I in I Am An Entrepreneur

Meghna Maiti

Who am I? It is perhaps the inanest question, yet it’s also not so easy to comprehend always. I am Meghna Maiti- a fairly responsible daughter, a reliable friend to many, a decent journalist and a writer, an editor and so many other identities. At different phases and circumstances, I play each of these parts and feel satisfied with the way I juggle each of these layers. But I know, I am much more than all of these, beneath all these layers of personalities. I am also a breathing presence, pulsating with life force who could go on solitary walks under the clear, blue sky and think of achieving the impossible.

I am a woman.

I am still a child for whom life is all full of beginnings and no endings. At some level I am already a ghost who is sometimes haunted by unpleasant past, bitter experiences and setbacks that killed a part of me. I am made of the influences of numerous stars and constellation that chart my future path and decide the course of my destiny. I am somewhere a Sagittarius on the cusp.

I am a ‘mean’ person, a ‘selfish’ brute and an ‘arrogant show-off’ for some people. To some I am even ‘rebel’ and ‘radical.’ And to some others, I am a wannabe elite, a gold-digger and a witch. I have always popped all these comments with a pinch of salt.

Yet according to many people, I am an extremely honest and loyal person. But I know for sure that I am no embodiment of virtues. And I am certainly no Mother Teresa. I know that.

I am also thoughts, concepts, feelings and ideas. I am amorphous mostly, unless I am on a special date when I certainly put on an appearance.

To some people, I am the she-bull and the juggernaut. And these are mostly people in my professional network. To some others, I am the ultimate ‘lightworker,’ a healer. They are again friends whose personal issues seemed to have disappeared like magic with my entry into their lives. They swear by me all the time and call me ‘Miss Sunshine.’

I am a dude, a bro, a girl, a buddy, in a chatroom.

I am still ‘Alice in Wonderland’ for my school-friends. I am ‘lady Shakespeare’ to some school friends who still laugh at the way I insisted everyone to speak only ‘English’ in school.

To some I am fantasy. To some others I am the mystic lady. And even others say I am an enigma created of ethereal dust.

I am at time everything and at times nothing.

I have been called an African, an Ethiopian, to be most specific. I have also been called a tribal woman, for being too primitive with my instincts.

I have been called a foodie, a good cook, a devourer of all things edible, without any complain.

I have been called a communist, a socialist, the voice of the silent majority. I have been called a true ‘bengali,’ a Calcuttan.

I have been called a confused ideologue.

I have been called a heathen.

I have even been called ballsier than men by the men.

I am bravery, courage, spunk. I am daring. I am a clown.

I am not confused any more. I am not clouded in my mind.

Slowly, I realise I am all of these. I don’t exist as parts. I am a whole person. Do not seek me as any of these individual parts. I am either a full person or neither.

I Am An Entrepreneur. I exist in relation to all the other parts.

I am constantly building, breaking and re-inventing every time.

How are you an entrepreneur? Please share your story.

ENDS

No Free Press, Item Numbers please

“Hell breaks loose through the breaking door

Whining its splintering, wooden hinges

Claws wrapping onto the arches beyond

Gnarled feet pressed on the threshold…..”

It cannot get more chaotic than this and yet there is a strange sense of silence. Even as alarm grows in Press circles over numerous job losses and that of few impending ones, the entire fraternity, rest one or two, choose to remain absolutely tight-lipped. And some have decided to dwell in self-imposed complacency. Quite in an Orwellian fashion, the journalists in their confined space resemble zoo animals from a distance- management a fierce middle white boar, editors a small white porker and reporters, sub-editors a maddened squealer. Each one displays a definite set of behaviours: while management plants itself strategically a few inches away from the editorial side and clamps down its big paws on the editorial side; the poor editors with their hands tied keep mum and calmly seeks support from the big brothers. The hullaballoo in Press circles continue throughout the day and during the long night the voices of one of the few that rise above the muffled drone is that of one or two gutsy editors, who speak the truth but then they have to immediately pack their bags and leave. In the process, the already existing crack between the honest, truth seeking common people and the Press grow until it becomes a wider chasm.

The road to perdition only intensifies with the editors slumping at their desks while yawning, and yelling mindlessly at the journalists or asking them to just get lost as the management has zero tolerance for any kind of dissent and that it must have its own ‘mindless,’ ‘yes-man’ as the editor.

So, in a situation like this, what is the need of the hour? What could possibly bring back the zing into this much-loved profession? What could breakthrough this hell of a clutter and connect this entire power cycle in a more synchronistic manner? A force that is all-pervasive and powerful……..Ummmm……Perhaps, an item number!! Like say, a Mallika Sherawat or a Kareena Kapoor? With gloss on their lips, multi-coloured skirts and swaying hips, they could fill up the gap in the system and put everyone in their places and slowly but deliberately erase all notions of hierarchy, high and low, light and dark, me and you. They could be the much-needed change agents to point out the flaws in the system; show the inter-relatedness of all beings and above all, set out the line of demarcation between what ‘sells’ and what does not ‘sell,’ what is ‘flesh,’ and what is just pure ‘spirit.’ 

Armed with aides, prodded by jolts from several businesses, racing from meeting room to sumptuous dinner time at five star hotels to the power hour at the airport, management has no time to listen to anybody, least of all poor, common journalists. We, lesser mortals, just gamble with our lives and professions, perennially at their mercy. The editors are aware of everything and yet they chose to stay in their safety zones. And then sadly, in the process, the only saviours who could make everyone turn around and take a notice could only be item women, for sure!!!

ENDS

Dissolution

September 24, 2012- 3:06 am

Dissolution

Pot-bellied ganpati is not given to wine; he is not a tippler; yet he intoxicates Mumbaikars with his earthy presence in the month of September. A spirit of joy and bonhomie reverberates throughout the city. Twinkling lights, pandals and drumbeats uplift the stressed-out souls of the city. People across Mumbai get a break from their usual schedules- if not for anything else- for the uncontrollable traffic during the immersion ceremony days. The ganesha idols are immersed in ponds or tanks to complete the cycle of creation and dissolution. Long procession of devotees chanting- deva shree ganesha, deva shree ganesha fills up the emptiness; expensive crackers light up the darkness. Ganesha rides high on the collective spirit of festivity.

On the immersion day this year, the pandal right next to my house drowned its symphony into chaos. Devotees turned up in numbers, jostled, screamed to get their blessings while trumpets sounded and the announcer shouted into the microphone- everything dissolved into infinity, marking the finality of a spiritual journey. 

Dissolution means different things to different people. It could be interpreted as de-fragmentation, detachment; it could mean annihilation. It could even mean- liberation, or to release the binding force of something.

Lord Ganesha devised a sort of dissolution for me. It was a spiritual awakening, a transition that woke me up from a long sense of ennui and helped me re-orchestrate my life. Even though I am unsure about the length of this state of mind, it definitely comes as a whiff of fresh air into my otherwise damped, muddled existence. After a long time, I woke up refreshed on a Sunday, called up my friends- Anu and Swar- went to Anu’s place for lunch, played with her baby, and had a brief chat with her husband. She treated me to awesome vegetable pakora and chai in the afternoon. Later in the day, Anu and I went to Oberoi mall- PVR for the movie- Moonrise Kingdom. This is an interesting movie on two romantic kids who were way older than their years and how they escaped to an island and constructed a world parallel to the larger one.  I could instantly connect with the little girl and her idiosyncrasies in the movie. Like her, I was also a difficult, matured child with deep issues, conflicts and self-doubt. And I have grown up to be a childish adult with even bigger issues. 

I accompanied Anu on shopping for cosmetics and headed home. On our way back we bought two filter cigarettes, smoked and sang songs. I smoked just for the fun of it and do not intend to make it a habit. Reaching IC Colony, we went to Juzzy Bites restaurant and had vegetable puff, pizza margharita along with peach and apricot drink. She came to my house for a bit, for the first time and said she loved it and thought it was the ideal place to pursue art and party. Swar also wanted to come over for a bit but did not turn up.

Almost the entire day I did not let my mind race the way it usually does and consumes my life. I let the events and the people get my constant attention. My emotions were well under check and I felt liberated. In a sense, I did not let myself get sucked into an intensely individual space where I am defined only by my visions and desires. It was almost as if a cycle of creation was giving way to one of dissolution. I hope I can continue to live like this at least for the next two months and feel free.

Meghna Maiti

ENDS