Feudalism: Outdated or is it?

In response to a Facebook post by a friend/ex-colleague/thinker-philosopher. 


Hmm... wonderfully written, but it makes me ponder,
The feudal mentality seems never to falter,
The lord beckons and sudama hastens,
Revelling in whatever his benefactor sanctions,
The happy man is happy,
But what his aspirations, what reality?
When in Bengaluru he faced revile,
Did he then his dreams in dusty corner file?
Is it satisfaction or contentment or resignation or a poor comparison?
What does he provide as happiness' definition?

The feudal prince has the luxury of time to think, to strum, to write,
Another privileged then reads and decries,
Even as Mohanna and like stand ready
To serve these 'knowers' with an ear, a smile, pakodas and tea.


______________________________
In reponse to a response


Kumar Arunachal I ripped myself too. Write more. Write thus. Your writings provoke. Be provocative. Make others think through.

As I was rereading your post and I have read it a few times, my bai got me tea that I had begun brewing and then got on a call and forgot about as I logged back into Facebook to respond to some comment and then saw your post again and it got me thinking and writing.

She is happy too, my kaam wali bai, so she says. I am the privileged you refer to. The thinking pseudo-liberal classicism deriding classist practitioner. I have been following the multilple class and caste based racist reports and your post struck me, it stabbed me too, provoked me to self-examination.

So thank YOU. Keep writing. :)

Kumar Arunachal also please do not think it was shallow. It is deep. It is a honest self-exploration. I do think you were writing about Mohanna as much as your own journey of feudal expectations and feudal realities. You were being critical, but honest and sensitive.

I just feel at times, and this is also because perhaps I am spending a lot of time talking to maids and helpers amd dealing with classicist, racist mentalities at home and even service providers that I am pondering upon

What is happiness for someone never allowed to dream?
When the dreams were tailored, they would have very rigid seams?
When the material was coarse, the cutting rough?
When ragged edges were ruthlessly hidden by stitches tough?
When the cut was functional, not complimentary?
What then was one's imagination of beauty?
When just survival is both a challenge and a necessity,
What then one's idea of development versus duty?

It is something I have been trying to grapple with and felt I could share with you here, since you seem to be grappling with the other side of the coin.

What when has aplenty
What challenge then remains to be?
What when success is the platform
What act then can one perform?
What when family history
Makes one's jaw drop with glory and gory,
When repelled one is still bound
That the ties strengthen even as they confound.
What when one looks around and sees
More hope in those who should have felt misery.
What when knows not what cause has one to rebel or revel
What then is the fate of the individual?

The problem of the current well-off
Of both aspiration and deprivation complaints they are rid of.

- 27 August 2019.
- Yes these were Facebook replies, but I liked these so thought to record them here as well :)

Link to Facebook Post that triggered all this https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10157623256819571&id=834854570 

For Your Own Good

There is a girl. She was wed as a child into a much richer household that promised to take care of her as their own. She was reluctant. So was her guardian, but he chose to marry her off, hoping for the best. Her consent was not sought. As she demurred quietly and then loudly, her new family said they would ask her consent again, later when she was older, wiser, knew them enough (they hoped that she loved them enough) to take the decision (they hoped it was the 'right' one and she would choose them). They knew she was an asset to them. She would be an asset to anyone. She had many riches untapped, unexplored. She would be the envy of the world as a gem in their crown. They looked forward to polishing her. 

They paid for her education and her food. She created some resources for herself, but it was not enough to sustain her. They allowed her to stay on in her home town (not that she was going to be a willing resident of theirs if they had pushed, anyway). They also paid for guards to protect her. Well they said protect, she said restrict. You get the point. She grew into a slightly difficult person with more contradictions and complexities than most.

She had a rental. It was more like a hovel to many others, but to her it was her kingdom. She had to share it with others and she cleverly ousted a few from the place supposedly to make more room for herself. The family heard of this and protested. Said she was unwilling to settle in the HUGE mansion they had saying she wanted a small place and then obviously was showing off her aspirations for a larger place. Why did she not join them? Together they could be happy. She again objected. She said she was sure they were not bad, but she was not sure that they were good for her.

She would rather severe ties if they needed her to stay in the family mansion. She was happy with her hovel. She would carry their name, but she wanted to lead her own life. Without their interference.

She had friends. Some friends the family did not like and they curtailed her friendships. She accepted the limitations with some reluctance. She was not sure the family was not right. But she resented being told what to do.

Periodically, there were talks between her and the family. They insisted she belonged with them in their space, she resisted the inclusion. She termed it intrusion. She had ambitions. The family said they could help her fulfill them. She wanted, oh how she yearned! But she was afraid of being stripped of her identity. She saw the family as good to many. But she also saw how they treated the disobedient within them. The ones with contrary opinions who voiced them vociferously. She had so many, many such contrary opinions. And she did not want to be beaten up. She came to think 'help' was a 'bribe' to get her to accept the family. She was not sure the family would stay that good to her once she became theirs wholly. She wanted to retain her semi-independence.

Now the family was getting impatient. They had waited years. They had expended resources on her. They had shown how tolerant they were, how broadminded. But she just was not seeing. She refused to see.

They decided she had to be made to see. They took over her rental agreement. They took her passport away. They blocked her bank accounts. They took away her cell phone. They ensured she had no resource she could tap into. They locked her down and then told her you are ours. We have done so much for you, high time you learnt your place. We will do well by you, but you need to live by our terms. Learn to accept. Rejoice. 

The story ends here for now. It is for each of us to decide if the family or the girl are in the wrong or in the right. What would you do if you were that girl? What would have been your advise to the family?

What if the girl's name were Kashmir? Does your answer change? 

— Written on 11 August 2019.

— My post on 'At Crossroads' led to some debate on FB in public and much more on private chats and messages. My post was also tagged as 'against community standards'. :) Some threatening messages of how I need to lose my Indian citizenship and perhaps I am a Pakistani at heart also followed. All on messenger or DMs rather than on the public posts.

It led me to question why is it that we do not want to hear a contrary opinion? I reread How to Get Power on TED Ideas and the idea of story stuck me anew. This story had already been brewing in my mind as a metaphor. But now I decided to not just let it roam the empty hallways in my mind and pen it down. Hence this post. 

Painting-Poesy #6 At Crossroads

The past few days I have tried, 

As I failed, I have cried. 

I tried to understand the rejoice, 

I failed to understand the choice.

The majority celebrates, I am told,

A minority is all that objects, does not let go.

I have heard this often in my life:

When being raped is passed off as a duty of a wife, 

When being beaten up toughens up a child

When being domesticated is better for a creature of the wild.

A woman's desires are suppressed, the majority is happy,

An artist's dreams are repressed, the majority is happy,

A state's existence wiped out, the majority is happy,

Democracy bows to authority, the majority is happy. 

Dissent has been vilified, 

Questions have been nullified , 

Joys have danced on fears, 

There has been little sympathy for tears. 

Consent: how do we practice it? 

Does 'right' supercede it? 

Do to 'power' we accede it? 

Can only the 'majority' exercise it? 

We have often spoken up, spoken against, 

It may take time but dialogue is the way, 

Said peace leaders when they held sway. 

Even their dissenters they allowed space. 

But new times are here, 

It is aggression that does steer, 

A contrary voice is shouted down, 

All that is venerated is one with the crown. 

I have tried, tried really hard

To understand the facts and the farce

But I fail to see how secrecy

And muffling voices can be a democracy.

The 'majority' opinion counts, no doubt,

But do we then contrary opinions just oust?

#Kashmir #India #Democracy #Consent

- Written on 9 August 2019.

- For many days the idea of democracy as seen through the lens of what has been happening with J&K and Article 370 has been on my mind as I grappled to understand what was unfolding and how this could come to be. 

As I stated in a tweet: I have faith in India even when I have little belief in the political leadership.

But around the world as more and more such incidents occur, the idea of democracy needs revisiting.

Posted first on Facebook and Instagram on 9 August 2019.

Taleem Kabul (कबूल)

Taleem Kabul

No excuse. How can there be?
Children cannot be made terrorism's casualty.
One can argue, debate, hold a contrary position,
But violence cannot, should not, be a solution.

'No matter what we will be educated'
Says a post of a student frustrated
By attacks in his country
Yet won over by a child's piety
As the child wounded clutches his book
One can only with wonder and hope at the child look.

Another has posted a child's face dripping with blood,
Anger, pity, worry all through one's being flood.
Yet another says a friend has died
What words of comfort can suffice?

In a class I heard recently this question
'What is there to know?'
There is misery and terror, so much emotion
But is this worth knowing? A resounding NO.

Children know this today unfortunately,
We fail as adults to protect them from tragedy,
We fail to create a constructive reality
We fail as a society.

But perhaps in education lies hope,
Perhaps the next generation will not like us grope,
Perhaps they will know to not fight wars,
Perhaps they will know what is truly a just way and cause.

Perhaps they will live, thrive
And not just survive,
Perhaps they will help each other.
I hope their world will be much better.

- Written on 1 July 2019.
- Was in Kabul, Afghanistan when a bomb attack occurred on 1 July. Nearby schools were not spared. The images were graphic and heartwrenching.

Painting-Poesy #5

The inside of an ambulance smells different each time
The rides all do not have the same vibe.
The reasons are varied too
One may be coming from the hospital or towards it riding to.

The ride maybe short, just a road away,
The ride may be long with many vehicles to overtake,
The ride may have companions encouraging
Or the mood may be foul, any optimism dissuading.

The ambulance itself is a different shell
Housing all kinds of equipment to stem the death knell
Or housing just a stretcher and bench
With nothing to mask worry's stench.

The varied types of stretchers
The varied lifting devices, usually made of leathers,
The many ways to pull, to push, to shift,
So much to learn. Pray! why was this not our school's gift?

The windows or lack of do not register
Your own opinions to such extremes dance and quiver
And in the next bump they disappear,
Of life's vagaries the ride makes you an acceptor.

-Written on 21 July 2019.
- July has been a month of ambulance rides for mom. In fact, 2019 has seen us in and out of ambulances and hospitals more times than I can count.