Review – The Caravan – May 2012

For any magazine, the purpose is to ignite the minds of their readers with write ups so powerful that they compel them to associate with the publication. The constraints are as challenging as the ambition itself, the hunt for a unique story which would appeal to readers is definitely a challenge to meet.

The May issue of Caravan Magazine is widening the horizon of its readers with stories from across the country in varying genres. The issue lives up to being India’s only magazine practising narrative journalism with extensive articles. The Lede ranges from an immigrant Chinese family’s history to the make-up room of Bangaluru’s theatre circuit. Short and precise while commanding and captivating the section instils curiosity for the light reader. Initiating on virtually unexplored topics the magazine is quick to capture the essence of serious issues with an insight into Jordan which by estimates is basking in the Arab Spring but in a regulated demeanour.

The Rogue Rider

For the select few, life has a tendency to cringe at the edges of sanity and luckily the author of the ensuing blog post has been gifted with the same. Though not being able to boast of extravagant excursions to remote locations there is something that binds this biker to his vehicle. From a personal perspective his bike is no less than an extension of the soul.  Justification for such a cheesy statement might not be understood by the non-believers but an attempt would be made throughout the write up.

Bike Ride

Like all middle class 14 year old boys, a bike was the ultimate dream; it signified rebellion, freedom and the personification of exemplary awesomeness. As time progressed other parameters too gained relevance but restricted themselves to penultimate positions, the ability to commute any distance without being dependent on public transport was superior to other desires. Though the author did not own a two-wheeler until he was 19, he was able to manoeuvre one well before the prescribed minimum age limit.

The Mother Tongue

अपने मित्र द्वारा लिखित एक ‘ब्लॉग पोस्ट’ को पढ़ कर मन में विचार उमड़ा की हम भी कुछ अपनी मातृ भाषा में लिखने का प्रयत्न करे। विचार भला था किन्तु कही से भी आसान नहीं, दरअसल भारतीय शिक्षा प्रणाली की खास बात यह है की वो अंग्रेजी भाषा को परम  दर्जा देती है और यह भूल जाती है की केवल १२५ लाख (स्रोत – अंग्रेजी अख़बार टी ओ इ) आबादी ही अंग्रेजी बोलना या पढ़ना जानती है ।

Courtesy - The-NRI.com

अगर आपको  ’कॉन्वेंट’ विद्यालय में पढने का सौभाग्य प्राप्त हुआ होगा तो आप मेरी बात को और गंभीरता से समझ पाएंगे। गौर करने की बात यह है की अंग्रेजो द्वारा स्थापित शिक्षा प्रणाली में ‘इंग्लिश’ पर ध्यान देने का एक मात्र कारण यह था कि  वह ‘क्लर्की’ के लिए भारतीय नागरिको का उपयोग करना चाहते थे। अंग्रेज तो चले गए मगर अपने पीछे अंग्रेज़ी को छोड़ गए और आजाद हिंद में एक और  उंच नीच का पैमाना लगा गए।

खैर यह सब तो ऐतिहासिक बाते है जो की आज हास्यास्पद प्रतीत होती है, मुददे की बात यह है की हम इक्कीसवी सदी के भारतीय नागरिक अपनी प्राचीन भाषा को ठुकरा कर एक निम्नतर भाषा को आँख मूंद कर आत्मसात करने में मगन है। हिंदी दुनिया की उन चन्द बोली में से एक है जो ‘फोनेटिक’ अर्थात स्वरविज्ञानी या मेरे थोड़े ज्यादा पढ़े लिखे मित्रो के लिए एक ऐसी भाषा है जिसकी लिखाई उसकी बोली से निर्धारित होती है। इसकी उपयोगिता अगर आपको जाननी है तो आप कृपा करके एक बार ‘गूगल.कॉम’ का सहारा ले और अपनी दुविधा से मुक्ति पाए।

The Screams of Uncertainty

As dusk dawned upon the sleepy hallow of Mayur Vihar Phase 1 an assemblage of young minds dispersed to retire to their abodes. It was early on their excursion that they were stopped by a harrowing call. Opposite the dairy at Pocket 4 the incessant screams of a young girl were echoing through the neighbourhood. The youngsters paused, gazed around and traced the epicentre of screams to a House No. F37. The neighbours or rather every passer-by was inquired about the shrieks. An uncomfortable gloom shrouded the atmosphere; the screams persisted accompanied with the clatter of household items being thrown.

Society in shackles

Faces that were jovial and merry were marred by frowns, one of them murmured, “It is the summer season, this will continue now”. We young and seemingly less productive were still decoding the continuous pangs of anguish that were resonating through the locality. The shrieks swelled incessantly so did the noise of physical violence and the discomfort in the neighbourhood.