As I sat down to type my thoughts about the old bespectacled man with a stick draped in a white khadi cloth, today being his birthday, the first image that came to my mind was the very famous 157mm X 73mm paper in India that carries his smiling face - the 100 rupee note!
I had often wondered as to why they had put that old man, praised for his non-violence, as the face of the paper that was the root cause of all the violence and miseries that plagued this country. But then, I also have doubts as to if our nation's father could be called a non-violent man as his approach towards the British, according to me, had been the most violent - a form of cerebral violence. Anyhow, the image of the rupee note had triggered in my mind a series of thoughts about money and as I was slowly drawn into a web of those thoughts centering around one of my most hated man-made entities in this world, I couldn't come out of it without promising myself that I would type up a post about it.
For some reason, the word 'money' (henceforth mo**y) had never triggered any other emotion in me except for hatred. And it still continues to even today. There was even a time when I used to feel sad because the word 'mo**y' rhymed with one of my most favorite Indian filmmakers - Mani Ratnam.
I had imagined many a day as to how a world without mo**y would be. Being a believer of pragmatism, the thought in itself would seem childish to me at times. But I wouldn't mind and would continue to imagine such a world as I strongly believe that if not for mo**y and an understanding of how it works, we would all probably remain children - innocent and uncorrupted, at least in our hearts, till we breathe in our last whiff of air.
Ever since I had been drawn into film-making, I had always found it difficult to understand as to how someone could view a movie/film as a mo**y-spinner and I despised/continue to despise every single filmmaker who tried/tries to compromise art for mo**y. A filmmaker need not try really hard to create a film that would celebrate life or the human spirit or probably alter one's perspective of life (though it indeed is actually the damn duty of every filmmaker). But a filmmaker could probably, at least, satisfy every single person who pays a part of his hard-earned mo**y and enters the theater with a good story. And when even that seems to be not cared about, 'making mo**y' becoming the first preference, the result becomes absolute crap and the audience made, absolute fools.
And I hate mo**y for doing that to film-makers and film-making.
If there is an entity that could possibly stimulate the most contrasting of emotions in different people, it could only be money. Try handing out a ten rupee note to a small handicapped girl begging for alms. Try handing out a similar ten rupee note to a waiter in a five-star restaurant. And I wouldn't blame the waiter. He has, after all, been spoilt by rich men and women trying to establish their wealth and generosity in the presence of their friends.
And I hate mo**y for doing that to waiters. And I hate mo**y for making a beggar, a beggar.
Every time I enter our college canteen to have a 'cheese pav-bhaji' or an 'aloo paratha' and the lady assigned at our canteen to pick up the leftover plates passes by me, my heart aches. My heart aches not at her plight but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the paper notes stuffed in my wallet, thanks to my hard-earning mom, is what gives me the right to cherish a tasty meal and gives her the job of picking up the plate after it has been eaten from.
Every time I enter our hostel restroom and see the man assigned to clean it pouring a bucket filled with water at a not properly flushed toilet, my heart aches. My heart aches not at his misfortune but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the so readily available cash in my bank account, thanks to my hard-earning mom, is what gives me the right to dump my waste in a properly maintained toilet and gives him the job of cleaning it, however bad it may be.
Every time I roam around my home at Chennai and come across some instance of a child selling posters or vegetables or flowers, my heart aches. My heart aches not at their unfair labor but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the so abundant cash lying dormant in my school's and college's locker, thanks to many of the hard-earning moms and dads, is what gives me the right to have a proper education and earn a degree while they go about selling posters and vegetables and flowers.
And I hate mo**y for creating these totally unfair scenarios in life.
Being a writer, I revere and worship every single piece of paper - a blank sheet of paper becomes a story or a poem and a printed sheet of paper becomes a possible inspiration or an extra piece of knowledge. But if there is a paper I would possibly hate - a paper I would hate so much as to tear it apart to pieces and collect the heap to set fire to it - it would be the paper exchanged for buying a commodity or buying a piece of art or sometimes even buying a life.
And I hate mo**y for making me hate a piece of paper.
Even after I shed my entire belief in an omnipresent and an omnipotent being, I liked visiting temples because they always have a sense of calm that tempts any creative person to produce a great piece of art. I liked visiting temples because I liked seeing people be completely true to, at the least, one being they trusted deeply in this world. But I have stopped the visits for more than a year now. I was fed up with seeing the aarti plates overflow with cash and the entrance of the temples, overflow with beggars.
And I hate mo**y for making man selfish, thereby making the Gods rich and the beggars, beggars.
When I started this blog, I had had only one intention in mind - to make every reader who chanced upon any random post of mine to experience an emotion - a positive one at that. I had promised myself that I would probably share a few posts filled with anger but never share a post that reeked of hatred. I had felt that the world had already been filled with enough hatred and had not wanted my blog to be filled with the same.
But now, as I finish typing this post, I hate mo**y for making me share something so hateful.
And I beg forgiveness. I sincerely do.
And if possible, along with your forgiveness, please do also bless me with a few matchboxes to burn all the papers that lie waiting in my wallet to make me their next target.
You would have, after all, triggered my redemption.
I had often wondered as to why they had put that old man, praised for his non-violence, as the face of the paper that was the root cause of all the violence and miseries that plagued this country. But then, I also have doubts as to if our nation's father could be called a non-violent man as his approach towards the British, according to me, had been the most violent - a form of cerebral violence. Anyhow, the image of the rupee note had triggered in my mind a series of thoughts about money and as I was slowly drawn into a web of those thoughts centering around one of my most hated man-made entities in this world, I couldn't come out of it without promising myself that I would type up a post about it.
For some reason, the word 'money' (henceforth mo**y) had never triggered any other emotion in me except for hatred. And it still continues to even today. There was even a time when I used to feel sad because the word 'mo**y' rhymed with one of my most favorite Indian filmmakers - Mani Ratnam.
I had imagined many a day as to how a world without mo**y would be. Being a believer of pragmatism, the thought in itself would seem childish to me at times. But I wouldn't mind and would continue to imagine such a world as I strongly believe that if not for mo**y and an understanding of how it works, we would all probably remain children - innocent and uncorrupted, at least in our hearts, till we breathe in our last whiff of air.
Ever since I had been drawn into film-making, I had always found it difficult to understand as to how someone could view a movie/film as a mo**y-spinner and I despised/continue to despise every single filmmaker who tried/tries to compromise art for mo**y. A filmmaker need not try really hard to create a film that would celebrate life or the human spirit or probably alter one's perspective of life (though it indeed is actually the damn duty of every filmmaker). But a filmmaker could probably, at least, satisfy every single person who pays a part of his hard-earned mo**y and enters the theater with a good story. And when even that seems to be not cared about, 'making mo**y' becoming the first preference, the result becomes absolute crap and the audience made, absolute fools.
And I hate mo**y for doing that to film-makers and film-making.
If there is an entity that could possibly stimulate the most contrasting of emotions in different people, it could only be money. Try handing out a ten rupee note to a small handicapped girl begging for alms. Try handing out a similar ten rupee note to a waiter in a five-star restaurant. And I wouldn't blame the waiter. He has, after all, been spoilt by rich men and women trying to establish their wealth and generosity in the presence of their friends.
And I hate mo**y for doing that to waiters. And I hate mo**y for making a beggar, a beggar.
Every time I enter our college canteen to have a 'cheese pav-bhaji' or an 'aloo paratha' and the lady assigned at our canteen to pick up the leftover plates passes by me, my heart aches. My heart aches not at her plight but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the paper notes stuffed in my wallet, thanks to my hard-earning mom, is what gives me the right to cherish a tasty meal and gives her the job of picking up the plate after it has been eaten from.
Every time I enter our hostel restroom and see the man assigned to clean it pouring a bucket filled with water at a not properly flushed toilet, my heart aches. My heart aches not at his misfortune but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the so readily available cash in my bank account, thanks to my hard-earning mom, is what gives me the right to dump my waste in a properly maintained toilet and gives him the job of cleaning it, however bad it may be.
Every time I roam around my home at Chennai and come across some instance of a child selling posters or vegetables or flowers, my heart aches. My heart aches not at their unfair labor but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the so abundant cash lying dormant in my school's and college's locker, thanks to many of the hard-earning moms and dads, is what gives me the right to have a proper education and earn a degree while they go about selling posters and vegetables and flowers.
And I hate mo**y for creating these totally unfair scenarios in life.
Being a writer, I revere and worship every single piece of paper - a blank sheet of paper becomes a story or a poem and a printed sheet of paper becomes a possible inspiration or an extra piece of knowledge. But if there is a paper I would possibly hate - a paper I would hate so much as to tear it apart to pieces and collect the heap to set fire to it - it would be the paper exchanged for buying a commodity or buying a piece of art or sometimes even buying a life.
And I hate mo**y for making me hate a piece of paper.
Even after I shed my entire belief in an omnipresent and an omnipotent being, I liked visiting temples because they always have a sense of calm that tempts any creative person to produce a great piece of art. I liked visiting temples because I liked seeing people be completely true to, at the least, one being they trusted deeply in this world. But I have stopped the visits for more than a year now. I was fed up with seeing the aarti plates overflow with cash and the entrance of the temples, overflow with beggars.
And I hate mo**y for making man selfish, thereby making the Gods rich and the beggars, beggars.
When I started this blog, I had had only one intention in mind - to make every reader who chanced upon any random post of mine to experience an emotion - a positive one at that. I had promised myself that I would probably share a few posts filled with anger but never share a post that reeked of hatred. I had felt that the world had already been filled with enough hatred and had not wanted my blog to be filled with the same.
But now, as I finish typing this post, I hate mo**y for making me share something so hateful.
And I beg forgiveness. I sincerely do.
And if possible, along with your forgiveness, please do also bless me with a few matchboxes to burn all the papers that lie waiting in my wallet to make me their next target.
You would have, after all, triggered my redemption.
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