Happy Birthday John Keats!

A thing of beauty is a joy forever

Its loveliness increases;

It will never
Pass into nothingness.

On 31 October 1795, a legend was born in Moorgate, London.

I first came across the remarkable English Romantic poet John Keats in my second year of high school, when Ode on a Grecian Urn was part of our syllabus. Gradually, I developed a deep interest in his poetry. Among his works, Ode to a Nightingale remains my favorite.

Like many young people who become fascinated by literature, I also had a little crush on Keats, until I began reading his letters and learning more about Fanny Brawne and their complicated relationship. I remember a friend once talking about the strange stories surrounding the deaths of some English poets, and Keats was mentioned among them. That conversation made me curious, and I began reading more about his life, his habits, his work and, eventually, his death.

I have always felt a certain sympathy for Keats because he died so young, at just twenty five. The more I read his work, the more I felt as though I was getting to know the person behind the poetry.

Keats struggled financially and had to deal with debts, yet he eventually gave up his medical career to pursue what he truly loved, poetry. His first surviving poem, An Imitation of Spenser, was written in 1814 when he was only nineteen.

There are many parts of Keats's early life that remain relatively unknown. He wrote very little about his childhood and financial difficulties, and there seems to have been a certain reluctance to speak about his family and personal struggles. During the final years of his life, as his health deteriorated, his thoughts increasingly turned towards death, which has naturally led to much discussion and interpretation of his later writings.

Keats published only a relatively small body of poetry, yet he experimented with the sonnet, the Spenserian romance and the Miltonic epic, giving these forms new energy and possibility. His poetry brought together conflicting emotions, deep self awareness, irony and imagination. He also took the English ode to extraordinary heights.

His work was not widely appreciated during his lifetime. Much of the recognition he deserved came only after his death.

John Keats died in Rome on 23 February 1821 and was buried in the Protestant Cemetery there. His wish was that his gravestone should not carry his name or date of birth and death, but instead the words:

"Here lies One whose Name was writ in Water."

His final days have always moved me. His close friend Joseph Severn cared for him during his illness, and Keats's final words to him are remembered as:

"Severn, I, lift me up. I am dying. I shall die easy. Don't be frightened. Be firm, and thank God it has come."

I have often wondered how people sometimes seem to sense that their end is near. Keats's writings during the final weeks of his life contain a remarkable awareness of mortality. There are also stories of unusual experiences surrounding the deaths of some artists and writers, which have fascinated me over the years.

Perhaps there is a mystery there, or perhaps it is simply the creative mind trying to make sense of its own fears and uncertainties. I do not know. Death remains one of the great mysteries of human existence.

Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote a moving elegy for Keats, Adonais, expressing his grief over the poet's early death:

"The loveliest and the last,
The bloom, whose petals nipped before they blew,
Died on the promise of the fruit."

Keats once wrote:

"If poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree, it had better not come at all."

Yet, when we look at his early work, we can also see that he had to learn, experiment and struggle to develop his craft. His extraordinary talent did not mean that everything came effortlessly to him.

That thought has stayed with me.

Keats's journey influenced me personally. His development as a poet made me think about my own writing. I once decided not to publish my first novel, which I had written when I was sixteen. I was unsure whether that was the right decision, but at the time I felt that I needed more exposure to life, more experience and more maturity before allowing people to judge my ability as a writer.

Perhaps I was being too cautious. Perhaps I was not. I still do not know.

But I do know that writing is a journey, and sometimes we need time to understand what we are trying to say.

One of the ideas from Keats that has stayed with me is his concept of the world as a "vale of Soul making." I also find his description of the poetical mind fascinating. In one of his letters, he wrote:

"The poetical Character itself, is not itself. It has no self, it is every thing and nothing. It has no character. It enjoys light and shade."

He went on to describe the poet as having no fixed identity, constantly entering into the lives and experiences of other people, nature and the world around him.

This idea has always fascinated me. Perhaps that is one of the reasons writers are often so deeply affected by the lives of people they have never met. A writer has to become many different people, at least for a moment, in order to understand them.

Keats also gave us the beautiful idea of negative capability, which he described as the ability to remain in uncertainty, mystery and doubt without constantly trying to find an immediate answer.

He wrote about being:

"capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason."

That idea feels remarkably relevant even today. We do not always have to know everything. Sometimes it is enough to remain curious, to accept uncertainty and allow imagination to do its work.

Keats also wrote:

"I am certain of the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of Imagination."

For him, beauty, imagination, love and truth were deeply connected.

And perhaps one of my favourite descriptions of the poetic life is:

"My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk."

There is something beautiful about that sentence. It captures the solitude, discipline and devotion that can exist in the life of a writer.

Seven John Keats Quotes I Love

1. "I want a brighter word than bright."
2. "We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author."
3. "Here lies one whose name was writ in water."
4. "If poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree, it had better not come at all."
5. "You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees, I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task."
6. "I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered."
7. "The poetry of earth is never dead."

Perhaps what attracts me most to Keats is not simply his poetry, but the life behind it. He lived briefly, struggled greatly and left us with something that has survived for more than two centuries.

He once wrote about beauty as something that would never pass into nothingness.

Maybe that is what great art does.

The person disappears, the years pass, and the life eventually becomes a story. But the words remain. And somewhere, many years later, a young student opens a book, reads a few lines and discovers a poet who died long before he was born.

That is how I found John Keats.

And that, perhaps, is how a name written in water becomes remembered forever.

Pity You- The Moral Police in Kerala

Yesterday, I came across a post in one of the Facebook groups I belong to. The group is meant to be a space for sharing knowledge and discussing spirituality. However, I was disappointed to see a post attacking a woman who had expressed her views about the so called “sadachara police” in Kerala.

I would like to share my thoughts about the incident in Calicut, the idea of moral policing, and the Facebook post by Jisha Elizabeth. I am not trying to defend every word that was written or offend anyone. I simply want to look at the issue from a different perspective.

The incident took place at Downtown Cafe in Calicut, a well known cafe that was highly rated on TripAdvisor. A Malayalam television channel, Jaihind TV, aired footage of a couple showing affection inside the cafe. The footage was reportedly recorded using a hidden camera. Soon after the footage was aired, a group of people claiming to represent moral values came to the cafe and damaged it. They also demanded that the police take action against the owner.

Later that same day, many people in Calicut showed their support for the cafe by gathering there. The response from the public made it clear that many people did not agree with what had happened.

This raises a simple question. Why should people be so disturbed by two adults expressing affection in a cafe?

As citizens, we have certain constitutional freedoms, including freedom of speech and expression. Of course, these freedoms have reasonable restrictions, but I find it difficult to understand how the simple expression of affection between two consenting adults becomes a matter for strangers to police.

Perhaps it would be better for us to trust the values we have taught our children. If we believe that we have brought them up with good values and a strong sense of right and wrong, we should also trust them to make their own decisions.

What concerns me even more is the selective nature of moral outrage. We sometimes react strongly to young people showing affection, while remaining silent when someone is publicly humiliated, abused or treated without dignity.

For example, there have been situations where people have gathered around and watched someone in an embarrassing or difficult situation instead of helping them. Public abuse and harassment are not uncommon either. If we genuinely care about morality and culture, perhaps our first responsibility should be to help people when they are in need and to treat everyone with dignity.

Culture is important, but culture should not become an excuse to interfere unnecessarily in the private lives of others.

There is another point that I would like to make. From the photographs and reports surrounding this particular incident, the couple appeared to be non Malayali. People who visit another part of the country may not necessarily follow every local custom or social expectation in exactly the same way. We can certainly explain our customs and ask visitors to respect them, but forcing someone to follow rules that are not legally applicable to them is another matter.

A cafe is a public business, but it is not a place where strangers should be given the authority to decide how two adults may behave simply because they personally dislike it.

Now I would like to come to Jisha Elizabeth's Facebook post.

As I understood it, she wrote that she does not kiss her boyfriend in public because she feels shy, not because she believes affection itself is wrong. She also criticised the people who reacted strongly to public displays of affection while celebrating stories about Lord Krishna and the Gopikas.

People are free to express their opinions on their own Facebook pages. We do not have to agree with everything someone writes. If we disagree, we can discuss the ideas respectfully.

What disappointed me was what happened afterwards. Someone shared photographs of Jisha from her own Facebook profile in a large group, after which many extremely abusive comments were made about her appearance, character and family.

I do not want to repeat those comments here. They were deeply personal and degrading. Whatever one's opinion of Jisha's post, attacking her appearance, calling her names, insulting her parents or making vulgar comments about her does not contribute anything to the discussion.

If we disagree with someone's ideas, we should challenge the ideas, not humiliate the person.

I also find it troubling when photographs from someone's personal profile are taken and shared in a large group simply to encourage others to ridicule that person. Before doing something like this, we should pause and ask ourselves whether we would be comfortable if the same thing were done to us or to someone close to us.

There have also been other incidents in Kerala where people travelling together have been stopped and questioned by self appointed moral police simply because they were a man and a woman. In some cases, innocent people have faced serious personal consequences because of assumptions made by strangers.

This is why I am uncomfortable with the idea of moral policing. When ordinary people appoint themselves as guardians of other people's morality, innocent people can end up paying a very high price.

If we truly care about culture, values and morality, perhaps we should begin with ourselves and our own homes.

At the same time, I want to make one thing clear. I do not agree with every statement in Jisha Elizabeth's post.

I personally felt uncomfortable with her comments about Lord Krishna. I am a believer in Hinduism, and I do not think it is necessary to insult religious beliefs in order to make a point about moral policing. There are different literary and religious traditions surrounding the stories of Krishna and the Gopikas, and these stories have been interpreted in many ways over time. Whatever our personal interpretation, I believe religious figures and beliefs should be discussed with some sensitivity.

However, disagreeing with one part of her post does not mean that I agree with the abuse directed at her. She has every right to express her opinion, just as others have the right to disagree with her.

We should be able to hold both ideas at the same time.

We can disagree with someone without humiliating them.

We can respect our culture without forcing it on everyone.

We can value tradition without turning ourselves into moral police.

And we can defend freedom of expression without necessarily agreeing with everything that is expressed.

I also believe we should be careful before accepting sensational television reports as the complete truth. News channels have a responsibility to present events fairly, and viewers have a responsibility to question what they see and hear before forming strong opinions.

Nobody is trying to destroy Indian culture simply because they have a different view of relationships or public affection. People have different backgrounds, beliefs and boundaries. As long as their actions remain within the law and do not harm others, I believe we should allow people a reasonable amount of personal freedom.

For me, the real issue is not whether two people kissed in a cafe. The real issue is how quickly we are willing to judge, shame and interfere in the lives of people we do not even know.

Maybe we should spend a little less time policing others and a little more time becoming better human beings ourselves.

The Final Game

I have had this write up sitting in my draft folder for a week now. I still do not know how to put into words the point I want to make.

My subject this time is a little serious, and I know everyone will have a different view about it. Every individual sees life differently, but when it comes to the game we call life, I do not think anyone really has a proper answer.

Some games are cruel. It is strange when we are forced to play a game where there are no rules and where one referee has complete control over the result, no matter how well you try to play.

The game I am talking about is death.

Once we are born, we all know that we have to face death someday. But what if that day comes too soon, just when you have started to understand the purpose of your existence?

There are many atheists who mock people who believe in the existence of an eternal energy or God. Yet, when they are faced with the possibility of losing their human existence, they sometimes find themselves with nowhere else to turn.

Hospital walls have heard more prayers than a church.

When you are left with no other hope and the only thing you can hold on to is God, faith happens.

I understand when bad things happen to people who have done wrong. People often say that they are facing the consequences of their actions. But what about the good people who have never intentionally hurt anyone? Do they deserve this suffering?

What about those who have always believed in God, tried to do the right thing, remained grateful for every breath they were given, and yet are forced to face a death that feels far more cruel than anything a person deserves?

I have heard the word cancer so many times that it almost feels like an ordinary word. I have read stories about cancer patients and thought I understood what they go through.

But it is not the same when it is your own friend holding your hands, speaking to you with tears in her eyes, and talking about her own death.

I cannot even describe what that felt like. My hands are trembling as I write this.

What did she do to deserve this?

She has always been such a kind and adorable person. She is too young to face circumstances this harsh. There are so many things she still wants to do, so many dreams she still has.

Oh God, why does this happen?

And please do not tell me it is munjanma karmaphala, the result of something she did in a previous life. I cannot accept that explanation anymore.

I could not sleep properly after I heard that she was going through her final stages. It is not as simple as it may sound.

She is a girl my age, with just as many dreams and desires as I have, perhaps even more. There are so many things left to achieve, and suddenly, she has to accept that her countdown has begun and her to do list is becoming shorter.

I cannot even imagine what it must feel like from her point of view.

How do you live normally when you know you may not have much time left on this planet?

People often lose sleep over the smallest things. I have done that too. I used to complain to God about things that made a small part of my life difficult. Looking back now, I wonder why I ever considered those things such a crisis.

Perhaps those difficult moments were only teaching me to become stronger. They shaped me into the person I am today.

Life has many turning points. I have faced situations that I thought would change me forever. But when I look at them now, they feel so small compared to what my friend is going through.

There is something deeply frightening about being close to death. The physical pain, the fear, the helplessness, and the thought of having to say goodbye can make you look at life differently.

I only wish she did not have to suffer so much after everything she has already been through.

I pray that God stays close to her, eases her pain, and carries some of her burdens. She has always been a dear child of His.

Thank you, God, for the blessings I so often forget to notice.

P.S. You never truly know the value of your eyes until you cannot see.

'HAIDER' Movie Review

The much awaited dark drama directed and co produced by Vishal Bhardwaj was released on October 2, 2014.

I received a WhatsApp message from a friend asking if someone could accompany her to watch Haider. By then, I had already heard a review from another friend who had watched the first day, first show. She said the movie had too much blood and violence and, overall, she did not like it. Personally, I have never been a big fan of action movies, so I passed on the review to a few other friends without realising the gem I was missing.

The friend who was eagerly waiting for the movie asked me, “Don’t you think it is too early to judge?”

Yesterday, I finally watched Haider, and I regret judging it so quickly. What an amazing adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet! I was deeply impressed, and it was obvious how much work Shahid Kapoor had put into the character of Haider. Shraddha Kapoor, Tabu, Irrfan Khan and Kay Kay Menon were equally impressive. I have been a fan of Kay Kay Menon since the day I watched Black Friday.

Vishal Bhardwaj has given an intelligent take on the Kashmir issue using the framework of an old Shakespearean tragedy. He has always been different in his choice of stories and in the way he presents them.

The story is set in Kashmir, one of the most beautiful places and a favourite location for Bollywood filmmakers, with its snow covered mountains and beautiful landscapes. But Vishal goes beyond the usual romantic image of Kashmir. He brings in its political history, conflict and intrigue, making the setting an important part of the story.

A director is someone who brings out the best in an actor, and Vishal Bhardwaj certainly knows how to do that. He seems drawn to complicated stories and characters that explore the grey areas of human nature.

I never thought Shahid Kapoor could handle such veeryam, or valour, and roudram, the intense rage and anger of revenge. I have always known he was talented, especially after watching him in Kaminey, but in Haider he appears in a completely different avatar from his usual fun loving roles.

His street play in the movie is astounding. Shahid going bald for the first time, his one liners and even his Prabhu Deva inspired dance moves are some of the other highlights.

There is violence in the movie, but much of it conveys something deeper, directly or indirectly. Some scenes were difficult for me to watch, but I felt the violence was necessary to show the extent of the suffering and torture experienced by innocent people in Kashmir.

The word “chutzpah” has become one of my favourites now. If I had to describe the whole movie in one word, it would be chutzpah. Marvellous!

P.S. Haider is a poignant tale of love, revenge and relationships.

What If the Wrong Turns Are Guiding You?

People always advise us, “You should know what you want to do.” But step back and think about it for a moment. How are you supposed to know what you want unless you first discover what you do not want?

We often find ourselves in situations that make us think, “Oh, crap. I should not have done that.” We label these moments as mistakes and try to avoid repeating them. But have you ever noticed that these experiences often lead us towards the right path?

“Failure is the stepping stone to success.” In other words, you have to make mistakes, sometimes many of them, before you find your way to success. So why worry so much about your past mistakes or things you wish you had done differently? Accept them. They are experiences, and each one is a chapter of your life.

There is a saying, “We do not meet people by accident. They are meant to cross our path for a reason.” Some people teach us a lesson. Some give us an experience, because experience truly is one of the best teachers. Others leave us with memories that eventually make us change direction.

Every encounter has something to teach us. So do not regret the people who took advantage of you. Maybe they needed your help, and you were in a position to give it. If nothing else, you helped someone. Be at peace with that.

These experiences gradually give us a clearer idea of what we do not want. Instead of hating the people or situations that brought us those lessons, be grateful for them. At least now you know which paths not to take. Even when your vision is blurred, you begin to understand which direction to follow to reach your destination. Along the way, you also learn how to stand strong when the dust storms come.

Sometimes, knowing what you do not want is the first step towards discovering what you truly want.

Knowing what you do not want gradually leads you to know what you do want.

Roja

I was just wondering today, while having my evening coffee. I have not been doing much lately, especially so late in the day. Life has become more self oriented. My focus has mostly been on myself, unlike before.

I sat by my window and looked outside. The street was unusually quiet. My street is usually busy and noisy, with children playing, men standing around their bikes discussing sports, women chatting, and people out on their evening walks. Today, perhaps because it was Sunday, the streets were almost empty. A deep silence had filled the whole area.

I saw only one person outside, a flower vendor sitting there alone and idle.

Every day, on my way back from my evening walk, I pass this lady who sells flowers. Her jasmine is always special, fresh and carrying such a beautiful fragrance. I usually acknowledge her with a smile, almost as if marking my attendance for the day.

Today, I thought of going over and having a small chat with her.

So I made a cup of coffee for her and went downstairs.

She was genuinely happy and surprised when I told her that I had come down to talk to her. She gave me such a warm reception and brought a stool for me to sit on. When I stretched out my hand to give her the cup, I could see the happiness in her eyes.

She smiled and said, "This is the first time someone has made coffee for me."

I asked her who all were at home.

She took a sip of her coffee and spoke softly.

"I live by myself. I have no family. I ran away from home when I was eight because of my aunt's torture."

I had gone to her simply to keep her company for a while, thinking it must be a lonely day for her. I was not expecting her to open up to me, and certainly not expecting to hear such a painful story.

I thought she might tell me about her children or, at most, a husband who drank too much.

She remained silent for a while, and I felt I had to break the silence.

I asked, "Are you not married?"

She looked into my eyes, and there was something in her expression that immediately made me wish I could take the question back.

She replied, "Who will want to marry a woman who has nothing except flowers that bloom every day just to help her satisfy her hunger?"

Before I could say anything, she continued.

"I was a fool. I fell into men's traps many times until I realised that some of them only see a woman as someone who can satisfy their lust."

"I was in Madurai until I was 35. Then I moved to Chennai to escape the tag they were trying to push me into, that of a whore."

I felt terrible hearing this.

"I cannot live without dignity, even in poverty."

I took her hands in mine and pressed them gently as a gesture of support. 

I wanted to change the topic, but she continued.

"I found this way of earning for myself and fighting poverty. I used to pluck flowers from people's gardens. Many times, they would chase me away. Later, I started selling them to make enough money for tea. Now I sell garlands and at least earn enough to have three meals a day."

I asked her, "Over all these years, didn't anyone offer you a job, even as domestic help?"

I asked because she had been living here for so many years, on the same street, doing the same work. Surely, the people around her must know her well.

She smiled and said, "Darling, I am a known transgender woman in this locality. Nobody wants me working in their homes, but they need me whenever they want blessings for something auspicious."
I wondered what is the crime in being a transgender.

I asked her why she did not move somewhere near a temple or a main road where she might get more customers.

She explained that she would have to pay rent, or find a place near a temple through a yearly auction, and that was not easy for her. She also said she did not want to move to the roads because she felt she had to be loyal to the people who came looking for her.

I was amazed by her sense of sincerity.

Then she said, almost casually, "After all, I have no liabilities. I only need to earn enough each day to feed myself."

People often do not respect or even consider transgender people on humanitarian grounds when they are struggling and in need. Yet the same people shamelessly go to them for blessings when they buy a new car, move into a new house, or welcome a baby into the family.

This lady, who prefers to call herself Roja, left me with much more to think about than I had expected from a simple evening conversation.

She made me question why we become so attached to worldly comforts and possessions. Perhaps life is not really about how much we have, but about how we choose to live with what we have.

Back to Seattle Grace!

I know it might sound silly to say that a particular TV series has, in some strange way, become a kind of family for me. You might even think that this is something you hear from every girl you know. Girls, after all, are experts at forming dysfunctional emotional attachments.

I come from a state in India that is particularly famous for its obsession with TV serials. People can become incredibly emotional about the characters and so involved in the stories that it sometimes affects their everyday lives and personal behaviour. The best example I can give is my own granny. Hmm... I can't really complain, though, because certain literary characters have had the same effect on me. What is truly ridiculous is that some people have even committed suicide after their favourite character in a serial has died.

I used to watch Grey's Anatomy, an American medical drama, and made it all the way through Season 9. Eventually, I had to stop because I started feeling like I was becoming a mini doctor. I could answer more medical questions than questions about economics, which was my major at university. Slowly, I came out of the world of Grey's Anatomy. Although, to be honest, I wouldn't say I was ever really addicted to it.

Then a year passed. A lot happened in the meantime. Life became busy, and I didn't have much time to spend watching videos or browsing social networks. Perhaps I had also become more mature, because I started to feel that spending so much time on TV series was rather silly.

Today is October 4th, the third day of my long weekend. I was quite bored, and as they say, "An idle mind is the devil's workshop," I started thinking too much. I missed my family, who live miles away from me in a completely different country. I missed homemade food and everything else that makes you feel at home: your cosy blanket, your bed, your room, and all the little things in it.

With exams coming up and no form of entertainment feeling quite satisfying, I decided to surf the internet for political journalism, another one of my interests. Suddenly, I came across an advertisement for Season 11 of Grey's Anatomy. I clicked on it, and an episode popped up.

I continued watching.

And then I saw those familiar faces again after such a long time.

I felt strangely happy to see how much they had changed, not just in appearance, but in their personalities and attitudes as well. I found myself wondering how everyone else was doing. And then it struck me: Why was I so excited? It felt as though some good old friends had come home after a long time, and I couldn't wait to find out what had been happening in their lives.

"Stupid, silly me," I thought, smiling at myself.

The truth is that TV series that play a regular and consistent role in our everyday lives, consuming an hour or so and gradually becoming part of our routine, can have a psychological effect on us. Many people had told me this in the past, but I never really listened because I felt they were misjudging me. I believed I wasn't addicted. In fact, I wasn't addicted, and perhaps that is precisely why I could stop watching the show whenever I wanted.

But now I realise that, somewhere in my subconscious, I had developed an emotional attachment to these characters. I used to feel genuinely happy whenever I came across people who knew these characters as well as I did, because it meant we could talk about them for hours.

Sigh.

Today, I feel relaxed and strangely at home. I met my old friends, the doctors at Seattle Grace Hospital, and somehow, they made me feel like I was back with family.

Sounds cliché? Crazy?

Maybe.

But doctors might understand what I mean when I say that it feels good to be back at the hospital, coat and gloves on, with countless cases around me and patients expecting empathy rather than sympathy.

Have a lovely Sunday ahead, guys!