माँ का आशीर्वाद ...

अगर हाथी उड़ सकता है तो बेटा भी ब्लॉग लिख सकता है...

उम्मीद पर दुनिया कायम है...

मात मातेश्वरी द्वारा सुन्दर रंग भरा उपहार...

बेटे के जन्मदिन के उपलक्ष्य में...

माँ की बेटे को भेंट... 

“What Happened to the Reptiles”

This is a very simple story. This story fascinated me because the plot resembles frame by frame with the history of recent past as well as the contemporary world.

In a village many people lived. People with different skin colours, speaking several languages and eating large variety of vegetarian and non vegetarian foods. One day these villagers had a frenzy of communal riots because a mosque or a temple was burnt at some very far off place.

Sounds a true story from recent times?

A little boy Prem runs away from the village for safety with a vow for not to returning to the madness where people fight in the name of religion. He reached to another village Pambupatti where an elder of the village nursed him with love.

(Refugees with love?)

This elder then narrated a fable and urged Prem to return back to his village with the simple yet important message learnt from this story.

There were only reptiles living in the Pambupatti jungle ruled by an autocratic leader crocodile named Makara.  

Makara wanted only crocodiles to live in the jungle. So he ordered one by one all other reptiles to leave the jungle. All animals of the jungle were afraid of Makara and could not oppose his wish.

(Do we call this ethnic cleansing?)

First Makara asked tortoises to leave. According to him once the tortoises are gone there would be more food in the jungle. He was right there was more food for everyone after the tortoises left. But soon, the jungle started stinking with the rotting smell of fruits and animals which were the food of tortoises.

He next targeted snakes. Snakes were eating rats & frogs. With snakes gone, the population of rats & frogs increased manifold and they were eating everything and jumping here and there.

When lizards were given marching orders the frog population got another boost. Lizards were eating insects. Now frogs had all these insects to eat and grew in size. The frogs even ate the eggs of crocodiles.

(So, this is called tasting your own medicine?)

There was complete chaos in the jungle. Finally a small crocodile mustered courage and revolted against Makara. All the reptiles then were recalled back to the jungle.

The interesting character of this fable is the autocratic ruler crocodile Makara. All the animals thought he was important. He is conducting democratic style monthly meetings where everyone remains in attendance. ‘When someone is so strong and powerful, you know, it is difficult not to go along with what he says or does’ argues the author.

(This is true of the democracies of most countries?)

Makara was self conscious of his looks and image. He would polish his teeth with red flower to put a sparkle before addressing the animals in the meeting. All animals wait for him in silence to attend the meetings.

(Do we call this the ‘selfie’ culture?)

He would start his address with usual ‘Brothers and Sisters’ and thereafter roar “I have decided that we don’t need tortoises! I have told them not to come today. Brothers and Sisters, can you tell me why we don’t like the tortoise? He justifies his actions while humiliating the tortoises by saying that ‘tortoises carry their houses on their back but do lizards carry the tree on their back? He would humiliate tortoises by calling them slow and the sarcastically allowing them one week to move out of jungle.

(Talking with full of sarcasm and showing your opponent very low and down-graded?)

Makara asks questions but answers himself. He would stop questioning abruptly by shouting ‘No BUTS’, ‘No I think’ and silences his audience. No one dared to disagree with him. I

(Leaders commonly utter such speeches where they ask questions and answer themselves.)

When Makara removed snakes he insulted them by calling them ‘slimy, weird and making funny noises’. Lizards were thrown out because according to Makara’s remarks ‘they change colours, green one minute and red the next. They cannot be trusted.’

(This is exactly how we see the ethnic cleansing.)

Makara sells a big dream to fellow crocodiles. ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we, the crocodiles, could have the WHOLE jungle for ourselves? No one but us?’

(Fascism?)

Although, all the crocodiles are afraid of Makara but due to fear they start clapping and cheering to please the mighty. The story gives a hope that even a small crocodile challenges and everyone looks in fear but this time Makara looked nervous

(As support from common people weans away a leader get crest fallen?)

Both echological system and the society are very fragile and interdependent on its smallest constituents. Any artificial change to this brings havoc.

(Yet we play with fire?)

This story is narrated by Zai Whitaker. Zahida daughter of Conservationist Zafar and Landscape designer Laeeq Futehali and married to Rom Whitaker later known as Zai Whitaker was born in 1954, the only thing common between me and her is our year of birth. Dr.Salim Ali, Bird Man of India, was her grand-uncle. Shama, the author of Tara Lane and Reaching Bombay Central, is her sister. And Nikhil, a wildlife management expert, and Samir, a conservation biologist, are her sons.

She has written almost a dozen books for children and young readers. Her story “What Happened to the Reptiles”, with its message of communal harmony, is being used by several human rights groups to discuss this important issue with youngsters.

Now read the full story:

What happened to the Reptiles? :

YOU may not believe this story. But I can tell you it is true. Because I have been to Pambupatti, a village on the edge of the jungle. It is on a cliff and the vast forest stretches below like a mossy green carpet. There are many kinds of people in the village — dark, fair, tall, short. They speak many languages. Some eat meat, some don’t. Some pray in a small temple at the edge of the forest. Others pray in a mosque some miles away.

My name is Prem and I live many hundred miles away from Pambupatti. I had heard about the village. But I’d never been there. Then last year, something terrible happened. The people of my own village went mad. Far, far away in a place they have never even been to, a temple or mosque had been burnt down and they went mad. They started fighting with one another. Some had to run away in the middle of the night. And at three in the morning, as I lay in my house, half awake to the sounds of hate and violence, there was a fire. Many houses were burnt down in the fire. One of them was mine.

I managed to grab a few clothes, some coins, my little Ganesh statue and I ran! I ran for a day and a night, resting whenever my legs would not carry me any further. I jumped on to a train, then on a bus. No tickets. Never mind, everyone seemed to be running. Finally, I found myself in Pambupatti and I saw some villagers gathered near a well. I ran to them and before I could say a thing I fainted.

When I opened my eyes, I saw an old man with white hair, white beard and shining black eyes bending over me. For the next few days, he looked after me putting food in my mouth and bringing me sweet, cool water from the stream. He rubbed my feet gently and made the pain go away. Neighbours, strangers — everyone came to visit me.

“Tell me, Grandfather,” I said to him one day. “I have never seen people like the villagers here! In my village, people fight with those who pray to another god. But here … this seems a very strange place!”

“Prem,” replied the old man, “I will tell you the story of Pambupatti. You can take this story back to your village. Maybe it will heal some of its wounds and dry some of its sores.”

“Oh, Grandfather,” I said anxiously, “don’t say that. What I have seen in my village makes me burn with shame. I never, never want to go back there.”

“But that’s exactly why you must go back,” he said, in a soft voice. I kept quiet. I didn’t want to argue with him and I wanted to hear his story.

It happened a long, long time ago, he began. So long ago that there were no schools and no teachers. Children lived in caves with their parents and helped them to collect fruit and berries from the forest. At that time, there were no tigers or panthers or elephants in Pambupatti forest. There were only reptiles, many kinds of reptiles. Now you know what reptiles are. Snakes, crocodiles, turtles, lizards. And you know that a reptile has scales on its body and it lays eggs. Every month, the reptiles of Pambupatti had a big meeting. Everyone came — the pretty excited snakes, the slow thoughtful tortoises, the clever quick lizards and the moody crocodiles, grumpy because they were out of water. The president of these meetings was Makara, the biggest crocodile of the forest. All the animals thought he was very important. When someone is strong and powerful, you know, it is difficult not to go along with what he says or does.

Now, one day, a strange thing happened. It was a week before one of the monthly meetings. Makara sent a letter to the tortoises, asking them not to come to the meeting. Ahistay, the big old star tortoise with black and yellow pictures on his shell, was very angry.

“What does this mean?” he shouted. “How dare they!” But not one of the tortoises had the courage to attend the meeting— they were so few, the others so many!

Before the meeting, the giant Makara polished his teeth with the red flowers of the tree by the river till they sparkled. Everyone was waiting for him at the meeting place.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began. All the reptiles, even the beautiful king cobras, stopped talking. Makara continued his speech. “I have decided that we don’t need the tortoises! I have told them not to come today. Brothers and sisters, can you tell me why we don’t like the tortoises?”

The reptiles looked this way and that. They felt very uncomfortable. The snakes hissed anxiously. The lizards wriggled their tails. The crocodiles opened their jaws even wider.

“But…” said one little lizard.

“No BUTS!” shouted Makara. There was silence.

“I think …” said a baby crocodile.

“No I THINKS!” screamed Makara, so loudly that the fruit in the tree above him rained down. After that, no one had the courage to speak.

Makara cleared his throat and showed a few more teeth. “Well,” he said, “I will tell you why we don’t like the tortoises. They are so slow! So stupid! They even carry their houses on their backs. Whoever heard of such a stupid thing? Now you lizards, you live in trees. Would you ever carry a TREE on your back? Would you?”

Small, frightened voices answered together, “No, we wouldn’t. But…”

“No BUTS! Now, listen. I have told the tortoises that they will have to move out of Pambupatti. When they go, we will have more of everything. More food, more water, more space. I want them out by tomorrow. But because they are such slowcoaches, I have given them one week. By next Tuesday we won’t have a single tortoise left in this jungle!”

And by the following Tuesday, they were all gone. At first the animals were sad, but then they realised that what Makara had said was true. There was more food, more water and more space for them! But soon, a strange smell began to fill the forest. It was the smell of rot — rotting fruit on the ground, rotting animals in the river. This was what the tortoises used to eat. And even Makara had to go about holding his nose with his big claws.

A month passed by and then the same thing happened all over again. But this time, it was the snakes. Makara wrote them one of his letters. They were to leave the forest and since they could move fast, they had to go in a day!

Naga, the head of the snakes, pleaded for more time, but Makara would not give in. At the meeting, he silenced the others — the lizards and crocodiles — with even louder shouts and threats. “Snakes are slimy,” he said, “and they make funny noises. Who wants such weird creatures around?” Again, no one dared to disagree with Makara, and so the snakes left.

For a while, the animals of the forest were happy because they had been a little afraid of the snakes. You never knew when one of them might lose his temper and spit some venom at you! And it took only a little poison to kill you, after all.

A few weeks passed and the animals of the forest looked tired and fed up. The RATS! Now that there were no snakes to eat them, the rats had taken over the forest. And they were having a wonderful time. They were everywhere, on the trees, in the grass, in the bushes, on the ground. They ate up the eggs of the lizards and crocodiles. There would be no babies that year. Makara’s own nest of eggs had been chewed up.

Then Makara had a great idea. He called a meeting of the crocodiles and said, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we, the crocodiles, could have the WHOLE jungle for ourselves? No one but us? These lizards, now, just look at them! They have the strangest habits and some of them even change colour! How can we trust someone who is green one minute, red the next? Let’s get rid of them.”

By now, the crocodiles were really scared of Makara. So they clapped and cheered. Makara was pleased. The lizards left the forest, some with their babies on their backs.

But now, when life should have been wonderful for the crocodiles of Pambupatti, all kinds of awful things began to happen. To begin with, the rats grew bolder by the day. They became so fearless that they jumped and turned somersaults on the crocodiles’ backs! And there were too many frogs. They seemed to be growing larger and there was no one to eat them but the crocodiles. These huge frogs began to eat the baby crocodiles. And the insects! Now that the lizards were gone, there were millions of them, growing bigger and nastier by the day.

It was a terrible time for the crocodiles. They couldn’t understand what had happened to their happy forest home. Then one day, a squeaky little voice piped up at one of their meetings, “We know why the forest has gone crazy, don’t we?”

Suddenly everyone was silent. They looked at Makara fearfully, but to their surprise, he looked nervous. He shook a rat off his tail and asked the small crocodile. “Why, little fellow?” “It all began with the tort—”

“Okay, okay”, said Makara. “There’s no need to talk so much.” Makara didn’t want to admit he was wrong, but it didn’t matter. All the crocodiles knew now that he was not all that strong or powerful. Or always right. They sent urgent messages all over the place for the tortoises, snakes and lizards to come back to Pambupatti. And what a great day it was when these creatures came back, family after family, with their little ones on their backs or straggling behind, shouting at their parents to wait for them!

In two months, the forest was back to normal. The rats disappeared and the insects and the smell and the world finally went back to its familiar old self.

“Well, Prem,” said the old man, “have you fallen asleep? Did my story send you off to dreamland?”

I shook my head. “No, Grandfather, I was just thinking. Maybe it’s time I went back to my own village, because I have a story to tell them. But what if they don’t listen to me?”

“We can only keep at it, my son — tell these stories again and again to more and more people. Some of them may laugh at you or say your stories are not true. But they may remember them one day and understand that each of us has a place in this strange, funny world of ours.”

Zai Whitaker

How pure is pure?..Shades of grey

How pure is pure?

Shades of Grey

– a small change here and there makes all the difference

This is my space. I will share my experiences about the world I perceive through my limited senses and abilities. There may be a bit of truth and a bit of lie.

In this world nothing is in black or white, there are shades of Grey.

Take a selfie with a high resolution camera. You would see a beautiful face. Enlarge this photo on your computer screen. Keep enlarging it till you see a dot on the screen and suddenly you may stop recognizing yourself. Try reducing the size and you would reach to a stage when the same beautiful photo would vanish into a small dot on the screen.

Look through a telescope, the galaxies with huge distances running in billions of light years. A very tiny subatomic particle can be seen through an electron microscope. How big is big and how small is small is beyond any one’s perceivable imagination. We can only understand the sizes that can be compared with other objects and rest is only zeroes in numerator or denominator.

Our eyes see the sunlight as white but prism refracts and disperses this beam of light into several colours. However, what we see with our eyes is not the same for other animals. The dog would see a few greys, blues and yellows. Bulls are color-blind and they charge the red cape because it is moving, not because it is red. Owls and other nocturnal animals can see at night when it is too dark for us. Bees and butterflies can see colors that we can't see. Their range of color vision extends into the ultraviolet. A pit viper sees by feeling the heat in an object - thermal vision.

God had few building blocks when he (or she) was playing with these tiny toys. These were Proton & Electrons in equal numbers and in lesser or greater quantity of Neutrons. The Neutron were actually Protons but worn out by losing some mass converted into energy. God kept one protons & one electron and created Hydrogen and we call it Protium. Added one Neutron to it and Deuterium or heavy hydrogen is created. With another additional Neutron it became Tritium and so on. Whenever a proton was added, a new element was made. Different combinations of these sub-atomic particles give a variety of elements and compounds. Graphite, coal and diamond are all different forms of carbon. The atomic bondings make all the difference. So simple, yet so much complicated is the world around us.

Pure gold is a very soft metal. It is difficult to make ornaments from pure gold and therefore a small part of silver or other metals are added to it. Iron with carbon makes steel.

Silicon is a major component in the building material as well as the basis of all current computer processors. A transistor, with ability to switch on and off at will need a semi-conductor, a substance with resistance between that of a conductor and an insulator. It needs a wide variety of “dopants” to finely adjust their resistance, as needed. The Silicon is first processed into pure form and then some impurity is added as per the need.

How evolution brought a vast variety of living organism on this earth is amazing. Every living organism is different. The difference in the features and characteristics of is due to some small change in the DNA, the genetic material.

Nothing is right or wrong. A thing perceived right in some context may turn out to be wrong when looked through a different perspective. A little truth concealed or little lie added would make a different story altogether.

There is nothing like pure white or pure black but there are infinite shades of grey.

Shades of nature

अब चाहे सर फूटे या माथा

इस मुल्क को आज़ाद हुए 75 साल हो गए. मैं भी अब तक 69 वसंत देख चुका हूँ. फिर भी कुछ लोगों को आज़ादी के नारे लगाते हुए आज भी सुना जा सकता है.

हमें चाहिए आज़ादी…

हाँ करने की आज़ादी…

ना करने की आज़ादी…

हम ले के रहेंगे आज़ादी…

इस से आज़ादी, उस से आज़ादी, सब से आज़ादी. और बोलने की आज़ादी?

ऑफिस में बोलो तो बॉस नाराज़. वाट्सअप ग्रुप में बोलो तो सीधे डिलीट बटन दबा देतें हैं. ट्वीटर में बोलो तो ट्रोल पीछे पड़ जाते हैं. दोस्तों से बोलो तो वो सिर्फ संवेदना में सर हिला देते हैं या फिर शून्य में ताकते रहते हैं.

पुराने समय में ऋषि मुनि अपना घर बार छोड़ कर सीधे हिमालय की पर्वत श्रृंखला का रुख कर लेते थे. पेड़ों से बात करो या गिलहरी को ज्ञान दो, पर कोई जवाब नहीं. हिमालय की घाटियों में जोर जोर से चीख कर अपनी ही प्रतिध्वनि सुनते रहो. ध्यान में समाधि लगा कर प्रभु का स्मरण करो. परन्तु मन में बैठे बंदरों द्वारा प्रश्न पूछे जाने पर कि भाई 'संसार से भागे फिरते हो ..?' और जवाब ना दे पाने पर इधर उधर बगलें झांकों.

थक हार कर हिमालय पर भी कुछ चेले चपाटे तो ढूंढने ही पड़ते हैं. हम बोलें, ज्ञान बघारें तो कोई तो सुने. बिना श्रोताओं की वाह या आह सुने तो कवि के मुंह से कविता भी नहीं फूटती है और फूटती भी है तो ये लाइनें 'रंजिश ही सही, दिल ही दुखाने के लिए आ..'

घर पर बोलो तो? फिर वही सवाल? ये कैसा सवाल है? घर भी बोला जाता है? फिर आंखे नींची कर के कहते हैं

'तुम वो ही बात क्यों पूछते हो जो बताने के काबिल नहीं है?'  सुना है फैज़ ने अपने ही घर में अपनी ही बीबी की आंख में आंख डाल कर 'बोल कि लब आज़ाद हैं तेरे, बोल जो कुछ कहना है कह ले' कहने की हिमाकत की थी. तौबा तौबा, नासमझी की भी हद होती है. खुदा उनको जन्नत नसीब करें.

सोचा सबसे आसान तरीका है कि खुद से ही सवाल पूछ कर खुद ही जवाब दे दूँ. मुझको मन ही मन बड़बड़ाता हुआ देख कर पड़ोसियों ने कानाफूसी शुरू कर दी 'लो अब ये काका भी सठिया गया है.' वैसे भी शायद खुद से भी संवाद करना बहुत मुश्किल काम है.

फिर सोचा चलो ब्लॉग लिखते हैं. एक तो मुफ्त में है और दूसरा ब्लॉग पढ़ कर समझने वालों कि संख्या बहुत कम है. मुझे जानने वाले तो मेरा ब्लॉग पढ़ेंगे नहीं. आखिर कोई कितना झेले? कोई 'सॉरी गलती से मिस्टेक हो गया टाइप' अगर झांसे में आ भी गया तो थोड़ी सी उम्मीद है कि मेरे शब्दों के जाल उसे उलझा कर रख पाएं. कोई नहीं तो मैं और मेरा खुदा तो है ही. जिसका कोई नहीं उसका तो खुदा होता है.

ब्लॉग भी एक प्रकार का संप्रदाय है. गीता का पाठ या फेसबुक छोड़ कर मेरे ब्लॉग को पढ़ने वाली प्रजाति भक्तों की श्रेणी में ही आएगी. कहते हैं ज्ञान मार्ग से भी बेहतर है भक्ति मार्ग. जो एक बार इस ब्लॉग मार्ग में फंस जायेगा उसकी हालत उस पूंछ कटे बन्दर जैसी ही होगी जो संकोचवश या शर्म के मारे इसी ब्लॉग मार्ग को अपनाने का औचित्य समझाते रहेंगे. और इस तरह से अपनी दुकान चल निकलेगी. वैसे ही जैसे उस सूरमा भोपाली की दुकान, जिसमें दास्तानगोही के प्रेमी फुर्सत में जुट जातें हैं. फिर वही डायलॉग सुनाई देगा 'अरे मियां आप लोगों को कोई और काम हे के नईं, दिन भर बेठे रेते हो और पचीस झूठ हमसे बुलवाते हो, चलो खां काम करो, अरे जाओ भैया जबरन झूमते रेते हो.'

मेरे बड़े भाई नीरज काफी समय से ब्लॉग लेखन में हैं. मैंने उनका ब्लॉग देखा है, पढ़ा नहीं. क्योंकि शायरी का अलफ बे भी मुझे नहीं आता. मेरी छोटी बहन लता हया एक मशहूर शायरा हैं, उनका भी एक ब्लॉग है. लेकिन चूँकि हया मंच पर 'बोलती' हैं इसलिए ब्लॉग लिखने में दिलचस्पी कम दिखाती हैं. मेरा ब्लॉग लेखन से बस इतना ही परिचय है.

कुछ मित्रों ने सलाह दी 'भाई हमको ही मत समझाओ और बहुत जनता है, ब्लॉग लिखो', 'भाई फेसबुक को बख्श दो, व्हाट्स ऍप को जीने दो, ब्लॉग लिखो' या 'तुम बोलते हुए नहीं लिखते हुए बहुत अच्छे दिखते हो, ब्लॉग लिखो.'

तो फिर हमने सोच लिया 'अब चाहे सर फूटे या माथा यारा मैंने तो हाँ कर दी, मैंने ब्लॉग की शुरुआत कर दी, मैंने हँस कर हामी भर दी'

लिखने को कुछ सम-सामयिक विषय होंगे. कुछ छोटी मोटी कहानियों या कविताओं की समीक्षाएं होंगी जो मैं  मुख्यत: बच्चों की पाठ्य पुस्तकों से चुनूंगा. ये कुछ आसान सी कहानियाँ और कवितायें अब मुझे थोड़ी बहुत समझ आने लगी हैं. ये रचनाएँ आज के सन्दर्भ में सरलता से अति महत्वपूर्ण सन्देश देती हैं.

कुछ बातें इतिहास की भी होंगी. इतिहास इसलिए क्योंकि जब मेरी माताश्री अपने इतिहास में एम ऐ की परीक्षा की तैयारी करती थीं तब मैं उनको रटने में सहायता करता था. जिस प्रकार अभिमन्यु ने महाभारत काल में अपनी माता की कोख में चक्रव्यूह की अधूरी जानकारी प्राप्त की थी ठीक उसी प्रकार मुझे भी इतिहास का कुछ अल्प ज्ञान मिला. आज भी प्रतिदिन वही इतिहास दोहराया जा रहा है. सही इतिहास को तोड़ मरोड़ कर सत्य से परे रख कर कुतर्क के साथ समाज में पेश किया जा रहा है. इतिहास की सही, सरल और साक्ष्यपूर्ण विवेचना और विश्लेषण आज शायद बहुत आवश्यक है.

धर्म और राजनीति में मैं एक बेहद पिछड़ा हुआ छात्र हूँ इसलिए कुछ सीधे और कुछ टेढ़े प्रश्न खड़े करता रहूँगा. धर्म और राजनीति के समागम से जो काढ़ा उपलब्ध होता है उसका असर समाज को तोड़ने में बहुत गंभीर भूमिका निभा रहा है. इसको अलग थलग किया जाना नितांत आवश्यक है.

आज के परिपेक्ष्य में ये सभी समीक्षाएं या लेख अपनी सार्थकता सिद्ध करने का प्रयास करेंगे, ऐसी मेरी आशा है. कुछ बातें दिल को छुएंगी तो कुछ बातें गुस्सा भी दिला सकती हैं. बात अपनी अपनी, ख्याल अपना अपना.