The Middle Ground

Over the past 2 decades, among the many Hindu mythological stories, the one I have revisited over and over again is that of Mata Sati. And then Mata Parvati. Although this story is a symbolic description of the journey of the individual consciousness to merge with the Divine, it's wisdom remains inaccessible to most of us if the pangs of our modern love stories do not find atleast some psychological resolution in its carefully crafted nuances. When I was younger, my mind imagined an alternative version with kinder outcomes for beloved Sati in which Mahadev tamed his unkempt hair, took a bath and put on decent clothes instead of his usual tiger/deer skin skirt held up by slithering serpents. In which he presented himself exactly like how Sati's parents had envisaged the husband of their youngest daughter to be. This could have made the proud king Daksha, Sati's father change his opinion about our sky-clad, ash-smeared Bholenath whose residence alternates between the frozen...

I am 40 years old. I am also not new to the city I live in. I have already spent more than a decade in Pune, or Poona as it is now called. Therefore the title can be a bit misleading at first glance. Yes, I still discover parts of this city that I haven't known before but I am hardly new to this city. This city hasn't exactly embraced me like I was its long lost son but it has shared with me its sublime music and appreciation for art - even though its people never fail to remind me that I am not one of their own whenever I try to come close to them. Much akin to how the matriarch treated Mastani in the film even though I am not really imposing myself upon any son of the soil. Yes, I am filmy like that. I am also Indian - I happen to live and work in this city, pay rent, taxes and GST and would except to be treated as an equal citizen in lieu. But I digress, this isn't a rant about the city that I have come to love but which will probably not call me it's own ever. T...