Those days.... Thoughts on a synagogue

A letter by my dear 'akhot' Ranjana....thoughts to be shared with many, felt by few....worth cherishing...Thanks Ranjana...Miss those days....

I remember being confused.

I remember holding Shulamith's palm in my hand as I stepped into Judah Hyam Synagogue, fresh from watching Mr. and Mrs. Iyer. Fresh also, from remembering The Pianist.

And fresh from hearing encores of the Ha Tikavh in my head. In my voice. All the time. And fresh from some (often critiqued) Tagorean ideas on Bramhism, the practice of No God.

Yes, I do remember being confused.

Can one see how many religions had just collided and collapsed and phoenixed inside my head as I stepped into Judah Hyam Synagogue?

I shall not describe what it looks like, because I only know what it looks like to me. I remember its star, the dark hall and the sounds of Ose Shalom. I remember sprinkling toffees on a newly blessed Jewish-Sikh couple. I remember intense personal debates, emotional conversations with a dear friend, sitting on the dark steps of the library. I remember being able to step inside the interiors to meet darling people. I remember the sunset colored Friday evenings where the sunset used to spread inside of me.

And then confusion. Desperation. Who was I? Where was I? Someone asked me if I believed in God.

I realized much later that I did believe in God, but not really in what we take to be religion.

Judah Hyam Synagogue let me be. Often it became the geography that allowed me to suspend other geographies of other struggles and gave me the space (physiographical and emotional) to not try to be anyone.

Or maybe… to learn to be someone.

MAJANI LIFE.....

My mind was wrought with skepticism and contemplations.....It's so very natural for someone leaving for another town to pursue her career. So, here I was in Ahmedabad, coming to a city in Gujarat from 'Oh-the-beautiful-capital' Delhi. They call Ahmedabad The Walled City, throwing me into surreal realms of Jerusalem, but when I entered the city, I didn't see walls but traffic criss-crossing my auto rickshaw from all angles possible. My journey from the railway station wasn't really pleasant, perhaps because the moment we (dad accompanied me) reached Ellisbridge we witnessed a terrible accident. Phew! What a welcome!

But initial experiences cannot be generalized. I love this city, with all its flaws, the traffic jams at Ashram road , fanatic Rath yatras on Ram Navami, the crowded Manik chowk, pirated CD's sold on hand-pulled carts, or the extensive use of the word 'chokas' (meaning definitely)

One may wonder why I loved the city when the grandeur of Delhi should have pulled me back to my so -called human existence! Perhaps, I know why I love the city, it is a secret I'm bound to. There's a magic in the city, which I'm clueless about, which reaffirms my belief in myself. Maybe I cannot delve too much into this magic, for if I do, the mere essence is lost, the flavor is irrecoverable. It should remain unknown, for the unknown Is indeed MAGICAL....

“WHERE THE MIND IS WITH FEAR…”

Armed forces are marching ahead, treading a terrain they are sure to occupy. And what do you see-Men and women in uniform fighting for their country?

Pause to ponder on the following scenes:-

Scene 1: A 15 year old Sudanese boy carrying an AK-47 assault rifle;

Scene 2: Irrespective of gender, children as young as nine years being conscripted (mostly by coercion) by the LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam);

Scene 3: A 12 year old Palestinian girl, dressed in school uniform, vowing to be a suicide bomber.

Seeing in one’s mind’s eyes and conjuring up image of the above three events (which might be occuring simultaneously in the three corners of the world even while you are reading this write-up), it can be unmistakably presumed that this article is founded upon one of the most contentious yet a deeply emotional subject ruling not only the study but the practice of international relations today- expatriate recruitment of children to serve with armed groups and native armies, popularly addressed as the issue of child soldiers.

Children as young as 5 years old frame around 10% of the world's warriors. More than 300,000 underage soldiers participate in armed conflict in over 41 countries around the around the globe, from Afghanistan to Sudan, according to United Nations' reports.[1] Asia ranks second to Africa among the continents with most child combatants. 150,000 can be found in Africa and more than 75,000 in Asia. Another 500,000 children serve in armed forces not currently at war. Armed opposition groups within Iraq are also known to use child soldiers. In 1998, the Kurdish Workers Party (PKK) was believed to have 3,000 child soldiers in its forces, more than 10 percent of which were girls. Myanmar ranks first with most number of child soldiers. It is in Turkey, though, where most child soldiers in Europe are found.

Serving as indispensable fractions of the uniformed militia, camouflaged insurgents to the very recent trend of suicide bombers, children have served in all the forms of a combat and a ‘patriot’. They fought in the American Revolution, the Civil War, and in both world wars, not only stealing essentials from the enemies but also stealing their vitality- their childhood.

WHY CHILD SOLDIERS? - PERSUASION AND BEYOND

In Uganda, researchers discovered an armed 5-year-old, the youngest ever recorded. For people like us who sit in our cozy rooms, following everyday headlines and acts of terrorism, it would barely cross our mind to imagine an armed kid on the borders with a gun strongly held against his heart.

Psychological as much as the problem seems to be, such treatment meted out to children as young as 5 years old, can even hamper emotional growth. For such young combatants, fervor and blind rage favors to conceal reason.

Perhaps any common notional mind will come to the conclusion that child soldiering brings with it distinct inherent advantages, aptly why these kids are preferred over adults. The economy of means they survive on is the dominant factor. They consume modest victuals, wear itsy-bitsy clothes, and are as ignorant and gullible as any other child of their age. This gives the officials enough space to manipulate this vulnerability to their advantage. It is projected that expenses on child militia is less than half than what is used up on their adult counter-parts. Moreover, children eagerly enroll armed opposition groups to avoid harassments from the government forces. This is evident in the way the ranks of Tamil militant groups in Sri Lanka (LTTE) and Kurdish rebel groups in Turkey (especially PKK) have been swelled by child recruits due to state repression.

A vital question which looms one’s mind here is of procurement- how do these armed officials get hold of these kids? Many times, these kids are children of the same officials who work in these armed forces, often forcing their children to join the army. Initially doing low-grade jobs, these children are then fed with the importance of holding a gun as means of both defense and offense. In countries like Sri Lanka, Mynamar and other adjoining areas, kidnappings and press-ganging are popular methods used. Afesa in Ethiopia, is the system of picking up orphans and displaced street-children by roaming security forces recruits.

Spying is another major task at hand for these ‘juvenile terrorists’ distant from direct warfare actions, These children also act as messengers, sentries, porters, servants, cooks, and are very frequently employed to lay and clear landmines, and sent out on suicide missions. Young girls, besides performing above functions, act as sex slaves. In Sierra Lione, David M. Rosen, author of Armies of the Young aptly says “rebel child soldiers were more privileged and more powerful than sex slaves,” and “the most powerful and violent girls were not sex slaves but major participants in fighting and terrorism” [2]

Many factors are prevalent for child soldiering to be used as a way of transforming the scenario of terrorism, providing it the perfect smokescreen to breed terrorism. Kids from a young age are fed with glorification of war, acquaintance to hostility, leading their psychological foundation subject to desensitization. They become ideal figures of zombies- apathetic and indifferent to emotional bondings. War is glorified and a ‘cult of martyrdom’ created to lure children on the grounds of 'national liberation', 'social reform' or 'defending religion'. The audacity and unawareness of gullible children are maneuvered to deploy them on the most perilous errands like arranging and clearing landmines, handling toxic weapons and light weapons like AK-47s or M-16s

CONCLUDING CONTEMPLATIONS

The first American soldier to die on the battle grounds of Afghanistan during the war was killed by a fourteen year old soldier. This perhaps indicates the urgency to replace these displaced youngsters on the right path. This, although is perceived as a Herculean task, a significant step has been taken by the UNO. The Optional Protocol to the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (Children’s Convention) bans participation of under-18s in armed conflicts, represents a significant advance in the protection of children’s rights.

In my lexicon, international relations has little to do with qualifications and a lot to do with skill with people. These conflicts and issues is making the world a more dangerous place to live. Together with these initiatives, it is essential to adopt alternative strategies to provide education and all-round development to them. Colossal physical strength isn’t what we require. The implications of a child on the battlefield demand an action-planned collective effort from the citizens of all warring sides and armed forces.

Silence is golden but for how long? Should we let the children kill, holding a gun rather than a pencil? Should these kids play with landmines instead of dolls and model cars? Should we allow such acts of plain horror to dominate the international scenario? And at the end of it all, do we really want the young to kill? Again, let’s pause to ponder…….


This article appeared in the The Analyst, AJK Mass Communication Research Centre’s quarterly newsletter (August 2006)

[1] Singer, P.W., Tragic Challenge of Child Soldiers: USA Today, March 30, 2005
[2] Rosen, D.M., Armies of the Young: Child Soldiers in War and Terrorism. New
Brunswick, New Jersey and London: Rutgers University Press [86-87:2005]

Cleaning out my closet....

Honesty and trust are THE most important things in any relationship. If you can't trust your partner, if you cannot rely on your partner, then you will always be divided and apart from the one person who should be standing beside you against the world.

Stunned, I lay on the floor and gathered my faculties as his muffled queries drifted into my consciousness, and it hit me that there was a spark in our friendship, a glint which told my heart its not the case of just 'another' friendship maturing to heights.

My nonchalant response was an attempt on my part to convince myself, falsely though. I wasn't someone prone to strange and frequent catastrophes, but then I realized that hiding the truth only prolonged inevitable discovery, so I introduced him to my life of calamity. It's tempting to create a flawless façade when striving to capture the attention and affection of the opposite sex. Problems arise, however, when our veneer loses its shiny luster and the dull truth surfaces with a resounding pop into an idyllic dream world.

A common mistake of many couples is to become too close, too fast, because it's easier. Barbie and Ken meet and fall in love, only to discover later that the fabulous blister card descriptions left out a few important details, and I would have followed suit had I not fallen for a man with more wisdom than the average, run-of-the-mill Ken doll.

I took the plunge into feeling close to him over talks on the phone, sending me reeling into euphoric daydreams of romantic speeches about undeclared love, and most times I put on the brakes, sending us back to the "just friends" level.

Through my struggle earlier, I had learned to take my problems to God first and had learnt that She alone fulfills my needs and desires. But, the arrangement was noticing a pardigm shift. During this time of frustrating delay, our friendship grew, but most importantly, I drew close to him. I needed his strength for patience, contentment and wisdom to keep from employing manipulation tactics. I never would have chosen him to wait, because it would have been easier and more instantly gratifying to become a couple, but at what cost?

I have finally arrived at a point where I realized that despite the turmoil I experienced, I had gained far more by not being with him because it forced me to SEEK him.

Pause to ponder:

Love, when we meet it, comes in many guises. But nevertheless when we do meet love, we come to a crossroad. It does not have to be a real crossroad with a stop light , pedestrian lanes, and heavy traffic. It could be at an office, a park, a train station, a house. The landscape differs but the truths behind it remain the same. Love, though it may seem hard to think of at first, is a choice...to jump on that imaginary train, to enter the door, to hold a hand. We stand at our crossing carrying nothing more than our faith, our hopes, our trust, and that human capacity to selflessly give without counting the cost. It's not always rosy but we can choose to look beyond the cloudy skies, weather the storm. Love is just around the corner...if we're patient enough to wait and to search.

Operation Life.....Dissecting it!!

Because my grief seems quiet and apart,
Think not for such a reason it is less.
True sorrow makes a silence in the heart,
Joy has its friends but grief, its loneliness

The wound that tears does too readily confess.
It can be mended by fortune or by art.
But there are woes no medicine can dress,
For there are wounds that from the spirit start.

So do not wonder that I do not weep,
Or say my anguish is too little shown.
There is a quiet here, there is a sleep,
There is a peace that I’ve made my own.

So many wounds are bandaged within,
Healing them always takes a slow turn.
As much as I try, internally and without,
My heart bleeds, no more can I learn.

What do I crave for? What do I want?
What do I long for? What have I got?
Queries to explain, answers to be found,
Mysteries to unravel, thats what life's about!!

TO MEET HIM WAS WRITTEN IN MY STARS….

Walking on a busy roadside pavement one day, below the blazing sun along with the warm loo winds breezing through my dry tresses, I noticed a streaming crowd across the street. Under the shade of the huge banyan tree with its roots drooping down and touching the earth, multitude of people had congregated around it. I struggled my way to cut through the raging traffic and managed to cross the road just to see an uncommon site in a city like Delhi.

Sitting right in front of me was a short man with flabby arms, a huge paunch and glittering eyes - the typical Indian astrologer.

I managed to wrestle my way through the swarm of throbbing masses and showed him my palms. Holding it in his rough hands, he scrutinized them carefully and looked up to me. His appearance intimidated me.

The astrologer was wearing a saffron-dyed bulky spherical turban round his baldhead, while a small tail of hair made its way out in the rear. He was dressed in a kurta and a dhoti. His clothing was frayed and soiled and his hair unkempt. His face was smeared with ash and on his forehead a vertical vermilion mark had been applied, closer to the shape of an exclamation mark. He sat in a squatting position, with his knees drawn up and heels touching the hams. During conversations, his teeth would flash through his black moustaches. His hands moved frantically to assert his point of view while his wobbly head nodded in agreement.

Conducting business in makeshift locations, his equipment was appropriately mobile. Hanging on the tree, right behind him, was a huge chart of zodiacal constellations. In the front, a white sheet had been spread which contained his professional yet unsophisticated tools- a few shells and coins, bundles of paper and cloth with gibberish written all over, a pack of cards with astronomical signs and planets painted on them, maps and diagrams of heavenly bodies, a caged-parrot and a box containing the earnings of the day.

Charging me a hefty amount of Rs.100 for a five-minute talk on my impending future, I went away mumbling a few obscenities. Looking back, I saw him digging his short nose into the astrological books to gain perception and find out answers for his other curious and prospective customers.