Kartikey Sehgal

“Do you have Jay-Z on your computer?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to put it in?”

“No, I don’t.”

She turned to look straight at her table, not far from where we were seated. Her malfunctioned laptop lay there, along with an empty cup of coffee.

“You don’t really listen to Jay-Z, do you? And you don’t like wearing such skirts either.”

“No, I do. I mean I listen sometimes… “, she halted and looked at her skirt, probably worried if it showed too much. She ran her hands along the length of her skirt and till her bare knees. Then she spoke without much confidence. “Actually I am not used to wearing such clothes. My husband wants me to wear them though. Am actually from a small town you know.”

You wouldn’t know if you saw her walk into the cafe making long strides with her slender legs, eyes blinded by dark sunglasses and a figure-hugging top that indicated gym-fad. You wouldn’t know if she walked to you and asked in somewhat accented English if she could use your laptop to send an urgent email.

I was listening to Franz Schubert when she interrupted me with her request. “Only if you have short nails”

It was while typing the mail that we talked about Jay-Z and her small-town roots.

She looked at the music playlist on the screen. “What is this Schubert?”

I told her that he was a classical composer.

“Oh, I had a brother once. He listened to all such people. Loud violins and all. I would then leave his room and get-out you know.”

A definitive pause. Her smile withered at my non-response.

“What’s your mother tongue?”

“Why, I speak in mostly English. And also Hindi”, she hastily dismissed my question. She would excuse herself from my table now, I thought.

—

She told me stories about her home-town; noisy streets, small lanes and secret crushes on teachers; how she stealthily went to her brother’s room and replaced his classical music disc with her ‘Barbie Girl’ disc. When one day, she replaced his music collection with her collection of love songs, he scolded her. She fake-cried until their parents made him apologise. “I lived for such moments”, she said in chaste Hindi. “Just remembering them makes me laugh so much!”

She was slouching, her left elbow on the table supporting her head. Hair strands were not perfect like before. Her skirt had ridden up a little, showing a little of her thighs.

I don’t know whether she saw me looking. Perhaps she did because she spoke about her husband.

“He is the son of my father’s long-time friend. They shifted to Mumbai and then one-day they sent us the rishta. My parents were thrilled about Mumbai. He works in ____ company and puts any kind of music in his computer unlike you! I remember I was in my dotted pink pyjamas and very very untidy hair and not taken a bath for two days when I heard the news.

You know my brother gave me Ravi Shankar classical cd as a wedding gift. As if I will listen. Do you have Beyonce or Hanna Montana on your system?”

“I don’t keep such music on my laptop. We don’t like it.”

“Arre! So rude. We don’t like it matlab? Is he as picky as you or what? I think you too deserve to have your music collection replaced by my songs. Swish-swish swash”, she said making a sword like motion with her hand. And then she laughed heartily at her actions.

I made her read some of my songs. She claimed to like the words. “But how can I trust a girl with a taste in music such as yours?”

“I also listen to ‘super-intelligent’ music sometimes, okay? Never meet my brother. Both of you will gang-up and take my case…
Do you go to places to write songs?”

“Sometimes I walk, sometimes on my bed in messy clothes and unkempt hair and sometimes at the beach.”

That struck a nerve. She didn’t respond to me but just looked away, though she was still attempting to keep her smile. Was it my mention of the beach or was it the messy bed? Perhaps she longed for her carefree messy days…

The smile returned and she attacked me with an accusation.

“I saw you looking at my legs. I saw you so don’t deny.”

I couldn’t deny and she couldn’t wait for my acceptance or denial, or wait to read my eyes. Her husband had walked in. She hastily and formally introduced us and thanked me for letting her send the mail. Her husband looked displeased and walked with her to the table where the girl packed her laptop; a shiny new Mac that appeared to me an artificial though glossy entity; an indicator of something about her.

She packed her bag and checked the hem-line of her skirt. She probably wondered if I was looking at her legs. As she walked to the café counter to pay the bill she dabbed her palm on her hair and adjusted her top. I didn’t see her eyes again; those sunglasses were back to business.

Her husband walked out first. She opened the door and turned to face me while walking out. She smiled from behind those dark glasses. “Everything is fine”, that’s how I interpreted it. Like wanting to bridge two worlds, two different realities. Those glasses were very dark.

I put on the headphones and went back to Franz Schubert. Symphony No. 2: Andante in E flat major.

Submitted as an entry to Dell’s and IndiBlogger’s ‘Change is Easy’ Contest

Kartikey Sehgal

If the entire nation joins hands against corruption, then who is really corrupt?

Many (most) people become part of ‘movements’ to feel that they are ‘doing something with their life’. It gives them something to celebrate, something to ‘feel’; the word ‘emotion’ is a keyword.

Revolutions and ‘movements’ are important when people are bored. They want to be part of something important to give worth to their life. Money does not play that role. People realise that they don’t deserve their money and success and that they would come across as ‘normal’ if they removed their personality masks.

Movements maybe good for the society as they help suppress immediate large-scale dissent. By the act of accepting demands, governments come across as reasonable and improvable. People won’t have the time and energy after a movement to keep track of every development and it is possible for governments to get reprieves for certain actions. After all, people need to celebrate their victory, the ‘change’ or the ‘revolution’. However.

Emotions are transient, human life is limited.

Eventually, the truth about the hollowness of their actions strikes them. But, they don’t accept the truth. Accepting it would mean that what they considered as an important part of their life was wasteful. This would make them feel like idiots who are unable to comprehend their life. It would keep them in a doubt over their capability to make decisions. Hence they think that ‘things have not changed’ or ‘things are changing very slowly’. They make more demands and become aggressive in their proclamations for change and revolution. Their aggressiveness tries to hide every doubt they have over their life’s decisions. The shouting and posturing makes them feel that they are not themselves responsible for their unhappiness but that the enemy, in this case the government, is doing something to prevent happiness.

They win again. And celebrate again. This time with greater force. Then, once again, they are scared about their life. Will I be happy now?

Hyped revolutions and movements make the nation fearful and eventually cause greater unhappiness. If people accept their unhappiness, then the nation is fine; then the people know that there are other ways to look for a better life, like choosing instinct over greed in selection of education and jobs (unless greed is the positive motivating factor of life).

If people refuse to accept their unhappiness then the nation is headed for anarchy. There is no limit to peoples’ dissatisfaction, and these so called ‘movements’ give them a precedence to engage in further unrest.

Therefore, hyped revolutions and movements may cause anarchy. So what is the solution.

You need wise people and men of steel to lead the nation. Then there is no need for such movements. If people were smart enough to solve their own problems then they would solve them without needing leaders and representatives. They would be happy. The fact that they are not happy shows that they need strong leadership.

How different is the current movement from the violent ‘movement’ in Gujarat in 2002. Don’t look at the rights and the wrongs and remember that either community thought that they were fighting against ‘corruption’. What led to this major ‘movement’ was a thousand movements held every year, albeit on a smaller scale. This changed after 2002; there have been no riots (perhaps one) in the state. People themselves tick off any movements against the government, demonstrated best through the election results and not through the street-movements of the past.

That’s what’s required at the centre. People should celebrate the election of a strong leader. That’s where their win lies. Men should be proud to choose men. Right now, men don’t choose men and then cry and blame. Furthermore, they celebrate when the corrupt politicians—the lesser men—listen to some demand. This behaviour is not characteristic of the higher-males but of the second-raters.

Make men of honour and choose men of honour – should be the policy of this nation. That makes for a nation of honour.

Kartikey Sehgal

The modern man thinks that he is free because he can change between jobs; leave an organisation, join another. However, even slaves wanted to be transferred between masters. They didn’t want to sit idle. Slavery gave them food and security. They also compared notes. Who ate what and who got treated well.

What has actually changed is the perception of slavery. ‘I am not bound to any one company’. But you are. How are you going to otherwise survive and if you do, then how will you maintain your standard of living aka the faux perception of your real worth?

The difference between the former slave and the free slave is that of money.
Man is told that more money is good even at the cost of everything. It helps to get him the good life. A wife and two kids at least. That this ‘more’ is no guarantee of happiness and marital bliss and that it is no vanguard against cuckoldry and the increasing number of divorce cases is not told to him. Spend money on the divorce lawyer. After all if you didn’t have money how would you ensure that your wife doesn’t take away most of your money?

It is only through such slavery that most people highlight their mastery. After all, the few capitalists want to remain few. They also want a workforce. New talent would bring new competition for these businessmen and they would earn less. They use their money to influence you psychologically.

Hence media is used as a tool to highlight the good life. Earn money, wife, and then insure them. Housing loan, car loan, loan loan. You are never insured enough.

Man is not told to buck up and realise his potential. If and any. And of whatever quantity. Instead, he is bullied. How often have you heard this; “Hard work never killed a man”. Work, get sick, and then hire a good psychiatrist. Marital counselling. And men have to learn how to rear children. There are classes for that as well.

Money is used as a compensation for man’s slavery. He is shown the good life through discos, pubs and five-stars where the temptation is to feel free and to unwind. Dance aimlessly in a disco cramped with sweaty people. You are celebrating life. The purpose is to show off your wealth. That you can come here regularly. That you can sustain. And to sustain go back to work the next morning.

Your children deserve the best, the voice behind the television ad tells us. Really? Best as in not the best of parents but the best of toys, and clothes and all those things for which you’d have to forgo ambitions and work someplace you don’t want to. For that extra bit of smile on your child’s face.

Sacrifice, it is said, is the hallmark of a man. And relationship. And life.

And when you grow old, advertise this sacrifice to other men. Compare notes. It becomes a prestige issue. Who has killed himself more in this race.

But complain about it to your children and pass on the guilt. ‘You don’t realise how much we have sacrificed for you. If you love us, then forgo ___(insert your ‘real’ desire) and instead do ___ (insert socially acceptable role). “That’s how the world runs my son.”

How To Get Out Of This

As the ancient Indian scriptures told us (and Buddha popularised); realise that you are suffering. Realise the true state of affairs. If you can’t do the things you want to do, then realise that you are working solely for money. Don’t fall for the power/status visage. They’ll just make you comfortable and you’ll continue being a slave. True power and status comes from being able to do what you want to do and doing it well. Realise that many of the modern women you meet in pubs want you for your money (security). They don’t care a damn about your talents and your ‘true self’.
Most importantly. Try not to be scared.

Don’t be scared of knowing the true nature of women and of children. Don’t go for societal ideals. Question them. And if you decide to get out of the rut and follow your self, then don’t fall for scare-traps laid by weaker men and envious women who’ll try to dissuade you. ‘Women’ love a man who loves himself.

Once we realise, we devise. We make efforts, we do the best we can. And we stop slavery.

Kartikey Sehgal

Chin Chiari and his family lived in a village. One day, some English speaking ladies came to the village to talk to Chin Chiari’s father. He didn’t understand anything the ladies said and asked them to speak to Chin Chiari.

The ladies were very happy to learn that Chin Chiari spoke in English. They praised him and called him “cute” and then they pulled his cheek. Chin Chiari smiled and told them that he didn’t like make-up of any kind.

The ladies asked Chin Chiari to let his sister come with them to the city school. She could become a doctor or an engineer. She was wasting her time knitting and gardening and serving food to the men.

“She like plant. She take care of it”.

“Then she could come and study botany in the girls’ university”, the ladies told Chin Chiari.

He liked the idea and asked the ladies whom his sister would serve at the university.

“Nobody sweetheart. She will live like a queen and then one day become somebody like us”.

“Then I not sending my sister to city”.

He told them that his sister liked to serve and he will not take away her happiness from her.

The ladies told Chin Chiari that gardening and knitting and serving men is a secondary job and that a woman should not be a slave.

“I go to mountain and cut tree, chase animal and build home in rainy season. I superior to my sister”.

“There you go”, the ladies told Chin Chiari, “you are being sexist, so unfair to your sister”.

Chin Chiari told them, “My sister knit bed and take care of plant vegetable. She make new food and serve us. She superior to me”.

Chin Chiari continued talking. “My sister superior in her way. I superior in my way. You want to know more?”

The ladies told him knitting and gardening and cooking were menial jobs and even men could do them. There was nothing special about them.

“Sometime my sister chop wood and I make food. But my heart ache for mountain wood and her heart ache for plant”, Chin Chiari told them.

The ladies started talking between themselves and used words like “sexist” and “men are pigs”.

Chin Chiari went to his home and got a heavy and pointed wooden stick. He told the ladies, “There is wolf behind you. Take the weapon and fight him”.

The ladies shrieked and ran away while Chin Chiari took care of the wolf. Then his sister served him food and they ate under a tree.

Kartikey Sehgal

About the personal and cultural disintegration of a tribal village

There is a small tribal village in India. Malathi belongs to this village. The women here are happier than women in Delhi.

After puberty, Malathi was inducted into the village dormitory where she learnt weaving, knitting and other arts from the elder women and men. She also learnt the art of love-making through practice. By the time she was out of the dormitory, she was sexually and socially confident. Unlike the city girls, Malathi and her friends did not face ‘growing-up problems’ or ‘attitudinal disorders’ that lead you to the psychologist.

Sure, she did not study like the city girl. Many city girls read about USA and China and Russia. They attend ballet dancing classes and sing beautifully. Then they fall in love and depend and sometimes cut their wrists. Or they grow serious, laugh a little and are praised by the society for their “focus”.

“She is such a focussed girl. You must be like her”

The tribal girls, instead, focussed on happiness. They were natural, as God or aatman or nothingness made them. Whenever they felt that they were losing this natural state of being, they let out their pent-up psychological tensions till they were satisfied.

One evening, Malathi’s friend was feeling gloomy. Malathi asked her to sing and dance in the moonlight. At some distance, a young sociologist observed the girls and wrote in his diary that the tribals needed civilization.

Moving on; the tribals were thrilled when condoms were introduced in their society. The procedure of using this balloon-like thing was better and easier than their traditional methods. New tradition! Progress. Happiness. Much Joy.

“Promiscuity”, noted the young sociologist who would soon be a leading writer.

Of course, the tribals needed progress and new tools and new money. But all that did not dictate their happiness. In the coming sentences, the government will take away their land and relocate them and some religious groups will force their religion on them and spoil the tribal life. But let it be known that happiness-essential to live-was a characteristic of these tribals. And now I proceed.

Malathi and others refused the new religion. They were tortured. Some tribal men and women attacked the preachers. They were branded as savages. Promiscuous savages. Some were arrested, some ran away from police. And some women were raped. Etc… The regular.

Malathi’s male friend, one of her lovers in the dormitory, who had happily welcomed the introduction of condoms, went to Delhi/Mumbai for job and money. His land was taken away by police/government/religion.

Without education, he struggled. He had lived like a king in his village. Here he was dying. Before his death, he scribbled in his book… “tribal society progress… same life plus education. Preserve….”

Some other tribal men grew accustomed to city life. They saw that women here, even the rich ones, were treated like money. There was no dormitory here for them to relax. Instead, there were open brothels. The tribal men laughed. And perhaps they grew mad.

Something major happened to Malathi in the village. She got raped. Rapes didn’t happen in tribal socities. Very few. But Malathi didn’t mind. She coped well. That sex education!

The boy who raped her cried when he was told about his crime. This is his story:

The village dormitory was shut down by the police/preachers/government and instead of the dormitory, the boy was provided religious lessons. Women are bad, or they are inferior. Man of the house. Sex is sin. God is great. Tch..tch… very confusing to him. Then he went to town to look for a job. Here he was told that he is ST/SC/Adivasi/ABCD. He laughed at the official’s “stories” and was, therefore, suitably thrashed by him. With no money for hospital care, he went to a village where all women covered their head with dupattas or burqas when they saw a stranger amidst them. Until one woman tore a part of her dress and covered his wounds and gave him water and gave him food.

Stupid woman. Didn’t see her husband watching her. Didn’t realize that what she tore was not just the sleeve but a large part of her blouse. The boy smiled at the husband and told him that that nothing is shameful and that all humans were born equally… the husband pulled the wife inside the hut. Three days later he divorced her by saying, “I divorce you” multiplied by three.

The boy went back to the village. He was told that he suffered because he had forsaken God. The boy was hurt, angry, confused…he was a boy after all. Didn’t you wonder why I have been calling him “boy”?

With rising psychological tensions and insecurities, he raped Malathi just to prove to himself that he was a man and that he existed.

The village elders, in consultation with Malathi, forgave him because he was really suffering… the boy met Malathi, cried and apologised, promised to get back on track…the elders reminded the boy of his tribal education and the pride of the village… Malathi forgave the boy… The Women Rights Association stormed into the village, met Malathi and told her that men are pigs… the police arrested the boy and tortured him… the boy hung himself on a tree.

The preachers photographed the boy hanging from the tree. They pointed at him. This is what will happen to you if you don’t listen to God.

The young sociologist, now older, came to the village with some journalists.

No food, no electricity.
These tribals are against development.
Women are promiscuous.
No culture.
They have always been unhappy…

Boom … boom … as soon as he heard the last sentence, he threw the smuggled bombs at the sociologist…  “Eminent sociologist killed by tribal terrorist”

As he was being dragged away, he called out to Malathi.

“Daughter, try not to pick arms, but continue our struggle. Remember our happy times. Get education and write about it. We were happy once daughter. I love you”