NET: Nonchalant Exercise of Tyranny

While people enjoy their summer travelling or learning new things, we waste ours mugging up old trivia and facts to sit for the summer attempt of NET. NET, a word that sends a chill down a scholar’s spine, is an entrance test that willing candidates must pass, to be able to profess in India. Calling the test “difficult” would simply be misleading the reader. If the absurdity of the whole ordeal was as simple as “difficult” one could deal with it. It is absurd, almost ludicrous.

Often, the night before the test is spent contemplating the foretold misery of the next day. I spent mine questioning the choices I made in life which led to that point. It was simultaneously- soul, identity, confidence and life-crushing. I woke up in despair, did the everyday rituals of brushing, bathing and having breakfast and then finally booked a cab to the centre of this examination, which, much to my dismay, but not surprise, was located in a place in Delhi called Nangloi, completely alien and unfamiliar to me as to most others, I am sure.

The drive was long and when I almost reached, I realised, the street leading to the centre was narrower than the bicycle lanes on highways. I alighted from my cab and began to snake my way through in the scorching Delhi heat. A house was located right opposite, precisely three paces away from the centre. The basement of which was being used to submit our bags and belongings. Unable to fathom the intricacies of this setup, I thoughtlessly submitted my bag, took out my admit card, proof of identification and pen and joined the queue for the security check. The board that holds the NET exam takes their security check very seriously, often preposterously. 

                       


Standing in queue, I spotted a bird on a tree and my eyes started following its trail. My thoughts metamorphosed with the actions of the bird and while I was busy locating the appropriate size of twigs to build a nest, I heard an unpleasant voice near me, “Madame ID card, oh Madame ID card”, bewildered, I emptied my hands into hers. Pointing to my watch, she said, “What is this? You’re not allowed to wear a watch inside the examination hall.” I took off my watch, put it aside and started moving forward when she commanded, “Don’t rush, and untie your hair.” I said, “You can’t be serious.” She looked at me with utter disgust and said, “But I am. Let down your hair.” I untied my long, thigh-length, dense hair on an unbearably hot Delhi morning and moved forward. Two other women sent me to a room for the last step of security check. Confused, and wondering if I was about to enter an exam hall or the Pentagon, I kept on walking and reached a dark room.                                                        

I entered the door to the room which stood ajar. A visibly-angry and insolent woman said, “take off your dupatta.” For a second, I didn’t quite comprehend. I asked, “what?”. Quite used to the ‘what?’ she just responded with a nod. I took off my dupatta, she touched me around my neck, pressed my bosoms, to check for hidden chits or the firmness, I couldn’t tell. By now, quite immune to this crude public humiliation and encroachment of personal space, I left as the next girl entered. My eyes met hers, probably communicated the ridicule that was to follow, and then, awkwardly separated. A couple of moments later, I heard the same command, “take off your dupatta”, the subsequent ‘what?’, possibly the nod, followed by silence and then a deafening smack. Startled, I looked back and saw the woman’s face red with anger and her palm resting on her left cheek, while, the girl bolted out the door with fiery eyes and walked into the examination hall. I turned around, grinned and finally entered the examination hall with an inexplicable sense of sadistic pleasure.

Something old...

Possession. Not of people but of inanimate things. We all possess a million things since the time we are born up till the time we die. We use, over use, discard and forget. Sometimes buy, never use and then forget. But we never think about what happened to those things or try to dig into their side of the story. This reminds me of the staple autobiography grammar exercises that introduced us to the autobiography of a rupee or a railway platform. Those were like the Johny-Johny's of autobiographies, every one had read them at a certain point in life. They were among the first's to give us an insight into the perspectives of things.

All of us have felt this strange sort of pleasure in unintentionally finding a note in some old book, or even an old book lost for years, a symbolic currency, an old piece of cloth, or a vehicle that we once rode and all those things that were so dear. It some how stimulates immense joy. It is like meeting an old friend that you have been loyal to for long but had to part ways or like a lover that time and space took away from you. It is never about the object that reminds you of an older time, a simpler time and then leads you into an abyss of thought, more thought, a chain of thoughts that begin with the irrelevant thing but soon jumps to How you were then ? What were you doing in life all those years ago ? but about people. People you love or once loved and looking at it reminds you again of how the memories associated with those people are still fresh in your mind and you have completely washed away all the negativity while not even trying to do it. It all comes down to the fact that the times that people generally remember or ever wish to remember are the happy ones. All sad memories are dependent on both time and space and eventually fade. Like Prophet Mohammad said, "reconciliation is the biggest charity" not only to others but to your own selves.

Coming back to the value-less, memory-rich findings. All things that you use from the laptop, to the mobile phone, even to a diary that once was the only "hidden-treasure" you possessed or a pen given by someone you love/d, share a story. They have a story that we share with them. They are constantly a part of our whole. Each used eraser reminds me of a sketch that I once made and clothes well they just remind me that I once did fit in them.  ;) I love the idea of ruins. No wonder the whole world is after antiques which are both historically and culturally loaded. 

The monuments(can't help it) are also the biggest example of the same fact. They remind us of the stories of the ones who owned it and left them for us to make our own stories in them. Have you ever come across a tree that had a very thick bark, thick enough to bar you from being able to hug it ?
I am sure you have. Have you ever thought about all the history that it must have witnessed. In fact it must have seen an undivided India, a tree that is in Pakistan right now could have been planted in India or summers that weren't so hot and winters that didn't lock you inside. Not yet ? Now do, Think about it's memory bank and all the silences that it has maintained. Such is the beauty of old objects and ruins, they are beautiful with all their faded colors and blunt edges. In all their deformities they are still loved an are always dear.

Unwilling Enemies

India and Pakistan were two flowers of the same plant. One plucked and planted on a different land, surprisingly enough what grows is nothing but the same plant again. What was the point ?

 I am an Indian. That's my nationality. I am not an Indian only because I was born in the geographical region called India but also because this has been fed to me since I was a child. Everywhere around me be it at home, school, college; the identity of my nation has been fed to my mind. The idea of being an Indian does not come alone. It brings along the idea of being the arch enemies of Pakistan. People always define Pakistan as the other. Be it cricket matches (which, by the way, are no less than wars between the two countries) or politics or even boundaries for that matter. Indo-Pak border is not like any other. It is breathing patriotism, instead of the winds there is patriotism blowing everywhere, with songs, flags and what not, constantly trying really hard to demarcate the region, establish the fact that this is India and that on the other side, a few meters away is Pakistan. I wonder how did we become enemies in about a few months time (not to forget we all got "influenced" like they wanted, so we acted like they wanted) enemies enough to breed the hatred in all generations to come. In spite of all this, I could never recognize Pakistan as the 'other'. Aren't we one ?

Are we not a whole ? The way I see India is never without Pakistan. When I look at the political map of our country and see Pakistan as a different one, all I feel is regret. Regret of having lost something so indispensable and impersonal that I wish we had not.

Think about the places, the monuments, the markets that we will, most probably, never be able to visit. All we will see of Pakistan is what media has to show and what we have watched in films and Zingadi (the channel). Not all of us will be fortunate enough to get a first hand, personal account, telling details of how are the people, the places, the streets, the air, the men ;) in Pakistan. The TRP ratings of Zindagi are enough evidence of the amount of "hatred" Indians have for Pakistanis. The division has not only taken away a piece of land and what it has to offer, but also, a culture all together. While watching Zindagi for the first time, I wondered why do people not talk like that in India, I would have loved to talk like that. That's when it struck me, the loss of a culture all together, It ranges from the clothes they wear, language they speak, the television they produce and every other man made thing possible. But what they couldn't divide and remains immovable is the air we breathe, the rivers that comes through, the mountains we share, the feelings of many others like me in both countries who detest such political demarcations  and everything natural that was beyond their power to divide.

When one stands on a mountain top or maybe looks down from a plane flying high up in the sky, one realizes how feeble, in existent  and irrelevant are these boundaries in the eyes of the creator, who still sees them all as one, a large piece of land he created and nothing more.