'Start From Here' is a novel by Sean French.

Mark Foll the main protagonist works in an insurance company in London. His job is dull, mundane that of making calls to people at random from morning to evening. One day he asks for 'fun' and his life is changed forever.

He is dispatched with Giles the claims investigator to Marston Green a village in London to investigate the cause of illness that is spreading in the village. The residents claim that the reported cases of Leukemia, multiple myecoma , lymphoma and breast cancer are due to the toxins emitted by a waste management company.

Now the insurance company Mark works for has public liability insurance contract with the waste management company. So Mark and Giles have to prove that the illness is not caused by the waste management company, thus saving about hundreds of millions of pounds for their employers.

Mark who asked for 'fun' goes to Marston Green and is caught between the truth and his loyalty to his company.

Among the campaigners against the waste management company is a Hannah a tall, slim young woman of thirty.

It is not as if Mark falls for her immediately. But in the course of his stay and the investigation, he gets to know Hannah who is older to him by a few years and also the truth about the waste management company.

Mark gets more involved after learning the truth and for the first time takes a stand. To fight for the truth.

What struck me; appealed, rather, is Mark's love for Hannah. Though the 'Love' part is sidelined, it is still the main crux of the story.

Hannah the fierce campaigner, fighting for herself and for the victims in her village, is herself a victim of breast cancer.

Mark discovers she is also an unwed mother of a small boy. And also has had a breast removed. But Mark loves her anyway. And the two now fight united a legal battle to sue the company that has caused similar havoc in several lives in the village.

As months pass, Hannah is diagnosed with cancer of the other breast and has to undergo mastectomy. She wants Mark to go away, back to London and to younger, beautiful women. She does not want pity.

But the author tells us that Mark is truly in love with Hannah for the person that she is. Despite the fact that she is disfigured, has a son, is older and has no regular income.

Well, the book ends with the fight still on going. But I was pondering over this love. If it really exists. I mean of this kind. Are there men who see beyond the physical beauty in a woman?

It maybe a work of fiction. But fiction is also drawn from the truth. Only I wish there were more like Mark Foll. Though I have never come across one, I am sure they exist somewhere, though in a miniscule number. Sigh!

Another thing I never fail to observe during my commutation is the way my thoughts are suddenly drawn to death.

If I am on the right side of the bus, I can see the Catholic cemetery. But most of the times I am seated on the left. And on the left side, just opposite to the cemetery in the same vicinity is a small shop with the name: Paradise Coffin Makers'. Outside the shop is on display a coffin box, sometimes two. Brown, Black and White coffin boxes neatly decorated in gold coloured stripes, like a gift box tied up with bright ribbons.

And my thoughts run like this:

Do we send our dear, all neat and tidy, perfumed, well dressed as in Christians, adorned with flowers as in Muslims and Hindus, as gifts back to our maker?

Life is full of uncertainties with only thing for certain death. Death is for 'dead' sure. It is the uncertainty of the time of death that makes us live like we are going to live here forever.

But when I look out at the coffin on display, I sober up. I dwell for a few minutes on my life the way I live it. I am reminded about the transitory nature of life. How nothing is forever. We leave our material achievements and bite the dust.

We become faded memories. A photo on the wall. Sad thoughts engulf me as I think of my own departed dead. Sometimes I go as far as to imagine myself in a coffin box.

Death why do we feat it? Is Death really a tragedy? I have heard many say ' I wish I were dead'. Do they really wish death?

Why do we love life so much? Is it because life is temporary that we cling on to 'dear life'?

Yet in some case people really want death. Because at times, death does seem the remedy, the solution (I don't mean suicide here).

Whatever, one thing is for sure death. Death is a great leveler. There is a poem by that name which goes like this:

Death the Leveler

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crookèd scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

James Shirley

Death scares, fascinates, inspires, . there have been already so many blogs on death on Iland.

But many of you may remember those lines from the film Anand :

Maut tu ek kavita hai.

Maut tu ek kavita hai ..
mujhase ek kavita ka vaadaa hai milegi mujhako ..

dubati nabzon mein jab dard ko neend aane lage
zard saa cheharaa liye chaand ufak tak pahunche
din abhi paani mein ho raat kinaare ke kareeb
na abhi andheraa ho, na ujaalaa ho, na raat na din
jism jab khatm ho aur ruuh ko saans aae .

mujhase ek kavita ka vaadaa hai milegii mujhako ..

And after the next three stages, my stage comes, and I snap out of these dark realistic thoughts as the bus jerks to a halt. And I scramble to change the bus, and my mood changes too. From the dark thoughts of death to worldly affairs to the urgent need to reach on time.

But this small shop gives me an opportunity to think about life and death. It is like my daily reminder that today could be my last day and I might bloody well live life like it is going to end today. Most of the days I manage to live like that and most of the times I also forget and put things off for tomorrow. The human that I am.

In a small documentary of just thirteen minutes, Paromita Vohra says it all. The abundance of the people, the closure of the mills, the opening of restaurants, eat joints shopping malls in plenitude.

The documentary has two parts. One is a poem 'The forgotten city' about the several mills and the working class, the closure of mills and subsequent unemployment. And another more interesting is: 'Defeat of the Minor goddess.'

The Minor Goddess here is Goddess 'Annapurna' who claims to have come first to the city and provided food in abundance to its people. All is well till her sister the Goddess of Wealth Lakshmi , comes along and the attitudes of the people change.

Goddess Lakshmi is given more importance and people worship her more fervently. We are shown monologues of the two goddesses who vie to outdo each other.

Then the scene zooms into a locality where a young woman is emphatically stating that all the residents in her locality are vegetarians not because they hate the non-vegetarians but because their beliefs are strong and that they have respect for life. This is their way of respecting life ousting the non-vegetarians out of their localities, not letting houses to them either on sale or rent. (Heard how even Aamir Khan was denied a house in one of the posh localities because he is a non-veggie? Read a Muslim.)

The young woman candidly says that in her locality all are diamond merchants who have clout, so they can have their way. Decide who lives in their locality.

And Lakshmi becomes greater than Annapurna who is forced into vegetarianism. Ultimately she decids to leave the city thus giving all the power to her sister Goddess Lakshmi.

Then we have the Shiv sena kholi fisherwomen organisation in a meeting shouting slogans:

Ek do, ek do,

Bhaiyya ko phenk do

Kaatenge bhai kaatenge,

macchi jaise kaatenge'

( One, Two, Three, Four,

U.P men have to go,

If they don't do as we wish

We will cut them like fish)

That is the kind of acceptability they have in their'Amchi Mumbai!!!'

And many Non-vegetarian restaurants are forcibly shut down in some localities. The underlying message is one particular community dominates the scene.

And it was a mere coincidence that, that day (26/05/08), after watching the documentary; I read this article in 'The Hindu' titled: 'Vegetarianism, tolerance and discrimination' by Tarunabh Khaitaan. Mr Khaitaan tells us how the Supreme Court of India has indirectly discriminated on religious grounds in its verdict in the case of "Hinsa Virodhak Sangh Vs Mirzapur Moti Kuresh Jamat". This verdict given on 14^th March, 2008 is anything but secular. It has directed that the sale of meat be banned during the nine days of the Jain festival.

Though the Constitution of India prohibits discrimination on grounds of religion, the Supreme Court does just that by forcing this ban.

In view of this, the writer has a very interesting point to make. He says that 'The impugned law forces everyone else to refrain from eating meat because Jains don't eat meat for religious reasons. Wouldn't it be the same thing to require non-Christians to fast during lent, non-Muslims to refrain from eating pork and non-Jews to eat only kosher food?'

Fundamental Rights are neither about number nor sentiments. If this ban is out of respect for the sentiments of one particular religious group then what about the sentiments of the other religious groups?

If due to bird flu, the sale of chicken is banned, then it is justified. But if it is out of religious sentiments of one particular group, then it is discriminatory. The Court instead of being secular is discriminative. There are other similar cases wherein the sale of meat, eggs, and fish has been banned out of respect for the sentiments of one particular religious group.

The outright refusal to accept people from different beliefs is becoming stronger by the day. As I read this article about how even those who wanted to sell their houses to Muslims were discouraged by their Hindu neighbours and well wishers, I began to think more deeply about the various times I have been discriminated too. And I asked myself: "How would I react if I had a neighbour who ate pork?" I must confess it took me a long time to come to realize that I need not believe in the other person's faith. But as a fellow human being, I needed to accept that there are bound to be differences in our ideals, religious beliefs. And accepting those differences is what 'tolerance' is all about. Acceptability and tolerance are so intertwined. And that is the key to peaceful co-existence.

The dancers were exquisite in all their finery and such graceful movements. The music given by the famous Guru Kaarikkudi Mani was mesmerising... . The effect was seen in the pin drop silence in the hall.

The dancing troupe was again that of another popular dancer Rajeswari Sainath who played the main character 'Menakaa'.

B.V. Balasai another distinguished flautist added to the magic of the musical charm.

And the director was N.S.Yamuna who has directed popular plays of Girish Karnad and Tendulkar. She is also among the founder members of 'The Madras Players' a theatre group.

With all these stalwarts from the music and theatre world, there was a surety of a great evening ahead.

And lastly the ballet was written by Vasanth Kannabiran a poet, writer and translator. Also one of the thousand women world wide nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2005.

And now the play which, is a narration by Menaka the celestial dancer. She takes us through her journey with her tryst with the sage Vishwamitra. She narrates us her version of the entire story. Not only her story but also that of her daughter Shakuntala, Rambha, and Mamta.

The ballet focuses on the story of these women from the view of a feminist drawing parallel to the lives of women all over.

Now, the story of Menaka she tells us that hers was not a story of seduction or love as we are made to believe. Instead she was a mere instrument sent to distract the sage who was on the verge of attaining the highest level of brahma rishi and, the gods feared competition.

Menaka candidly tells us that she had nothing to fear, it did not matter to her whether one god was less or more, one man less or man. It was the gods who trafficked boons and curses had much to fear. And she narrates that the sage was enraged for having given in to the charms of Menakaa. It was his own failure at not being able to restrain himself that made him plant his seed in the womb of Menaka.

And like many men who plant their seed in a woman's womb and then go away never to return, leaving the woman lonely and desolated sage Vishwamitra did the same. He went away to resume his penance. Earlier too, when he could not stick to his mediation and was enticed with Rambha, he turned her into a stone in fury.

Men whether they are sages or mere mortals find it easy to vent their anger on women.

Menaka not bound by the duties of an earthling gave birth to a daughter and went back to resume her duties in the heavens.

And she narrates the story of Shakuntala whom she sees from a distance. Shakuntala whose story we know to be a love story again finds a different version here. Shakuntala who has never seen a man in her life gives in to Dushyant's lust. And the king leaves her to go back to his kingdom with innumerable promises of a reunion. Shakuntala waits and waits.. The destiny of so many women. To wait for the men who in the name of love use the women and go back leaving behind only memories and false promises of a reunion. Similar is the fate of Shakuntala whose wait seems endless. And all the while the great king has conveniently forgotten the maid he left in the forests. The curse that makes him forget Shakuntala is only a pretext.

And again conveniently he remembers Shakuntala when he wants an heir to the throne!! So the son born to Shakuntala 'Bharat' is crowned king, who is said to have ruled for 27000 years. But unfortunately none of his sons were alive because they were killed due to their wicked ways.

Yet again the need for an heir rises. Ha, so much similar to our times. The male progeny much sought after. Women are subjected to violence for want of a male heir!

And for that much needed heir Mamta is the target of violence this time.

Mamta who is already pregnant is forcibly taken by Brahspati. What would we call this in our times? Rape - perhaps.

And Mamta gives birth to two sons. She abandons the one she thinks she knows is not her child (?). (Without a DNA test).

This child is adopted by the king as his heir.

All in the interest of men.

It was thought provoking. All these stories we hear from the male perspective and don't care to think otherwise. When put forth in this version, it made me also sit back and realize. That the violence against women is not of recent times. It is not a modern day phenomenon. but pictures even in the mythology.

Only people wish to tell these stories in a different form. One that suits them.

This narration is about some observations I made while inside the bus. Amusing ones, actually. Thought I will share it with my fellow Ilanders.

This morning I was seated next to a college girl. And her friends were seated in the front seat.

The girls were animatedly chatting away. They were conversing in Telugu and in between used words in English. So I could gather they were excited about some party they had in the college.

Here is the gist of their discussion.

They were talking about an event they had planned for the guests. The guests were their outgoing seniors. And they were to have a contest or pageant, whatever. So they were using the word 'Miss Contestant' many times, till one of them said:

"Hey they had held the 'Miss. Fresher' contest so we can now call it 'Miss. Farewell' instead of Miss. Contestant." I was laughing. But silently, mind you. Oh so it was a farewell party, I thought, looking at the girls dressed in ethnic party wear and pretty facial make up. 'Miss. Contesntant' and 'Miss. Farewell'?

Never heard of such titles in my life...

Then one of them told that the previous night she had been preparing questions to ask the contestants. One of them was: 'Who is your role model?'

But the others did not seem to agree on it. It was a very common question, they said. They kept saying different questions. And all the while I pretended not to be listening though I actually was, trying hard not to laugh.

Then came the ultimate question. One of them told with a sudden burst of excitement:

"Hey, we will ask: 'What are the similar differences between a man and a woman?'"

And I could no longer contain that laughter I was for so long suppressing. I burst out in a laughter. 'Similar differences?'

And the girls suddenly looked at me, kind of bewildered. They paused for a few seconds looking at me as if I had lost my marbles. Then they resumed their conversation. I tried my best to control my laughter and soon I had to get down. I smiled at them and muttered " good luck for the party girls" and got down the bus.

But the fun was not finished folks. While commuting back home, the joke was on me. How?

Read on....

I grabbed a seat as soon I was done with the jostling and bustling to get in the bus. Luckily I got the one near the window. After flashing my bus pass, I stretched my legs, leaned back, closed my eyes and was soon asleep. And when I woke up, the street did not look familiar. I looked out again and it dawned on me. Ha, I had overslept and had gone further from my destination. I sheepishly looked around, half with amusement and half embarrassedly. Thank God, no one knows, I am getting down at the wrong stop, I thought as I got down at the next stop. I caught another bus back home, chiding myself for falling asleep!

What a day, I thought amusedly. Began with me laughing at others and ended with me laughing at my own self.

Tibet has been occupied by the Chinese for nearly fifty years. The citizens of Tibet are under the Military rule of China.

Now that the Olympics are being held in Beijing in August, 08, the Tibetans across the world are using this as an opportunity to show the real face of the growing super power, China to the world. They want the world to intervene and support them in their struggle for Independence. The Tibetans' human rights have been grossly violated under the Chinese Colonial regime. A sad fact. In today's times where everyone speaks of equality, liberty and freedom, Tibet is under Chinese oppression.

The Dalai Lama has been meeting the leaders of different countries of the world to gather support for his country. While most of them are afraid even to meet him, some have assured support. Even most Chinese support this cause. But the Dalai Lama does not want his country men to protest against the games. Because he wants a peaceful resistance.

But this is also a peaceful resistance, a non violent one. So why the hesitation?

Yesterday's newspapers showed a picture of some Tibetan demonstrators in France trying to send an extinguished torch to China. The Olympic torch was already extinguished five times. Now the extinguished torch has been sent for the Olympics!

The same is happening in United States too. In fact Hillary Clinton, the presidential candidate of the United States has dared President Bush to boycott the Games in Beijing.

This is their way of protest a non-violent protest. They want the world to boycott the Beijing games, to condemn China.

While here in India, opinions are divided about the Olympics and Tibet. Baichung Bhutia asserts that he will not carry the torch in protest while other sports persons say that politics and sports should not be mixed. Bollywood actor Amir Khan said that Olympics don't belong to China. Though he supports the Tibetans, he says he will carry the torch.

I personally feel that this is the right time to highlight the struggle of the Tibetans that has been going from many years.

The Tibetans refugees in India, under the 'Tibetan People's Uprising Movement' have organized a March from Dharamsala to Tibet that has started from March 10 2008.

The Tibetans want our support the support of Indians who themselves have achieved their freedom after several struggles.

I have read in a magazine named Communalism Combat in an article by Tenzen Tsundue that the Tibetans want us to join them in their march, for a day, for an hour for a week. They need help from the media besides writers, technicians, nurses. Most importantly they need prayers.

People interested in helping in whatever way they can, or even just interested to know more about this uprising, please log on to: www.TibetanUprising.org

People from all walks from all over the world have been joining in this protest to free Tibet.

Let's do our bit too. Let's pray if there is nothing we can do - For the Tibetans' liberty their right to live a life with dignity. Let us uphold the Human Rights of all those rights are being violated. Be it in Palestine, India, Tibet, Iraq, Darfur or anywhere else..

The Article 1 of the Universal Declaration of Human rights says:

Everyone has the right to live. All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.

This week I had four days off due to the continuous holidays of Milad-un-Nabi, Good Friday and Holi and finally Sunday. So I went to my home town, this time determined to clear all my things. My cousin (who is a few years younger to me ) and I got down to clear the books first. Ha, all those heaps and heaps of comic books, our prized collection of books ranging from romance, detective to philosophy. Even as we were sorting out the books, we could not resist reading the comics. One never gets too old where comics are concerned. Or was it just with us?

We could not decide to give away the books or sell them off to the kabadiwala. 'Sell', urged both the older generation and the new generation. We were naturally annoyed at this. But decided to hold on to the ones that were still in good condition and had not been eaten by the moths.

Then we went on to our personal things and again were immersed in re-reading all those greeting cards we had received from friends and boy friends!! We became those young college teenagers as we rummaged through those greeting cards especially by the ones who were trying to woo us. Imagine, we had still kept those cards!!!

There were some letters too! From pen friends, from the rotract club of which we were members, and from .. you know who. Soon we were rolling on the floor as we regaled all those days. But there were also some letters that sobered us up. Those were the painful, heart breaking ones. We decided to tear them all up. Both the ones that were pleasant and those that were not.

And soon I found a trunk full of my diaries. I had been writing them since I was 16. And there were so many of them. In some I found dried roses, small notes, New Year resolutions and in one I found the lost Re.10/- note I had been searching for. That note was my first pay when I was 17 which, I had got from a school for minding a class when the teacher was absent for the day!

After consulting my cousin over the diaries, I decided to set a bon fire of them.

And that evening sure enough, we gathered in the back yard and lit a pyre of my past. My cousin asked me if I was feeling sad for burning all those treasured memories.

I thought for a while. maybe I did feel a little sad. But then, I told her "People usually bury their past, I am burning mine" and soon it was ok. It took quite a long time for all those books to burn.

The next day we got down to it again. And this time we sorted out all those trinkets which remained despite having given away so many of them. These were a err. a little special ones. But now after all these years, though they were still special, it was time to bid good bye to them. So we stacked them up neatly in a small bag to be given away or thrown..or whatever.

Now, the best thing folks. We found two neat little pouches. You will never guess what these were!!

Those were our detective kits! Yes Sir, Detective kits. We aspired to become detectives when we grew up. Those kits were not from our college but school days. Inspired by the Famous Five, Secret Seven and other amateur sleuth of Enid Blyton, and Nancy Drew and The hardy Boys- the teenage detectives, we had decided on our future careers!

So in that quest, we had invented a written code language. And we often passed on secret notes to each other written in our code language!

Those detective kits which we now found were still intact with its contents. And the contents were:

A note pad (its pages now yellowed),

A pen (the ink now all dried up)

A pencil and an eraser (now hard as stone) and a sharpener. (the sharpener in our kits is on its way to becoming antique, because they no longer make sharpeners of that kind now)

A pencil torch (ours did not have cells in it!)

A match box and a candle (both useless now)

A blade and a penknife (totally rusted with time)

A piece of string

A small packet of red chili powder (now unrecognizable)

Some money (only a few coins were left)

We laughed till tears rolled down our eyes. Then we consoled each other, "At least we did something, look at today's kids! All they do is watch TV". We felt better justifying ourselves. Well, everyone does commit follies in their childhood and youth. We committed our share, I guess.

'So, shall we keep these kits or throw them away?' my cousin asked.

'A testimony of our foolishness?' I asked. Again we burst out laughing. 'Ok, we will keep it, yaar. Maybe for some more years. I said. And so we decided to keep them - the only thing among the many treasures of the past.

So all I brought back with me after discarding away the rest was my detective kit and the Re.10/- note. As the time to depart arrived, we grew nostalgic despite the bravery with which we tore and burnt the things that held memories of long. We may have done away with the material things but the memories will always linger. We live only once but walk down the long lanes of memory several times in this one life.

As I boarded the train, I noticed again that the quaint little town had changed so much. I could no longer relate to the town of my childhood and youth. It has grown and expanded just as I had in all these years!

A small song of about 5 minutes. Hats off to the ones who dared to make it!!

Fully prepared to sweat it out, we went to the venue and were surprised to see the place. It was in an almost secluded place. The building was a blend of modern and ethnic architecture with a very big garden which had soft green grass, a pond with lotus blooming, shrubs with beautiful exotic flowers.. Very much like scenery straight out of a picture calendar!

No, it was not a resort but an institute meant for training purposes.

Even the accommodation was good.

As soon as we reached there, we got down to work. The participants were from different places of the state.

Even the evenings were booked for the sessions till dinner time. But we had other plans. we had seen the Table tennis table in the hall next to our room on the first floor! And all the participants were allotted rooms in the ground floor. So we gave them assignment for the evening and began playing TT. The last time we had played the game was when we were in our schools and colleges. Like naughty teenagers, we grabbed the racquets in glee and began the game. And continued it even after supper till we were too tired to take even a step. But our enthusiasm was at its peak. After retiring to our rooms, we played the movie 'Chak de India' though it was quite late and we had to be up early for the next day! Actually we had to plan for the next day!

The next day went well because we had arranged for a resource person to take care of the session who kept us occupied for the whole day with his 'gyan'. His 'gyan' had all our participants so engrossed that they did not want it to end. And to top it, the resource person was a drool dude! Hahaha so most of them were drooling over him, including us. Incidentally all our participants were women!!!

After the 'gyan' session, we played a movie for the participants titled 'Ankur' which had lots of underlying messages in it. A brilliant movie by Shyam Benegal, with Shabana Azmi, Anant Nag as the cast. None of us had seen it before.

The same thing followed after supper this evening of the second day too. Lots of table tennis. But this time we had company! A student who was at the training institute and was residing on the second floor came down for water and stopped by to watch four crazy women playing table tennis in the middle of the night! When we invited him, he eagerly joined us. And boy was he good at the game! Though it was past his bedtime, he kept on playing with us. It was as if the young man did not want to miss out on the fun. He was actually teaching us the shots and the chops. Finally all our energies drained, we went back to our rooms but once back in our rooms, we began our session of jokes and more laughter. All recollecting the behavior of the young man who was kind of awed by one of our sexy colleague who was wearing shorts!!!

Finally we dozed off. The next afternoon we left the place after first packing off all our participants and later having a last game of TT! The taxi came to take us back to our workplace. But there was still some hangover of all the fun we had. so we stopped at an ice cream parlour and had ice creams.

And we realized that we had more fun here than we would have had back home during the weekend! We had started grumbling that when the whole world is enjoying their weekend, here we were slogging it. But this weekend turned out to be great!

All the fresh air, plenty of running about for the game and lots of laughter had done us so much of good!!!

And we began looking forward to the next month's weekend programme we have scheduled.

Innocent till proven guilty