Looking at this photograph now, I realise the house did not merely give me comfort; it gave me direction. It made no promises, yet it prepared me for everything. What I am today has many addresses, but this one remains foundational. It taught a child to dream—and to work patiently toward shaping those dreams.

Some homes leave us when we leave them.

This one stayed—and perhaps, will stay forever.

©Gaurav Sharma Lakhi 

#Pune #childhood #home #memories 

Sahir Ludhiyanvi

      Sahir Ludhianvi

The Poet who still unsettles us

If Sahir Ludhianvi were to be understood in one word, that word would be refusal.

Refusal of false comfort. Refusal of decorative poetry. Refusal to be mad in love and forget everything. Refusal of a world that expected art to soothe power instead of questioning it.

Sahir’s rebellion did not begin in ideology; it began at home. His father was wealthy but tyrannical. His mother, Sardar Begum, chose dignity over material security and raised her son through instability, displacement, and social humiliation. From her, Sahir learned that prosperity without humanity is a form of violence—and that silence in the face of injustice is complicity. Those early wounds never healed but found expression in verse.

When Sahir arrived in Bombay, the film industry welcomed talent but resisted self-respect. Lyricists were expected to be obedient, grateful, and replaceable. Once, when a producer casually suggested that lyrics were secondary to music, Sahir quietly gathered his papers and walked out—despite needing the money. Later, the same industry was compelled to call him back on his terms. Sahir went on to become one of the lyricists to demand—and secure remuneration equal to top music directors. This was not arrogance, it was principle. For Sahir, words were not accessories. They were the soul of the song.

This refusal to compromise shaped his personal life as well. His love for Amrita Pritam remains one of the most poignant, unresolved relationships in modern literary history. They loved deeply, but Sahir never surrendered to permanence. Sometimes he did not arrive when expected. Sometimes he remained silent, cigarette in hand, eyes distant, emotions boiling, verses dancing in his head. Amrita later wrote that even his silence was a Nazm. Perhaps Sahir feared that emotional security might blunt his restlessness. For him, freedom, both intellectual and moral, was sacred, and even above love.

Despite fame and financial success, Sahir avoided social glamour. He disliked parties, distrusted applause, and preferred solitude. While he wrote some of Hindi cinema’s most lyrical love songs, his inner gaze remained fixed on war, hunger, exploitation, and hypocrisy. Romance, in Sahir’s hands, never became escapism. Even tenderness carried awareness.

His songs were not written merely to be remembered; they were written to unsettle. Sahir’s lyrics are the purest translation of sentiments with a strict rationality.

Songs as Moral Documents

Sahir Ludhianvi’s film songs form a parallel history of independent India—its promises, betrayals, and unanswered questions. Every song he wrote is a literary gem. His meaningful verses pierces into the heart and remain etched.  Among his most enduring works are:

“Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par” (Pyaasa, 1957)

 — a blistering indictment of social inequality

“Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye” (Pyaasa, 1957)

 A blatant rejection of hollow success

“Jaane Woh Kaise Log The” (Pyaasa, 1957)

 — moral loneliness turned into melody

“Aage Bhi Jaane Na Tu” (Waqt, 1965)

— a meditation on time and helplessness

“Chalo Ek Baar Phir Se” (Gumrah, 1963)

— dignity in separation and acceptance of reality

“Main Zindagi Ka Saath Nibhata Chala Gaya” (Hum Dono, 1961)

— stoic acceptance without illusion

“Tu Hindu Banega Na Musalman Banega” (Dhool Ka Phool, 1959) 

— fearless humanism

“Sansaar Se Bhaage Phirte Ho” (Chitralekha, 1964)

 — a challenge to false renunciation

“Tora Man Darpan Kehlaye” (Kaajal, 1965)

— ethics over ritual

“Kabhi Kabhi Mere Dil Mein” (Kabhi Kabhie, 1976) 

— love softened by time

Songs essential to understanding Sahir’s moral universe are:

“Allah Tero Naam”, “Eeshwar Tero Naam” (Hum Dono),

“Tang Aa Chuke Hain Kashmakash-e-Zindagi Se Hum” (Pyaasa),

“Yeh Desh Hai Veer Jawanon Ka” (Naya Daur), and

“Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar” (Hum Dono).

These are just the songs on different moods and genre. It will be injustice to Sahir's poetic genius to pick just ten songs from his 'Deewan' and label them as his best. If we choose any ten of his songs, they will form not a playlist, but a moral archive.

An Uncomfortable Legacy

In his final years, Sahir remained intellectually restless and emotionally solitary. When asked about God, he did not sermonize. He simply observed, “If God existed, there wouldn’t be so much injustice.”

Sahir Ludhianvi died in 1980, unmarried, without heirs or institutions carrying his name. What he left behind were words that refuse comfort—songs that still interrogate society, love, and power.

Sahir is remembered not because he wrote beautifully,

But because he refused to beautify lies.

In an age eager for easy patriotism and market-friendly art, Sahir remains relevant precisely because he was inconvenient. He reminds us that poetry is not meant to decorate the world—but to question it.

Author’s Note

I have long believed that poetry is not meant to comfort us—it is meant to awaken us. Sahir Ludhianvi has always stood out to me not merely as a great lyricist, but as a moral voice who refused to make peace with injustice, hypocrisy, or convenient lies.

This article is not a biography, nor a scholarly critique. It is a literary reflection—an attempt to understand Sahir as a human being whose life, choices, silences, and songs were deeply intertwined. The songs mentioned here are not ranked by popularity, but by the ethical and emotional weight they continue to carry. If Sahir still unsettles us today, it is because the questions he asked remain unanswered.

— Gaurav Sharma Lakhi

This article is a literary interpretation based on documented accounts and critical readings of Sahir Ludhianvi’s life and work.

If you enjoyed the article, feel free to share it with readers who believe poetry must have a conscience.

#sahir #sahirludhiyanvi #poetry #shayar #indiancinema #indianfilms #bollywood #urdupoetry #urdughazal #SahirAmrita #Amritapritam #hindisongs #bollywoodsongs #gauravlakhi #gauravlakhibooks 

 कृष्ण - यशोदा 

       "मैया में बढ़ो हो गयो"

 कान्हा क्या आए, नन्द भवन मंदिर सा हो गया था। मंद मंद घंटियों के आवाज़ आती रहती थी। केसर, चंदन और मोगरे की सुगंध आती थी जिससे सुवासित होने के लिए हवा वहां से हटती ही नहीं थी। मोर बोलते थे जैसे कान्हा को आवाज़ लगा रहे हों। 

आज भी वातावरण भिन्न ना था। नन्द का आंगन कृष्ण की पैजनिया और कमरबंदी के घुंघरुओं की झनकार पर इतरा रहा था।

माखन की गंध में लिपटे नन्हें कन्हैया के कजरारे नैन नंद भवन के आंगन के हर कोने से बतिया रहे हैं। मैया यशोदा स्नान की तैयारी कर रही हैं।

मैया बोलीं —“आ जा, कान्हा, आज तो खूब माटी में लोट आयो है। तोहे नहवा दूं तब माखन खाइयो।”

कन्हैया ने होंठ फुलाए, गालों पे हथेली रखी और बोले, “अरे मैया, अब तो मैं बड़ो हो गयो हूँ। तोसे नहावे में अब लाज आवे है।”

मैया हँस पड़ीं, “तू कब बड़ो हो गयो रे लाला?”

कन्हैया छाती तान के बोले, “देखो न मैया, अब तो मैं तीन बरस को हो गयो। बाबा भी कहत रहे थे, ‘हमार कन्हा अब सयानों हो गयो।’ कान्हा की बड़ी-बड़ी पलकें तितली के पंखों की तरह नृत्य कर रही थीं।

“अब मैं खुद नहाऊँगो, तुम जाओ।”

इतना कहकर कन्हैया ने मटकी उठाई, पर दो कदम चलते ही धप्प!

पानी गिर गयो, कन्हैया खुद भी भीग गयो।

मैया बोलीं, “अरे रे! यो है खुद नहाना?”

कन्हैया आँख मिचकाते बोले —

“मैया, पानी तो शरारती है, यो खुद गिर गयो। मैं तो ठीक ही कर रहो थो।”

मैं तो ठीक ही कर रहो थो।”

मैया ने जैसे ही आगे बढ़कर कन्हैया को गोद में उठाना चाहा,

कन्हैया झट से बोले —

“ना ना मैया! अब गोद में भी न उठाओ। लाला अब बड़ा हो गयो है।”

यशोदा जी ने रीझ कर कन्हैया की बलैया ली और अन्य कार्यों में लग गई। 

कन्हैया दूसरी मटकी भर लाए। आधी भरी मटकी से जल छलक रहा था। ठुमकती चाल पर पैजनियां झनक रही थी।

मैया को दूसरे कार्यों में लगा देखा तो पहुंचे मैया के पास और

 उनके आँचल को कसकर पकड़ के बोले, “देख मैया, बड़ों तो मैं हो गयो हूं। पर मैया… तुम यहीं बैठी रहियो। अकेले नहाने में डर भी तो आवे है।”

मैया यशोदा की आँखें भर आईं। वो कन्हैया को सीने से लगाकर बोलीं, “लाला, तू जितनो भी बड़ो हो जावै, मैया के लिए तो सदा नन्हो कन्हा ही रहेगो।”

कन्हैया मुस्काए। हाथों को मैया के गले में डाल बोले, “तो फिर मैया, आज तुम ही नहवा दो। कल से मैं सच में बड़ो हो जाऊँगो।”

मैया ने कन्हैया को हृदय से चिपका लिया।

© गौरव शर्मा

#krishna #कृष्ण #यशोदा #krishnayashoda #वृंदावन #मथुरा #कृष्णलीला #krishnaleela #mathura #vrindawan #iskon #devotee #kelrishnabhakti #राधा #radha #राधारानी 

श्रीकृष्ण चले परिक्रमा कू

राधे राधे 

श्रीकृष्ण चले परिक्रमा कू

संध्या दुपहरी के द्वार खटखटा रही थी। बृज की रज आकाश को अपनी आभा में डुबो कर केसरिया करने को आतुर हो चली थी। कदम्ब की पत्तियां एक दूसरे से सट गई थीं क्योंकि उसकी छाया तले श्रीकृष्ण बैठे थे। उनके होंठ बंसी के कानों को निहाल कर रहे थे। तान ऐसी थी मानो वृंदावन की हर डाल, हर पत्ता सुनने को रुक गया हो।

राधा जी पास बैठी थीं—नेत्र अर्धमुदित, देह स्थिर, मन पूर्णतः कृष्ण में लीन।

तान थमी।

कृष्ण ने सहज भाव से कहा—

“श्रीजी, कल तो मैं गिरिराज जी की परिक्रमा लगावे जाउंगो।”

राधा जी ने नेत्र खोले। मुस्कान में लाज भी थी और अधिकार 

भी। “बृज बिना परिक्रमा कैसी?”

कृष्ण हँसे—“बृज ही तो परिक्रमा है, श्रीजी।”

“और मैं?” राधा जी ने भौहें सिकोड़ कर कहा। उत्तर तो उन्हें पता ही था।

संध्या को मधुमंगल, सुबाहु, भद्र, सुभद्र, वरूथप, श्रीदामा आदि ने सारे नंदगांव को परिक्रमा का संदेश दे दिया। बरसाने में ललिता, विशाखा, इंदुलता हरकारिन बन गईं।

बृज की गृहणियों ने छप्पन पकवान बनाने आरंभ कर दिए।

 सारे बृज ने रात से गुहार लगाई, “आज जल्दी गुजर जाओ तुम”। सूरज देवता सोए ही नहीं। बृजवासी इतने उतावले थे कि सूर्यदेव अपनी पहली किरण भेजते उससे पहले ही नन्द के द्वार पर पहुंच कर कान्हा को आवाज़ लगा दी।

सब गोवर्धन की ओर बढ़े तो देखा सारी गैयां और ग्वाले भी पीछे-पीछे आ रहे हैं। 

परिक्रमा आरंभ हुई। राधा जी, श्रीकृष्ण और उनकी टोली सबसे आगे। फिर गाय और ग्वाले। उनके पीछे बृजवासी।

दानघाटी पर पहुँचते ही बृज की चंचलता जाग उठी। गोपियाँ श्रीकृष्ण का मार्ग रोककर खड़ी हो गईं।

यह वही स्थान था जहाँ प्रेम नियम बन जाता है और नियम हँसी में बदल जाते हैं।

कृष्ण ने यहाँ गोपियों को दान में केवल माखन नहीं दिया—अपनी चितवन, अपनी मुस्कान, और बृज की आलौकिकता दे दी।

हरिदेव मंदिर की घंटियाँ धीमे-धीमे बज रही थीं। यहाँ भक्ति का स्वर ऊँचा नहीं, गहरा होता है। गोप-ग्वालों ने भजन छेड़ा, जिसमें न राग की चिंता थी, न ताल की, केवल समर्पण था। गैया अपनी गर्दन मटका कर घंटियों की झनकार उनके स्वर में मिला रही थीं।

 राधा जी की दृष्टि में भक्ति और प्रेम का भेद ही मिट गया।

भजनों पर थिरकते हुए जतीपुरा आ गया। यह वह स्थान है जहाँ पग पड़ते ही जीवन धन्य हो जाता है। मन से सारे संताप निकल भागते हैं। रोम-रोम रोमांच से भर जाता है। भाव ऐसा बनता है जैसे सर्वस्व प्राप्त हो गया हो। यहाँ चेतन और ज्ञानी भी पागलों सा व्यवहार करने लगते हैं। जतीपुरा में सेवा मौन होकर भी पूर्ण हो जाती है। यहाँ की मिट्टी में त्याग बसा है, तप का स्पर्श है।

कृष्ण ने गिरिराज जी की ओर देखकर कहा, “जो शरण में आए, उसका भार गिरिराज जी स्वयं उठा लेते हैं।”

राधा जी समझ गईं—यह वाक्य भक्त के लिए भी है।

आगे बढ़कर गिरिराज जी के मुखारविंद पर पहुँचे। यहाँ गिरिराज पर्वत का स्वरूप ऐसा था मानो स्वयं श्रीहरि का मुख हो—शांत, करुण, स्थिर।

राधा जी ने यहाँ मौन धारण कर लिया।

श्रीकृष्ण ने कहा—“श्रीजी, गिरिराज जी बोले ना हैं पर सुनें सब हैं।”

“जानूं हूँ मैं। कह दियो मन ही मन और गिरिराज जी ने सुन भी लियो है”।

भोग पधराया गया। गिरिराज जी ने बड़े चाव से अरोगा।

एक-एक करके सारे ब्रजवासियों ने गिरिराज जी को ढोग दिया। 

गैया तलहटी का प्रसाद अरोगने लगीं।

पग आगे बढ़ाए तो मानो चिपक गए हों। जो आए थे उनका जाने का मन नहीं था, जिनके पास आए थे, उनका भेजने का मन नहीं था।

जैसे तैसे गिरिराज जी की आज्ञा मिली। अब सुरभि कुंड की छटा ने सबको मोह लिया। सबकी स्मृति में इंद्रदेव के मानमर्दन की पुनरावृत्ति हो गई।

गोविंद कुंड का जल अत्यंत शीतल था। यहाँ थके चरण विश्राम पाते हैं और थका मन विश्वास। राधा जी ने जल से कृष्ण के चरण पखारे और कृष्ण ने राधा जी के। बृजवासियों को स्पष्ट संदेश था ‘सेवा ही सबसे ऊँची साधना है’।

फिर आया श्याम कुंड।

यहाँ प्रेम गाढ़ा हो जाता है, शब्द छोटे पड़ जाते हैं। हवा की ताल पर नृत्य करते जल में आकाश भी राधा-नाम सा लगता है।

कृष्ण ने धीमे स्वर में कहा—

“यह कुंड न है श्रीजी, मेरो जो प्रेम है ना, वा की पराकाष्ठा है।”

राधा जी के नेत्रों में हर्ष की आद्रता छलक आई।

पास ही था राधा कुंड। “जाओ, कान्हा, एक बार और डुबकी लगा लो”।

 राधा जी का आदेश हुआ तो श्रीकृष्ण ने पल भर की भी देर ना लगाई। अब श्रीजी के कपोलों पर अश्रु धारा बह निकली थी। कृष्ण ने कुंड में तैरते हुए अश्रुओं को कुंड में गिरने का संकेत कर दिया। राधा जी का मुख स्वत: ही आगे की ओर झुक गया। अब प्रत्येक बृजवासी कुंड में स्नान करना चाहता था। कुछ ने सारे शरीर पर कुंड के जल से छींट लगा लिए। लोटों में जल लेकर लोग स्वयं पर डाल रहे थे मानो जानते हों, ऐसा करने से जीते जी मोक्ष मिल जाएगा।

राधाकुंड और श्यामकुंड एक-दूसरे को देख कर मुस्कुरा रहे थे। दोनों अलग होकर भी अभिन्न थे। यहाँ राधा-कृष्ण का द्वैत मिट जाता है। बृज जानता है—जहाँ राधा हैं, वहीं श्याम हैं।

कान वाले गिरिराज जी को अपनी-अपनी मनोकामना की पोटली थमा कर सब अंत में पहुँच ग‌ए मानसी गंगा। 

कृष्ण के आगमन की खबर सुन ना जाने कौन मानसी गंगा के घाटों को रंग बिरंगे फूलों से सजा गया था।

जल शांत था, पर उसमें बृज की सारी कथाएँ तैर रही थीं। उसमें समाहित बृज का यश सबको निहाल करने को तैयार था।

यहाँ परिक्रमा पूर्ण हो जाती है, पर यात्रा नहीं रुकती। मन और भीतर की ओर चल पड़ता है। 

वापसी की यात्रा आरंभ हुई। संध्या अनमने मन से उतर आई थी। कृष्ण ने बंसी उठाई। तान गूँजी।

राधा जी फिर मंत्रमुग्ध हो गईं। बृज की रज ने सब ढक लिया— कथा को भी, पात्रों को भी— बस लीला रह गई।

एक प्रश्न श्रीजी के मन में था। “अचानक परिक्रमा करवे की क्यों सूझी, कान्हा?”

श्रीकृष्ण के अधरों पर मुस्कान थिरक ग‌ई। “गिरिराज जी ने कही मोसू, आपके दर्शन करावे कू”।

श्रीकृष्ण फिर से बंसी बजाने लगे। राधा जी ने नेत्र बंद किए और गिरिराज जी को धन्यवाद कहने लगीं।

                   *********************

  ©GauravSharma

#कृष्ण #krishna #radha #बृज #vrindavan #brijwasi #mathura #radhakrishna #in dresh 

   

MATHEMATICS, EGO & ME

MATHEMATICS, EGO & ME 

 It was 2006, six years after I had given up my job and was content teaching at my own institute.

I was aware that people thought I was haughty, carrying an intolerably irritating superiority complex. I, however, dismissed it as their covetousness.

One day, a good friend of mine from Pune called me. He informed me that a certain Mr. Apte, also from Pune, was conducting a Personality Development workshop in Faridabad.

“Mr. Apte is a celebrated motivational speaker and trainer,” he insisted, urging me to attend. I gave all sorts of excuses—my busy schedule, my parents’ health, and other flimsy pretexts.

Although May is comparatively relaxed for teachers, I didn’t want to go. I believed my personality needed no rectification. Finally, my friend said he was coming to Delhi to attend it and that I must accompany him. To oblige him, I reluctantly agreed.

It was a three-day workshop at a motel in Faridabad. The fee was three thousand eight hundred rupees, which I painfully parted with—only for the sake of my friend.

During the introductions, it became evident that among the eighty participants, I had the most humble social status. There were Chief Medical Officers from renowned hospitals, ACPs of Haryana and Delhi Police, CEOs, and senior government officers.

The ghost of superiority within me stepped back and waited, curious as to why such refined gentlemen had gathered there.
The post-lunch session on the very first day, however, turned out to be the moment that changed my life.

Mr. Apte drew a large square on the board and divided it with four vertical and four horizontal lines, creating smaller squares. He asked us to count how many squares were in total. Some found 16, others 17, some 20, and a few 24.

My answer was 30—the highest anyone had quoted.
Mr. Apte came to me and asked if I was sure. My ego answered for me:
“Yes, sir. Pretty sure. I’m a Mathematics teacher. This is routine work for me.”

“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Apte. “Still, I suggest you recount.”

“No, sir, I can’t be wrong. I spend ten hours a day with this subject,” I replied, smugly.

Mr. Apte smirked and called me to the podium.
“Mr. Sharma, we’ll return to the squares later. First, let’s have a fun exercise. Gentlemen,” he addressed the others, “I’ve chosen him because he is a Mathematics teacher.”

He took an A4-sized sheet of paper, held it from two opposite corners, and asked me to tear it with a punch. As I punched, he withdrew his lower hand, foiling my attempt. He asked me to try again—and once more withdrew just in time. A third attempt failed too. I stood there, exasperated and exhausted.

“No, sir, it will not tear if you keep doing this,” I said when he asked me to try again.

Smiling, he looked at me. “And you realized that only after three blows?”

I sheepishly met his eyes, pretending shame.

He continued, “Each blow was harder than the last—enough to knock me down if I had been in the way. Actually, Mr. Sharma, you realized the truth after the first attempt. But your ego stopped you from admitting failure so early. You hoped I wouldn’t trick you again.”

I wanted to run away from the hall. But he wasn’t finished.

“And now, about the squares—you counted 30. But I can prove there are more, even though mathematics is not my routine job. Count all the squares including the outer outline, and then count them excluding the outline. That doubles the number you found.”

Placing his hand on my shoulder, he concluded,
“Mr. Sharma, there will always be more to learn. Improvement has no finishing line.”

Years after that incident, I still try to keep my ego in check. I strive to be a better teacher and a better human being.
Thank you, Mr. Apte, for the invaluable lesson.

#mathematics #EGO #teachers #life #relationship #math #blogpost #bloggers

Death & Mercy

         DEATH & MERCY

                   .........A poem by Akshika Sharma

Two figures sat at the cliff, side by side

Above a forest set aflame.

The sky grew dark as fire cried,

And every ash recalled a name.

The trees, they crackled ancient cries

As bark and bone begin to fade.

The smoke curled up like whispered lies

From prayers that time itself betrayed.

Then Mercy, cloaked in grieving white,

Spoke soft as though to stir the dead:

"How does one mourn such brutal light-

A blaze where loved ones gently bled?"

Death watched the flame, yet didn't stir,

Her eyes like tombs that knew too much.

"Grief starts", she said, "When hearts confer-

I wanted all of it to touch.

To want to fall, to break in dust,

And gather ruins, one by one-

To open wide because you must

And hope beneath no sun.

He asked her then, "Why don't you begin?

Why never weep like mortal men?"

She smiled - A mask too tight and thin - 

And turned ger gaze away again.

"Grief is no stream one dares to taste -

It floods, it drowns - it doesn't ask.

To sip is folly, done in haste,

For I would lose my sacred mask.

I carry more than souls just passed -

The ones who soon will be in my arm. 

The ones long gone, whose echoes last,

In stone and soil and smoldered farm.

The fire eats the final thread

That tethered them to earth and breath.

And though they sleep, I loved the dead-

As only I could love through death.:

She rose, the shadows kissed her back

And walked beyond the cliff's embrace

While mercy watched the world turn black,

A softness sorrow could not trace.

And as the forest gave its cry,

He whispered, more to flame than friend:

"You never stopped. You just stood by-

And grieved a grief that has no end."

ONE TOUGH DAY THAT BROKE THE DREAM OF A BILLION PEOPLE

 

ONE TOUGH DAY THAT BROKE THE DREAM OF A BILLION PEOPLE 

Well Played, team India. We are proud of the way you played in this tournament. Unfortunately, the worst had to come in the finals.

The defeat in a cricket World Cup final match teaches resilience, the importance of preparation, and the ability to learn from mistakes. It's a reminder that success often involves overcoming setbacks, adapting strategies, and continuously improving to excel in high-pressure situations.

Out-of-the-box thinking in high-pressure games is crucial because it allows players to find innovative solutions, adapt quickly, and outsmart opponents. In intense situations, conventional strategies may not always work, and the ability to think creatively can lead to unexpected and successful outcomes. This mindset helps in making split-second decisions, capitalizing on opportunities, and staying ahead of the competition, ultimately contributing to a team's success in high-stakes scenarios.

Cricket is like life. You have to learn to deal with the good and the bad." - Virat Kohli

In a 50 over game, you cannot wait for the batsman to commit a mistake. You have to make him commit a mistake 

 Cricket is about applying, innovating and rising to the occasion. It is not just about breaking records.

 Captain Rohit Sharma's stubbornness to reiterate that he is HITMAN proved costly on the D-day. No doubt, he gave good starts and set the tempo. His fireworks in the first powerplay took pressure off the following batsman and allowed them time to get set. He threw his wicket away when only three balls were remaining in the first powerplay. Even a club cricketer knows that when you get ten runs on the first two balls, you should get a single to stand on the other end, especially when you are batting first.

After losing three quick wickets, Virat Kohli and K.L. Rahul batted too defensively that they didn't get a boundary for twenty two overs. Sorry, but your records don't make you great. 

 After ten overs, Indian bowlers looked different than the ten previous games in the tournament. Kuldeep Yadav, Mohammad Siraj and Ravindra Jadeja were spineless and never seemed like wicket-taking bowlers.

Intelligent batting by Travis Head and Marnus Labuschagne took the game away from India.

Australian fielding was a big difference in the two teams. They saved at least thirty runs by running hard and throwing themselves on the field. And, Travis Head's running catch to send the Indian captain back did the same for Aussies what Kapil Dev's catch of Viv Richards did for Indians in 1983.

This is not criticism but my personal assessment of the high voltage game. I really wanted to see my heroes lifting the World Cup.

I stand with the men in blue. It was a tough day and one team had to end up as losers. They are champions and we are proud of them.

KUNTI- REVIEW

KUNTI

             KU

By Koral Dasgupta 

KUNTI is the second of the five-book series on Panchkanya by Koral Dasgupta.

KUNTI is a mythological book, not fiction, that educates and enlightens the readers. One would wonder how empowered and evolved Indian women were hundreds of centuries ago and what made them devolve.

Koral writes in ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

"THE STORIES OF FAMINE LEGENDS HAVE BEEN OVERLOOKED GENEROUSLY FOR PATRIARCHAL CONVENIENCE, INSPIRING THE WOMEN TO CELEBRATE THE BRAVERY OF ONLY ONE SECTION OF THE SOCIETY AND FEEL GUILTY ABOUT HER OWN."

This is a harsh truth we all will agree to somewhere in our consciences and will feel a pang of guilt after reading about characters like Kunti, a woman of rare intellect, wisdom, confidence, and resilience. What Kunti had acquired from Durvasa, no other woman has ever acquired, and mind you, she got it because she deserved it.

KUNTI is a captivating novel that takes readers on a journey through the life of the famous mother of the revered Karna and the lovable Pandavas. When you finish this 203-page novel, Kunti will have a better opinion of you, and not just as the ill-fated queen of Pandu.

Koral Dasgupta's brilliance surfaces frequently in the book. She surprises you with undiscussed aspects and by adding new dimensions to this folklore. The rivalry between Surya and Indra is an integral part of Kunti's story. The aspect that impresses me the most is Koral's depiction of the effect of the mother's state of mind at the time of conception on the child's psychology, behaviour, and attributes. She has elaborately related it to Ganga-Bhishma, Satyvati-Vichitravirya, Ambika-Dhritrashtra, Ambalika-Pandu, Kunti-Karna, and other Pandavas.

Another standout feature of KUNTI is the author's ability to bring the characters to life with vivid and evocative descriptions. The author has confessed that she reinvents KUNTI with a feminist consciousness. She portrays Kunti as a strong and independent woman navigating societal expectations, unabashedly expressing her obsession for Indra and abhorring other men, even her husband.

I wondered why the ancient women were infatuated with Indra and quickly consoled myself with the fact that Krishna was not incarnated in their time.

Koral's writing style is both poetic and lyrical, effortlessly transporting readers to different time periods and locations. The attention to detail in her descriptions creates a rich tapestry that immerses readers in the sights, sounds, and smells of Indian culture. The author has generously and felicitously described nature and its bounty.

Another noteworthy aspect of KUNTI is how it tackles important social issues such as gender inequality and familial obligations. Through Kunti's journey, readers are challenged to reflect on their own beliefs and prejudices while gaining a deeper understanding of the complexities of Indian society. Sadly, the book ended with Arjuna's birth and left me unsatisfied.

KUNTI is a thought-provoking and beautifully written novel that offers an insightful exploration of love, identity, and societal expectations. Highly recommended, this book will enlighten you like a mythological book should.

Also read, my review on AHLYA:

https://gauravmotley.blogspot.com/2020/08/ahalya-by-koral-dasgupta-review.html?m=1

#mythology #books #indianmythology #kunti #pandavas #mahabharat #krishna #hastinapur #indra #surya

MY BELOVED CITY- PUNE

 

MY BELOVED CITY- PUNE 

Besides being my birthplace, the culture, the liveliness, the emotional quotient, the street food, diversity, history and magnanimity of its heart, make Delhi my favourite city. And then comes Pune, where I have done a major part of my schooling.

My father served in the Indian Air Force. He was posted in Pune from 1985 to 1988.

Pune, then, seemed like heaven. The Air Force station at Lohagaon, then, was at one corner, away from the hulla bullah of a city quieter but ahead of Delhi. Mountains were within a stone's throw. The solitude of jungles was not a luxury. Meeting snakes and scorpions was not unusual.The dialect, Hindi with an excess smack of Marathi, was initially fun for us and gradually made us adapt to it.

Pune fascinated us. We had accepted its superiority over Delhi.We didn't want to leave it when my father got a transfer to Gwalior after four years. But, we had to.

Pune is a city that embodies its own unique charm and beauty. From its vibrant culture to its rich history, there are many reasons why I love this city. Pune is home to a diverse mix of people, making it a great destination for those looking to experience something new. The city boasts beautiful landscapes, amazing street food, and plenty of entertainment options. Whether you’re looking for adventure or just want to relax and take in the local culture, there’s something for everyone in Pune.

 I never went there and found Delhiism back in me  faster than it had vanished.Then, in 2019, I happened to visit my second favourite city, feeling the pangs of meeting a long lost love. 

However, the two-day-long visit was not enough to feel the aura and ambience of Pune.

Once my beloved city, it called me again this month. I managed to steal three days out of my busy schedule.Pune had changed. It had grown big as I had crossed over to senescence.Mountains had hidden behind the glory and greed of concrete. Natural greenery seemed manipulated. The reptiles had refuged in some unknown space. People, who were already less emotional than delhites, appeared more practical, straightforward and even less sentimental. 

Street food was as abundant as concrete, bitumen, bars and noise. One thing that surprised me was the two-wheeler-riders not wearing head gears. I was desperate to check the traffic rules but had no time.

Pune remains my beloved city but the visit left me worried and sad. Pune is losing its charm. It is not the same as it used to be. The obsession of development is swallowing its scenic beauty. It is no longer a nature's paradise.Wake-up, Pune.Please don't become another Mumbai or Delhi.I liked you the way you were- simple and sophisticated. Despite everything, I will keep loving you.

#pune #Maharashtra #maharashtragovernment #maharashtratourism #PuneMunicipality #Puneadministration #PunePolice #Maharashtrapolice 

Zelensky-The Villain in Putin's War

 Zelensky – The Villain in Putin’s War

It’s been more than a fortnight since the weak but brave Ukraine is facing the ire of the stubborn President of Russia.

For the last two weeks, the world is watching the tearful exodus, the beautiful cities being ruined, children being orphaned, unarmed civilians rebuking the invading soldiers and amidst these disheartening scenes, a President appears and appeals to the mightier countries for aid, often in informal outfits. 

The so-called brave President has won the sympathy and favour of the world but he has chosen to pay a hefty price to buy this trivial individual praise. 

Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelensky, the popular comedian and a famous TV face had made an exemplary leap to become the supremo of his country about three years back. 

His country, the second largest in Europe, is at war with its larger neighbour since 2014. No doubt, Zelensky has been an inspirational leader right since the war began. He has invoked patriotism in his countrymen but, heroics sounds good in folklore. When you are the head of a country, every decision you take must pass through multiple rounds of deliberation, discussion, reflection and introspection as it would affect millions of your compatriots. 

Both Russia and Ukraine could have avoided this war. When Zelensky was elected, there were doubts that he is pro-Russia. Maybe the pressure of proving the speculation wrong was too much that Zelensky never tried to improve relations with Big Brother Russia and instead, urged NATO to make it a member ignoring all the past agreements. A step towards peace, and disenchantment from joining NATO while not comprising his country’s interest might have made Zelensky a bigger hero. This war will throw Ukraine half a century back. They pouring financial aid from sympathetic countries might reinstate the concrete but it would not heal the wounds on the soul and mind of Ukrainians. 

Zelensky must realise that a real war is not a TV show where everything is an eyewash. People don’t die. Cities don’t moan and mourn. In a real war, every single bullet leaves an irrecoverable wound somewhere. 

Vladimir Putin has emerged as the cruellest man alive by waging an unprovoked war on Ukraine. He is wrong. Wrong. As claimed, a full-fledged army action on a weaker neighbouring country is arrogance and tyranny. However strong you are, if violence is the only way you know you are not fit to live in this world. 

Putin is not wrong if he opposes Ukraine’s intention and interest in joining NATO. There have been arguments that whether to join an organisation or not is a country’s choice. Fair enough. Then, it is the choice of another country to oppose and prevent it if the association might threaten its sovereignty and safety.

Considering NATO’s objectives and record, Russia cannot be held wrong. If treaties and organisations create a divide amongst the communities and countries, they are worthless. Russia’s cause is no different from the cause that gave birth to NATO. If the economic and strategic powers of the west have a right to put their safety and interests before everything and anything, then the Eastern countries too must be granted discretion. 

Why this world needs military organisations like NATO?

Fact is, the ringmaster has successfully played the game. The war will not resolve the conflict between Russia and Ukraine but will leave them weaker. Trap proved successful. The neighbours have been befooled.

I see Zelensky as the bigger Villain in this war because he allowed himself to be used against Russia while desperately trying to prove the speculations of him being pro-Russia.

No, I am not Putin’s fan. He is behaving the same he is known. 

Views expressed are personal 

#war #Russia #Ukraine #RussiaUkraineWar #zelensky #putin #NATO

AFTER I DIED

 

AFTER I DIED

People didn't give excuse
And came sooner than expected
My kins are taking care of
Even dead me.

Besides, everyone has stories
About me and my goodness
Consoling each other
Great actors they're.

I am enjoying
But I do have a regret...
I wish I could tell them
They can't befool me anymore.

© Gaurav Lakhi

YOUR FEE-THEIR SALARY

 

YOUR FEE-THEIR SALARY

               

            The Fee you pay is the salary that runs their household

 

The economic impact of corona pandemic has largely been disruptive and lately, its social and non-medico repercussions have started showing up. India was witnessing a slowdown already and the virus-crisis has magnified the risks to its economy. In the last three months since Covid-19 was declared a pandemic, we have realised that it is far more than a health crisis. Economics is a phenomenon of interdependence. Effect of the pandemic on one stratum of society is bound to spell vulnerability on to the others. The ongoing standoff between parents and schools is one such consequence.

Like the medical fraternity, teachers too didn’t get their share of lockdown-leisure over which we all went gaga. In fact, they had to work even harder. Working from home is not a joke, more so when it befalls upon you suddenly. Online-teaching, from home, in particular, demands special arrangements. You have to spare one room out of two or three people generally have in cities and cut off all sorts of disturbances. You must also have a good internet connection and compatible gadgets. Online teaching is many times more taxing than physical teaching. It demands more discipline and patience on the part of the teachers. They cannot even move away from the camera and have to keep a vigil on the attendees all the time. The most challenging of all is taking and marking the tests. The task must have been more onerous for the lady teachers because normally, they and their kids go to school simultaneously. But, during the lockdown, dealing with spouse and children, neglected for hours, would have been another ordeal they had to deal with.

Their problems didn’t end here. When they asked for their salary after doing their job with sincerity and devotion, their employers showed them their bare hands. Non-receipt of fees was the excuse they laid down. Parents, the other party, complained of being too tied down. They too didn’t receive their emoluments from their employers. Many had lost their jobs. Many had to shut down their businesses. With no income to sustain, expecting such people to pay their children’s school fee is inhumane. One such parent in Chandigarh has written a letter to the Prime Minister seeking permission to sell his kidney for paying school fees. Laughable? No. It’s pathetic.

However, NO-SCHOOL-NO-FEE campaign by the parents across the country is selfishness and illogical. If a few parents offer a plea that they have no job or no earning, then, their inability, genuine or fabricated it may be, to pay the school fees might encourage more people to come up with the same excuse. The teachers are also employees, and they are paid when their employers are paid. One aspect of this issue is that the teachers also have school-going children. If they do not get their salaries, then they too, would not be able to pay the school fee of their wards.

Parents didn’t get their salaries because they didn’t or couldn’t work because of the lockdown but the teachers have been working during this period and hence, are entitled to their emoluments. They have worked hard, upgraded themselves for the cumbersome task, have spent money from their pocket on internet data. It is disheartening to hear the teachers pleading with the students to pay their fees during the online classes. We owe much more than the salary to the teachers.

You may call it digging up the buried blunders if I say that the only cause of this situation is the unthoughtful privatisation of education. The decision was like setting the timer for the doomsday which is yet to arrive. The government generously allowed privatisation of education and neglected the government schools. Just a few years after it was done, education became a profitable business which also yielded respect and recognition in premium. Today, starting a middle-level private school is as easy as opening a grocery shop.

Why the government should be blamed alone?  Aren’t we all responsible for making the private schools indispensable? Why do we not send our children to government schools? Why is it considered that government schools are only for the children whose parents can’t afford to pay the hefty fees of the private schools? Two main reasons for this situation are allowing too much liberty to the private educational institutions and overlooking of the government educational institutions. On one side we say that education is a fundamental right and on the other, we have private institutions in a country of 70 crore poor people.

The economy of private schools is an open economy and there is no bar on the fee they charge. In addition, they enjoy various subsidies, concessions on tariffs, tax exemptions and provision of getting land at concessional price. With all these benefits, private schools reap handsome profits. They overburden the employees and recruit temporary staff to cut their salary bills. Other than the tuition fee and the transport fee which are legitimate, they levy Pupil Fund, Library Fee, Science Fee, Examination Fee and constantly devise the ways to rob the parents. In addition, they charge an unreasonable amount in the name of Annual Charges and Development Fund. As if their greed was not enough, the government has blessed them with the permission of increasing fee every year. Their cry of inadequate funds due to non-payment of the fee is a cold lie and is a matter of scrutiny. Any private school with an age of ten years or more and having six hundred to eight hundred students must be able to pay its employees for three to six months without receiving any fee. It is just that they do not want to consume the money they have accumulated.

There is no detector to ascertain who is capable of paying the fee despite the economic crisis and who is not. But exempting all the parents from paying a hundred per cent fee would be unfair. It was their decision to admit their wards in a private school and in this time of adversity they cannot shrug off their financial obligation towards these school. How can they show such callous ingratitude towards the teachers whom they have always applauded and boasted of the high standards of their teaching methods?

The parents are liable to pay only the tuition fee for the whole period until the schools do not start functioning. The school administration must also consider that the parents pay the fee for the summer break, autumn break and other vacations every year without asking questions, and they are complaining this time because they are in dire financial straits like everyone. The government must step in if the schools demand other charges too. This pandemic has done the damage, and now, we all have to come together to mend as much as is possible.

Whatever solution the concerned parties arrive at, they must ensure that the teachers are not deprived of their rightful emoluments and no child is forced to leave school because of his parent’s inability to pay the fee. We, as a country, must realise that education is not only the fundamental right but it is a fundamental need. It is also an opportune time for the government to relook its excessively non-restrictive policies towards private institutions.

AHALYA BY KORAL DASGUPTA-REVIEW

 

                            BOOK REVIEW           

                                AHALYA

                                                                                     

By Koral Dasgupta    

         

Koral Dasgupta’s first of the Sati Series books, AHALYA is a powerful rendition of feminism. AHALYA eloquently introduces the readers with the social apparatus and the status of women thousands of years ago.

AHALYA is the first mythological fiction which I have read until the last page. The reason I could not bear with the books written by even the most famous of my contemporary authors is that I hate any degree of adulteration in mythology and history. I do not approve of it. Secondly, I believe that the English language does not have the extent to accommodate the sanctity and spirit of Indian mythology. Not that I do not love English as a language; I respect the richness of Indian folklore. Every language has a soul and English certainly does not have a right soul for Indian mythology. AHALYA succeeded to sustain my interest in spite of my deep-rooted beliefs because of the masterly storytelling by Koral Dasgupta.  I am not condescending but these are my honest thoughts.  I am sorry if that offends my author friends.

 The most striking feature of AHALYA is that the author has not altered the story at all as most of the mythological-fiction-writers do. Retelling an already known story is not a cinch. It needs self-belief. The readers would pick the book, not for the story but the storytelling. Every line in AHALYA breathes on the marvel of the writing of its authoress. Her prose is poetic. The words have a befitting rhythm that binds your intrigue. Soothing music punctuates the emotional narrative. As I began, I wondered why the author had chosen the first-person narrative. I got my answers when I finished. Koral excels as a mouthpiece of AHALYA so authoritatively that you tend to feel you are reading Ahalya's autobiography.

 This is Koral’s third book that I have read and AHALYA mesmerised the reader in me the most. It started from page 12 where she writes- “Mortals had a name for them- ‘tears’- I learnt much later”.

 Then, she describes ‘WOMEN’ emphatically and carefully, not using a hackneyed script on page 22.

 Page 28, where she introduces INDRA- “He plays with a woman as a child does with water.”

 And, the inspiring unbiased wisdom of BRAHMA on page 30- “Everyone is born perfect. They pick up the imperfections along the course”. Also on page 36- “Your success lies in negotiating the contrast.”

 While introducing GAUTAM on page 35, she completes the differentiation between a father, a mother and a husband.

 At times, AHALYA appears to be a rebel, the shadow of the 21st-century woman. A woman does desire a man but she would not necessarily plead for bonhomie. She wants her man to acknowledge her larger contribution in maintaining the continuity of the human race. She wants the man to surrender to her beauty and body.

 AHALYA, as a woman who was accused of infidelity by her husband, deserves as many chances as she demands to present her side of the story. The first-person narrative that too from a woman-author served to AHALYA's advantage. After reading the book, I am curious to hear Maharishi Gautam's justification for cursing his wife.

Koral's AHALYA has only five characters. Ahalya's feminism sees the two females-Mist and Mandakini as kind souls but Brahma and Gautam are emotionless. She complains that her creator Brahma is an artist more than a father and her husband thinks of her as an obstacle to his path of achievements. The loneliness of AHALYA after she lands at Gautam's hermitage has been soulfully described. You pity her. You want to reach her to end her misery.

 AHALYA is a tremendous gift to the readers who search for literary beauty in the prose. It is a book to be read thoroughly, a book which will make you take notes, to ponder while reading and will force you to go into the skin of a character. It is not merely the famous story of an ill-fated mythological character but the eternal voice of women-her chastity, her desires, her expectations from her companion and her existence.

 

                                                        

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