UDTA PUNJAB YA DUBDA PUNJAB


                       

                         

" Udta Punjab,"- a movie I felt compelled to see for various reasons....the first being that I was a Punjabi , the second that I had left Punjab about ten years back and was anxious to know the true picture as of today; the third and most important being that I had lived forty precious years of my life surrounded and affected by this escalating disease of chemical dependence. I had lost relatives, friends, patients, some dead, some alive, to this ever growing menace. Few fortunate ones had fought their inner demons, overcome their addictions and live clean today, saving others whenever the occasion arises. It is these individuals in whom our hope lies. It is these people who have known the horror of having walked that path, who best understand how alcoholism and drugs erode at their capacity to deal with this affliction. They always need the support of family and society to stay on the straight path and of course their own WILLINGNESS to stay clean.

During childhood we were away from Punjab being from an army background. When we visited our grandparents, I remember there being a single opium addict in the village-like most other villages too (called an 'amli') who was ostracized by everyone and died an early death. Nobody mourned him for there was no sympathy for those who sunk into such ways. Even then people had problems, frustrations or faced life's vagaries but did not look for solutions through chemical dependence .Today a teetotaler is scoffed at as a misfit in society. He is a loner today.

In the early eighties as President Lioness Club, Jalandhar I would organize seminars , visit de-addiction centers, give talks about alcoholism and drug addiction and even worked with drug and smack addicts. My children were very young then, barely five and eight years of age but I always took them along. Often, my club members and others would criticize me for this. They disapproved of children knowing about such matters and exposing them to such knowledge, not realizing that seeds need to be sown early for impressions on young minds to take root. Today those very families rue having lost brilliant and promising young boys beyond recognition, through addictions. Many daughters too have gone the way that earlier tempted men and boys mostly.

While working for Helpage India I realized how neglected our senior citizens living in villages, were. Most of the males in each family had gone abroad and the ones left behind fell victims to drugs because of easy money .The old parents were left to not only fend for themselves but were also burdened by the addict and the associated damage to the family fabric. We would sometimes even get requests from them to post their letters or phone their relatives as they themselves were unable to do so.

 This movie has projected the horrors of the situation with all its ramifications of not only ruining lives of individuals but the country ( I'd say the world) as well. The moral fiber of politicians, police and even performers in the entertainment sector has sunk to the lowest rung and is eating into the social fabric. Our artists and singers should be held accountable for their conduct and the ill effect their lifestyles and songs have on young minds. It has thrown up many questions about the police-drugs and politicians nexus openly in their faces with great courage and grit. It is now for the common man to carry the repair work forward from here.

It has also raised some very relevant and vital questions and as mentioned by someone called Khushwant Singh on FB, why is it that the Sikh peasantry is caught in this quagmire more than the Hindu trading class. Is it because the desire to try the forbidden is kicking back in the form of taking to other addictions because smoking is prohibited in Sikhism? Actually all addictions are forbidden-why is it focused only on smoking? Another reason perhaps is the easy money relatives back in India receive from those living and working their butts off in foreign lands. The false image of prosperity and boisterous living is pushing more and more people into debts piling to gigantic proportions, luring them to earning through foul but easier means.  Following the herd is another reason, perhaps. Those Sikhs who have moved out of Punjab are not only recognized for their hard work, and adaptability to their adoptive homeland but are at some of the highest posts all over the world.


  There is no end to the situations which might push one into this hell. What one has to do is think of solutions.De-addiction centers, Alcoholics  Anonymous and spiritual teachers are doing their bit but a concerted public movement and uprising is required to stem the rot. I shed a few tears during the movie for the ugly reality of my homeland; for Punjab and other similar places which are in danger of drowning in this flood of degradation and disaster. If each family takes this situation up as a personal battle we can still tilt the balance. I have saved some tears of joy for that day.

In memory of my mother and for all caregivers whose dear ones have suffered from Alzheimer's Disease.




LOSING YOU

I cannot recall when it really started arising

between us a misty curtain settled slowly

as  the lines that separated our worlds

grew further and further apart

while we lost you bit by bit

there never again came a time

when we could call it a day

bringing you back except in fragments ,

when you slip focus for seconds and then regain

I hang on to the delicate thread of the moment

trying to soak up what you have to offer

with you on the border, you on the brink,

on the brim, on the rim of shattered shards

as you suddenly fade into thin air.

Although a long time ago, it had taken you away

at times it’s really tough seeing your vacant stare

into a space where the present exists not

and you ask me , “Do you have a Daddy?”

And I say, “Mom, he passed away last year.”

“ Hush! child ,what if he was to hear?”

And from dry eyes I shed many a silent tear

 

Today you mouth strange words and thoughts

but I pause not to correct you

for no meaning it can wrought.

Since you forget to remember

I too remember to forget

as I remember for you

so you don’t have to.

Nor feel that you asked me

the same question again and again

as I answer it again and again.

Just as I, as a child, asked

the same questions time and again

but you tired not of giving

the same answers again and again.

 

I am happiest when I see

wonder in your eyes

for the pall on your memory has not swallowed

your fine taste, as you finger and admire

the rich sheen of my silk raiment;

or your favorite pastime of knitting

as you sit weaving love, stitch by stitch

into caps for your grandchildren       

with multi-colored skeins of your yarns

taking care not to get them entangled

unlike your nerves which no longer can be tied

into knots close enough to stop

your today slipping into your yesterdays,

for the bald patches in your brain

cannot grow back memories, so dear to us all

as you lose yourself

in a maze of make believe stories

which fill these empty spaces.

 

Now that you are at long last free

I pray for the release

of the pain of present and the past

and grant everlasting peace.

 I also often wonder

 if you have found something greater

and what we called  Alzheimer’s

 was only a gateway to something better!

 

 

Symphony of Silver Years

Every morning my back groans, my knees moan

 as I gather the pieces of my body, now worn

and drag it out of bed.

The world around is up and about

and where I am, others may forget.

Although I fumble, at times even stumble

I teach myself to harness what I have

in rewarding ways, on difficult days

consciously carving  paths  

to those around me, into their hearts.

 

Every morning I welcome a rebirth,

a new paradigm of unbridled joy and mirth

leaving behind a breathtaking view of the past,

the good the bad, the happy the sad

winging to new heights of being, knowing, still soaring.

Transmuting old beliefs, stories, secrets and tears

into priceless moments of loving,

celebrating , caring and sharing

the unique music of the symphony of silver years.



 

PRAYING FOR THE FARMER

                     PRAYING FOR THE FARMERS

 

 Daily as I sit down to eat, I look at my plate with a sense of gratitude. Not only do I get a hot and freshly cooked meal of my choice, but served with love too.

  My thoughts turn towards the farmers who grew it. For them it is an arduous  journey, fraught with problems and  difficulties right from the word go. Rising costs, the constant battle between the chemical dependence versus the demand for organic food, the sheer magnitude of the labor involved, the small margin of profit and most of all the poor rainfall and climatic imbalances in our country, are back breaking situations. Fighting against these, they keep getting more and more desperate till driven to the edge of the abyss. Frustration drives many a farmer to end his life adding one more hapless family left to fend for itself.

 When we say our prayers or in whichever form we connect to the Divine, Higher Power or The Source, do we add a few words praying for the farmer; do we pray for rain for his sake, for the sake of his own starving or orphaned children? Do we even give a thought to the price his family pays to provide us with our next meal? Do we take any steps to prevent climatic imbalance, to rectify the damage we ourselves have inflicted upon Mother Earth ?

 I was very moved and happy to see a post by FB group," Remove Blocks And Make Way For An Abundant Life."  asking the group  to chant collectively thrice during the day at fixed times, for the rains, visualizing the farmers; so as to raise the collective consciousness to a level where we are able to manifest abundant rain. We may not all of us be able to chant collectively but individually a thought for the farmer and some positive affirmations sent his way can go a long way to mitigate his suffering.If compassion for the farmer does not stir in some hearts the thought of their own survival depending on the survival of the farmer, might open their minds to feel concern. They are the backbone of life.
A short prayer I say before every meal :
                         Dear Source, you are kind to me in every way
                         and while I thank you for the food on my plate
                         I pray for all those who worked night and day
                         the one who grew it;
                         one who cooked and served with love
                         I pray you shower
                         grace upon them from up above.

     Few lines added:             

                         The farmer  needs good soil, good grain

                         good sunshine, labor and abundant rain.

                         I pray for to you to ease his life

                         keeping him safe and free of strife
.These thoughts and words make for a few meditational moments making meal times a prayer in gratitude..

Praying FOR rain sends a message of scarcity into the Universe and so attracts more scarcity; so I pray visualizing rain. Few days back I sat in my balcony to pray and as I visualized rain I felt the drizzle pin-pricking on my skin, then the cooling  of larger drops coming thicker and faster; I smelt the fragrance of raindrops falling on dry earth and letting off the smell of relief and satiety. I inhaled deeply letting out a sigh of fulfillment. The leaves of the plants in my balcony glistened  and droplets twinkled in the dark as the rain washed them clean, just as the trees in the garden below swayed to the music of the cool breeze passing through them, the bamboo grove a sea of swishing and rustling greenery. My meditation over I slept peacefully till the loud rumble of thunder and  peals of lightening woke me up .I went and stood in the balcony indulging in the joy of soaking in the first showers of the monsoon honoring the fulfillment of my prayer.
.

 This poem was sent to me by my dear friend, Meenakshi Ramaswamy to remind me of my youthfulness---just loved it !!

 

Meenakshi Ramasamy  writes-"You are such a vivacious person, very buoyant & dynamic
Have you read this poem, " age is just a number". Your ebullient & spirited nature & these colourful clicks with bubbly comments reminds me of that poem. "
She is such a loving and genuine person-rare in today's hypocritical world.

Age is just a number
A meaningless little blip
Of time invented to remind us
That life goes by too quick
For that I say
"Forget about Age"!
"What has it done for me"?
Except count the years of my life
That I spend worrying

Why must age dictate life
And place us in a category?
Like a fossil excavated from the Earth
Exposing all to its skeletal glory

I look young, feel young and act young
That is all I see
A two or three digit number
Holds no relevance to me
My mind is clear and heartbeat strong
It remains forever true
And my countenance shall never falter
When I reach 102

GOD OF HER OWN DESTINY

    God of  Her Own Destiny

 

     

 

l

In her mother's womb the hunger of the soul
nurtured her
till she grew strong and whole

gathering life while crying with grief

sorrowing within her mother's pain
absorbing all with naught for relief
till the womb no longer could bear the strain

of holding back the raging flood
of tears gushing out
as waters and  blood.

With pain and relief
labored her mother
while the father
lay with another.
Still within, she vowed
to avenge the shame
of sorrowing
within her mother's pain.
With all the strength
her tiny self knew
she entered the world
taking birth anew.

The elements showered blessings
as she took birth
the wind, the skies,
and Mother Earth.
The sun's embers
ignited her passions too
as stepping into youth 
her own needs grew.
Forgotten were the vows
she had taken,
sorrowing within
the mother, forsaken.

The Gods of her Destiny
had conspired to give birth
to another incomplete woman
onto this earth
whose hunger could not be
appeased by her own body's strength
and kept looking for completion
going to great  lengths
roving over and over again,
she vaguely recalled
crying within her mother's pain.

She blossomed, she bloomed, and she glowed
time passed,
some good, some bad 
till her pace was slowed
for a seed had sprouted
within her
after days of wanting and waiting;
and the pain of her mother
she no longer doubted.
As she herself labored
re-living her mother's pain
the old vows recalled
once again.

Her resolve
none could now smother
for her child was being born
to a brave, strong mother
creating a world of her own
nurturing both mother and child
she kept wiping their tears
hiding her own and learning to smile .



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                  टुट्टिया तारा  अम्ब्रां तों  

सुन लोका ,

अज्ज  मेरे चंद नू ग्रहण खा गया 

ते मैं दर्दां दे दो टुक्कर

हंजुआं दे सलूने पाणी णाल  

घुट घुट करदियां पीके

उदासी दी नेहरी चादर दी बुक्कल मार 

मस्सिया दी रात दी गोद विच जा सौं गई 

 

कल दी गल है 

लौढ़ी वेलीं जद  मैं अपणे बनेरे तों झाती मारी 

तां णाल दे वेड़े विच चाँदनी नू खेडदे वेख सोचेया
इक दिन मेरे वेढे वी चन खेड़ेगा ते ओहदियां
पजेबां दी आवाज़ नाल कई सुत्ते गीत जाग उठ्ठण गे

  ऍह सोचदे सोचदे 

सुपनियां दी दुनियां देखण लई
मैं जागदी रही
ते हुन जद  मेरे चंद  नू ग्रहण लग़ गया
मेरे अनइन्द्रे नू नींद आ गई  

 

मेरीआं अखाँ चों किरदे
हंजुआं नाल उदासी दी चादर वी भिज्ज गई
ते रात राणी दी खुशबोई
नाल घुल  मिल्ल के  

मेरे हंजुआं दा इक कतरा फ़ैल गया
ओस अनंत सागर विच
जो  चंद तारियां तों वी अगाहं है

ओस्से वेले इक तारा
अम्ब्रां तों टुट्दा टुट्दा धरती ते डिगिया
राह च मेरे हंजू नू अपनी लौ विच समेटदे  होये
इक दूर बर्फीली चोटी ते जा डिग्गा
हंजू विच मेरे टुट्टे  होए सुपने दा
इक टुकड़ा वी खुबिया होया सी

इक टुट्टिया तारा ,इक अधूरा सुपना ते इक किरिया हंजू
रल्ल के चंद दी उडीक करण लग्गे
तिन्नों इक मिक होके उडीकदे उडीकदे
इक ढेले वांग पथरा गए

फेर किन्ने ही चिर्रां बाद
कितों दूर अधि रात नू
बांसुरी दी मिठी मिठी धुन
वादी विच सुनाई दिंदी होई दब्बे पैर
 मल्लकडे जहे मेरे वेढे व्ही आ पुज्जी

ओह ढेला जिस विच इक टुट्टिया तारा,
इक अधूरा सुपना ते इक किरिया हंजू पथरा गए सन
एस धुन नु सुन के पिघल गया
ते चंद दी इक रिश्म फड़ के
आ पुजिया मेरे वेढे

ओह अधूरा सुपना आ जुडिया
बाकी दे सुपने णाल
ते हंजू ने रात रानी नू सिंजिया
  ते उसदी खुशबोई  णाल
मुहल्ले विच खबर बन्न के फैल गया
कि ओस रात मेरी कुख विच
इक टुट्टिया तारा आ वस्सिया
जो चंद बन्न अज्ज मेरे वेढे विच
किलकारियाँ मारदा लुक्का छिप्पी खेड रिया है
copyright@Dr. Sunil Kaushal
 

सुनो लोगो, आज मेरे चाँद को ग्रहण निगल गया

और मैं दर्दों के दो निवाले आँसूओं के नमक साथ

घूँट घूँट पी, उदासी की अँधेरी चादर ओढ़

अमावस्या  की गोद में जा सो गई l


अभी कल शाम ही की बात है जब मैंने अपनी मुंडेर से झांका तो

पड़ोस वाले आँगन में चांदनी को खेलते देखा

दिल में ख्याल आया कि इक दिन मेरे आँगन में भी चाँद खेलेगा

और उसकी पायल की छम छम से कई सोये गीत जाग उठेँगे l


यह सोचकर  मैं सपनों की दुनिया देखने के लिए जागती रही

और अब जो मेरे चाँद को ग्रहण निगल गया

तो मेरी अनिद्रा को नींद आ गई  l


मेरे आँसूओं से मेरी उदासी की चादर भी भीग गई 

और रात रानी की खुशबू के साथ घुल मिल कर

मेरे आँसूओं  का एक कतरा दूर  अनंत तक फैल गयी

जो चाँद तारों से भी परे है