Sometimes life blossoms in the most unlikely places. Sometimes, actually in most cases, life does not originate with the birth of the person. I think it comes and goes in spurts, in the form of those fleeting moments that pass as quickly as they come by. And then you are just left with those memories.
And so, as i said, my rendevouz with life occured in a cemetry, with no witnesses but myself and ofcourse, the dead. She was there, right beside the huge banyan tree, small, but noticeable; well atleast to my eyes. For me, the banyan tree was like a refuge, with its open, ever-embracing arms - its cool soothing shade, with just a few streaks of warm sunlight, that were permitted to penetrate through the thick foliage of leaves. I often sat beneath it, to collect my thoughts, and let them wander, to some place far and distant, with no constraints of time, nothing to care for...
And that was when my gaze fell upon her, new to this world and her ways, inexperienced, unassuming, and ofcourse, a very subtle shade of pink. She was not very conspicuous, but that was because she blended so well in the surroudings, another traveller like me, just sitting down for a bit, to see the world and all her people rushing by, afraid to stop, not because they would be left behind, but afraid of their loneliness, of all those thoughts that tend to furtively seep in, when you have nothing to do, yet you know that by moving on, you would not accomplish anymore than you already have, as long as you keep the why's and how's submerged beneath the confident surface.
As i looked down at her, i knew, we would be travelling together from now on, and in the gentle breeze, she gradually bent towards me, as if hesitantly offering her hand of friendship, and in that instant, I knew we understood each other. As i look back on this moment, I realise there was no witness to this special bond, and yet, there was the banyan tree. Its over-bearing long trunks peering right over us, its very presence infusing reality into the commencement of this relationship, and for once, the silence that surrounded us, bridged us, strengthening, rather than mitigating the lapse of communication.
We would meet every sunday, under the watchful gaze of the banyan tree, and time froze in her presence and yet, it felt like i was leading two different lives; constantly waging a war with time, on all those sundays, trying to grab as much time as possible from its clutches. The second time I had gone to meet her, I took a single rose with me. I obviously had not bought it. Of what use was a rose for our non-verbal relationship. I had found it lying along the road side. Somehow it caught my attention due to the strong smell and i decided to take it to the banyan.
And one fine day, all of a sudden, the roots of our relation were shaken up; the banyan tree was struck down, leaving me the entire responsibility of taking care of her. Actually, that was not my foremost concern. The banyan tree was more than just a witness, it was like a place of solace, there was something about its comforting cool ground, a comfort that couldnot be afforded by any emollient. It was as if the roots would reach out to me, and absorb all my problems, and the shade would somehow cleanse me, it was refreshing and rejuvenating. I would then stand up to leave after a few hours, ready to start the next week.
With the loss of the banyan tree, I was afraid, the essence of our relationship would be uprooted too. There was a huge void left, where those long arms bound us together, we were wrapped in oblivion then.
As if this were not enough, the scorching sunlight, began to burn her, it was symbolic of the harsh reality lashing out at us, and thats when i noticed, how far we had come. Somehow i never noticed how quickly she had blossomed, and grown out of it too. Now her youth was a thing of the past, leaving behind its shadows. Her beauty now came across to me as serene and yet there was a certain impish touch to it, that gleam which shun from her, as we thought of this relationship and how it began, hidden from society's eyes.
Gradually I became aware of the impending fork in the road. I knew i had to let her go, to where ever it was she was going. I would eventually go there too, but somehow the journey seemed so long without her, that I didn't think I could make it. Was this love? I didn't know. I didn't want to know. So at the end of it, I too had to move on with memories, like all others. Why do all good things feel ephemeral? I knew the answers, but somehow, in the absence of the banyan tree, these very answers failed to soothe me. And the silence now ,only wedged between us, i implored her to say something, but i knew that words would only tarnish the beauty of our relationship, reducing it to something that could only be seen and heard, never felt. So I retreated back into silence. When I could not bear the silence anymore, I stopped meeting her, though I knew she would always be waiting for me, no matter how much time i took to understand. I too began to move ahead like the rest of them. But life was never the same. and i did not want to accept this. Some where along the way, i had started making demands, started to expect that what i dreamt would definitely take form, turning a blind eye to the fact that my life lay in each of those moments i spent with her.
As time took its toll on me as well, i decided to go back there, one last time. I think i needed to reassure myself that she was no longer there, but there was this small nagging hope that she would still be there, waiting for me, with no questions, as always. And this time, I bought a single rose. I donot know why i did it. But it was on an impulse.
As i reached the cemetry, i saw that things had not changed a bit, atleast the things that didnot matter. There was still that empty disconcerting spot, reminiscent of the fact that I felt the same. nothing could possibly fill the void. There was no point in even trying. I held the rose tightly, as if that was the only thread of connection between the present and the past. The same thread, began to pull me towards the vacant spot. I decided that the longer I spent, the harder it would be leave the place with its memories. I left the rose on the ground and quickly left without a second glance.
On the way back, I decided to take a different route this time, after all, there were no longer any shackles now, I was my own master and servant. I sat down by the river side and splashed some water on my face. As i did this, the fragarance of the rose i had just left behind, emanated from my hands. Irrespective of the number of ablutions, the fragrance still clung to my hands.
And it was then that the realisation dawned on me that, i had no control over certain things in life, i may not even have control over where i eventually end up, our paths may not have converged, our final destinations may never coincide, but what i did have a control over, was what i felt for her. i still did not know what love was, but my feelings for her were eternal, love is just a name we give, may be for convinience sake. But those feelings only deepened with the passage of time, they gradually made me return to where life actually came into being (for me). I have lost the rose, may be for ever, she could be picked up by someone else now, and thereby get passed on from one to another, but the fragrance still clung to my hands. My feelings did arise with her, the banyan, the breeze and the silence, bearing witness to this, but it was not something that was given to me, it was something that arose within and will remain a part of me till i perish. She is a memory, but what i feel for her, continues to grow with me. I have stopped searching for her, have stopped yearning for her.
I have learnt to live those moments again, though the intermittent gaps between them keeps growing, i know that what is within me, may continue to exist after i have gone....somewhere a banyan still breathes, with its protective arms still awaiting my visit, the gentle breeze slowly causes her to bend, slight, ever so slight, that i must rush, rush to her offer of friendship.....

sex

"sex".... not a particularly catchy title for a blog isnt it? atleast not in the positive connotation ;)
its generally looked upon, as something hushed up within the four walls of a bedroom, in most traditional indian families. but, the world changes, people change, what used to be, never is.
and then came something condemnable, something not spoken of in any august occasion, something elders say is a shame to the inherent goodness in any man.....prostitution.

Prostitutes - a living example of the fact that there are two sides to a story, the other side of the "happily ever after"... rather "happily never after". I think prostitutes are one of the few classes of people looked upon differently by different people. To an old man, who after faithfully serving his wife for thirty years is now on his death bed, prostitution is one of those sins, rather the only sin that completely demolishes a soul, denigrates it to such an extent, that no amount of penitence can bring back your dignity. To a middle aged married man, who appears to head a perfectly happy family, the prostitute would be an option, probably the last, but definitely an option, that would fulfil his needs, without asundering his family. It is like a one time down payment, quickly accomplished and forgotten. To the philosophers and writers, prostitutes have always been an enigma, their very presence serves to taint the divinity of sex, and hence, very often their living, has centered many discussions, controversies on what sex really is, if it is solely meant to be purposeful or something more?

Prostitutes unfortunately fall in that grey area no one wants to fray into. Its easier to segregate life and everyone in it, into white and black isnt it? No questions asked and hence none remain unanswered.
All I want to attempt to do right now is to just take a peep into that grey area, not to see the rights and wrongs of it, but the undercurrent of life that prevails in them. I have read a few articles, and heard several debates about the spiritual aspect of sex - the ultimate pleasure that comes out of the unison of two souls. Being a scientist, to me it is awe-inspiring that such a simple physical act, can generate "life", in one of its simplest, yet most amazing forms- a single cell, the zygote! How the zygote turns into one of the most complex organisms in the entire animal kingdom is yet another story. But this generation of life, in as little time as a few milliseconds, continues to intrigue me, as it is the only life-generating natural processes man goes through in his lifecycle. Rather not just man, any animal. The creation of new life, life that is going to persist, prevail and perpetuate. The capabilities of the human mind, never fail to surprise me, they seem to be rising with every passing day, but in my opinion, nothing can equal the creation of new life, cells capable of self-replication, blooming into a fully developed mature individual. And then one day, you look back, and you say.. ahh did i make that?!! whatever be the quality of the final product, a certain amount of pride is always part of the resultant emotion isnt it? And so it is not surprising that, such a physical act, that adds on a new dimension to life, should be made use of as a trade, something that can be bought and sold. It is reduced to a mere commodity, that often comes cheap, depending on the circumstances.
It definitely leaves a bitter feeling isnt it. In fact the mere thought of this invokes such a stinging bitterness, that am convinced, it cannot escape those very much involved in perpetrating the act. Sometimes I think, all of us have it in us to commit mistakes, culpable, severely punishable, and it boils down to just how much each of us are pushed beyond the edge, when we loose all discretion, and just do the things that seem to serve as a vent for our frustrations and depressions. always living to regret it. sometimes the things that push us, are expectations, sometimes its our own dreams, sometimes its the realisation that some else is going to make it faster than you, and sometimes its just the need to live, to get enough money to feed yourself, so that you can wake up the next day, and be a part of the living world, that unfortunately continues to move on, irrespective of whether you move with it or not.
I have seldom heard people mention this, but prostitution isnt a decision, it isnt a choice, well even if it is, its a very unbalanced choice between living and dying, how you choose to earn a living, is obviously secondary to the fact that you actually want to live.
And when buyers exist, the commodity never ceases to perish. What gives rise to these buyers is an entirely different issue, but what matters is they exist and hence the demand. Its like a circle, no beginning and no end. But society is definitely a part of their existence. To most people, sex(apart from the spiritual aspect of it) is a source of a euphoric intoxicating pleasure. But when the same sex, serves to be a reason for some ones existence, it is condemned. I am quite convinced this argument has logical fallacies.
Its so much more easier to condemn the black sheep than accept them as part of the herd and move on, isnt it?
Yes these are people who have fallen between the cracks, they are trampled, their weaknesses made use of, and opportunites that could have been helpful to them, ceased.
i wonder what society has to say?