abhivyakti

Memoir - Rajasthan I

2012-02-08T00:09:00.001+05:30

I went till the remotest corner of the world; I went as far as I could go without falling off the cliff; far off from the mainland India, in an unknown desert hamlet called Khuri, Rajasthan happened to me, in the last month of last year. The January wish - Happy New Year - finally got realized in December.

And how!

Picture this - I walk alone, in the earliest of mornings, towards the dunes that glow in anticipation of their sun, and suddenly I see peacocks, many of them, walking around, and flying above. There is no other sight that could match the majesty of that sight. It was dreamy, that scene, that time, that place, and everything about it. I walk further, and I see herd of antlers towards my right. That sight was beautiful, this sight was awesome. I took my camera out, and put it back in no time. You can either feel or record, and blessings are not to be recorded.

On top of the dunes, with sun rising in background, I had had a cup of tea, and a plate of Maggi, which tasted like defeat, for Maggi was not to be eaten like that.

Last night, we had planned to carry out a madness - to cook Maggi on the dunes, and eat it out in the open, under the thousand twinkling stars of the rural sky. In the midnight, we set out to make that night unforgettable, and we did make that night unforgettable, not once but twice, both unsuccessfully. I had never imagined that I would see mirage in pitch-dark midnight. We just couldn't find the dunes!

Hours before, we were there, right on the top of the dunes, dancing to the tunes of a gypsy boy, who conjured up music, nay magic, out of nothing but four flat pieces of wood. Can I ever forget that? The setting sun, the gilded land, the camel shadows, the bright red-yellow turban, the charming smile, the tuk-tuk melody, the rhythm, the steps, the hoots, the laughter... oh I must have been drunk.

But Rajasthan is much more than sand and dunes. If I realized one thing, it was this. Rajasthan after a visit emerges as a very different, and much greener, landscape.

Bikaner, where we started from, is a bhujia bazaar. Junagarh Fort is good, may be great, but other forts have been sold out to those who run hotels.

Have I said this before - that Bikaner is bhujia bazaar? That's what Bikaner is. Period. And yes, they don't serve Rajasthani in their restaurants. They serve chinese and pizzas and even south Indian, but not Rajasthani. If you want to try Rajasthani cuisine, better go to Jodhpur.

Jodhpur, for me, means Nai Sadak, which is an interesting place for foodies and shoppers. I would not mind another visit there. The other attraction - Mehrangarh Fort - is awesome.

But nowhere close to Jaisalmer Fort - which is a civilization bubbling inside a boundary. Yes, there are pests too, like Tibetan refugees, who sell "Free Tibet" T-shirts to white women, and expect them to fight for their freedom, but I will talk about these parasites later. Despite them, and pestering locals posing as guides, this fort is a place without parallel. Unlike all other forts that I've seen, this fort lives in present. It does have a past, but it's not a museum.

Jaisalmer sees itself as a desert town, with locals poaching tourists for Sam cottages and Camel Safari etc. But to me, Jaisalmer would mean Jaisalmer Fort, since you can find dunes elsewhere, but there is no place like Jaisalmer Fort anywhere else.

I can not explain why. Perhaps because of our experience - the folk singer we bumped into, as soon as we stepped out of some palace, which was good but monotonous. If music can move you, he would move you, nay stun you, freeze you, and hold you in trance. You can hardly move unless he allows you to, with a grand-fatherly smile on his royally wrinkled visage. In my mind, all hyperbole is taken care of by his "Padharo Mhare Des" alone.

The topic of music takes me to that night in Osiyaan, where we spent the 31st, the last day of last year. This place is a resort. The folk music program had started and most of the guests had gathered at the venue. Far from there, I was sitting outside my cottage, laid back on a chair, gazing at the moon, reflecting on the moment claimed by both memories and hopes, sipping tea, and soaking the faint music.

The last memory of Rajasthan has to be the "Happy New Year" moment, when I did what I always thought I couldn't do - dance. I danced, and I danced well, meaning I enjoyed. The new year began with a new experience, and it continued for the whole day, since I did another unlikely thing - I went to the Dargah of Nizamuddin Auliya in Ajmer. Perhaps Jan 1st was prophetic; who knows?

On Deepawali - and window shopping

2011-10-26T01:15:00.023+05:30

Francios Gautier says that he is a Hindu, not by birth but by belief, since here is a religion that imposes no condition on its followers, demands no intellectual surrender as an entry-fee, and offers no ready-made answers to seriously complex questions. It has no holy book, and no final word on anything. In fact, for a Hindu, if I may say so, nothing is too holy and nothing is too final.

Hinduism is not a dogma, it's not a comprehensive manual of Dos and Don'ts, it's an attitude rather than a faith, and to repeat the platitude - it's a way of life; and it has an inalienable spirit of quest right at its core. That's why it is essentially sympathetic to the idea of pulrality of thought. That explains its inclusiveness and so-called tolerance, what it is best known for, despite so many external as well as internal forces acting against it for so long. In the end, a true Hindu is essentially a seeker, and the seeker is not only allowed but also encouraged to find his answers to his questions.

However, that is a white man's version, which is as much moral as aesthetic in nature. For others, there exists another aspect of Hinduism too, which involves what is worldly, which is cast in stone, and which is replete with suffocating superstitions and malpractices (ranging from as uncivilized and as repulsive as animal worship to animal sacrifice, and the hemartia - the caste system as-it-is). Also, this is one religion which has gradually but irreversibly tilted towards materialism, and subsequently shifted away from spirituality, so much so that an average Hindu can be pious without slightest spiritual disposition. Religion has been reduced to mere paraphernalia of religion, which at best consist of periodic and meaningless rituals, which make no real sense to anybody. Worse, the worst form of corruption is seen nowhere else but in the temples, where the degradation of religion has been almost complete, and can not worsen much. Our gods have been excluded from our lives, idealized in mind, and idolized in matter. Our prayers are thankless and demanding, and we are ever ready to make deals with the divinity, whosoever and wherever he/she is, if necessary.

This corruption and degradation is manifest in our festivals as well. For instance, Deepawali is a festival of light, but it's certainly no more about things that light symbolizes. It is more about what is to be bought, how much and how many, deals, discounts, and the worst of all - gambling, all in name of religion. A religious Hindu is, ironically, at his materialist worst on this day. He has little patience to stop, and refect on heavy ideas like inner darkness, inner light, and inner peace. He has little time to realize that the festival of light is meant to illuminate the inner self, and eliminate the inner darkness, as it were. However, Deepawali, as it stands, has unfortunately turned into a celebration of darkness, and everything that darkness stands for.

Hinduism is nothing without its beautiful, and equally powerful, language of symbols, which must be deciphered to begin the journey that every man must undertake. The seeker must wonder, must think, and must seek. He who opens his eyes, and looks, will see. Deepawali happens when God comes back to the place where he belongs, the place which can not be fought or defeated. Until then, this world will be shrouded in darkess, and Deepawali will remain just another day of deals, discounts, and shopping.

why do dogs cross roads?

2011-10-19T00:08:00.014+05:30

1. Why do dogs cross roads?

I see Theater of the Absurd being played out when I see a dog crossing the road. Why, I wonder, it has to? Why can't it stay where it is? What lies there that is not here? How would crossing the road help?

That brings me to an existential question - why do we cross roads? Is our crossing roads any less futile? It came to my mind when I was driving to a nearby petrol pump.

2. What entertains me?

I liked that horrible movie - "Oldboy". Technically, however, it's a well-made movie. Plus it has everything that entertains a movie-buff like me - a distorted character (an ordinary guy who is a victim of circumstances), a contrived situation (with sufficient semblance to the reality that we know), some aesthetically shot scenes of sex (as per the demands of the script, of course), and some good old gore. That's what we watch movies for, isn't?

3. What do I think of Formula 1 (in India)?

I saw things like Tomatina and October Fest being brought to Hyderabad, to satisfy the growing appetite of Hyderabadi people for anything that is 'global'. They send their kids to global schools. They also celebrate beach parties on new year eve. It's another matter that the nearest beach happens to be about 300 kms away from Hyderabad.

But Hyderabad is still backward, and about 10 years behind cities like Bangalore. Hyderabad is Bangalore in making. Hyderabad is wannabe Bangalore. And Hyderabad is pretty upset to have lost the chance to host India's maiden F1 show to Noida, for a reason as pointless as Telangana!

Coming to F1, it is one of those global games, only more expensive, more exclusive, and more bourgeois. I don't mind F1, unless it thrust itself on my consciousness, which it does since F1 is all about ads, models, and logos. To me, F1 is an indulgance, not a sport. I won't analyze it any further. I don't feel like wasting my words on something as ridiculous as F1.

In the desi context, F1 reminds me of looking at a wedding album, in which the groom dons a suit and a tie, and flanked by his lesser relatives in chappals, looks rather out of place. In typical small town weather, in no time, the make-up gives in to the heat; the sweat washes away the foundation, smears the face, exposes the hidden complexion, and worse - the hidden complex.

Imitation - it's funny, it's awkward, and it's a profoundly sad thing to do. And of course it's demeaning. I am not sure if even French have Tomatina. Hyderabad has, as if we lack festivals!

On part of the middle-class metro-Indians, F1 is so desperate a pretense that it arouses pity. However, unlike the wedding photo, there is nothing innocent about it. Instead, it reeks of colossal callousness towards everything that should matter. Ironically, the F1 fanatics who are absolutely indifferent to fellow Indians claim to be proud of India (whatever that means), and the progress that their India (wherever that is) has made. And what's the index of that progress? HDI? No. Inclusive growth? No. Decreasing disparity? Decreasing deforestation? Rehabilitation of the dispossessed? No. None of them. What's it then? Well, perhaps progress of this India to these Indians means things like Tomatina, October Fest, and F1.

To those who can still think through rumors, F1 is nothing but a joke, and most of us find ourselves at the wrong side of it.

4. Mediocrity or Obsession?

That's the question. This is the dilemma of an IT coolie like me - to be or not to be the star. If one opts for the "Middle Path", which promises maximum happiness, or least unhappiness, mediocrity follows invariably. On the contrary, if one chooses to pursue excellence in something, he must be committed to the cause, and show off his passion whenever the camera faces him. Consequently, things like balance go for a toss. Keeping Jupiter aside, success is usually a by-product of persistent obsession.

If a life of obsession is success, what else is failure, one wonders. Is there a way to break away from this tug of war? What if one makes a bucket list, and do what he wants?

5. Anna verses Democracy

I agree with Arvind Kejriwal when he says that people are supreme, and they are above parliament. It's a make-believe theory that democracy starts with elections, and ends with the elected members of parliament.

Coming to democracy, UK is a democracy. So is UP. As it is evident, democracy comes in different flavors. It's the flavor that matters. Just being a democracy is not enough, since democracy is not the ends in itself.

Anna is not an exception. From Aruna Roy to Arundhati Roy, people are losing confidence in Indian state. Status quo is no more an option, except for the beneficiaries of the status quo. We need reforms.

6. Steve Jobs

In "Over the Flames", I couldn't help noticing this young couple who was sitting in front of me. Both the man and the women were dipped in their respective phones. To me, that's the lasting legacy of Steve Jobs.

To me his iGadget is like one of many other toys, made for big boys and girls who are yet to grow up. And to me, Mr Jobs, no matter what media might say, was a maker of mental dildos, as it were, and that's how I see him. Still, I don't mind someone selling toys. But when someone starts selling myths, like Jobs was some sort of Edison, and some sort of transformer, then it gets funny. If Jobs was an innovator, damn such innovators, and damn such innovations. I am absolutely certain that the world would be rather better off without him or his likes.

Konkan - Monsoon - RE TBTS

2011-09-03T23:47:00.044+05:30

Plan: to cover about 2830 kms in 9 days.

Route: Hyderabad -- Pune - Raigad Fort - Ganapatipule - Vijaydurg - Sindhudurg - Goa - Karwar - Gokarna - Murudeshwar - Jog Falls - Agumbe - Shringeri - Belur - Bangalore -- Hyderabad

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Day 0 (Aug 26): Hyderabad - Sholapur (300 kms)

The prelude set the tone for rest of the play. No mercy was shown from heavens for my maiden bike marathon. As we mounted our sacks, it was raining. It was raining when we kicked off, and it was to rain throughout, day and night, all the time. In no time I knew what we were up against, as all our stratagems to keep water out failed one by one. Soon it was apparent that the word - waterproof - is a joke. Before we could leave the town behind, rain was as much inside as it was outside.

And that was not the end of our problems. The highway had to offer a plenty. The visibility worsened after the dusk. The high beam would burst on the glass and leave you dazzled. When you lift the glass, the water needles would threaten to puncture your eyes. For a good deal of the road, riding was like making good guesses on the road.

The only respite was occasional cups of tea and steamy hot omlettes by road-side stalls. It was midnight when we decided to call it a day. By then, we were looking like a mess.

Day 1 (Aug 27): Sholapur - Baramati (200 kms)

A minor accident on the highway dented the course of our trip. After talking to locals in a repair shop, we dropped the idea of going to Pune. There was not much sense in riding on the highway with mud flying around everywhere. So we sneaked into the interior routes with a safer speed. Thankfully, we found that the state highways were in much better shape, and more pleasant to ride on, beneath the canopies of great banyan trees.

Meanwhile, it dawned on me that I was too ambitious in planning. Looking at the situation in hand - the non-stop downpour and an understandably demoralized co-traveler - I realized that it was high-time we rationalized our plan as per the practical realities. We stopped and talked over the lunch. And decided to take it easy and do whatever was possible.

All this while I could not stop wondering why would anyone want to ride in Monsoon.

Looking at the brighter side of the situation, despite (or because of) whatever we were looking like, we aroused lots of curiosity and awe wherever we passed by. People turned their heads, girls giggled, boys cheered, and adults asked questions. Traveling is incomplete without engaging with the locals. And it's impossible not to come across interesting people in such road trips. To our good luck, a veteran trekker bumped into us and helped us with useful information. Things were beginning to take a shape.

Day 3 (Aug 28): Baramati - Raigad (150 kms)

The journey through the Ghats was one of the things that I had in my mind when I had planned this trip. Just to remind again, it was pouring buckets all the time. The road (from Bhor, Pune to Mahad, Raigad) crawled like a snake through the forest. As far as I could see, it was lush green all around. The sound of the countless falls crashing, birds chirping, and wind whistling, left me absolutely mesmerized. As we rolled upwards, we were wrapped by clouds. We had arrived.

It's amazing that in a setting like these, even a simple thing like a cup of tea feels so very special. By a roadside dhaba on top of the hill, I enjoyed one of the most memorable cups of tea, along with steamy hot Vada Pao. Won't I ever come here again?, I asked myself. And that was the moment it occurred to me that I was rather wasting my time in Hyderabad, which is far from all the interesting places. At that moment, the microscopic details of urban existence seemed unnecessary in the larger scheme of life, which had lot better to offer to those who sought.

Indeed, biking in clouds is more than an experience. It's a perspective.

While coming down, I switched off the ignition. The bike rolled down the slopes on its own, leaving behind the clouds, and what followed was about 5-6 kms of absolute timelessness, in which oblivious to the whole world, I soaked the sound of nature, trying to store it somewhere in my memory, taking it back to where I need it the most.

Day 4 (Aug 29): Raigad - Guhagar (250 kms)

Konkan is the land of hills, beaches, forts, temples, and food. Apart from sea food, what it is well known for is Ratnagiri Hapus or Alphonso. We took the NH 17 and sped towards the land of famous Alphonso mangoes. From a place called Chiplun, we turned towards the state highway, which runs closer to the coastal line. And finally, we reached Guhagar in late afternoon.

Throughout this trip, we enjoyed riding more than anything else. The evenings were not happening enough, since there was not much to do outside with the rain playing spoilsport. And it was not fun to sit in a stuffy room watching your clothes not drying. I regretted not making a diversion to Pratapgad, which was just 25 kms away from the NH 17.

Anyway, we were in Guhagar. Apparently, it is one of the most gorgeous beaches in Konkan, though it is dangerous for swimmers. In Monsoon, it's insane to go inside water anyway, since the waves leap furiously and take away whatever they lay hands on. Moreover, the beaches are invariably dirty in rainy season. In any case, beaches were out of scope for us in his trip. I just wanted to see life in Konkan in an off-season.

This was another reason, apart from the sheer impossibility, for us to curtail the scope of our trip. The beaches deserved a better season, and it was a better idea to leave those places for another trip.

Day 5 (Aug 30): Guhagar - Ganapatipule (100 kms)

As recommended by our hospitable host, who painstakingly drew a detailed map of the whole coastal region for us, we decided to take an intimate route through the villages of the region. No wonder we could not travel much, but we saw a lot that day. Besides, it was a welcome diversion from a beautiful monotony of riding through vegetation. Thanks to Monsoon, we were allowed to do something different than wearing floral shirts and sipping lemonades at beaches.

Near Guhagar, there is a lesser known place called "Baman Ghal". It's a deep gorge in rocks, in which waves rush in and splash in air about 40-50 feet high. Standing there, it came to my mind that unless you have a two-wheeler, which approaches more, and makes you more approachable, you can not even think to explore a place as secluded as this. And that would be a huge loss.

We rode through habitations, and through places where there was no trace of man. There was nothing else but clouds, rains, and greenery. It was so isolated up there that one could even change clothes on road without been seen. But what would one do if his bike started acting up? That was a terrifying thought. At that moment I thanked the makers of the RE TBTS for making such a reliable piece of mechanical marvel.

By evening, we were in Ganapatipule. We strolled near the beach after dinner. In pitch dark, the sea looked menacing with the tides lashing and roaring. It was a sight to look at, and a sound to listen to. But we had to rush to our room since the drizzling was beginning to get heavier.

Day 6 (Aug 31): Ganapatipule - Goa via Vijaydurg, Sidhudurg (300 kms)

What could one say about the journey when hills are on your left side and sea is on the right? I was living the fantasy. As we rode along the coast, I saw nameless beaches, rocky shores, lagoons, and the life around the coast.

The first destination was Vijaydurg fort, which was in disrepair, and that left me disappointed. The second stop was Sindhudurg fort, which is build on an island. I couldn't see the fort from inside, since ferry service was not in operation. There was no point in going to Tarkarli beach. So we moved on, and reached Goa by night. We stopped by a dhaba for our regular cup of tea, but we were informed that no dhaba serves tea in Goa. All they offer was beer.

The road just before Goa was like a death-trap. It was late when we reached, and I was dead tired, and sick of water in any form. By the time we checked in, all I wanted was to go back home.

Day 7 (Sep 01): Goa

Though I am not one of the Goa fans, but I have to admit that there is no place like Goa. Even in rainy season, even on Ganesh Chaturthi, it was decently crowded, though the foreigners were not many. We used this day to relax, and bring back the spirit, which was dampened by rains, and stinking clothes.

In a shack, we talked to the shack owner, who had interesting things to talk about Indian tourists, especially Delhiites. I was amused to find out that they really had put "No Delhi People Allowed" board on their shacks, since these tourists were repeatedly found to be offensive and arrogant. Many of them were beaten up by the locals and even by foreigners. Sitting there in the shack, I saw a sample there and then.

- Don't take this drink near the beach. They'll fine you.
- How much?

Day 8 (Sep 02): Goa - Bijapur (350 kms)

The road till Belgaum was more challenging than I had imagined. After Ponda, as the forest area started, the road had veritable craters, and fog was dense, making it very difficult for us to ride. I had to turn into a mp3 player to distract my mind from the cold.

In a roadside dhaba, where we had taken shelter, the atmosphere was beautiful in a way. A bus was parked there, and the passengers were inside. There was no light inside, and the steam and smoke inside was mingling with the mist outside. I enjoyed a steaming hot, though bit spicy for my taste, lunch plate. And then we pushed off.

The state highway was like a dream, though the occasional bumpers were disorienting, and that allowed us to reach Bijapur on time. Meanwhile, I tested the limits of RE TBTS, which showed signs of swaying as I reached 100 km/h.

Day 9 (Sep 03): Bijapur - Hyderabad (350kms)

Bijapur is a town with rich cultural heritage. Relics are strewn on both sides of road. Though I had no intention to spend time in the town, I finally did since the places of interest were nearby, and they were picturesque. This was the first time when I could take out my camera and clicked few snaps.

By noon we left Bijapur. NH 218 was fun to ride on, and the bull touched its max - 110 km/h. By dusk we were having our dinner in a dhaba located at the outskirts of Hyderabad.

Overall, we did 2130 kms. I was happy to find out that the bikes and the riders were fine despite severe testing. Given another chance, I would do the same route again, with lighter packing though.

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There are two type of traveling. One could travel to heaven, enjoy, and remember the memories with fondness after coming back to the banalities of usual life. Conversely, one could travel to hell, suffer, and start appreciating one's normal life. My road trip was mix of both; it hurted and it healed, and that's why it's difficult for me to answer simplistic questions like how was the experience. The experience would have been worth nothing had it been a simple good or a simple bad.

One is supposed to look refreshed after coming back from a vacation. I guess I must be looking lost, and rather disoriented. The birds are still chirping in my mind. It will take me a while to adjust to the pace again. But as of now, this trance is my only payoff.

And finally, now I know why people make road trip to Konkan in Monsoon.

Realism: Meta Art

2011-08-14T10:37:00.012+05:30

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way", said Tolstoy, and proceeded to write about a family he, being an artist, was wont to be interested in. The tragic fate of Anna Karenina not merely touched his sensitivity but it practically possessed him, consuming him over countless sleepless nights. Witnessing her travails would have been a cathartic experience for him, sometimes even amusing, but certainly not boring. That's how it is. Artists would rather brood over a dramatic failure - the orphan, the bastard - than toast a methodical success. Artists fail to appreciate anything poetic, or inspiring, in monotony of a happy family, which - as Tolstoy points out - are "all alike".

On the other extreme end, however, broken or complicated relationships arouse feelings more visceral than usual coffee-table stuff; and tales of impossible romance are immortal classics. Moreover, extraordinary situations foster extraordinary men (and women) - of compelling personalities - who, by sheer power of their character, rouse us and drag us out of our blankets. They challenge our understanding of the world we live in, and of the words we thoughtlessly speak. They expose us to ourselves, and liberate us from the platitudes of nine-to-five banalities, at least for a few awakened moments. These moments are poetic moments, and these men are the heroes worshiped by poets.

In every unhappy context, happiness is tortured in a different way, and it needs a elaborate supply of resources to look into the details. It's hard because the questions asked are typically confusing, and answers are never offered ready-made. It's like doing the sum without ever having a look at the examples. Worse, unlike in Math, reason doesn't help much in life. As every sensible man realizes sooner or later, rationality is but a state of mind - a mood - which is neither immutable nor unconditional. Reason, the keeper of laws and orders, works reasonably well within the band of "normal" situations - atmospheric pressure, room temperature etc. In other situations, however, the my-maximum-gain attitude can be transformed into his-maximum-loss attitude, with surprising ease. Madness is contagious, and often spreads like wildfire. In the heat of delirium, modern innovations - like reason - are charred to cinders, and collapse in the debris of their own remains.

As V rightly said in "V for Vendetta", the politicians lie to hide the truth, the artists tell lies to reveal it. So, a work of art is a lie told to reveal a truth. That truth is a greater truth, which involves pluralities of perspectives, and ironies of co-existing contrasts, realizing which demands more maturity than logic affords in isolation.

An artist explores the human nature by putting his characters to an abnormal situation - catch 22 or dilemma - where choices are not easy, yet they are to be made. He teases his characters, tempts them, tests them, and traps them in morally ambiguous situations. He situates them in the unhappy stories where emotions are denied, deprived, or worst of all - pit against each other, therefore burning with greater intensities. He digs into this debris to pick the parts that survive the fire, to find order in chaos, without trivializing any of these. He helps us realize that meaning can precede the word and word can transcend the scope of meaning. In his works, without trivializing relationships, he makes us see that feelings do exist external to relationships, but not always. Art subverts generalities, without intending to offer any of its own.

Does art holds mirror to reality? I don't think it does. And if it does, it shouldn't hold a plain mirror for sure, since a plain mirror can't correct the distortions inherent in reality. Art is not a superficial truth but an artful lie which helps us see the hidden truth. Art can't intend to be a mere mirror image of reality; it's a meta reality. Realism, the rather evolved but not necessarily better form of art, resembles life more but it depends on art rather than life itself. Ironically, a realist is farther from life than an artist, who seeks inspiration not from art, but from life itself.

And happy families hardly inspire any. That's a perversion artists live with.

a bull or an ox

2011-04-18T01:52:00.012+05:30

Ox: I have fodder, shelter, a job in a big farm, and a company of beautiful cows. What do you have?

Bull: I have balls.

Most of us, ultimately, are what we choose to be. And regardless of what we possess, every Sunday evening reminds us that what matters the most is what we choose to be - a bull or an ox.

14th Feb - Goa

2011-02-19T10:54:00.004+05:30

What could Goa mean to someone like me, whose vegetarian food preferences could turn the mouth-watering aroma of sea food into an all-pervading stink! That's what I was thinking while sitting in Republic of Noodles and flirting with their signature delicacy.

Let's ignore the ubiquitous stench, and guzzle on the famous Feni, one would suggest. Oops, I don't drink. And what more, I am not the party animal type who enjoys being in Tito's. What am I doing in Goa then?

Boring? May be. Bored? Never. Despite my rather superficial engagement with what all Goa offers, I came back satisfied. And equally dissatisfied, since three days are barely enough to explore even my fraction of Goa.

Ajanta Ellora

2011-02-02T18:07:00.001+05:30

The murals and frescoes of Ajanta was "never meant to be seen", says Jonah Blank, a traveler and the auther of book I am reading - "Arrow of the blue skinned God." Speaking of Ellora, he says - "The caves I like most are ones that require the most work. there are five hermitages at Ellora that can be reached only by a crumbling path two feet wide, a track chiseled out of the mountain face, which drops thirty yards to bare rock pits below. The path looks more difficult that it actually is, so the family picnickers stay away. There the spirits of long-dead sadhus seem almost alive."

I understand and share the sentiments of the author. It's like going to watch a Satyajit Ray movie, and to find some front benchers whistling and howling and murdering the movie, and harassing the movie-goers. And you wonder - what on earth are they doing here? Do they even belong to this place? Those who run the world might have their reasons, but I feel that they are selling it cheap, in Rs 7.

Ajanta, however, is more accessible, and more vulnerable. Quoting the author again, "The path is wide and paved, so overdressed Bombay grande dames can ride up in wooden sedan-chairs, each hefted by four stoic bearers. At the cave mouth a servant holds an enormous mirror of polished tin, directing the sun's rays in to illuminate the chamber and slowly burn the frescoes into oblivion."

I didn't see mirror, but I did see numerous shutter-bugs throwing flashes, despite admonitions from guards, effecting the same effect to the precious paintings.

Those who created are dead. Those who protect are hardly ever seen, and those who destroy are omnipresent. They litter without guilt or shame, and leave their poly-traces to the corners that were "never meant to be seen". Hidden from the world for more than a thousand years, these caves lied unsullied in the custody of forest. But an accidental discovery changed everything. Hordes of monkeys ravage their steps and hoot in their halls.

What is left in Ajanta and Ellora is just a memory of a world that was out-of-the-world. With passage of eons, the colors have faded, and the shapes have dulled, and all we have is nothing but ruins. But here lies the magic - even the ruins are awesome! A look at Kailashnath Temple is enough to convince a sceptic.

But this marvel often dazzles and misleads. Being the gateway to Ellora, it gives the impression of the first cave, which it is not. Unless you are careful, or informed, you are likely to miss the Buddhist caves altogether. The arrangement for the tourists is abysmal. You are on your own.

Can I?

2011-01-12T08:06:00.013+05:30

I need a comma, a round of confessional, to put a period to something that makes me look grotesque (without even making me look funny). I have realized that I cannot get away with "being myself" anymore. I can not afford the luxury of status quo any longer.

Time has moved on; and the young angry man of 70s has evolved. He is working his backside off, making lots of money and dreaming of Mediterranean. Meanwhile, the gender code has been changed. Anger is not manly anymore. Today's hero is Rocket Singh the salesman, who doesn't have to show off his member to show off his manhood. He doesn't push around, and without talking loud, he convinces us and makes us see that the expression of anger is medieval. It's a baggage-of-past we have to jettison to sail ahead.

The question is how. What follows is not an answer, but an attempt to find that.

1. Patience - a belief that some problems can be solved just by waiting. Let's say it again - just by waiting. If you try talking, you might end up prolonging the problem. One can not be agnostic about time almighty. One only has to learn how to pass the time while time is on job.

Take away point - it's wise, civilized, and manly, to listen out people and not cut them out. Wait for them to finish before you barge in. It's charming without being insincere.

2. Tolerance - a belief that imperfection is an existential condition. That implies even you will be wrong once in a while. And that makes forgiveness a mutual need, therefore a social contract in any civilized society. It helps to remember that what we deal with in everyday life is mood/state-of-mind and not people, and the former is often worse than the latter. In worst case, when nothing makes sense, you might like to thank your God not to make you like the next guy.

Take away point - the critic must introspect. He should smile more often. And he should take it easy unless it's a matter of life and death.

3. And the forgotten lesson - unless cornered, don't hit back, don't block, just dodge.

It's time for me to see and find out how young I still am.

Reluctant Fundamentalist

2010-09-30T09:39:00.026+05:30

Today morning, as I was waking up, I discovered that in my bed I had been reduced into a black flag.

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All of a sudden, a verdict falls on mankind like a thunderbolt. Not for the first time and not for the last time. Court will pronounce peace and leave justice to the progeny! And historians and archeologists will be called upon to decide the matters of faith! Whether Lord Ram was born there or not! They might as well decide whether God exists or not.

That has never been just another place. And that is not just another case anymore. There lies a history in the background which gives a meaning to "whatever the hell is happening" today. It's a story of a haunted house. It's a burning emblem of a culture that needs to restore its vitality, its honor and its potency. The defeated needs to redeem himself. Tolerant he must be, but not unconditionally. His dignity he must not forfeit. And cowardly he must never feel. Forgiveness doesn't come for free; it has to be deserved and re-deserved. With the passage of time, peace will follow justice. But Justice must not be challenged again. Those who are fooled by the sight of olive branches must remember that there lies a gun in the right hand.

He has willed to come back, time and again. Had he been a man, one probably could have stopped him. Had he been a God, one possibly could have stopped him. But he is neither a man nor a God. He is an idea. And as learned men say, no army can stop an idea whose time has come.

What's happening is not new. His exile is yet another beginning of the old epic. He has always been betrayed by the throne. That has been his destiny. But the same destiny also marks the fall of evil, no matter how powerful, how assured. He will walk through the forests and the trees will bow. The clouds will scatter, the mountains will stand aside, and the seas will give way. His army will find him. Vain will be vanquished again. And he will again make his people believe in him. As history will be there to witness, the Ramayan will happen, yet again.

Monsoon Mess

2010-08-21T01:19:00.002+05:30

NO city in India can stand 2 hrs of rainfall. "Civic Life" kneels down, and "civilians" are on all 4. While we negotiate our bikes/cars though the anarchy, through deepened trails (flanked by cakes of mud), pothole-lakes and gravel-hills, and while we issue noise-threats to all and sundry to give us our way, all we think of is "to get out of this mess". How often does it occur to us that we are part of the problem? How many of us feel that we are just too many? Because of over-supply, the value of life has fallen down to nothingless. We are not people, we are just market. We the Consumers have Harley-Davidson machines but alas! no roads to ride them. Individually, we order Aquafina in polished restaurants but collectively, we have no sense of sanitation! We live in a market, not society. How can we call ourselves civilized when we don't have a sewage system?

Ladakh 2010

2010-07-27T23:15:00.022+05:30

Silence,
the echo of silence,
from far forests,
reverberating inside.

The Mahayana monestaries in Ladakh, speaking philosophically, would probably disappoint Buddha and his followers. But they still maintain an environment which is conducive to meditative mood. The experience that I had had there was not spiritual as such, but it was certainly therapeutic. The serenity of the place stays in your mind for long time. It seems you are sitting at the bottom of a lake, and the noise of world cannot disturb you. It's ineffable till it lasts. And incredible afterwards.

******************************************************

Why I take pictures, I wondered.

There are two types of photos – one in which I am there, and other in which I am not. When I am there in a picture, I cannot turn blind eye to the one thing ugly in it. And since my appetite for self-ridicule is not unlimited, I would rather stay out of the frame. On the other hand, when I am not in a picture, it doesn’t interest me much. Even if there is any beauty in it, it is dead for me. The postcards and wallpapers don’t rouse memories. They don’t connect to moments or events. Besides, I know I am not the best postcard photographer alive. So, why click? And why travel, by the way? Why would one leave home, and all the comforts, and on top of all even pay for it?

Doubt, it seems, is a natural psychological response to physiological deficiency of Oxygen. And why not? After all, what do we travel far for, if not for some Oxygen? The questions are many, and one ponders out of breath while clicking in the meantime to capture pictures - the metaphors of experience.

Ladakh, however, looks like the pictorial representation of the word - Picturesque. The brown barren highlands canopied by the divine blue sky-scape with white Van Gogh-ish swirls makes you forget the travails of traveling - including sun-burns and frost-bites. Leh, the capital of Ladakh, has hitherto been a secluded haven for adventurers, trekkers and bikers (predominantly foreigners). It's only after the release of "3 Idiots", a Bollywood blockbuster, Ladakh caught the fancy of Indian youth. Result - the number of Indian tourists tripled this year.

******************************************************

The map of world keeps changing. As of now, Jammu is Hindu, Kashmir is Muslim, and Ladakh is Buddhist. Thankfully, since it is difficult to misinterpret Buddhism beyond a point, Ladakh is peaceful. But with Kashmir in west and Tibet in east, with disturbances flowing in from both the sides, the prospects of peace looks precarious in future. Take this - our Kashmiri driver refused to take tea from our hosts in Leh, because they were Buddhists (as he confided to Farida, a friend and our trip organizer).

Ladakh is home to the thousands of refugees from Tibet, who make their living by selling "Free Tibet" T-shirt to the tourists. Their religious leader, His Honorable Dalai Lama, spends most of his time chit-chatting with white women and feeling great about it. His Ray-Ban photographs are worshipped in monasteries. He is second only to Buddha, or it may well be the other way round.

India's foreign policy is interesting. With natural enemies like Pakistan and Bangladesh around, they have to displease China by providing recognition to this phony coward and his so-called "government-in-exile". Tibet is a part of China, so is Aksai Chin*, and India can do nothing about it anyway. Going back in time, Mao was not the least unreasonable in rejecting the validity of McMahon Line, considering it a part of colonial legacy. 1962 happened because Nehru was blind to Reason. Still, despite winning the war, China didn't annex Ladakh, Sikkim, and Tawang, which are still part of Sino-India controversy. Today, when China is fighting against the ubiquitous Islamic separatist movement in Xianjing, and when India is emerging as the next Asian economic power, the motivation for their alliances is multifold and the potential benefits are immense. India simply cannot afford strained relation with China. But Delhi has its reasons that Reason cannot understand.

* China needed Aksai Chin to connect Xianjing to Tibet by Road.

Kashmir 2010

2010-07-25T17:12:00.017+05:30

What I can write is nothing but a recollection of an impression. And if I were to be honest, even this impression is not mine. It’s borrowed. And I share it with countless others. Open your windows and you can smell it. It’s blowing in the wind.

But no perspective is superfluous, as long as it is unique, and more importantly, interesting. Since I can’t care for the uninterested, and I have no means to ascertain the uniqueness of my perspective, the worth of my effort, in my own eyes, is nothing if it is not completely and entirely mine. To the least, I can be honest with myself. I can hold to my memory which is fading every passing day. I can still close the windows to keep the wind out. If I have to smell the truth, I have to breathe in the stale air.

A rather prosaic way to talk about an experience which should be rather poetic, isn’t? Well, excuse me ladies, but romance is unseasonable in Kashmir these days. And poetry is clichéd if not entirely anachronistic; and if I were Kashmir, I would be tired of the dull talks of Dal and Shikara ride. Well, no milk for me, and no sugar please. Make it hard this time. Allow me to taste the reality.

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Some people dismiss reputation as nonsense. I don’t. I believe that no bias can stand without a base. Kashmiri Pundits are said to be the Jews of Valley – rich, and cunning. That might be true. However, that can not be a valid justification to target them, loot them, rape them, murder them, and scare them out of the valley. Almost all well-known Hindu temples are known to be full of filth, noise, corruption, and worst forms of materialism. A majority of Hindu pilgrims are known to be a mob of hooligan loafers. And many Hindu priests are known to be molesters and scamsters. But can these things justify a systematic attack on an entire civilization? After all, who is beyond reproach? Who will throw the first stone?

In Kashmir, however, everyone is throwing stones. In light-hearted mood, the locals call it “One Day Cricket”. Though forbidden in Islam, pelting stones is a latest strategy of Jehad, suggested by Lashkar and supervised by Hurriyat. Go out in mob and throw those beamers on Jawans. Make them play, which they eventually will, and then cry out loud that “innocents” have been targeted. Don’t hold a gun else you will be treated as a terrorist. Hold a stone and you remain one of the faceless nameless “innocent” protesters. Since December 2008, after Friday prayers, bowling games are played in the streets of Srinagar.

Before the army was deployed, these innocent people played the role of helpless neighbours when Pundits were targeted and ousted by the “terrorists”. Those were the days of JKLF, the local avatar of Lashkar, a gang of misdirected youth. They were popular then. And why not, the innocent neighbours were the direct beneficiaries of their gun-toting adventures. But soon the redistribution of wealth was over, and the JKLF goons were resented for their amorous ambitions. Now powerful, they were beginning to mess with the existing caste system. Understandably, since utility was exhausted, support was withdrawn. Yasin Malik, the reformed Robinhood, finally married a Pakistani and retired into oblivion after his "change of heart".

Lashkar & Co, on the other hand, found another ally in Hurriyat, a congress of Mullahs. Now when Kafirs were ousted, what remained were their footprints. Before they should trace their path back home, their footprints had to be erased for good. No home for Kafirs in Dar al-Islam. So Anantnag was rechristened as "Islamabad" in Kashmiri newspeak.

Throughout my stay, the Lal Chowk area of Srinagar was kelpt under curfew. Gilani, the Hurriyat mastermind, had issued a week’s program for the people. On Monday, while I was in Gulmarg, schoolchildren were to bunk schools and come out on the streets. Why should kids be involved in their political games, I asked a shopkeeper. What do they know about these things? Why should they be deprived of education, and a life that education provides? And after all, in Free Kashmir or in India, these kids will have to support a family when they grow up. Hurriyat mullahs are not likely to share the dough that they receive from their Lashkar masters. What I heard from him reminded me of the Nazi Germany. Jehad was on, and lack of enthusiastic cooperation would be interpreted as treason. Parents, principals, and students are expected to toe the line without questions, without doubt, and without fail. Hurriyat has no use of the likes of Dr Shah Faisal.

It's imporant to understand economics to understand politics. The economics of Lal Chowk is interesting. The economics of other parts of Srinagar is different. Tourists are not touched because they are useful. No wonder we could come out unscathed out of "the burning streets of Srinagar".

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Ordinary people believe ordinary ideas, like ignorance is a deadly sin; when coupled with complacence, it becomes deadlier, and stubbornness makes it the deadliest. Man must be wary of them. But Nehru was not ordinary. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. With that silver spoon, and the power that followed, he could afford a few sins. He was another Shahjehan, and so he could afford another Tajmahal. Being a dreamy-eyed poet, he could see whatever he wanted to. And let’s not forget, he was a gifted wizard. He could hypnotise, and show whatever he felt like. He could charm a lady. He could conjure up a rainbow in midnight. And he could even fancy secularism in an Islamic state. After all, to his intellectual eyes, invasion of one race on another was just like a geological event, a cute confluence of two rivers!

Time was on his side, the world was at his feet, and he carried on with his elite contempt towards common wisdom. Meanwhile, his destiny waited for his tryst with his nemesis. Thanks to Mao, Nehru died a wiser man, but by then he had already left a legacy of his schizophrenic idealism, his youthful romance, on his ordinary progeny. Before his sunset, perhaps he would have wanted to deliver a characteristically dramatic speech to share his coming-of-age realizations. But the blow was so hard, and so late, that he could not stand up on his legs. When the curtain fell, he was a man with broken legs and broken heart. Typical Greek Tragedy – Hubris, Hamartia, and Catharsis; he must have read it all. But reading and understanding are very different things; as different as Abhimanyu and Arjun, as different as death and life!

Talking of Kashmiri people, Peace and Justice they deserve. But freedom they do not, since freedom is usually synonymous with land, and land is not only theirs. They share their land with many others who they have forgotten. Also, before anything else, it should be understood that no political party in India would ever dare to support the secession of Kashmir. The maximum they can get from Delhi is sympathy.

But they deserve more than mere sympathy. India calls itself a secular state. This is a challenging undertaking and it takes tough character to take challenging undertakings. Delhi must act tough. The idea of India is on fire. Nehru’s lab – or Tajmahal - is on fire. What Kashmir needs is a team of fire-fighters – the men of characters like Beant Singh and a KPS Gill. And a green signal from Delhi to launch a crackdown on separatists. Pakistan was enough of nonsense. It’s an open secret that the demand for freedom of Kashmir is a veiled attempt to annex another piece of land by the Muslim extremists, who are well-funded by Pakistan. What they fail to realize is that the non-Muslim majority of India can’t be reasonably subjected to the ideology of secularism for long if the only state with Muslim majority rejects the same. Secularism cannot be a unilateral responsibility. The breach of contract from one side would encourage the same from another. The freedom of Kashmir would mean a death of secularism in India. Having said that, what was done to the Hindus in Kashmir cannot be done to the Muslims in India. Muslims can’t be ousted from India, and therefore Kashmir can’t be given away. Kashmir is where the idea of secularism and modern India must prevail. To save India, this lab must be saved.

**************************************************************

Finally, I will reflect upon a curious pattern that I have observed. All across the non-Muslim world, Muslims are increasingly known to be trouble-making “terrorists”. As I had previously said, I don’t dismiss reputations. At the same time, my personal experience suggests that a Muslim man is usually honest, soft-spoken, and warm individual. Better than an average Hindu any day, if you ask me. Collectively, however, Hindus are exceptionally hospitable and tolerant. Individually, Hindus win Olympic medals in all the martial games. Collectively, they are considered cowards by others. This irony is interesting. I will think about it.

On Naxalism

2010-04-15T15:23:00.016+05:30

- Folks, today we will talk about Naxalism. Are you interested?

- Yes Sir.

- Fine. Let's start. In your opinion, what do you think Naxalism is?

- Naxalism is, apart from things that neither matter nor makes sense, killing obscure people in obscure places with a unique stamp of barbarity.

- What doesn't matter? What doesn't make sense?

- What they think doesn't matter and what they do doesn't make much sense. As a class struggle, Naxalism contradicts itself. Let me draw an interesting parallel.

A few months back Raj Thakare spawned venom against Biharis. Biharis in turn retaliated by vanadalizing railway tracks and trains coming from/going to Mumbai. What made this rather grim issue ridiculous is their failing to realize a simple fact - that only Biharis travel in these trains, Marathis don't.

- You mean to say that it is foolish to kill fellow proletariat to fight against bourgeoisie.

- Rather ridiculous, and pathetic.

- OK. In the wake of the Dantewada massacre, I am sure you will support the popular demand of launching the severest possible crackdown against the Naxalites.

- On the contrary.

- Why?

- Because effect must not be confused with cause; effect is not cause, it is effected by cause.

In this context, Naxalism is mere effect, not the cause. The cause is something else. It is naive to think that Naxalism will finish with the Naxalites. Clipping the leaves won't kill the plant.

- It did kill the plant in Punjab.

- Well, this plant is not ideological, it is rooted deeper in soil. Remember - there is no Naxalism in metros.

- I will take you point. Go ahead.

- To understand Naxalism, we have to be ready to change our vantage point to see the other version of the story. Also, we have to define the words that we use.

If Naxalism is seen as internal terrorism, it's simple. And simplistic.

But if it is seen as a war against the spirit of law, I have reasons to believe that what we call Naxalism is just one type of Naxalism - let's call it rural-Naxalism. There exists its binary opposite - urban-Naxalism, which is found in metros. However, the influential law-breakers sit in parliament, others are branded as Naxals.

Putting crudely, whereas the former is Jhatka, the latter is Halaal. Both kill, the difference is that the Halaal kills coldly and slowly, and it is permitted in books. Also, whereas the former is sensational and spectacular, the latter is subtle and sophisticated. Whereas the former's effectiveness lies in making noise, the latter's efficacy depends on maintaining a clinical silence. But in spirit, both are essentially the same. And as far as cause and effect is considered, I am sure that the latter is the cause. Delhi is the headquarter of Naxalism.

- That's extraordinary. You are saying that the real Naxalites sit in Delhi!

- Of course. And in other parts of India, which is a collection of discrete "comfortably numb" islands of swimming pools and "Rain Dance" in the vast desert of drought and thirst called Bharat.

- So, what do you think should be done?

- To begin with, Bisleri should be banned. Those who steal and subsequently sell people's property in market should be put behind bars. Selling water is understandable as unorganized crime but not as institutionalized business. After all, you do not grow water. It is a crime to systematically deprive people of their most fundamental right - natural resources. This whole thing reeks of connivance, and conspiracy against people.

The people should be given what they deserve as citizens - not as charity and welfare programs but as their long overdue fundamental right.

Bharat has been paying dearly for the games India play. Delhi spends more in cosmetics than entire North-East spends in education and health. Dams are built in villages and power is wired to cities for their "Rain Dance". And the dispossessed people of Bharat are left to stand in scorching sun begging on India's red-lights. This has to change.

- Because disparity causes discontent.

- Not just disparity, but the remorseless show-off of it. Why do you think farmers commit suicide in Andhra but not in neighboring Orissa?

- But does that vindicate violence?

- That is violence, though of halaal type. Thanks to jhatka we are even talking about the victims of violence. Though these idiots have been killing animals of their own type, the urgency of the matter is being realized.

Democracy is based on a possibility of rebellion. The ruling class must not be made to be complacent and indifferent to people. The earliest symbol of people's will - Guillotine - must be installed outside a parliament as a reminder.

- Instead, the parliament is planning to initiate an full-fledged assault on the Naxalite bastions. Perhaps armed forces will be deployed to counterstrike them.

- There has been a perpetual conflict between those who want Justice/change and those who want Peace/status quo. However, decisions like this would further vindicate the Naxalites' propaganda. The state will further alienate itself from people.

This is a sorry situation. First brand them all mad, and then shoot them all.

I will conclude with a these two lines -

पहले तो होश छीन लिए ज़ुल्म-ओ-सितम से,
दीवानगी का फिर हमें इलज़ाम दिया है

Multiplex Democracy

2010-02-13T01:19:00.014+05:30

- Let's talk something.

- What should we talk about?

- What are people talking about?

- Well, I don't know about that. But the breaking news and headlines suggest that people are talking about IPL and My Name is Khan.

- I am not sure about people, but media is indeed talking about My Name is Khan. And they are talking about it non-stop day and night.

All we have on media nowadays is this movie, the making of this movie, interviews, clippings, bites, teasers, opinions, polls, and God knows what. It saturates you to the extent that it feels nauseating just to have a look at news. I am sure this is not the news our parents and teachers wanted us to watch.

- That's right. But media is trying to mobilize people to support this movie.

- But why on earth media would want to support a movie? Is this what media is supposed to do?

- Perhaps they think this is how we can defy the Sena effectively. And defying Sena is crucial for us if we value freedom.

- Defying Sena makes sense, because we do value freedom. And if they have brought us to a point where we have to defy them to move around, so be it. If they should be defied, they must be defied.

So far, so good.

But I maintain that media should understand its role and should restrict itself to the making up of national opinion and conscience. It is not supposed to usurp the responsibilities of other institutions, especially judiciary. It is there to ensure that they function properly. Also, media should learn from its mistakes - it had shown remarkable incompetence in the infamous Aarushi case when it had gone out of the way, conducted trials, passed judgments, and made the mess of everything, to the embarrassment of all.

Moreover, I wonder how can we make a political decision by making a commercial move? How can buying tickets of a movie be the best way of defying Sena?

- Why? Don't you buy gifts to express love?

There is a connection. Mahatma Gandhi knew this connection when he started his Swadeshi movement. This movie has become a symbolic ground of a war between those who value freedom and those who deny others their freedom.

- Sounds impressive. But still smells fishy.

- Why?

- Well, I have some doubts in my mind.

- Go on, I am listening.

- OK, then listen.

Media frequently shows that it has no sense of history. History, as I see it, is the memory we could not get rid of. History - unforgettable memory. These memories dominate our thoughts, and shape our prejudices. The idea is not to ignore history but to deal with it in an adult fashion. Media frequently feigns innocence, and naivety, while dealing with complex issues, particularly the India-Pakistan issue. The whole IPL and subsequently MNIK controversy has been engendered by people's sensitivity for this issue combined with media's penchant to allow itself to be abused by power-brokers.

Also, issues and symbols are in plenty around us. For starters, IPL and MNIK are non-issues. It is media which has chosen to make a movie a symbol of a holy war, because those who run these media houses might possibly have stakes in this movie, or showbiz in general. And these people might possibly like to take commercial advantage of a political situation.

- I have heard this before. What else?

- I feel that the disconnect between the sensibilities of the media and people is huge, and the gulf of mutual indifference is widening day by day. Men indulge themselves in news in same way as women indulge themselves in soaps, for distraction and "time-pass". The beginning of mutual contempt doesn't augur well for democracy.

I do not want to sound pessimistic. But what can I do - trying to sound optimistic is harder. Let me try to explain - when you wake up, take a good look at the map of India. Tell me which part do you think is free.

Look at the North-East, the seven step-sisters of the mainland India. You must have heard about the epic fast of Irom Sharmila. I hope the sight of those naked women parading with the banner reading "Rape Us" must still be fresh in your memory.

Now allow your attention to fall on this huge black Naxalite blot in the east. I am sure you must be aware of Salwa Judum, or of the conflicts that involve the likes of Binayak Sen and Himanshu Kumar and thousands others.

The east will be east, you might say. Oh don't say that. Don't be so condescending. Come North, please. You might have been living a Revlon life in Gurgaon for last ten years or so without ever having to hear about Khap, the local avatar of Taliban.

The worst is still to be seen but I will not detain you for long. Let's go straight to South. Come on.

- What are you coming at?

- I will tell you. We have just had a glimpse at the map of India. Could you please look at the map again, and locate the region that you consider free?

- I don't understand...

- Then why only Mumbai? And why only Sena and movie stars? When media is busy talking about stars and promoting their movies, who will talk about people? Who will talk about them, their lives and their freedom? Who will free them? Who will ask the answers to real questions involving (but not limited to) irrigation, public distribution system, land reforms, public health care, primary education, environment, gender ratio, inclusive growth, human rights, police act, naxalism, famines, droughts, floods etc?

On 13th Jan 2010, Satish Shetty was gunned down in broad daylight. Who was he, one might ask. Well, the answer lies in the question itself.

- Please don't talk in riddles.

- Satish Shetty was one of those rare men who we would need to enjoy what we do not deserve - a self-centered life of assured democracy. He was a whistle-blower who made enough noise to stop what starts to happen when all of us keep silence. He used the ultimate weapon we have been given - R.T.I. - and thwarted many anti-people projects. In his way he happened to frustrate those who could not defeat him by the rules of ring. Despite his humble background, he made himself important enough to get assassinated. Living by courage and integrity reminiscent of mythological characters, he has earned a place from where he can inspire. He is the type of man who we would like to support.

It is he who needs to be hailed as a hero. It is his story that needs to be talked about.

But the problem with media is - either they wont talk, or they talk ad nauseam. Vishal Bharadwaj is either an anonymous nobody, or a Tarantino. And till the time he is not a Tarantino, he is a nobody. There is no middle ground. They don't seem to realize that the language of hyperbole defeats its own purpose. You respect Vishal Bharadwaj for what he is till somebody compares him to Tarantino. There is another caveat to this - since they don't see enough dynamite in an ordinary Satish Shetty to blast ad nauseam, they wont even mention him.

- Instead, they will collect and distribute trivia of the cardboard heroes.

- You said it! Media is obsessed with limelight, and celebrity worship. When you urge people to cast their votes in multiplexes, you know what type of hero and what type of democracy you are making, and supporting. Over and out.

Pakistan a parody, a country-cum-comedy

2010-01-24T16:03:00.010+05:30

Pakistan: betrayed by one league* and humiliated by the other; a useless experiment but a useful example, a tragedy of errors, a lesson learned belatedly.

Poor Pakistanis, trapped in Pakistan the inherited curse, the hole dug by their fathers! How they would like to correct the clock, and be a part of what's happening in their neighborhood, even for a brief while! Oh Jinnah, can you hear, and bear - your players want to play in India!

And why just them? Your singers come to sing in India. Your people are cooking "Indian food" in "Indian restaurants" all across Europe and America. India - the sun of your solar system, the land of your opportunities, especially for those who hate it the most. While Allah plays on their lips, it is India that plays on their minds.

India: a sobering reminder of the mistakes committed in passion; a tree that does not stop growing and bearing bitter fruits of envy, a brother whose god-damn seniority doesn't seem to diminish with years passing by.

China is, thankfully, bigger. China - Pakistan's consolation.

What's this fuss for? Pakistanis want to sell themselves but the Indians refuse to buy them. And that is an obvious violation of their national right. Can anyone ever deny Pakistanis their part of the Indian pie? They got it in 1947, they will get it again, peacefully or otherwise. India should not make mistake of dismissing Pakistan just because it is in tatters and walks begging around to anyone who cares to spare some change. Despite everything non-respectable, Pakistan should be respected for being a neighbor, and for its nuisance value.

Pakistan - the local eunuch you must be scared of.

Cricket commentators claim that cricket can cure. They believe that the cricketers are the white pigeons of peace. On the other hand the government** of Pakistan has condemned politics in cricket, and warned that this is not only insensitive but also retrogressive on India's part. Such irresponsible behavior is liable to aggravate situation in Kashmir and foment violence in Baluchistan. In that case, the government of Pakistan will not be able to do anything about 26/11.

Meanwhile, to deal with the national crisis, and to heal the emotional wound inflicted by the snobbish neighbor, the government feels obliged to ban the Indian movies and channels. This will, among other things, revive the careers of the actresses who had to resort to Mujra dance in private functions.

After Pokhran, Daddy Bhutto declared that people of Pakistan will eat grass but they will get atomic weapons. He did what he had said. It is hard to find grass in Pakistan anymore. Weapons, however, are everywhere. Time beckons the people of Pakistan to show the fire in their faith again. Let the Pakistani corporate (ahem) come ahead and buy their players at double the rate they would have got here. In case they need grass, others can oblige.

* Muslim League and Indian Premier League.
** whatever.

Infernal Spirituality

2009-09-29T13:51:00.020+05:30

In the hell, as one would reasonably speculate, virtually everything is infernal. The inmates of the hell are perpetually possessed by the seven infernal ghosts. And when an infernal speaks, a gray lizard leaps out of mouth and spits dark venom fuming with an infernal hatred. In an infernal complicity, the nostrils would burst out black lathers of smoke, and the eyes would lash out infernal violence.

In the hell, ugly is not untrue. If it sounds terrible, so it is.

Perhaps worse than that, since hell is name of the Shawshank where even hope of redemption is mocked at. Even the God has been, so to say, infernalized. After being carved in gold and glittery, He has been given a kingdom, a virgin, a gun, and an absolute power to do whatever He would like to do with them. His sloth is salvation for Man. His gluttony is waited on, His pride is flattered, and His wrath is pacified. His phallus is washed by milk.

He was reportedly heard saying "yada yada... sambhavami yuge yuge". Perhaps Dharma has not decayed enough for Him to descend. Perhaps He is waiting for the Dharma to decay more enough, and meanwhile, He is getting His phallus washed.

On the other hand, oblivious to their sins, or incorrigibly impenitent, the inmates of hell cross their hearts and pray - "O almighty Lord! Please accept my humble offerings. And have mercy on me. I will come to your shrine on your next eleven birthdays if you bless me. Give her to me; if you can not, then kill her so that no one gets her. Amen."

To the infernal God - the God of gold and the God of gore - they bring their hard-stolen herd of cattle to sacrifice. They cross their hearts, make the bleeding obeisance, and cross their hearts again.

As Shaw would swear, hell is hell of an interesting place, where sacrifice is not only painless but also delicious. Hell has life, especially in night, with loud-speakers blaring on. With neon-light dinners more than making up, even fasting is fun. In hell, religion has work-arounds, and short-cuts. You just need to have the right resources.

Home and Home-Coming

2009-09-24T23:10:00.018+05:30

Any sincere search of truth must begin with a confession. Let me confess - I am home, and I am feeling homesick.

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I lie down on my bed and wonder - What is home? Where is it? Was it home that I had left years ago? Was it home that I have lost in the years bygone? I guess so, no matter how strange it might seem to me now. I have left home multiple times, though leaving home was never easy for me. Taking that fearful step, the step from the perch into the vast depth of air was never easy. I dreaded it, and I took considerably long time to get used to it. But now when I am finally used to the vastness of air, I don't like sitting on the sticky perch anymore.

Till recently, home has never been a simple word in my dictionary, till I finally decided to simplify its meaning in order to get rid of an unworthy inconvenience sitting heavily on my back. Now, I have finally decided to choose brevity over the labyrinthine details of an irrelevant truth, for which no one, including me, had any patience.

To me, home is not a place any more, it's a memory - the home to all the home-towns. Every winter, sitting on a silent ray of a morning sun, or on a tiny droplet of a piano tune, my memories come to visit me. Lifting me in their white feathery arms, they would touch me tenderly, ruffle my hair, and make me feel like a child in the warmth of their embrace. Safe home, I would fall fast asleep.

But when I would wake up, I would be homeless again. When monsoon arrives, I would go home in search of my memories, looking for anything that could remind me of my lost past, but I wouldn't find anything familiar.

"...and that wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end." - One Hundred Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)

When I would visit my foster home, people there would ask me, "where are you from?" And I wouldn't know what to say to that. In an imaginary nostalgia, I would look around to find the traces of my childhood, but I would see nothing. In the end, I would end up feeling like an outsider in my own home.

I have certainly experienced the sweet forgotten feeling of home-coming. But ironically, and miraculously, I have experienced home-coming only when I was exiled away. It's a rare, and a distinct feeling, which is vague but equally intense, and which I cherish in the innermost safe of my heart. When I have felt it, I have felt it in the air. I have felt it in my blood, on my skin, everywhere. Around 5 years back, on June 27th, the day I had set my foot in Pune, I had felt the same. I knew I was home, but I didn't know how.

****************************************************

While I was in IIT Delhi, I had visited JNU by chance. And I had instantly felt that "this is the place to be". Away from the frenetic war-cries of our campus, where the rats burnt their youth running in a blind urgency to be yet another brick to fit in the wall, JNU was a forested haven, where the ceiling didn't seem to descend on your head to suffocate you, where air was less oppressive and breathing was easier, where mind was allowed the minimum peace and leisure to unfold itself. It felt like a home to me.

But I couldn't stay there since I had to return to the kiln.

After years of oblivion, I came back to JNU. Though Tapti could hardly afford the comforts I had corrupted myself with, I didn't mind and the discomfort didn't matter. For I had come back to a beloved's arms, after all. And I didn't feel like going anywhere else. While sitting under the black umbrella, on top of the rocks resonating string sounds, in the warmth of the hundred flames burning dimly all around, I knew I was home.

Life is a Marathon

2009-09-01T21:09:00.044+05:30

"If you want to win something, run 100 meters; if you want to experience something, run a marathon." - Emil Zatopek

Last year, I had participated in the 10K marathon, which is conducted every year in Hyderabad. The spirit of Hyderabad was showing itself even before sunrise. At 5:30 on a Sunday morning, when the only place one would like to be is his bed, there was virtually no place to stand on the Necklace road. People of both the sexes and all ages had covered every inch of the road. The mood was festive and refreshing, and the atmosphere was enthusiastic - as it would probably have been on the 15th August, 1947.

I had completed that run without any problem. In fact, I completed that run with a sprint in the end. When I do that, I feel that the conquest was comprehensive.

This year, last Sunday, I participated in the half-marathon - 21.1 kms.

Like last year, I had made my own set of rules for the run - no water, no walk, and no rest in between. It might sound rather arrogant, but it was not so. Though I concede that it was a little ambitious. In any case, I kept my rules only to myself. To make this all possible, I allowed myself a little leniency - I chose to overlook my speed, or the lack of it. I decided to run, nay jog, slowly. In long distance run, I tactically maintain such a speed that I may not run out of breath. And in doing so, I allow others, including old men and women, to run past me. I don't take hurt usually. I don't feel defeated. In unusual times, I find a ready consolation in the severity of my rules.

As a matter of principle, I would rather keep competition away from the marathon track. Not because I am not competitive enough, which may or may not be relevant to the point, but because I believe that the nature of marathon is primarily introspective, in which the presence of others is merely incidental. Besides, unless I am excited, I do not put too much premium on winning anyway. Especially in marathon, in my opinion, speed shouldn't matter much. All that should matter is running with the spirit of marathon, and taking the pain in the marathon way.

Why do I run? As far as I am concerned, I run because I enjoy running. I love to sweat. If that doesn't sound literary enough, then I have alternative explanation - I run to soothe my curiosity. I run to seek an answer, to probe my perseverance in an optional crisis. I run to try my will and test my endurance - my response to pain, as it were.

As I have mentioned earlier, running is introspective in nature - like praying, or preening. It involves an interview with self. As far as others are concerned, if I ever feel anything for them, I feel a sense of pride. I feel proud of them because I witness each of them fighting his/her case hard against his/her own private prosecutor. At the same time I feel a sympathy for them because I look at them in terms of their pain, and their response to their pain. With fellow sufferers, there can be no rivalry.

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The event started at 5.30 sharp from KBR park main gate, and I started with my tried and tested plan. Just a matter of time, I assured myself. The sun was still behind the bushes. Though the sky was clear, and clouds were playing truant, it was a timely and therefore an auspicious start. I was not afraid of getting tired, but I was bit wary of getting bored. So I plugged my ears and played on the music. Don't crib and don't cry, I told my body as I pressed the play button, for I won't be able to listen to you. The finishing line beckoned me. Today was my day.

I jogged slowly through the Jubilee Hills area, without water, without walk, and without rest of course. Many lesser runners ran past me, and I forgave them thinking "Life is a Marathon" and hoping to set the records straight in the last laps with my "eye-opener" sprint. Apart from my plan, I found solace in my imagination.

I imagined myself as an unsung tail-ender who walked to the pitch with a will to save a test. He batted bravely, in an empty stadium, for a lost cause, with an intensity so unfamiliar that it seemed rather grotesque to the onlookers. But he was well aware of his rights, and he had willed to make them wait. He had willed to surprise the dressing room. This day was his day, a hero was about to be made.

Keep watching, people. Keep running, hero.

No matter how ridiculous it was, I was serious about it. I wanted her to be present at the finishing line to behold my post 21.1 kms sprint with eyes opened wide with awe and surprise. However, there was a little problem with that prospect. I didn't want to wake her up. And she had no means to know when she should reach there, unless she was called up and told. But I was determined not to stop for any call, any reason, any excuse, any temptation. "Keep Running", her sms had said.

Unlike last year, there were no rock bands flanking the track, and drumming and singing to boost our morale. But it was still a special event. The policemen were everywhere and the traffic was made to wait for us. On both sides of the road, as I passed the HiTech City, I saw people watching us with amused eyes, unless they got something to ogle at. And there was something to ogle at. I heard that people from many places, especially Bangalore and Bombay, had come only to take part in this event. There were vans and wagons passing by, carrying banners and cheering the runners. There was never so much fun in the run. I was delighted to get so much matter for my next post. Little did I know then that matter was no less tyrannical and no less rapacious than man. It could eat a man alive. I was running dangerously.

"Marathoning is like cutting yourself unexpectedly. You dip into the pain so gradually that the damage is done before you are aware of it. Unfortunately, when awareness comes, it is excruciating." - John Farrington

I wish I knew that earlier. But life is not known to offer any crash couse. In fact, it has a reputation of a strict teacher who tests first and teaches later. After 12+ kms of test, by the time I neared Novotel, I was able to listen to the cries of my knees despite the music plugged into my ears. I chastised myself for the hectic yesterday followed by the half-slept yesternight. To buoy up my spirit, I suspected that it was the crape-bandage that needed to be redone. I slowed but that didn't help me much. I had to stop. The pain was unbearable. I couldn't ignore it, and I couldn't respond to it in any other way. As I sat down to untie my bandage, my oath was broken.

Relax, every rule has its exception, I tried to rationalize. I untied the crape and tied it again, hoping change would make things better. But things were to be worsened further. My private prosecutor was hostile and his arguments were cogent. I could not refute my 5 years old ligament tear, which had returned to implicate me right in the middle of my half-marathon. My knees had kneeled me down.

I obeyed Khalil Gibran, rested a while in reason, and after having the situation reassessed, I was ready to compromise. I was anxious to negotiate a deal, but nobody answered the door when I knocked. My body denied ears to my cries. I could hardly walk, and I could not walk without a limp. The finishing line seemed too far to beckon me anymore. In 10-20 minutes, my case was lost.

Thankfully, though I had lost it, I was not looking like a loser to others. I was one of them, dawdling along with pedestrian expectations. However, when I looked into the mirror of my mind, I saw a miles long walk towards the pavilion. The tail-ender had failed again. The hero was spanked, lined up, and was made to wear his underwear over his trousers. It was humiliating. And it was surreal - neither tired, nor bored, and still not running. The despair, weighing heavy on my mind, demanded its logical conclusion; and the wise idea of giving it up crossed my mind. I called her up and confessed - I am walking.

Disappointed with the mirror, I looked elsewhere. And as it happens, the indiscriminate fell on the immediate - a woman who looked in her late thirties. With thick glasses over her eyes and a water-bottle in her right hand, she was a spectacle struggling her way despite all problems possible. "Only for ladies and handicapped", I reflected with a bitter cynicism. Real men were nowhere to be seen. Even the unreal ones had moved on. Only housewives and handicapped men like me were hanging around. I wasn't proud of my company anymore.

As I passed close to Whitefields, my home, I saw the marathon staff and policemen standing there and giving direction to the johnny walkers. I half wanted to leave, but couldn't gather enough shamelessness to break the line, run away and go home. Had I turned anywhere, I would have turned traitor. I had to walk straight. I could not fail my fellow sufferers. I had lost my pride, but I had to save my dignity, and others' too. The lady reminded me - the marathon was still on, and I couldn't fail its spirit. Even in my crippled capacity, I still had to do my best. There was no other choice. This was life. "Life is a Marathon" - I was beginning to understand it.

Lazy Initialization

2009-08-05T13:17:00.008+05:30

A well-dressed, rather well-fed kid with thick glasses on his eyes walking with his gray-haired, grand-fatherly father is becoming an increasingly common sight in our postmodern establishments and colonies. When I see them - the kid and his arthritic father - I feel more and more certain of the opinion that the generation gap is increasing with every generation. I wonder how often they talk, the kid and his old father. And how much they share, or understand, when they do.

On the other hand, at 30 something, SM - one of my good friends - is young enough to play football and dabble in photography, while surviving in an industry which is full of hopeless workaholics. For a man who is married and whose son is old enough to be in intermediate, his youth is a refreshing sight.

He got married when he was still in his teens; when he was still innocent and his wife was still charming. Today, when his innocence and her charm has depreciated, he says he regrets his marriage, but only to the extent any married man does. Not more, he smiles. Perfect marriage is a myth anyway, he says with his post-marriage wisdom, and it is idiotic to wait for the perfect match. Early marriages might be old-fashioned but at least they allowed the couples to adjust with each other before they are stiffened by rigor mortis.

He feels satisfied that he can connect to his son much easier than many fathers of his son's friends. After all, SM is still a young man! And he is hopeful that he will be able to take his passion - photography - more seriously once he gets rid of his fatherly responsibilities, in next 5-10 years. But what about the grand-fathers?

Late marriage leads to larger generation gap and adjustment nightmares. But that's not all.

Deprived of sex, men and women lock themselves in their private rooms, where they indulge in their sweet sex-thoughts. We corrupt ourselves with an abandon, fearing nothing but exposure. The civilization converts a man into a metaphor - we know what to show and what to hide. Under the aegis of a fetish called career, we abstain till we get sick with what we abstain from. But it's alright, since it's an individual choice - to be or not to be (a pervert). But unlike physical sickness, perversion is not completely individual - it has social consequences.

*******************************************************************

Nityanand, the IITK graduate and a GE engineer, who was caught last month by US police in case of cyber-pedophilia, might not be less conscientious than you and I. He was just less lucky than us - he got caught in his private room act. He did chase a child, but does that make him a child-chaser, a wolf? Was he an inveterate pervert who just happened to be good at Math? Perhaps not, perhaps he was a regular pervert like you and I, but got caught in his weak moment.

Whatever, he will be known forever as a child-chaser. He was chasing a child, wasn't he? But what was it that chased him? What was it that played tricks on his mind. What was it that took him near the edge, and in that weak moment, pushed him down, making him a random victim - when he was found fallen, his face looked distorted with lust. He looked like a deterrent.

The idea is not to go too close to the edge. The idea is to realize that if you deny drinking clean water when you are thirsty, you will end up drinking dirty water when the thirst becomes irrepressible. We have collectively chosen to deny clean water. That's why we are flooded by dirty water everywhere. Now the dirty water is leaking into our homes. What do we do now?

My 10 Favorite Monsoon Songs

2009-07-22T12:52:00.019+05:30

I am one of those ordinary millions who can feel the beauty but can not express beauty beautifully. All I can express is my heartfelt gratitude to those who burned their nights and churned their hearts to discover beauty for us. This little list is a tribute to all such artists, even to those who have not got a mention here. I plead guilty of ignorance.

1. Ghata Ghanghor Bhor (Tansen, 1943)

Music - Khemchand Prakash
Lyrics - Rajender Kishen
Singer - Khursheed Bano

Which contemporary musician can even attempt to work on a musical, in which the protagonist is the mythology of classical music - Tansen! There is no one that I can think of.

Tansen was brought to life on silver screen, in all glory and opulence, amid the sound of temple bells tolling and Sitar resonating till the halls of heaven. In 1943 we had a man called Khemchand Prakash, who promised, and delivered us a credible Tansen.

Tansen showcases super-prowess of the legendary K L Saigal, in and as Tansen. And his reel consort - Khursheed Bano - matches him well. The prelude casts a spell on you as soon as you press 'play', and her earthy rendition keeps you mesmerized throughout. Unknown to the ordinary, this gem is an explorer's delight.

2. Hariyala Saawan Dhol Bajata Aaya (Do Beegha Zameen, 1953)

Music - Salil Chowdhury
Lyrics - Shailendra
Singers - Lata Mangeshkar, Manna De, and Chorus

Which feeling can be more liberating than feeling of relief? And who can feel more relieved by the promise of rains than the poor Indian farmer? Do Beegha Zameen is rooted deep into the soil, and so is its music. The way I look at it, this song is a musical translation of a rainy afternoon. When you play this song, monsoon plays vividly in your imagination. Every note is fragrant with rustic innocence, and though shehnai is sparingly used, it is lovable wherever it is used.

3. Kaare Kaare Baadra (Bhabhi, 1957)

Music - Chitragupt
Lyrics - Rajinder Kishan
Singer - Lata Mangeshkar

Whenever I relax my reverence for Lata Mangeshkar, she comes up with something like this! Vibrant, vivacious, and contagiously so. Pure joie de vivre! The mood of this melody is coquettish and cute at the same time. And for me, there is something more - nostalgia.

4. Kaali Ghata Chhaye (Sujata, 1959)

Music - S D Burman
Lyrics - Majrooh Sultanpuri
Singer - Asha Bhosle

Asha Bhosle, in her early days, sounded (tried to sound) very much like Geeta Dutt - mellifluous, as if she kept honey in her mouth while singing. Or is it love? For her voice is seductively lazy with a monsoon desire. While Senior Burman's compositions have always been distinguished by their compelling visual elements, this one goes further - and veritably fills your lungs with the petrichor of an Indian village.

5. O Sajna Barkha Bahaar Aayi (Parakh, 1060)

Music - Salil Chowdhury
Lyrics - Shailendra
Singers - Lata Mangeshkar

My opinion doesn't matter much. This song makes an appearance in Lata Mangeshkar's favorite-20 list. Need I say more?

6. Zindagi Bhar Nahi Bhoolegi (Barsaat Ki Raat, 1960)

Music - Roshan
Lyrics - Sahir Ludhianvi
Singers - Md Rafi

A beautiful confluence of a common fantasy and a sublime poetry. Unforgettable stuff! You can almost live through this night while you are into the song. Waking up can be heart-breaking. You wish this night to have really happened. But no night, real, surreal, or unreal, can be as fascinating as this one.

7. Tum Bin Sajan Barse Nayan (Gaban, 1966)

Music - Shankar Jaikishan
Lyrics - Shailendra
Singers - Lata Mangeshkar and Md Rafi

After K L Saigal, if anyone has shaped Hindi Film Music, it was this duo. Their success was phenomenal, and therefore inspired subsequent music directors.

In the later years of their career, they sometimes overdid what made them hit - orchestration. But this song is typically SJ stuff - hearty, melodious and simple. The simplicity is ensured by their choice of lyricists - they would hardly ever team up with a Gulzar or a Sahir.

Coming back to this song, this is the only sad song in my list of favorite monsoon songs. By the way, why do we hear sad songs? Why should a good sad song is better than a bad happy song?

8. Rimjhim Ke Geet Saawan Gaaye (Anjaana, 1969)

Music - Laxmikant Pyarelal
Lyrics - Anand Bakshi
Singers - Lata Mangeshkar and Md Rafi

Listening to this song is like sitting near a fire-place inside a quiet wooden house, on a cold dark winter night pouring and storming outside. Besides everything else, there is something vaguely claustrophobic about rains, which makes you feel enveloped in its embrace, and makes you feel drawn to the flame. This song is about this vague awareness, its charm, its dread, and a paradise lost. This song is a story of a beautiful dilemma - you hope it happens as much as you pray it doesn't.

9. Rimjhim Gire Saawan (Manzil, 1979)

Music - R D Burman
Lyrics - Yogesh
Singer - Kishore Kumar

Another gem from the Burmans, this time from the junior Burman. And how he shines in rain! Lata's version is a stillborn; although she is technically OK, she doesn't make up for her lack of passion, and I can't imagine a facile-hearted rain song in my favorite list. Thankfully, Kishore does justice to the tunes. You can raise your expectations as much as you can, this one will meet them all.

10. Rimjhim Rimjhim (1942 A Love Story, 1994)

Music - R D Burman
Lyrics- Javed Akhtar
Singers - Kavita Krishnamurthy, Kumar Sanu

The 80s were the worst years of Pancham's career, and coincidentally for Hindi Film Music as well. 1942 came at a time when melody was exiled out of fashion. With "Ek Ladki Ko Dekha" and "Kuchh Na Kaho", 1942 marked the return of melody to Hindi Film Industry.

With Javed Akhtar, Pancham composed one of the most romantic rain songs ever. Divine. Do they play this in heaven? They must.

the other side of page - I am lousy enough with descriptions. And this section made this post even more difficult for me. They almost made to the list.

11. Jhoole Ke Pawan Mein Aayi Bahar (Baiju Bawra, 1952)

Music - Naushad
Lyrics - Shakeel Badayuni
Singer - Lata Mangeshkar and Md Rafi

12. Thandi Hawa Kaali Ghata (Mr and Mrs 55, 1955)

Music - O P Nayyar
Lyrics - Neeraj
Singer - Geeta Dutt

13. Megha Chhaye Aadhi Raat (Sharmili, 1971)

Music - S D Burman
Lyrics - Neeraj
Singer - Lata Mangeshkar

14. Nahin Saamne Tu (Taal, 2000)

Music - A R Rehman
Lyrics - Anand Bakshi
Singer - Hariharan

and let's be honest...

15. Tip Tip Barsa Paani (Mohra, 1994)

Music - Viju Shah
Lyrics - Anand Bakshi
Singer - Alka Yagnik and Udit Narayan

Being Gay

2009-07-21T15:32:00.015+05:30

Reverend Father, I want to make a confession - I find men attractive. I have always found them attractive.

Have you seen Sir Viv Richards? No, no, not his face. I mean have you seen Sir Viv Richards walking? Well, leave alone his batting, I find his swagger more attractive than any catwalk any day. Classic stuff!

Oh come on! Don't be prissy about it. You should know that it's not illegal anymore. While you were busy getting outraged, the caravan of mankind was progressing to the better side of Brokeback Mountain. Open your eyes father, and look at the vast valley of freedom stretched as far as your eyes can see.

Personally speaking, I don't care about this legal thing much. What difference does that make anyway? Do they keep an eyes on us in bathroom? I guess they don't. You can sing as you like when nobody is there - classical or punk. That's nobody's business. Why so much fuss then?

Some people are talking in drawing rooms about how Indian democracy has matured and how it has listened to the voice of minority. Since they are well-read people, there must be some sound reason behind all this fuss - one involves adoption rules. Perhaps homosexuals are now eligible for adoption. There is a big plus point there - kids will not be emotionally tormented by questions like who do you love more - mummy or papa?

Now the lovely little wars of favorite will be fought between papa1 and papa2. That sounds funny, but at the same time my heart goes out for the poor kid. Among other things, I don't see too much of shopping happening in this household. I would pray to God to give him faith.

I wonder if gay marriage can be reconciled with arranged marriage. Given the falling gender ratio, the rocketing school fees, and above all - the aversion of parents towards court marriages, it looks possible. I wish to see that happen in my lifetime. I am optimistic, for Linda Goodman says that we are living in an Aquarian age - the age of unisex. I am waiting to see description of a male bride in "Grooms Wanted" section - that will be real blend of tradition and modernity. Democracy will sing "Jai Ho" that day, not in bathroom but out in the open.

Drawing-Room Discourse

2009-05-05T11:20:00.033+05:30

1. How do we counter soft power without using hard hands?

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Suddenly her face twitched in anger. I couldn't guess why. We were sitting in Subway and munching our favorite sub-of-the-day and doing what we love to do - being with each other. And then all of a sudden! I was blank for a moment.

- What happened?
- Listen to the lyrics.

I do not like western music and my ears are not used to their lyrics. But even I couldn't miss that word - F***. In the song being played, the singer wanted to f*** the woman he was singing for.

Those who know me won't have any problem in guessing what must have happened after that. In no time I found myself standing up and snapping my left-hand fingers and ordering them to stop that nonsense "NOW".

They stopped that nonsense "now". But my peace of mind had gone by then.

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A few days later, a visit to a Levi-Strauss showroom exposed me to another hyper-western atmosphere - which consisted of topless models on the wall posters, F-Tv models parading half-naked on the TVs, and maniquins with their nipples popping out of their clothes.

I fail to understand why somebody must open his fly to sell something as simple as jeans. Needless to say, I found that atmosphere vulgar and distasteful. But more than that, I found it ridiculously out-of-place. "Why these people - these models and these maniquins - have been brought to half-Muslim, and full-orthodox, Hyderabad?", I wondered.

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The instances are multifold, but the question is singular- How do I confront soft power without resorting to rudeness/crudeness?

Though I hate the methods adopted by the fundamentalists like RSS and Sena, I do share their angst. It is easy to hate the fundamentalists since they are loud and crude. They make noise and wake you up. They alienate you from them and their cause. But not all our enemies are idiots like them. In fact, most of them are not - they lull us to sleep by soft hands and then...

To begin with, it's hard to see the soft power - the silent, the slow, the subtle, and the sophisticated power - the cultural power, and it's harder to hate it. Its apparent innocence and innocuousness only makes it more effective in its execution. The cultural weapons inflict cultural wounds (and cultural wounds don't even bleed) and the victims die a cultural death; a quiet, unconscious, cultural death.

"I have traveled across the length and breadth of India and I have not seen one person who is a beggar, who is a thief. Such wealth I have seen in this country, such high moral values, people of such calibre, that I do not think we would ever conquer this country, unless we break the very backbone of this nation, which is her spiritual and cultural heritage, and, therefore, I propose that we replace her old and ancient education system, her culture, for if the Indians think that all that is foreign and English is good and greater than their own, they will lose their self-esteem, their native self-culture and they will become what we want them, a truly dominated nation." - Lord Macaulay (British Parliament, 1835)

I do not want to sound paranoid and xenophobic. We have to be open and outgoing. But we can not allow ourselves to be driven by others. So hate we must no matter how hard it is to hate the soft power.

Or may be we can love ourselves rather than hating them. After all, cultural power can not be defeated by brute physical force.

2. Our daughter - a perfect blend of traditional and modern values.

That's a matrimony cliché - which amuses me often, and sometimes irritates me to no end. Worst - it reminds me of hypocrisy at its best - a hideous woman (in a hideous movie) wearing short skirt and singing "Om Jai Jagadish Hare" in front of the most hideous man who has ever walked on silver screen.

Let's skip that horrible experience. Let me ask you a few questions. Let us see if we even understand the meaning of the words that we speak beyond what is superficial and what is kitschy.

What does tradition mean for us? To what extent it pervades our thought, our behavior, our decision-making process in our everyday life? Or is it just another word, just another idea, just another ideal, which is only to be worshiped in temples but not to be welcomed in homes? How many of us know or even try to know what is tradition beyond wearing ethnic clothes and lighting candles on Diwali?

What makes modern modern? How many of us know (or even try to know) what is modernity beyond what they show in M-Tv? Is it just an urban phenomenon, or something more? Does it have values only? Or does it have anti-values as well? Is it an alternative or is it a socioeconomic imperative?

Both wage a war in our minds to occupy our mental space. Do we ever stop and think about the areas of conflict between tradition and modernity, if there exists any? Perhaps those who claim to have blended the two successfully might explain how they achieved the reconciliation. Or did that happen automatically, unconsciously?

3. We should try everything*.

And everything* typically consists of things they sell in discs and pubs. As far as I know, urban India is not famous for producing rock climbers. Correct me* if I am wrong, but I have been to many cities and I have not met too many rock climbers.

*Spare me if you are one of those suckers who believe that reality shows like M-Tv Roadies are really real.

What's all this fuss over trying? What's there to try anyway in doing something that doesn't need any effort? Do you see any effort involved in drinking? I do not. I see indulgence.

Well, all you dudes and dudettes, wake up and splash your face with cool water - and remember - there is nothing bold in shedding clothes, and there is nothing to try in gulping tequila shots. Any jerk can do that. And every jerk does that.

Perhaps taste would be a better word there - we should taste everything*, if only the lack of taste would not have been so evident in the context we are talking about.

Hampi - an unforgettable Romance

2009-03-21T10:19:00.037+05:30

There is nothing I can say that has not already been said about Hampi (or anything else for that matter). The frequency of my posts should vindicate my conviction that keeping quiet is better than repeating, unless repetition is necessary.

Not much can be heard in noise anyway; and I suspect speech has been reduced to another form of salesmanship, to another type of promising investment for a careerist, to a vehicle that takes people places, and pollutes the air in the way.

Due to the excess that characterizes modernity, words have begun to arouse distrust as soon as they are spoken, precluding any possibility of meaningful communication, something which can not take place without basic credulity. The alternative of speech - silence - is also seen with suspicion, as it is traditionally considered as a mark of hubris if not malice. In this dilemma, language must be released from its appeal mania if any appeal were to be left in it. Meanwhile, till appeal is dethroned and meaning is restored to words, sense of futility must be countered with Sisyphean sense of duty, and honesty.

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Tungabhadra might not have been blessed with mysterious Himalayan herbs or mythological favors, but she can also heal wounds; she can also wash away our sins as the sacred Ganges does. This secret was not known to me before I parked my bike, took a dip into the cool currents of the river and saw my memories (and with memories, sins too, for where else do they reside?) fading away in water. You just have to dip your head and lo! your brain is washed clean; and when you look around, the world looks beautiful once again.

That's precisely why we go to distant places - to forget the pains and banalities of the life we live, to get rid of the ghost - the Betaal - sitting on our back. Traveling is nothing if it doesn't involve forgetfulness, and elements of meditation. And that's why I see traveling as a pilgrimage in a truly spiritual sense.

When I came out of her waters, I came out clean; and when I started my bike to leave, I heard her parting message - "don't fear. if your freedom is limited by your needs, so is your bondage." While riding back, I realized that my needs have never been extravagant - more than anything else, I still needed clean air, clean water, a moon in the sky, and peace of mind to feel poetic about the moon. And they were all there in plenty, ironically for those who could not afford the fancy items that are sold in big malls.

It's hard not to meander when rivers flow in your mind. So let me disclose another secret before I meander with the flow - Hampi is green*, so much so that your eyes might acquire a lovely greenish tinge if you stay long enough on the right side of Tungabhadra. Unfortunately, we couldn't. But fortunately, Hampi was in best of her moods - an unseasonable drizzle on our very first night made our second day a veritable romance to remember. Being there, enveloped by that earthy fragrance was delightful enough, but with those banana and coconut trees around wherever you go, biking in Hampi was something dreams are made of.

And so is sleeping on a rock after a tiring day. It was a joy to sit at the top of hill and see the sun sinking in silence of the forest. Looking at the sunset, I got the impression of Holi - the festival of colors - being played in sky. It was such a beauty to behold! I was so mesmerized that I do not remember when I fell asleep there.

With the night-fall my friend and I used to climb up the stairs of ''Roof Top Cafe'', where we dined as long as we stayed there. After a series of bitter disappointments with Idlis and Vadas, we had come to a conclusion that North Karnataka can not offer eatable South Indian food to save its grace. The celebrated ''Mango Tree Restaurant'' was good for lunch because of its lovable ambiance, but it was the cafe that served dinner at its exotic best. In three nights, I had had Arabian Thali which contained mainly Israeli items (Humus, Pita, and Falafel), an Italian delicacy called Lasagne, and finally a Nepali Thali in honor of our hosts. I admit that if I feel like going to Hampi again, it is primarily because of this cafe.

Does that mean that Hampi can not engage us? The truth can not be farther from it. Hampi might not entertain our multiplex generation, but it does have a potential to engage us at many levels - archeology, architecture, epics and mythology, photography, and the list goes on. The more important question is how deeply we can engage with Hampi. A weekend is sufficient to see this place with reasonable satisfaction. But when you come back, you know that you have only been picking shells at the shore; you know that the pearls are still lying on the bed, down in the depths of a world you never cared to explore, a world that is respected even by its destroyer - Time, the hand of Shiva.

*the recommended time to visit Hampi is from November to March.

The photos can be seen here.

The Walkway

2008-12-28T17:37:00.080+05:30

The narrowing strip of land on which we were walking, if seen from sky, looked like a church fallen flat on the blue bed of water, with its long tapering spire thrust deep into the stomach of the sea, spilling a sea of blue blood.

However, if you looked above, from down, from the sea, you could hardly see the walk-way from there. From there, you could only see a flat face of one of the two mountainous walls, or their joining edge towering into the clouds.

The waves of the sea leaped and crashed furiously at the foot of the walls. At the top, almost a thousand feet above the sea, we were walking oblivious to the noise. The sound of sea could hardly climb up to us. There was a humming silence in the air, and a serenity typical of the seaside nights, embracing us all over. A gentle breeze blew carrying the cool freshness of the sea, caressing our faces, casting spell on our mind. That walk was like a dream.

We had come far from the city lights. We had walked past the sinking sun, and then the last of lamp-posts, and now the light faded behind us. In the light of day, we wouldn't possibly have taken that way. In the darkness, we were not able to see where the road led. The sides were appearing to come closer. They had to meet somewhere ahead. It was just a matter of distance.

Above us, the night was pitch dark, and it stretched as far as our eyes could see. The stars sparkled as they sometimes do. It seemed that they had descended a few stairs. They seemed nearer than ever.

The narrowing road was pushing us closer. It was increasingly hard for us to maintain a safe distance.

- Didn't I say you'll love it?
- Yes, I'm loving it.
- Hmm... but it's getting late. Look, the stars are out. I think we should go back now.
- Yes, the stars are out. And the night is lovely. I wonder if we could walk a little further.

It was getting narrower. And she was beginning to get worried about safety. She was beginning to get worried about fall. She was looking down at the sea. On my part, I was looking up at the stars. And at her.

While she was thinking, I was wondering.

I had no idea that something had gotten into her mind.

- I think we should stop now. We'll fall if we walk further.
- Let's hold each other. We'll not fall then.
- We'll surely fall then.

She smiled the way she smiles, beautifully, and meaningfully. I acknowledged the beauty but pretended not to understand the meaning. I pretended innocence. I wanted the life to go on like that. I didn't want anything to change.

That something had started to work on her mind, and on my unsuspecting happiness.

- I am loving it. But I'm afraid we'll get drowned.
- How come? We are among clouds. Water is nowhere near.

I was too happy to think too much about anything. And I didn't want her to think too much either. We were walking together, we were happy, and nothing else mattered.

Life went on like dream, for a few more dreamy minutes, till that happened. One of the stones she had stepped on lost its ground and fell into the deep reality of sea. The fall was as silent as death, and it was sinister in its premonition. It was just a fall, but there was something surreal about it.

Feelings began to get clouded by Fear. The change began to take place. To mark the beginning, the clouds of fear issued forth a frightful thunderbolt.

- I am sorry I came.

She steadied herself and turned back, her face hardened with a determination to go back to the lamp-posts. She was not the same person anymore. She was still with me, but I had already started to miss her. I was left alone with a stranger who wanted to leave, who wanted to leave stars for lamp-posts! My starry dream was turning into a lamp-post reality! And I could do nothing about it. To my dismay, it occurred to me that what I wanted to do didn't carry much weight in the larger scheme of things.

I was standing deserted like a fool, losing my respect, losing my fundamental rights. In no time, the simplest of things became complicated and difficult for me. I wanted to look back. But I couldn't. I wanted to say something to her. But I couldn't. My voice had lost its dignity, its power!

I was burning in shame. I wanted to break my frustrated heart. That was easy. I could do that. And I did that. I looked ahead - the road was still wide enough for solo walk. In my despair, in my desperation, in my self-hatred, I kept on walking, unable to forget my irrelevance, unable to forgive my disgraceful irrelevance in my own life.

I kept on walking alone, in a desperate need to restore my relevance to myself. I had to walk though the night didn't look lovely anymore. The loveliness had walked away to the lamp-posts. And the stars had gone back. What lied ahead was just a dark night, a solitary walk, and a silent fall. But I was not afraid of fall. I had to keep on walking, in order to keep myself from falling in my own eyes.

Let's Go Party

2008-12-27T21:26:00.024+05:30

Man has selected a point on Earth's elliptical trajectory, randomly, but seriously. As soon as the earth reaches that random point, he bursts out in a serious celebration - the annual calendar changing ceremony.

Thousands of people wait for that moment. The moment that is unbearably banal, yet special. The moment that brings no surprise, but oddly - lots of sensation. The moment that changes nothing but mood. The suspension-of-logic moment. The mob-mentality moment. However, the ruling moment, the lucky moment, the princely moment, for which countless other moments wait on, hands tied to their back. The moment the hands of clocks hit that moment, all of them jump with a boundless joy - Happy New Year - believing that their joyful jump will bring them more joy in the new year.

Common man's superstition standing cheerfully on Copernicus' science.

For the whole 24 hours, as the earth turns, the hands of clock keep on hitting at 12, and people keep on jumping with joy, as it happens. A gigantic jump-wave rises from Japan (land of rising jump) and travels west-ward... till it comes round and reaches the east-most shores. In the meanwhile, world ubiquitously witnesses a curious synchronization of jumping-with-joy with ticking-of-clock!

A spectacular show for the aliens.

Thinking of it, mankind has an amazing ability to be happy on pre-determined occasions - on "Happy Days" - on Festivals, which have only mythological relevance, and little personal relevance. However, fun is the dress code for all on festivals, and "Have Fun" is the categorical imperative. Wily or Nilly, all of us "have fun" on festivals. Those who don't feel any particular joy on festivals must feign it. There is no escape from fun but one - and that leads to isolation.

Feigning is still fine with me. That's civilization.

And what's more? Go get a life.

In the rage of happiness, man-kind wrecks the most unkind vengeance on poor animal-kind. Customarily, whenever man gets happy, he takes out his dagger, goes out and comes back happily with mutilated body of an animal dangling dead in his blood-stained hand. In no time, the body is skinned and chopped in hundred happy pieces. With the blood of killed animal, he happily red-washes his Happy Day. Red has been the traditional color of every human festival.

The next standard item in the standard festival protocol is getting drunk, which is usually followed by a wild boogie-woogie - besotted bodies rocking and rolling and banging heads on deafeningly loud beats of drums, till they abandon their senses for the Devil to take. In the steam rising from the dance floor, bodies get warmed up for the heat of last rites. Bodies running around fire, fire running around bodies. Fire dancing on bodies, bodies dancing on fire. Smell of smoke filling the air. Sound of hysteria filling the soul.

Bang Bang Boom Boom.

By the time the dythramb reaches its crescendo, the demon-men and demon-women, with horns grown on their heads, fail to hear anything, except the infernal signals received by their horn-radars, to ultimate pleasure of Dionysus.

Success = Failure

2008-12-06T20:42:00.018+05:30

Success = Failure

The difference between success and failure lies only in what is seen and what is hidden. We see all the pros of success, but not its cons. And we see all the cons of failure, but not its pros. And we conclude that cons of success and pros of failure do not exist.

But they do. They are not seen. But they do exist. And if looked properly, they can be seen also.

Does that make failure any more pleasant? No. I am not saying that. There is no doubt that failure is unpleasant. But it is not always as bad as it is considered. And success is not always that good. This sounds odd. But this is not as odd as it sounds.

Life is not that straight-forward as we take it to be. It take unexpected turns, and what wait at those turns - surprises!

Those who fail may not immediately appreciate the hidden pros of failure. But those who succeed do realize the hidden cons of success, the nuggets of failure stuffed in success - they call it cost of success. Often the price that they pay is too much for what they get, and perhaps that's why they are not as happy as we expect them to be. Look around yourself and you'd know what I am talking about. Or better, look inside.

From happiness point of view, there is not much difference between success and failure.

Even from freedom point of view, the equation holds. You may not know what it means to walk unobserved on the street with your girl-friend. Sachin Tendulkar does know it. Ask him how much can he pay to be a common man for a day, to be able to sit at Chaupati without getting bogged-down by demands of autographs and photographs.

Open your eyes and look around - few things can be more cruel to a man than his success. I was watching Fashion, and the equation flashed before my eyes : Success = Failure.

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If you kill one, you are a killer. If you kill thousand, you are Alexander.

I wonder why do we respect success. What makes success respectable?

We respect what we consider good. But there is nothing inherently good or bad in success. Success has little to do with Good and Bad, with Morality. Someone can successfully kill someone, and someone can successfully save someone - and both can be successful in their respective goals. Success is all about execution, not about intention, not about goal. Consequently, Hitler is no less successful than Gandhi! You must have heard - nothing succeeds like success!

Success involves interplay of acquisition (in foreground) and sacrifice (in background). What you sacrifice and what you acquire don't matter. 'What' doesn't matter. 'How much' matters. You can sacrifice peace to acquire wealth. Or vice versa. You can do either successfully, since success is amoral.

And since success is amoral, we disregard morality when we respect success. And that should come as a surprise to any conscientious society. The take away point - Context is important.

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Management Mantra:- Convince. Confuse. Corrupt.

Carrot and Stick - Success is beyond Good and Bad. But every system super-imposes Good and Bad on success to manage people smoothly and run itself successfully. That's why good success is awarded and encouraged. Good success is as good as success and Bad success is as bad as failure, which brings disapproval and shame.

Every system think for its own - economic system or family system. So we must think on our own. We must not be confused. Words are treacherous, so we must be cautious.

Growth involves 'being'. And success involves 'doing' and 'having'. So success has more to do with efficiency and possession than with growth. But don't we usually confuse efficiency with intelligence, and possession with growth? We must realize that efficiency does not mean intelligence, and possession does not mean growth.

Moreover, since efficiency is mechanical in nature, the pursuit of efficiency is likely to impede the growth of intelligence, which is anything but mechanical. Similarly, and more often than not, the pursuit of possession impedes growth.

An ass in an ass, in Birthday suit or in Armani suit. And a man is a man.

Man is made complete. He grows with time, and growth is natural, inevitable, and individual. He doesn't have to grow like someone else to feel good about himself. But often he is made to feel otherwise - "beta, bade hoke kya banoge?" How does one answer a question like that? How does one know that in advance? How does a bud know how it will look like after it will have bloomed into a flower? This attitude prefers certainties of past over mysteries of future. This attitude is mechanical to the core, and tries to engineer life - to plan and program life because it allows a better control over life. But isn't it foolish, and futile, to control something as random as life? And isn't a controlled life a lifeless life?

How does it matter if it is successful or not?

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Success: Meaning? Immortality?

Man can not digest meaninglessness. He can not believe that his existence is merely incidental. His being rebels against this thought. He seeks meaning in meaninglessness, order in disorder, constantly, desperately.

Man dreads death. He longs to live forever. But since death is the only certainty in life, he seeks to live in something - in somebody or in something. He writes his name on stones. He likes to read his name in magazines. He fathers children, and he likes to father companies.

The two roads meet at a point - meaning in immortality. The old History book is the place to be - that's success!

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Survival of the fittest.

But History has limited seats in its room - birth of Competition. Envy. Rivalry. Survival of the fittest. Survival not on earth, but in the pages of old History book. remember - that's the place to be!

Now many have to lose if one has to win. Many have to die if one has to survive.

"Macedonia is too small for you", Phillip said. And Alexander the Great began his great journey to get rid of his unbearably claustrophobic country.

"Europe is a mole-hill", lamented Napoleon and set out on his odyssey to arid deserts of Africa, and then to ice-cold hills of Alps.

One died young in Babylon; other died defeated, and was buried in unmarked tomb in Helena.

However, they got their seats in History room. We know their names. Nothing else matters. Alexander was incredibly good at killing people, and he didn't want to waste his talent. After all talent is talent, and it must be acknowledged. Why should we always seek value in talent? Don't we keep books of records - who spits farthest, who eats how many lizards etc?

Napoleon was a great emperor, whose fiery ambition was fueled by his shame for his common background. Looking at him it seems that ambition essentially stems from a sense of smallness, a shame, a complex. Ambition - one's desire to be someone who one is not. Ambition - self hate. What else? Why would he wander to places he neither loved not hated? Why would he go uninvited, unwanted? And why would he win when he didn't know what to be done after winning? Did he need all that? Ambition - first cousin of Greed the Deadly Sin. Ambition, I believe, is an unfortunate disease, which can not be cured by any medicine, any achievement, any conquest. Those who live with it die with it. Ask Josephine. Didn't Napoleon leave her - his first and last red-blooded love - to marry another woman, only to be accepted by the blue-blooded nobility. The poor commoner emperor! Though he lived in riches, his penury lived inside him.

Instead of finding happiness in ordinariness, man strives for extra-ordinariness. And in vain. This quest of extra-ordinariness is the cause of all human strife. And if taken to its logical conclusion - it ends with Nietzsche's Superman and Eugenics and Hitler's purity of race and ethnic cleansing.

For those who are punished for their ordinariness, Success is Revenge. Rich man's peace gives way to poor man's Justice.

Good old Edmond Dantes, an ordinary man who didn't demand too much from life, who occupied a very small space in the world, and who minded his own business, till all that happened, decided to slough his ordinariness, to expand himself, and to assert himself on the world.

He avenged his ordinariness. Success, like Revenge, is about expansion, and penetration. Like Revenge, Success is disgustingly masculine.

However, the wheel of success rolls on, making infinite vicious circles of failure.

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Micro Success versus Macro Success.

My organization needs innovation for success. My question is - does mankind need innovation? My answer is - No. I believe that the technology that we already have is good enough for us. We don't need any more of it. All we need is more efficient application of available technology - we need better management and better governance.

Let's list down top 5 contemporary problems of mankind and let's see if they can be resolved by innovation.

1. Loneliness
2. Death and Disease
3. Disparity
4. Pollution
5. War and Terrorism

I'm afraid some of these problems are rather aggravated by technology. Was Hiroshima or 9/11 possible without technology? Can porn industry survive without technology? Mankind is still nursing the wounds of modernity, and mass production. We don't want any more of it.

But then the success of my organization depends on innovation.

********************************

The idea is to redefine success, so that it is better than failure, not just nominally, but in real terms. The idea is to redefine successful, so that he is any different from what he is today - a pathetic loser.

The essence of work is growth, and leisure. If Man doesn't have leisure, he would not be able to wonder. He would not be able to realize his potential as a human being.

And he would not be able to play with his kids.

Responsibility

2008-11-20T00:35:00.006+05:30

I have noted that Responsibility is used in following contexts :-

1. Existential - A man is responsible for his actions.

A man is (condemned to be) free. He has choices, and he has freedom to take decisions. He has to take decisions. And he is responsible for the consequences of his decisions.

2. Moral -

a) Duty - "This is your responsibility to see to it that none of them crosses the bridge alive. May God bless you."

When used in a right tone, this word can set wrongs right. This word can legitimatize things that can not be legitimatized otherwise.

When you entrust someone with responsibility, he feels grown-up, and important. It is not hard to manage them then.

b) Privilege - "We are happy with your dedication. You'll be given additional responsibility."

Instead of a task, this becomes an award. Farming itself becomes harvest. A farmer is given a responsibility of farming, and he happily accepts it in hope of a harvest. In his mind, farming is no different than harvest.

Maya

2008-09-28T00:51:00.003+05:30

Art Gallary:-

First painting - showing a woman with a huge pair of melons.

Second painting - showing a headless woman with three melons, the third one is seen in place of the missing head.

Third painting - showing a man with a cannon between his thighs, and other men looking at him with awe.

Fourth painting - showing a woman with a globe rolling inside the dark hollow between her outstretched thighs.

STOP IT. STOP IT. IT'S GROSS. GROSS. GROSS.

********************************************

Plato had said that art imitates nature. I am not sure about that, or the reverse of that, but art does attempt to capture the elusive, the mysterious, the indescribable, and the unspeakable.

It is often politically incorrect to speak the unspeakable. It is often indiscreet to hold mirror to an ugly face, especially when the face is pally with a pair of punch-happy hands. In the mentioned case, with or without vulgarity, our artist is accused of depicting human bodies in a distorted fashion. But he was not depicting human bodies as they are made, but as they are seen, and as they exist in our collective consciousness. Can you dare to differ? Is human attention evenly distributed over a human body? Don't we make a fetish of female breasts, and don't we worship male members? The truth is that the distortion happens in our mind first, and only then in an artist's works.

When we convict him of 'sickness', we should remember that out-of-proportion involvement with anything is a sickness, which distorts our vision, our understanding, and our judgment. And this holds true for anything and everything.

************************************************

That - distortion of vision, understanding, and judgment - is called Maya - one of the million ordinary words of our colloquial language which contains extraordinary depths of philosophy within. There are other connotations of this word, but those are beyond the scope of present discussion.

In my limited understanding, Maya is caused by the following -

1. Ignorance -- Watch Matrix to understand this.

Our mind is narrowed by the immediate and the instant. A holds the tail of an elephant and gets convinced that it is a rope. B claims that it is a pillar. C believes that it is a wall. They don't listen to one another. And they conclude wrongly.

Even listening to other doesn't help. In a Panchatantra tale, a farmer listens to thugs and gets persuaded that the goat that he is carrying on his shoulder is a dog. In the end, he loses his goat to the thugs.

We are ignorant, and we pay for our ignorance throughout our life. But we hardly think. We defend our sloth and attend to the most immediate practicality. Few 'impractical' daredevils told us that earth was not flat, and they told us that it was earth that revolved around the sun and not the other way round.

See! What we see is still the same, but our sight is lighted by knowledge. We grope in darkness and make ourselves miserable. And suddenly a flash of light shows us the truth - that it is an elephant and not a rope, a pillar, or a wall.

2. Attachment -- In Geeta, Krishna warns us of two things - A. Ego (sense of agency), and B. Attachment. It is attachment which is source of anxiety and fear and then anger, which clouds our judgment.

How ironical it is - we place value in things, and then the same things start to control and dominate us!

I'd read the line written above once again - we place value in things, and then the same things start to control and dominate us!

Most of the things we think we need are the things we don't need. We run after those things that are wanted by people around us - gadgets etc. Similarly, we don't give up something that we don't want because we fear that someone else might pick that up and run away, making us stand like a fool. But we make a fool of ourselves by running after things we hardly care for, and holding something we would rather be dispensed of. Without being unselfish, we live for others. Well not for others, just keeping others in mind. How many things we do are things that we would do without letting others know?

Our crowd mentality is further aggravated by comparisons and competitiveness. The award system and myth of something called success further confuse, and control, our already scattered thoughts.

It is important to realize that success is not a condition for happiness. From pure happiness point of view, success is not always better than failure. Sometimes, it is worse than failure. The pursuit of success leaves the senses paralyzed. No wonder a successful man is a miserable man, because the ambition needed for success is nothing but a deep-seated feeling of inadequacy.

This feeling of inadequacy makes up one's ego, which needs to achieve a goal to feel adequate - therefore attachment - therefore Maya, and misery.

Have Fun

2008-09-24T23:33:00.004+05:30

The wait is over - this Friday is FunGaMa day. (Applause)

It's good to have fun, and John wants you to have fun. So all of us will have fun. (Applause)

OK. Let's discuss the plan now. The fungama will begin at 9.00 AM sharp. I want everybody to be in the campus by then. Don't be late, and Don't be absent. John himself is coming with us and he will be there with us for the whole day. (Applause) Managers will make the roll call and make sure that their team is present, and present on time. I don't want to hear any excuse.

The dress code for fungama will be ... (pause) ... a Smile. (Applause) Make sure you wear a smile on your face. That's mandatory. (smile) If we catch any of you without smile, we will make him or her dance. Dancers don't have to be happy, they will have to sing. If any of you find anyone without a smile, report to the fun team. The fun team will make sure you dance and sing throughout the day.

I would like to congratulate the fun team for their tremendous effort. (Applause) You can see the fun schedule on the home page. There are many fun events, and your participation is mandatory. There are exciting prizes for winners. John himself will give away the prizes. Let's see who takes away the titles of Mr Funny and Miss Funny this time. No, you can not get both, can you? (smile) Losers? Well, they will have to do what winners want them to.

The fun team has laid out a funny rule this time, which we will follow. As soon as you hear the command - Have Fun!, you have to start having fun. But before you start having fun, you have to wait for the command. Nobody will have fun before hearing the command. You can not have fun in your own funny way.

The Sense of Nonsense

2008-09-20T20:02:00.006+05:30

A friendship of childhood is enduring friendship. Only children make good friends, adults make networks. If that's true, what to do to make friends? It's simple - be a child.

I agree that mutual respect is the root of every human relationship (ignore commercial or political alliances for a while). No relation can survive without respect. But being touchy about it hardly helps. We must not confuse criticism with disrespect. We often do that, don't we? And we must not judge after passing the judgment. Once a person wins our respect, we should relax and let the person relax. After all, none of us is infallible, and all of us need to be forgiven.

I often think that we get mature without knowing what maturity is. Maturity can not possibly mean doing non-serious things seriously. Growing up can not possibly mean being petty and selfish. If it is like that, then what's so mature about it? Also, we forget that we are ageless; adulthood is only a state of mind, which can be (and must be) suspended for a while. We must allow ourselves a parole, to go out of our cells and handshake with other inmates.

I have realized that there is lot of sense in nonsense. At least it makes sense in friendship. Two people make good friends only when they do lot of nonsense together. No wonder we make good pals in our graduation and fail to do the same in our post graduation.

On Dating

2008-09-15T03:27:00.014+05:30

Three things torment people who are otherwise not tormented - 1. Boredom, 2. Loneliness, and 3. Memories.

If we take care of the first two, the last one takes care of itself. You forget nothing, but you learn to live with it.

Boredom is a petty emotion. It is a sign of sloth, mental as well as physical. And sloth is a sickness that can not be cured by bed rest. It is cured only by activity, which is followed by an interest (in that activity) and enthusiasm, the antithesis of boredom.

A bored person is an empty person who craves for something to fill his emptiness, someone to entertain him. He lacks imagination. A bored person feels lonely (as long as he is alone*) and desperate. So 'something' could be anything, and 'someone' could be anyone. Boredom is promiscuous; it lacks character.

On the other hand, a lonely person feels lonely, but not bored. He sometimes gets bored only in company of boring people, but not in isolation, not in his own company. Loneliness is not empty; on the contrary, loneliness is a longing to share. It is a longing to share all that have been earned in long lonely nights - the stuff poetry is made of. It is a longing to share bright thoughts and stupid dreams with someone who can understand. It is a painful longing to express, to be understood, to love, and to be loved.

Loneliness is the stinging tail of solitude. It is painful, but it has passion, it has patience, and it has character. It is a choice that few deserve and fewer make.

But, after all, being lonely hurts. And there is nothing noble in it.

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Loneliness is a congenital problem, but it has been further aggravated by modern lifestyle. How?

With the number of channels on TV, and the types of personalities have multiplied manifold in recent times. We are what we see. We are what we choose. Among so many options kept on shelves, we choose some at the cost of many others, knowingly or otherwise. And we know little about the options we don't choose, and we know little about the people who choose them. In case we do know, we look down on them. And in case we look up to them, we hold a grudge against them because we have to look up to them. They are either strangers to us, or adversaries.

It sounds complicated, because it is complicated. We are living in complicated times. The profusion of options in market has brought the finer elements of our personalities on fore. And we link our ego with the things we consume. We have bar-coded ourselves. We talk about Identity. We talk about Taste. And these things matter to us like never before.

I have already talked about Identity in my earlier posts. The pursuit of identity ends in a frozen isolation. And taste takes a toll on our tolerance. Taste comes in pair, the other being distaste. Taste means judgment, and discrimination. I have a taste for old Hindi film melodies, and I can not stand rock at all. My hatred to noise is uncompromising, and unconditional. Worse, I am helpless in my hatred. And that hardly makes me very friendly to my friends.

I mean to say that no matter how cosmopolitan we may be, our personalities are more defined, and more confined, than those of our parents. And that makes us lonelier than they were. This situation is not helped by other things, like cut-throat competition, aggression, ambition, and our all-consuming working hours. We stay away from our family, we never see our neighbors except in morning (in the parking lot), and our interaction with our colleagues is strained by professional discretion.

And then nights come with a darkness stretched all over. Never mind the networking, but when we want to talk, we hardly find anyone in our entire contacts list. I have seen myself browsing through my list and then tossing the phone on bed in frustration. I have realized that cell phone is useless when we really feel like talking.

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Since modernity is inescapable, the antithesis of loneliness can only be found within the same set of premises.

I will come directly to the point. It's late and I've to sleep to wake up to go to office.

A few days back the topic of dating popped up, and it was met with disapproval. I wondered what's wrong in it?

Dating is a western concept, isn't?

True, it is. But then so many things are. So much so that it is hard to say what is ours and what is not. In a mixed (and messed-up) culture like ours, what is ours anyway? Considering our work-style, fun-style, and the whole lifestyle, the argument against foreign doesn't hold too much of a relevance.

At the same time that does not mean that we should run after everything exotic. That would be equally idiotic. The point is - that is not relevant here.

The point is - things change with time, and values that are incompatible with lifestyle will be idealized, and idolized, but will not be adopted. Suppressed by society, individuals will resort to corruption, deceit, hypocrisy, and perversion. Don't we see this happening everywhere?

Dating - hunting women, isn't?

That's not the right word. It can not be denied that there is some youthful playfulness in dating, but youth can be playful without being disgusting and malicious. Besides, youthful playfulness is better than middle-age perversion. It is better than post-marriage regret and breaking-up of family. And for us Indians, nothing can be more disastrous than that.

Dating just means meeting a person of opposite sex to see if it can work out. Since we are different people, with different values, taste, and aspirations, it is not easy for us to bump into equally different person, especially in our busy everyday life. And so it is not easy for us to step into a committed relationship, which requires certain compatibility to keep two people together in this crazy age of liberation. Result -- loneliness.

It's time dating is taken seriously by young urban India, and by their parents. It's time it is not just tolerated, but understood. It's time it is allowed, encouraged, and institutionalized by our society. Let's not be sneaky about our most compelling desire - the desire for a human touch. Dating can solve some of our problems if it is carried out properly. I think its time has arrived.

* which means he does not feel lonely. A bored person confuses boredom with loneliness.

Sajjad Hussain - The Mystery Musician

2008-09-14T14:29:00.006+05:30

Sajjad Husain was one of the most interesting music director in the Indian Cinema. His contemporaries agreed that he was the best of the best! So great was he that even Madan Mohan lifted a tune from Husain's old song, and that Madan Mohan song went onto to become a great hit!

He was no ordinary talent. Such people come rarely and show flashes of genius before they become victims of their own eccentricity. Ghulam Mohammad, Pakeezah's Music Director was another. The text below is taken from this page, with a view to popularize the story and the genius of Sajjad Husain - the only Original music director that Hindi Cinema ever saw!!

Two incidents which best explain Husain's personality and genius:

One: how, during a recording, he called out tartly to Lata Mangeshkar struggling at the mike with one of his intricate compositions, "Yeh Naushad miyan ka gaana nahin hai, aap ko mehnat karni padegi."

Two: how at a music directors' meet, eschewing the customary diplomacy of that era, he walked up to Madan Mohan and demanded belligerently, "What do you mean by stealing my song ?" ("Yeh hawa yeh raat yeh chandani" from his 'Sangdil' had just found a new avatar as "Tujhe kya sunaoon main dilruba" in Madan Mohan's 'Aakhri Dao'.)

These two hallmarks of Sajjad's identity -- his penchant for complex, many-layered compositions and his singularly forthright nature -- stuck to him like a second skin throughout his life. And they combined in a rather unfortunate manner to diminish the potential brilliance of a career that could have ranked among the most celebrated.

It was not the intricacy of his compositions that put Sajjad at a disadvantage -- he worked, after all, in an era that belonged to music directors with erudition and firm classical foundations. Where he lost out was in his handling of producers and directors, sometimes musical illiterates, who sought to simplify or alter his tunes -- his contemporaries dealt with such "suggestions" rather more tactfully than Sajjad, who would immediately [get] up and walk out of the film.

"He was an extremely talented man, very knowledgeable about music, but his temperament was his undoing," says Naushad. "Even if someone made a minor suggestion, he'd turn on him and say, 'What do you know about music ?' He fought with almost everyone. Because of this, he sat at home most of his life and wasted his talent. But the body of work he has produced, small as it might be, ranks among the best in Hindi film music."

Music historian Raju Bharatan, whose interaction with Sajjad goes back a long way, has a somewhat different insight into the man. "It's true he wouldn't let musically unqualified people interfere with his work,but the popular perception of him being stubborn is not right," he says. "Sajjad had a rational explanation for every action of his. You had to know him to recognise his tremendous erudition, the fact that he was far superior to every other music director in the industry."

This erudition, the cornerstone of Sajjad's work, is recalled affectionately by Naushad.

"He took pride in his ustaadi," he says. "He'd tell the producer, 'I've created a tune which even Lata can't sing.' And the producer would say, 'If Lata can't sing it, how do you expect the common man to sing it ?' But at the same time he did create simple, yet extraordinary, compositions -- for example, "Yeh kaisi ajab daastaan ho gayi hai" from 'Rustam Sohrab'."

Indeed, as far as Sajjad's formidable talent goes, there are no two opinions. Madan Mohan, when confronted with the charge of plagiarism, reportedly told him, "I take pride in the fact that I lifted your tune, not that of some second- or third-rater." Anil Biswas, himself hailed as a creative genius, declared in an interview that Sajjad was the only original composer in Hindi films. "All of us, including myself, turned to some source for inspiration," he said. "This, Sajjad never needed to do. Each note of the music he composed was his own." If Sajjad was known primarily for his film scores, there was also another facet to his art -- he was an accomplished albeit self-taught mandolin player who could stun even purists with his ability to play Hindustani classical music on this rather uninspiring western instrument.

His performances at concerts alongside the biggest names in classical music spurred rave reviews, and connoisseurs would be agog at his ability to coax the meend, for instance, out of the instrument of play entire ragas with the help of the tuning key. "In the hands of Ustad Sajjad Husain," said a review of a Madras concert in 1982, "the mandolin bore the halo of a Ravi Shankar sitar or [an] Ali Akbar sarod. His playing is that of a mighty maestro."

On July 21, the 79-year-old composer breathed his last. The leitmotif of his lifetime, isolation, cast its shadow over his death too, when, with the notable exception of Khayyam and Pankaj Udhas, nobody else from the film industry bothered to turn up to pay him their last respects. "It hurt," admits his son, "but what is far more important is that to the last day of his life, my father was happy. There was no bitterness, no regrets. He could have been hugely successful, made piles of money, but the only thing he wanted was to be acknowledged as a great musician, and to live life on his own terms. And I think he achieved that."

Read more about Sajjad Hussain here. And read what Lata Mangeshkar says about him here.

Islam vs Secularism

2008-08-31T22:29:00.004+05:30

Secularism is defined in the Webster dictionary as: "A system of doctrines and practices that rejects any form of religious faith and worship" or "The belief that religion and ecclesiastical affairs should not enter into the function of the state especially into public education."

There is no doubt that secularism contradicts Islam in every aspect. They are two different paths that never meet; choosing one means rejecting the other. Hence, whoever chooses Islam has to reject secularism. In the following, we go in the details of explaining why.

1- First, secularism makes lawful what Allah has made unlawful.

The Rule of Allah (Shari`ah) is compulsory and has basic laws and regulations that cannot be changed. Some of these laws are concerned with the acts of worship, the relations between men and women, etc.

What is the position with regard to these laws?

Secularism makes adultery lawful if the male and the female are consenting adults.

As for Riba (interest on money), it is the basis of all financial transactions in secular economies. On the contrary, Allah says (s.2 A. 278): "O you who believe, fear Allah and leave what comes from Riba if you are believers. If you do not do so, then wait for a war from Allah and His Messenger."

As for alcohol, all secular systems allow the consumption of alcohol and make selling it a lawful business.

2- Second, secularism is clear unbelief (Kufr).

Secularism is based on separating religion from all the affairs of this life and hence, it rules by law and regulations other than Allah's laws. Hence, secularism rejects Allah's rules with no exception and prefers regulations other than Allah's and His Messenger's. In fact, many secularists claim that Allah's laws might have been suitable for the time they were revealed but are now outdated.

As a result, most of the laws governing the daily affairs of life in the countries ruled by secular systems contradict Islam. Allah says (S.5 A.50): "Do they seek a judgment of Ignorance? But, who, for a people whose faith is assured, can give better judgment than Allah?"

Ibn Katheer said in the Tafseer of this verse that Allah is denouncing those who reject His ruling and accept other rulings that are not based on the Shari`ah of Allah. Whoever does so is indeed a non-believer. Indeed, belief in Allah can never go with the acceptance of other than His rulings in one's heart. Allah says (S.5 A.44): "If any do fail to judge by what Allah has revealed, they are non-believers."

From the above, the status of secularism and its relation to Islam are clear. But the ignorance about the Islamic truth is still dominating the Muslim's mind. Most secular systems repeat slogans like "no religion in politics and no politics in religion" or "religion is for Allah, and the state is for the people." Such sayings portray their view of Islam as a religion to be practiced in the mosque only, and that it should not be allowed to rule life outside the mosque. Furthermore, they try to deceive people with democratic slogans like "personal freedom" and "people governing people." That means that people come first and no place is made for the ruling of Allah.

This is why secularism is clear Kufr, this is why secular systems have no legality and authority and should be rejected by Muslims.

Courtesy - www.islaam.com

For more information about this, read this, and this.

Giving In

2008-08-24T13:43:00.064+05:30

"You need not say a word. Let your character come forth to your defence, and speak on your behalf in the hours of trial." I used to believe and follow this religiously. Everyone liked me then, when I was a teenager.

I am the same person, but today my whole being revolts against this thought. Why should I care for this trial? Is my life nothing but a mere preparation for an unknown inquisition which lurks somewhere in future, and for which I need to collect evidences and witnesses who would testify to my uprightness? Why should I live in this dark shadow of fear? Isn't fear a dehumanizing emotion?

And was my idea of character any different from a mere collection of my impression on others? I was out to make an image. But I not aware that images come costly, and their maintenance was even costlier. Plus it was demeaning to sell yourself in order to buy your image. How dreary it is to be interpreted by others! How scary it is to be subjected to others' opinion about yourself! How suffocating it is to explain yourself to others! How mechanical it is to be consistent! All this to keep an image!

And all this when judgment has already been written in favor of the powerful! Keeping the judgment hidden inside the drawer, the judge sits through the entire farce and amuses himself. No court has ever given justice to anyone; the best of them may afford alms of kindness to those who inspire pity. Thanks, but no thanks. No courtroom drama for me.

I will not answer their questions. If they insist, I will try to obfuscate them, and dodge them as long as I can. Since I don't play mind games with lesser people, I'll suspend my logic and give in to my imagination. I will talk nonsense with random burst of passion. I will speak in a language they wouldn't understand, and grin at their face, thereby confessing crimes I have never committed. I will pretend like a genius-gone-gaga. I'll give a blank look to the lawyer, and then I'll complain of a queer smell in courtroom. By the way, if the judge happens to be an old man, I'll let him know that I am an inveterate atheist. It will be fun to hear from him that that's irrelevant to the case. If the judge happens to be a woman, I will like to point out that her little ear ring sways wildly and diverts my attention from the truth. *

It sounds weird but I feel an urge to rebel against this tyranny of feedback. Sometimes I deliberately do things to invite people's disapprobation. The image of Jesus Christ comes to my mind. What a man he was! They kicked him, mocked at him, crucified him with petty thieves, and worst of all - left his dead body to rot out in open. I wonder what held his head high. Did he live for honor? No. Perhaps he never thought in terms of honor and shame. A life in pursuit of honor ends up becoming a life of slavery, which is more shameful than anything else. Fear from ridicule makes life ridiculous. Damned are those who can't take ridicule. They are not capable of being anything of any worth. They will be ruled by carrot and stick. As far as I am concerned, I know I can not stop the fools to judge me, but I can not allow the fools to rule me either. **

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An actress is not fully accepted in film-factory unless she sheds her clothes. Clothes are considered a symbol of self-indulgence, and individuality, which has no place in a meat market. Meat need not have a face. Meat must show humility to its consumers. Every bit of young actress' reluctance is relished by the self-assured market-men, who know that everything comes with a price tag, and a breaking point. They use price as a means of psychological pressure, and savor the silent spectacle of her breaking down, the longer the better. In pressure, our mind invents excuses and makes us fit enough to survive. And the fit person, an apostate, not only survives but also becomes an passionate supervisor of the ruling cynicism. That's how cynicism works.

I have seen people around me giving in to things they otherwise disapprove, like smoking and drinking, only to be accepted in a group. And the group hates those who stay put on their grounds. The group hates the vanities of man - the so-called values (and the fetish of face)! They use seclusion as a means - they lock you in a remand room where nobody talks to you except the walls, till you give in.

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* That reminds me of this supposedly serious meeting with my HR manager. I was not in a serious mood though. So I took her on a roller-coaster. She must have expected another banal intercourse with a java guy. She was pleasantly disoriented. Audacity! mixed with middle-age chivalry worked like a charm. None of us can resist entertainment, especially when it is followed by flattery! That was risky, but the risk was worth taking it.

Warning - Do whatever you want to, but don't forget the code of sophistication. More importantly, never try this with a Scorpio, or a Capricorn, no matter how cool or hot she looks. You'll have to regret it.

** What'll people say? attitude bugs me to no end. It saddens me to see that we seek public opinion even in (ironically, only in) private matters. Even love is not a matter of will anymore, it has become a mandate.

Lest We Forget

2008-08-24T10:19:00.022+05:30

All of them might not have been able to win gold for India, but they are worth their weight in gold. Our olympians have showed us Taare Zameen Par in real life. By sheer power of will, they have fought and won over thousand odds. Despite their loss in tournament, they are all winners. They are all heroes and heroines.

Kudos to all of them.

Nothing succeeds like success. Hope their success succeeds. Hope we start looking at sports as a practical career option for our children. Hope government and corporate invest their resources to shape the talents of thousands of anonymous Sushils and Vijenders, because every parent is not like Mrs and Mr Bindra. India needs more Bhiwanis.

Apart from infrastructure, sports needs visibility. We can not rely on Olympics and commonwealth games only. It's time more tournaments are organized and media gives them more coverage, thereby creating a competition among the states. India has more Bhiwanis, only waiting to be unearthed.

Rajdeep Sardesai comes up with an idea - "why don't each of the IPL team owners adopt one sport and make it part of their business plan?" This idea is not far-fetched. After all, it was none other than L.N.Mittal who had steeled the chances of our players. Mittal Champions Trust (MCT) has been supporting 14 players who participated in Beijing Olympics. Abhinav Bindra was supplied not only with cartridges, but also with physical trainer and mental therapist. Akhil Kumar had been sent to London for medical treatment when he had broken his wrist. Thanks to their success, MCT is willing to extend its support to more number of sports and sportsmen (and sportswomen). Even BCCI can come forward and contribute to the impending renaissance.

In any case, let Beijing 2008 be a point of departure, not a point of arrival. We've won medals in martial games, now we know that we have got that in us. We want to win, and our desire is not short of strength. All we need is a professional approach in sports. Given the grit and spirit of our players, I'm sure we'll make a mark in London 2012.

Commentary from Coorg

2008-08-18T15:47:00.015+05:30

14 August, 2008: We boarded on MMTS local at Hi-Tech City railway station to catch Bangalore Express, which was to depart at 19.00 from Kacheguda (Hyderabad). This is an overnight train with no pantry car, so it's better to carry food if you don't want to sleep hungry. Anyways, as soon as I stepped into the train, I was impressed by its brand new look. The leather-brown seats with matching curtains, cream colored walls, and the clean floor glittering with mica, created quite an aesthetic surrounding. Also, this bogey had an additional side berth, meaning more revenue for the railway. Laloo's team is indeed coming up with some innovative ideas and though most of them are only to fool people, I give him a thumbs up for this one.

15 August, 2008: We hit the Bangalore-Mysore highway at around 11.00. Our Scorpio was running at top speed; the weather, the cool breeze, and the greenery made our mood in no time.

The road after Mysore is not that great, but there is no dearth of greenery. By afternoon, we had reached Kushalnagar, which is home to thousands of refugees from Tibet.

It is a indeed a unique experience to see so many Buddhist monks in this part of India. At the same time it seems a trifle strange that they have chosen to settle so far from their homeland.

These thoughts vanish as soon as you enter the Golden Temple. The exterior is exotic enough, but it is the interior that is awe-inspiring. Three 60 feet tall statues welcome you and dazzle your eyes with golden brilliance. I gazed at the statues for sometime; but before the solemnity of the place seeped inside, my curiosity was roused by the elaborateness of arrangement. I tried to capture the magnificence of that place in my camera, without losing the details of decoration, only to feel frustrated.

We had lunch (which smelt funny), browsed some shops, chatted with their owners, and then moved from there. We reached Medikari in evening, booked a hotel and called it a day.

16 August, 2008: The day began with a drizzling, which didn't bother us too much. In fact, I will recommend you to visit Coorg in Monsoon only, because the place looks greener than ever.

We drove to Abbey's fall first. All you should not forget is to fold your pants before you go near the fall, lest leeches will stick to your body and will suck your blood leaving practically nothing for your boss. The fall was the largest I had ever seen. Its roar was audible from the road itself. The water crashed against the rocks and the vapor flew in air, making the drizzle superfluous.

We were under a misconception that rafting takes place in Talakaveri, the origin of Kaveri. Since I was disturbed by some unpleasant developments in my personal life of late, I was unable to do my homework properly. That does not mean that I regret going to Talakaveri. In monsoon, there is nowhere you can go in Coorg and regret. The way to Talakaveri was walled by dense forests, and coffee estates. We were literally among clouds. We could see them playing with winds, running over hills, like little children.

We had to miss Nagarahole National Park because of its timings. We were least interested in tourist points like Madikeri Fort and Raja Seat etc. There was no sun, and no sunset to be seen from Raja Seat. So we came back to our room, took our dinner followed by a stroll (which I enjoy more than anything else) and retired to our beds.

17 August, 2008: We were to miss elephant ride in Dobare because of timings again. We had thought of taking the ride after rafting, but we didn't know that the ride is given till 13.00 only. Anyways, we were interested in rafting and we didn't want to miss that.

We didn't miss that, thankfully.

We dressed up and posed with our paddles before setting off for our maiden rafting experience. We all were excited about it, but the flow in Kaveri was not very enthusiastic. If you ignore a few rapids in the way, the flow was looking more suitable for boating than for rafting. Anyways, half of the fun depends on things other than the flow of Kaveri. We made fun of the flow and dived into the river to redeem the value for our money. It was nice to lie down on water, facing the sky and ignoring our instructor's instructions. In the end, we were a happy lot.

We had to reach Bangalore by evening. So we had to wrap things up. We took lunch at a nearby restaurant, which served us simple South Indian meal. And that tasted better than all the North Indian food we had eaten throughout the trip.

Our last halt was at Nisargadhama, which is a sort of botanical garden. There was hardly anything of any particular interest for us. We walked about for sometime and then decided to push off from there.

Coorg will remind me of forests, and clouds running over the hills. The hills give you a sense of isolation from the noise of urban life, and a peace of mind. The silence of forests has a way of calling those who can hear the call. Let me hear the call again, I promise to go back again.

Companionship

2008-08-14T14:33:00.040+05:30

What is this mystery - companionship?

Incredulity is the first thing I feel when I open my eyes. It's hard to believe what has happened. Things change so unexpectedly that it's hard to believe, as well as disbelieve, anything. What is relation when our relations are as fickle as our moods. They grow; and before we know, they fall sick and die.

You imposed yourself on me when I was at peace with myself. And you turned your back on me when I needed you the most. You have gone away and there is no hope of your coming back.* In my despair, your memories come to haunt me when I am lonely.

And I am always lonely. I nod while listening to others but I don't hear anything. I feel lost in a vast expansion of a limitless desert. There are no star in sky to show me way. I am confused. I only hope not to be corrupted by this confusion.

People try to convince me. But I am already convinced. Nothing is easier than convincing the mind. Mind finds honorable excuses for things that we do, and things that we don't. I also know that everything happens for the best. That's pretty obvious, isn't it? But convincing the mind doesn't soothe a wounded heart too much. I know I ought to be happy. But I am not. Nevertheless, I say I am happy. I feel something, and I say something else. Words are useless when we are sincere. We hardly understand others' words. We are all condemned not to be able to understand one another.

Life has a funny sense of justice. You see - life is easier for those who litter than for those who care to clean the litter. The former cheerfully exploit the weakness of the latter. Love is also a weakness, which is duly exploited as soon as it is detected in others. Civilization has made us clever enough to recognize trust, kindness, gentleness etc in other person and then exploit them to the last drop. In any relation, the one who loves less exploits more. But some of us still clean, and some of us still love. Isn't it funny?

Is it pain that I feel in my chest, or is it just a vacuum? Do I really miss your sweet nothings? Did I really take those sweet nothings seriously? I had never thought so. But I was wrong. I am bigger sucker than I had imagined myself to be.

I can imagine your pain, and the vacuum in your chest. But I can not feel your pain. I can feel only my pain. We can not feel each others' pain. The inability to feel each others' pain separates us, and often makes us distrustful to each other. But the pain itself - that unites us. The mutuality of suffering binds us in our separation. Can't you see a togetherness in our separation, a companionship in our fate? We can not meet but we are still companions, like two parallel rails of a railway track. We have to bear the weight of our fate, together, separately.

*your person can, but you can not. You, as you existed then, can not.

Anti-Dowry Laws: Instruments of Blackmail?

2008-08-12T23:25:00.004+05:30

The Dowry Prohibition Act, was enacted with the intention of protecting wives from marital violence, abuse and extortionist dowry demands. However, the actual implementation of these laws has left a bitter trail of disappointment, anger and resentment in its wake, among the affected families.

The truth is, that there were adequate provisions in the IPC Sections 323, 324, 325 and 326 for use against anyone who assaults a woman or causes her injury. The Indian Penal Code was amended twice during the 1980s — first in 1983 and again in 1986 — to define special categories of crimes dealing with marital violence and abuse.

In 1983, Section 498A of the IPC defined a new cognizable offence, namely, "cruelty by husband or relatives of husband". This means that under this law the police have no option but to take action, once such a complaint is registered by the victim or any of her relatives. It prescribes imprisonment for a term which may extend to three years and also includes a fine. The definition of cruelty is not just confined to causing grave injury, bodily harm, or danger to life, limb or physical health, but also includes mental health, harassment and emotional torture through verbal abuse. This law takes particular cognisance of harassment, where it occurs with a view to coercing the wife, or any person related to her, to meet any unlawful demand regarding any property or valuable security, or occurs on account of failure by her, or any person related to her, to meet such a demand.

During the same period, two amendments to the Dowry Prohibition Act of 1961, enacted in 1984 and 1986, made dowry giving and receiving a cognizable offence. Even in this case, where a person is prosecuted for taking or abetting dowry, or for demanding dowry, the burden of proof that he had not committed the offence was placed on the accused. [Same in case of Rape. Imagine falsely being accused of offence like rape!]

However, no punitive provisions were added for those making false allegations or exaggerated claims. There is, of course, the law against perjury (lying on oath). But in India, the courts expect people to prevaricate and lawyers routinely encourage people to make false claims because such stratagems are assumed to be part of the legal game in India. Therefore, the law against perjury has hardly ever been invoked in India.

Section 406, to be invoked by the woman to file cases against her husband and in-laws for retrieval of her dowry prescribes imprisonment of upto three years for criminal breach of trust. Often, highly exaggerated or bogus claims are made by unscrupulous families who demand the return of more than was given as ‘stridhan’, using the draconian sections 498A and section 406 of the IPC as a bargaining tool.

Furthermore, another Section 304B was added to the IPC to deal with yet another new category of crime called “dowry death”. This section states that if the death of a woman is caused by burns or bodily injury, or occurs under abnormal circumstances, within seven years of her marriage and it is shown that just prior to her death she was subjected to cruelty by her husband or any relative of her husband, in connection with any demand for dowry, such a death would be called a “dowry death”, and the husband or relative would would be deemed to have caused her death. The burden of proof is shifted to the accused party. The basic spirit of Indian jurisprudence is that a person is presumed innocent till proven guilty. However, in all these cases the person is assumed guilty till proven innocent.

The person held guilty of a "dowry death" shall be punished with imprisonment for a term which shall not be less than seven years but which may extend to imprisonment for life. By inserting a new section 113B in the Indian Evidence Act, the lawmakers stipulated that in cases that get registered by the police as those of “dowry death”, the court shall presume that the accused is guilty unless he can prove otherwise. [Prey tell me how can anyone prove that? How dreadfully Kafkaesque!]

This is understandable in cases of death because the unnatural demise of a woman through suicide or murder is in itself proof that something was seriously wrong in the marriage. But problems arise when the same presumption applies to cases of domestic discord where the underlying cause of conflict is not necessarily the husband's violence, abuse or economic demands but due to the couple's inability to get along with each other.

The law was recast, heavily weighted in the woman’s favour, on the assumption that only genuinely aggrieved women would come forward to lodge complaints and that they would invariably tell the truth. In the process, however, the whole concept of due process of law had been overturned in these legal provisions dealing with domestic violence.

With the police as well as lawyers encouraging female complainants to use this as a necessary ploy to implicate their marital families, making them believe that their complaint will not be taken seriously otherwise. It has become a distinct trend to include dowry demands in every complaint of domestic discord or cruelty, even when dowry was not an issue at all. This has created an erroneous impression that all of the violence in Indian homes is due to a growing greed for more dowry. [Women indulged in adultery can control their husbands now, thanks to our law makers. ]

This tendency has received a further fillip with the enactment of 498 A, mentioning dowry demands seems to have become a common ritual in virtually all cases registered with the police or filed in court, misusing the provisions of sections 498A and 406. Even members of many women’s organisations themselves acknowledge such abuse. Things have come to this pass, not just due to police and judicial corruption/apathy but also because the laws, as they are currently framed, lend themselves to easy abuse.

All these amendments placed draconian powers in the hands of the police without adequate safeguards against the irresponsibility of the enforcement machinery. There are any number of cases coming to light where Section 498A has been used mainly as an instrument of blackmail. It lends itself to easy misuse as a tool for wreaking vengeance on entire families, because, under this section, it is available to the police to arrest anyone a married woman names as a tormentor in her complaint, as “cruelty" in marriage has been made a non-bailable offence. Thereafter, bail in such cases has been denied as a basic right.

This law has lent itself to gross abuse, because arresting and putting a person in jail, even before the trial has begun, amounts to pre-judging and punishing the accused without due process. Although a preliminary investigation is required after the registration of the F.I.R, in practice such complaints are registered, whether the charges are proved valid or not, and arrest warrants issued, without determining whether the concerned family is actually abusive, or they have been falsely implicated. Our laws do not recognise the possibility of daughters-in-law maltreating old in-laws or other vulnerable members of their husband's family.

There are any number of cases where the problem is mutual maladjustment of the couple rather than abuse by the entire joint family. However, a host of relatives, including elderly parents, who are not necessarily the cause of maladjustment, have all been arrested and put in jail for varying lengths of time before the trial begins. There have been several cases where judges have refused bail unless the accused family deposits a certain sum of money in the complainant’s name as a precondition to the grant of bail.

There have been of instances where the main point of discord between the couple was that the wife wanted the husband to leave his parent's home or an old widowed mother and set up a nuclear family. Since the man resisted this move, the wife used 498A as a bargaining device, without success though.

Indeed, there have been many cases where the woman uses the strict provisions of 498A in the hope of enhancing her bargaining position vis a vis her husband and in-laws. Her lawyers often encourage her in the misguided belief that her husband would be so intimidated that he will be ready to concede all her demands. However, once a family has been sent to jail even for a day, they are so paranoid that they refuse to consider a reconciliation under any circumstances, pushing instead for divorce, then they are in a fight to the finish. Thus, many a woman ends up with a divorce she didn’t want and with weaker, rather than strengthened, terms of bargaining.

Often, these highly exaggerated or bogus claims made by unscrupulous wives and her family fail to stand scrutiny and many cases do not go far because the charges are so exaggerated that the cases fall through. In many instances, out-of-court settlements are made, by presenting, with mutual consent, a joint petition/ in the High Court u/s 482 Cr. P.C., using 498A as a bargaining point by the woman’s family. But this in itself amounts to using the law as a weapon of intimidation rather than a tool of justice defeating the letter, spirit and purpose of the law depriving the truly deserving cases of her legitimate dues.

Courtesy http://peterzohrab.tripod.com/dowrlaws.html

and some more here.

Crime and Morality - some Incoherent Thoughts

2008-07-30T22:13:00.038+05:30

The people of Champaran, my native place, may not have electricity in their houses but a good many of them are proud owner of things like VCD players, thanks to the porous Indo-Nepal border through which second-rate Chinese goods are routinely smuggled. The region has always taken pride in its being the entry point of Mahatma Gandhi's political career in India, and off late claims regular mention in national dailies for its innovations in kidnapping industry, which unfortunately is not doing very well because these days the hostages are not loved by their greedy relatives as much as the money that is demanded for them. However, relevant industry experience often opens conducive career avenues, most notably in local politics.

Though I am beginning to enjoy talking about this, I will come back to my main point - that the word Crime has quite a different meaning in Champaran. There exists a wide gap between legal crime and moral crime. Most of what is illegal is not immoral there. For instance, looting passengers in a running train is just being naughty. Your mother just twists your ear and then asks you to sit for the lunch. This example may sound rather extreme to you. But I have recently come to know that one of my own uncles had also done that - train robbery - when he was a naughty teenager. It could very well be a lie, because people take pride in saying such things. After all, our sense of pride is singular, just like our sense of crime.

There is a thin line of difference between business and crime - mixing salt with Urea and selling it in market is, technically speaking, a business. And the man who did this is a man of consequence today. Today he sits with other men of consequence and talks about honesty, hard work, and even spirituality. After all, with age, spirituality is a logical inevitability. When sight starts to blur, people start to see God. Till a man is young and virile, he plays other games. God is only a tired man's toy.

Crime is not sinful in Champaran. It is a philosophy in practice - child labor, quackery, smuggling etc are common affairs there. These things don't hurt our sentiments. What hurts our sentiments? What is not common? All the feminine values, like Love. The word itself sounds awkward in that region. If you translate it in local language, it sounds even more awkward. If it doesn't sound awkward to you, your ears are either used to hypocrisy or corrupted by B-grade movies. Others are not as shameless as you are, they get uneasy when they hear such words; the ladies grin and the gents walk out with their offended masculinity.

Proud are the parents whose son is obedient; no conditions apply. If the son is disobedient and decides to marry the one who he loves, it becomes very hard for his parents to breathe normally. What a shame! In case of daughter, it becomes even harder. Shame! Heart Attack!! Suicide!!! If you go on mixing salt in urea, nobody minds your business. But the community will surely mind your business if you dare to mix caste. Anything can be adulterated but the reverend caste; the reverend caste must stay pure, kept at a safe distance from the malicious influences of other caste. Mixing caste is a treason. And that's unforgivable!

Ultimately wisdom wins; reason prevails over passion. The traditional norm is to marry as per parents' wishes and then have your way later on. With age men are known to be more and more fun loving. And if a woman is smart enough not to get caught, even she can steal some fun from life. That is not a problem, as long as you keep your mouth shut, and remember the basic rules of discretion. Obedience is some sort of social etiquette, and people respect its dividends.

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When it comes to morality, it's simple - a moral society consists of successful men and virtuous women. In Muslim societies, however, the other condition is - people must believe in the words of their Prophet, and follow his imperatives. However, rules are rationalized for successful men, as long as they are successful. For women, the conception of Holy Virgin summarizes it - do give birth to Jesus, but don't get laid. Sexual morality is not a subset, it is the super set of all morality. The root of your morality is located in your genitals, and its other branches stretch into your bank accounts.

With this sense of morality people feel a sort of contempt for call center employees. At the same time, they also feel envy from them. Interestingly, both the sister emotions are engendered by the common parent - rumor. The myth and mystery of the steamy call-center nights provoke wild imaginations in civil minds. And the frustrated civility of mind retaliates - if you can not get what they have, then deny them what you have. Don't regard them with respect. Spit on their face when they are around. In your heart, however, you know that it is not fair. You know that your assumed moral superiority is nothing but a face-saving compromise with your sad state of affairs, caused by lack of looks and/or lack of luck. Had you been lucky, you too would have dug your teeth deep in the meat of life and taken a big juicy bite from it.

Watching The Watchdog

2008-07-28T14:37:00.033+05:30

Do read The Crime That We All Committed on Outlook. The author tries to imagine the agony and helplessness of a man who woke up one fateful morning to find his only child dead, murdered in his own safe house. Hard to believe, but what was to follow was even more traumatic. He was to be taken to the point of delirium. In front of his eyes, police poked his daughter's dead body by tip of boot, and media lifted her skirt to let everyone see what all lied in there. Before he could understand anything, his house was rummaged, every towel, every underwear was fished out, and every stain was publicly scrutinized. The poor girl was murdered again, and again, and again.

Before he could sit down and convince himself that his child was actually dead, before he could mourn his misfortune, and before he could say goodbye to her, he was dragged away from her dead body. And before he could collect himself, he came to know that he was accused of having an illicit relationship with his colleague, and he was accused of murdering his own daughter. Finally, he came to know that he was convicted for the crimes that he never could have committed. It all happened at a dizzying speed.

And when he got his senses back, he found himself locked in a dark, quiet, cell. The show was over. Everyone had left him. Everything was lost for him forever.

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It has been observed that institutions tend to become inward-looking and self-serving with the passage of time. The pursuit of worthy goals is gradually, and unobtrusively, replaced by pursuit of power. Man is born blind, and power pushes him down the cliff.

In democracy, the corruption of institutions can be checked by keeping vigil, and by keeping people vigilant. And all this is carried out by another institution - media. Such is the importance of this that it is not wrong to state that the health of a democracy is directly dependent on the health of its media. So it is important to keep media healthy.

But being an institution itself, media too is open to all worms of corruption. And when media gets corrupted, everything falls out of place. The question here is - who watches the watchdog?

In a healthy democracy, the media is supposed to watch itself. Sadly, our media doesn't. Media is supposed to report the truth. Sadly, our media does everything but that - media men investigate the case, perform the autopsy, conduct the trial, pronounce the judgment, and finally execute the convict, live on camera. They distort facts, speculate, sensationalize, and goof-up everything.

They mix truth with fiction in such a way that it's hard to know what is what. The show becomes a reality and the reality becomes a show. Someone's life becomes a reality show. Man consumes news, and news consumes Man. Media hunts down one of us everyday to entertain rest of us. Media hunted Dr Talwar and we consumed him. And even that became a reality show!

Imagine the fate of our democracy - while what is public is carefully kept private, the private is exposed publicly. We don't have news anymore, all we have is gossip-mongering, all we have is voyeurism. Camera takes us into others' bathrooms and bedrooms, shows us their diaries and letters, and peeps into their salary accounts. We the people need entertainment, a hell lot of it. Anything is fine with us as long as it entertains us. And such is the depth of our boredom that anything entertains us. Media managers mint money while we swill countless glasses of spurious entertainment.

But who cares? The entertainment-hungry people? Or the profit-hungry media? At least the media doesn't. The loyalty of media managers is towards TRP alone. The days when media consisted of men with character and values are long gone. Now media is a thriving industry that recruits thousands of third class loafers who are out only to climb ladders, at any cost. Most of them have absolutely no idea what journalism stands for; and they are ready to fall for everything. That's why most of them are seen running after the cars of celebrities like street dogs. That's why they strip their decency on drop of hat, and with equal equanimity they disrobe others of their dignity too, as they recently demonstrated in this case. High on their collective power, they stagger on and trample on everything that comes in their way, with assured impunity.

Media is too important to us, too important to be allowed to run astray. We need them back on track. So it is high time media was given a tight slap hard on their face. It is high time some character and some discipline is brought back to them. It is high time they were reminded of their responsibilities. And if they choose to disregard their responsibilities, they not only forfeit the rights that they enjoy but also face legal consequences. They must be accountable to the people, and they must not breach the boundary of social contract.

Let the media be free; let the media have their say, as long as they respect the social contract, and as long as they mention what is it that they are saying- whether it is news, opinion or mere speculation. They must not mix up things. In any case, Aarushi case must never be repeated in future. Those who hold camera must know well that they too are being watched.

The Dark Knight

2008-07-27T10:43:00.043+05:30

After all, it was a Hollywood movie!

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America is a bright student of std IV, and India is a poor student of std XI. Most of what America talks is childish, but that rings with confidence. India, unsure of what it knows, on the other hand, stammers when opens its mouth, and looks pretty stupid.

I had read in a review on IMDB that this movie explores literary themes. It was this that lured me into watching this movie. I do not attach much expectation with a typical Hollywood movie. And I hardly bother myself with most of them. But being right at the top of all time great movies is no joke. Well, it is a joke, but I didn't know that till yesterday, when I found myself at the wrong end of the joke.

This movie does explore literary themes, but at std IV level. This movie is an adaptation of a batman comic, and a good adaptation indeed, but of a comic strip only, not of a Tagore or a Tolstoy. It was foolish on my part to expect anything more than comic literature. But I did, and that costed me Rs 120/-, 3 weekend hrs and 1 liter of petrol.

The antics of the villain - Joker - were not funny. They were sometimes boring, and sometimes very boring. He plays role of a psychopath, but he fails to inspire fear. The reviews had led me to expect a devil of a villain but despite all his witty one-liners he doesn't look very sharp. With all paint, plaster and slurps, he looks rather disgusting than intimidating.

In fact, the hero looks more intimidating with his fleet of cars and women. He, and his alter-ego - Batman, can do whatever they fancy thanks to the mind-numbing gadgets devised by their Research and Development team. And when someone can do whatever he wants, it doesn't awfully matter who he is up against. It does, from a moral standpoint, but not otherwise. There is nothing heroic in not having limitations. It's easy to be a hero when nothing is at stake and nothing costs much. The point is that there was no genuine contest between good and evil. There was no genuine temptation, no genuine dilemma, and no genuine despair. The whole game was made-up, and poorly made-up.

Actually, apart from disproportionate dependence on science and finance, and lack of art, the main problem with American movies is externalization of Evil. Americans film-makers almost feel a scatological compulsion to import enemies - either Russians, or Koreans, or Chinese, or Iranians, even aliens, and now psychopaths - to make movies. They fail to see the evil in their own society. They fail to see their enemies in themselves - in their ignorance, in their insensitivity, and in their paranoia. They fail to explore situations that generate moral conflicts in a normal Man, in each one of us. And that's why most of their movies are childish, of std IV level, this one being no exception. "The Dark Knight" is hopelessly Hollywoodish - again with a petty theme set on grand stage.

And Bollywood worships Hollywood! It's interesting to see how disgracefully we behave under the influence of inferiority complex!

Rating - 5/10

Aawara Hoon

2008-07-25T18:48:00.020+05:30

1. 15 Aug --> A bike trip to Coorg is on the way. If no one gives me company, I'll do an ekla chalo re. That's the meaning of independence, isn't?

2. Konkan --> By the way, what was I doing in Pune for two years? Nothing by the way, except being a passive part of a trip to Ratnagiri! Am I forgetting something? Anyways, how about riding from Mangalore to Goa? Sounds interesting, isn't?

3. Summer of 2009 --> I am going to buy a Royal Enfield ThunderBird TwinSpark next year. Well, it's not only about buying, it's about deserving also. And I think I deserve a T'Bird. Why? Because I'm going to fly all the way to Laddakh next summer.

4. Rajasthan --> Bikaner, Jaisalmer, and Udaipur. Desert Safari. wow! Rohit, I am coming! Post summer 2009 any weekend. And for a change, by car this time. :)

5. Sikkim and Arunachal Pradesh --> Next in line is North-East. No plans have been made as of now, but winds swing in the direction of their moods, blowing everything with them. Who knows when the winds will start blowing eastwards?

************

Long time no sight seeing, and no sight shooting either. I must have forgotten the password of my flickr account. This birthday, I have gifted myself a Canon Powershot IS S5; it's time to take the camera out of cover. Enough of march past! Time to throw the uniform and put something cheerful on. Time to wander again, head heavy with dreams, feet dancing along the dreamy way.

On Religion

2008-07-07T17:39:00.007+05:30

What makes a man a man - eyes, or tears?

Man can see, though he can not see enough. But he can feel. He can feel pain, not only his own but of others as well. And that - compassion - makes him a man. Not efficiency, for efficiency makes him a machine, a robot.

Man has five senses. He could have more but he has five only. Some have fewer than five. There are institutions to take care of their handicap. Similarly some men can not think, or they can not think enough. They are entrusted to mental hospitals, or prisons.

Religion is another asylum, which is made for the spiritually handicapped - those who lack sensitivity, those who need to be told that killing is sin.

What's There in Name?

2008-07-07T16:25:00.005+05:30

I am an experiment. Who conducts this experiment? - Nature. Wind blows over sea, and thousands of ripples take place.

I am also like one of these thousand ripples. From the water I was raised, and in the water I shall fall. What am I? Who am I? Am I an entity? Or an event?

A sea is always the same, though it is never the same. What is this - a paradox, or just our ignorance, our misunderstanding of things? Sea always changes, it always happens, but it never becomes. I also happen. I am a human being. Or a human becoming?

What is being - a noun, or a verb, or both? Perhaps a verb has been given a name.

And with name comes the illusion of identity, and ego. I know it, but my vanity refuses to understand. I keep on trying to be significant. I forget that I can not be more significant than I already am.

Is Geeta Heartless?

2008-07-07T15:52:00.008+05:30

Life is a riddle to man. And to solve this riddle, Krishna preached Geeta, which is a riddle in itself. It is more than what it says literally. It requires a Guru to be explained. It requires an understanding to be understood. In short, the answer poses another question, which needs to be answered. But doesn't this defeat the whole purpose? Had Arjun been as wise as Krishna, Krishna wouldn't have wasted his words on him. Krishna must have recognized his limitation, and that's why he began to talk at first place. He should have taken efforts to minimize the scope of ambiguity and confusion. Did he do that? That's the question.

Geeta assumes existence of a certain soul. It dismisses the body, and celebrates the soul. But why do we care so much about soul? After all, it's body that we know. We know our mother by her face, and not by her soul? It is the look of her face that gives us solace. Those who don't see their mother' face don't find comfort in the fact that soul can never be killed.

Does the philosophy of Geeta help when we need it most? It does stimulate our mind, but does it soothe our heart? Don't we find it too intellectual to be human? Don't we find it rather heartless?

What is essentially masculine?

2008-06-18T15:51:00.004+05:30

"And what is essentially feminine?", Miss Angelie Multani questioned us in one of the lecture sessions of "Drama:Integration and Alienation", the last humanities course that I had attended in IITD.

I had no idea what to say. So I didn't say anything.

********************************************

Astrology says that cancer men have pronounced feminine traits since 1. moon, cancer's ruling planet, is a feminine planet, and 2. water, its element, is a feminine element.

If men can have feminine traits, and so can planets and elements, we can logically infer that femininity has little to do with female gender. What is femininity then, if it is not female sex? How is it defined? Is it defined as a set of values, which has been compiled by a poet to praise his muse or by a powerful patriarch to rule his mass?

According to the common definition, femininity implies receptivity, passivity, emotions, patience etc. The opposite values - aggression, activity, reason, energy etc constitute masculinity. Yin and Yang complement each other, and complete the Tao.

If femininity has little to do with female gender, what has it to do with women? Why must a woman exhibit feminine traits?

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People often say that it is a male-dominated world. But world can only be male-dominated, it can not be female dominated, because domination is a masculine trait.

Don't get me wrong here. Wait a while before you brand me MCP. I am not justifying male-domination. Moreover, male-domination does not always mean female-subjugation. A male can and does dominate another man in this male-dominated world. The more he dominates, the more masculine he becomes.

********************************************

Is Yin and Yang a cultural construct? Or there is any immutability in their definition? Is coyness is always feminine and ambition is always masculine? I am not sure.

Bollywood

2008-06-02T14:30:00.054+05:30

Editor (TOI) - Suppose I tell you my readers aren't interested in this stuff.

P. Sainath - When did you last meet your readers to make any such claims on their behalf?

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Bandini was a hit. Mother India was a hit. Anand was a hit. Hum Aapke Hain Koun was a hit.

On the other hand, Neel and Nikki was a flop. Julie was a flop. Still our Miss India - Neha Dhupia - found her reasons to make a claim that only sex and SRK sell in India. For an actress, she indeed seems to have some understanding of sales, nay, some magic formula.

Not surprisingly, she is not a sales consultant. And she might have known that her magic formula was nonsense. She was merely trying to justify the supply by inventing a corresponding demand. Also, she was trying to suggest that supply merely follows demand, merrily forgetting that supply arouses demand as well. She used an apparently plausible but actually sloppy logic as a smokescreen to hide from her responsibility as an artist. She was blaming the audience for being vulgar; but it was she who was selling herself naked, not the people. She forgot that if lust is vulgar, so is greed. First she acted in a bad taste, and then she reacted in a bad faith. Anyways, we forgive her and go ahead on our discussion.

Given the percentage of big-banner flops every year, it is highly unlikely that any such magic formula exists. And even if it does, it is hard to believe that it is known to the film-makers, let alone actresses.

To conclude:- the-audience-want-this-and-not-that argument is rubbish. This argument suggests reversal of the order in which events actually take place. Actually, it is demand that follows the supply and not the vice versa. The audience doesn't have resources to design their desires. Moreover, nobody knows or tries to know what the audience wants. The real reason for the ongoing trend in film-making is something else. We will find out what is that.

******************************************************************

There are three main aspects of Cinema - Art, Craft, and Commerce.

And there are two types of film-making.

1. The first type involves the application of craft to achieve an artistic end, while keeping commercial constraints in mind. Cinema, as a medium, needs commerce for its existence. However, it doesn't exist for commerce. It exists for people who are involved in it.

Film-makers like Raj Kapoor, Gurudutt, Bimal Roy belonged to this class.

2. The second type involves single-minded pursuit of profit. Films are only the means, not the ends of their business. And art is only incidental to it. Commerce exists for itself.

The likes of David Dhavan, Karan Johar etc can be put in this category.

No matter how paradoxical it sounds, the first type did not exist before the advent of the second type. In fact, it was the second that lend an identity to the first. We will come back to this point again.

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Kaagaz Ke Phool was a flop. Mera Naam Joker was a flop. Silsila was a flop. Lamhe was a flop.

Judwa was a hit.

The only pattern we see here is randomness. Since there is no known correlation between economic returns and (lack of) quality of movie, it is only reasonable for us to assume that film-makers will choose the first type of film-making, and reject the second type, in favor of their innate artistic passion. That would allow them to do what they always wanted to do, without affecting the economics of film-making. What else would a film-maker ask for?

Reality, however, is ironically opposite to logic. Most of the contemporary film-makers choose the second type. We wonder why?

The possible reason could be - 1. lack of will, 2. lack of skill, or 3. both.

I vote for the 3rd option - both (2nd following the 1st).

The mediocrity is systematically nurtured so that the whole generation of mediocre starlets survive, and prosper.

That sounds pretty sensational. Now the question is - who would nurture mediocrity, and why?

******************************************************************

The story goes like this -

The 1st generation film-makers left the comforts of home and security of job to follow their heart. People with passion and values, they added value to the film industry. Whenever they faced any occasional conflict between the interests of art and that of commerce, they decided in the interest of cinema. Their sincerity and loyalty to cinema laid the foundation of the Hindi Film Industry.

The subsequent generations of film-makers inherited a legacy. And they were in no mood to let go of it for any ideals of cinema. They wanted to cement their dominance on the industry.

Art could favor the artists, but commerce was to favor them alone. And when art was not loyal to them, why should they be loyal to art? To hell with loyalty!

They began their business. When they faced conflicts, they based their decisions on the cold logic of commerce, which finally led to the split of Hindi Cinema into two types - Art or parallel cinema, and Commercial or mainstream cinema. There was no such division earlier, and there is no such division anywhere else! However, art was exiled from the mainstream commercial cinema. What remained there was a body without a soul.

What remained there was Bollywood.

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There are two ways of doing a thing - artfully, or artlessly. Bollywood was defined by artlessness. Bollywood means artlessness. We have seen that artlessness was one of the very guiding principles on which Bollywood was founded.

Bollywood is a system in which actors like Balraj Sahni, Sanjeev Kumar, and Nargis not only look out of place but also look ridiculous. They are not needed anymore. Nobody wants them anymore.

With time, the very need of talent has been obviated from film-making. And when talent is not needed, talented are also not needed. Outsiders stay outside the studio. The gates have been closed for everyone except for those who are already inside.

The people of India, who are well accustomed to Caste in social and Dynasty in political system, don't seem to mind Monopoly, or Star System, in Bollywood.

******************************************************************

Finally, here is a glimpse of Bollywood.

Just like an eye-catching ad is made to launch a product, a ramp-show like Dhoom is organized to launch a star.

In a typical Bollywood scene, Chopra Jr. alias 'Ali', who is a bike mechanic in a Mumbai sub-urb, races a swanky super-bike in some foreign location. He finishes first, pumps his fist, and hops off in style, with his Gucci gogs on. As soon as he is spotted, hundreds of white babes cheer loudly and rush after him. The poor guy senses their intent and runs to save his modesty, but gives in after a while.

And then the lucky boy begins to parade the babes around like some fashion hot-shot in his sunny days. In the next scene he is seen rocking-n-rolling in a jazzy disc, where barely-clothed babes writhe their hips, and bounce their breasts in a lewd abandon, before the gawky eyes of masturbating men. For the ladies, our boy thrusts his pelvis back and forth and winks "Excuse me to please".

That's entertainment for you and your family - shakes, thrusts and "Excuse me to please". Now please don't cringe, my good friend, and don't frown. I have written only what you watch. I have written only what you do. Nothing else.

Since Chopra Jr. can not act, the very need of acting is done away with a suitably written script, or suitably borrowed script, in which the character, his dialogue, and his emotions are reduced to the level of a comic strip. After that, an army of technicians is hired to show his biceps, and hide his face, which looks clueless throughout. Camera takes care not to stay on his face for more than a few seconds, so that the illusion of acting is maintained. Finally, to match the level of the script, the whole film is reduced to the level of comic strip - Excuse me to please.

Chopra Jr. represents a premise, around which a system of anti-thought has been developed. This system of anti-thought has been expanded to take up the entire mental space so that no scope is spared for alternative thought. Now it is hard for us to imagine an actor without a six-pack, and a movie without a stage and a Dard-e-Disco. It is hard for us to imagine Hindi Film Industry without Bollywood.

When life asks "to be or not to be?", it sets a time limit as well. If someone continues to be an idiot, life doesn't have time to waste itself on him. After the bollywoodization of Hindi Film Industry, we find ourselves at a stage where Dard-e-Disco is no more a choice; it's the only possibility remaining.

The Human Value of IT

2008-05-31T13:49:00.011+05:30

Who needs Democracy? Who wants us to vote?

Well, definitely not the King.

The King would rather have us work, pay our taxes, watch TV, and fall asleep. Our slumber suits him. In fact, he takes elaborate pains to put us to sleep, and to keep us asleep. It is for us to keep ourselves awake. It is for us to ask questions and demand answers. It is for us to empower ourselves.

We Indians believe that freedom is our birthright, just because we got it from birth. We believe that freedom is natural. Perhaps we have forgotten that freedom had not come freely to us. We must understand that it is something that must be valued, and protected from the predators. We can not afford to lose it. We can not give it back to the King.

Our basic claim on freedom begins with a realization - that our votes are important, and a conviction - that we must cast our vote. In every election, we must proclaim that we are awake, loudly and clearly. There is nothing idealistic in it. In fact, nothing could be more practical than voting for freedom.

But what if the problem is external to the voter and inherent in the voting process?

Many of us, despite our convictions, are unable to cast our vote. We work at various corners of India, and even abroad. We are often unable to go to the ballet box. The systematic constraint of physical presence of voter systematically keeps many of us away from elections.

We can not go to the ballet box. Can ballet box be brought to us?

Technology can solve some of our problems. And those problems need not be specific to business or industry only. Technology can solve social problems as well. For instance, take the Flush System - the invention of flush system has contributed more to the emancipation of untouchables than all the efforts of Mahatma Gandhi.

I was just wondering if it is possible for the election commission to conduct the elections online. IT has facilitated e-commerce - net banking, online shopping etc. Though all this has been done in the domain of business, there is no reason why the advantage of technology can not be extended to politics. There is no reason why each one of us, who want to vote, can not vote.

How's that?

On God

2008-05-30T13:52:00.015+05:30

There are two type of God - A. one that exists, and B. one that doesn't exist.

From the perspective of faith, men too are of two type -

1. philosophers - those who believe in the-God-that-exists, and those who don't believe in the-God-that-doesn't-exist,
and
2. poets - those who don't believe in the-God-that-exists, and those who believe in the-God-that-doesn't-exist.

Man is combination of these two types - pragmatists and idealists, and his mind is a battlefield of beliefs and disbeliefs.

************************************************

- Do you believe in God?

- Don't you feel that this question is irrelevant to us?

- No.

- OK. Which God are you talking about - the one who has created us, or the one whom we have created?

- Well, the former one.

- Do you mean the latter is different?

- Yes.

- OK. And how do you know the former?

- Common sense - the world can not be created without a creator?

- By the same logic, the creator can not be created without another creator.

- Nice logic. But unlike language, God is not limited by logic. He is beyond logic.

- Then don't you think that He should be kept out of language, and our discussion?

- And out of our meditation as well?

- Depends. But thinking about gravity doesn't help the falling man.

- Do you mean to say that God is indifferent to Man?

- Decide that for yourself. Or take a survey if you please. But we can not meditate upon something we don't know. We can not meditate unless we have an object of meditation. Besides, our knowledge is limited by our senses. How can we know Him if He wants to hide Himself from us?

- It's not as simple as you think. Moreover, do you think man can survive without God?

- Now which God are you talking about - the one whom the philosopher-king has created?

- Yes.

- I don't know. Depends. Tell me - does faith makes a man a better man?

- I think so.

- I wish it were true.

************************************************

God represents Man's weaknesses.

The-God-that-exists (or God that we know of) is omnipotent - He can do things that Man can only imagine. He is not limited by Man's limitations; or is He? Doesn't He suffer from Man's weaknesses?

Even He is not above His ego. He is justice for all, yet it is well-known that He has soft corner for his devout worshipers, even if they are law-breakers. Flattery, in any language, is music to His divine ears. Like Man, even God is helpless before ego massage.

Even He gets angry once in a while. And when he gets angry, He also wants self-affirmation. He wants blood - to pacify him, something 'dear' needs to be sacrificed. No wonder every religion has rituals having animal sacrifice, where the poor animal is a mere token of something 'dear'.

*************************************************

God represents Man's ignorance.

The-God-that-exists explains everything that Man can not. He fills all the gaps in Man's thoughts. And the more the gaps, the more the God.

Man can not understand randomness. He can not understand injustice done to him. He feels nervous amid all the chaos around him. God gives an order to the chaos. He has laws of Karma or the day of judgment, taking care of all the iniquities on earth. He consoles Man, soothes Man, and makes things tolerable.

*************************************************

to be continued...

Food for Melancholy Mood

2008-05-26T15:40:00.016+05:30

RDB sounds rather mellowed when he croons Gulzar's verses. His tunes remain 'youthful', somewhat pedestrian, but retain the essential elements of music - melody, mood, and timelessness.

If blue is color of your mood, play them on. Melancholy can't sound any better. Here are my favorite 9 Gulzar-RDB blues.

Libaas - Khamosh Sa Afsaana (Lata & Suresh Wadkar)

Jeeva - Roz Roz Aankhon Tale (Asha & Amit Kumar)

Sunny - Jaane Kya Baat hai (Lata)

Sitara - Yeh Saaye Hain (Asha)

Kinara - Naam Gum Jaayega (Lata & Bhupindar)

Ijaazat - Mera Kuchh Saamaan & Khaali Haath Shaam Aaayi Hai (Asha)

Masoom - Tujhse Naaraaz Nahi Zindagi (Anup Ghoshal)

Namak Haraam - Main Shayar Badnaam (Kishore)

Delhi

2008-05-24T10:49:00.042+05:30

Delhi is a modern city - fast and big.

In Delhi, people are big and their life is fast. They don't have time for small things.

Delhiites talk, they talk fast, and they talk big. They are smart, and they have mastered the art of outsmarting others. It is hard not to be awed by their look, as long as they keep their mouths shut. The problem with them is, that they can not.

It doesn't take long to identify a pattern in their thought and their talk. And as soon as it is identified, they lose their luster.

Delhiites talk only in terms of nouns - names and numbers; to be precise - big names and big numbers - this big company and this big package. If you meet someone who unashamedly shows off, you know where he is from. Their mouth perpetually stench with big rotten nouns that they chew like cud. They go on spitting big drops of nouns at your face without realizing how repulsive they and their ridiculous nouns are.

But they are helpless, and hopelessly limited in their range. They can not talk anything else, anything beyond big names and big numbers, even to save their honor. This is what they have done all through their life - show off. They eat branded food in branded joints, wear branded undies (and they somehow show it off), watch branded soaps, work with branded firms, draw branded salaries, and fuck branded sluts. This is how life is to be lived - on a grand scale! Since 99 out of 100 Delhiites lack resources to live a grand life, they just brag to glory. When they open their mouth, they brag. They can really teach you how to put up with unabashed bragging.

If something doesn't have a display value, it's useless. Everything is a showpiece - girlfriend is a showpiece, body is a showpiece, love is a showpiece, education is a showpiece, the whole life is a showpiece. Things are good if they are branded, and better if exotic. No wonder Salsa is 'in'. Even Jesus Christ is 'in'.

But don't ever call a Delhiite wannabe. It is his exquisite aesthetic sense and not his petty bourgeois aspiration that draws him to the 'in' things. He claims to have a taste too. And why not? When he has money, he must be having taste as well. Who dare argue with Money?

Ask a typical Delhiite to speak for 2 minutes on anything that he runs after - whether it is Salsa, or Jesus Christ, and observe him. Most likely he will disgrace himself. Any sentence that starts with how or why exposes the inherent shallowness in them and makes them run for a cover. Sometimes even a what or a who is enough to trip them.

I often wonder what makes a Delhiite swagger? I absolutely fail to understand their characteristic arrogance, which looks quite awkward when paired with their characteristic mediocrity in each and every sphere of life (except, of course, dropping names and showing off branded undies). Tell me how many people Delhi has produced in last 100 years of its history who were worth the undies they wore? And it has guts to put itself in the league of Kolkata, Chennai, Bengaluru, and Mumbai!

Name-dropping is easy, and this is something that marks a jerk in a group. Every jerk drops names. But going further takes character, and only exceptional people have guts to go further. Delhi systematically discourages anything of that sort.

Delhi teaches you just two things - how to earn money, and how to burn it. Everything else is irrelevant. Deep down in his heart, every Delhiite is convinced that it's alright to be a jerk as long as he is able to sponsor his weekend shopping.

He enrolls in branded courses in branded institutes and prepare himself for a branded life. Even his teachers keep things simple now, and they don't worry much about things like values of life. They leave these things in the custody of the invisible hand and busy themselves in issuing notices to parents that their daughters can not wear skirts below their knees.

But the size of skirt is not an issue, neither for girls nor for their parents. They might as well send their girls without skirts for all they care, as long as the school is branded.

A Delhiite takes things easy, unless he is in traffic. He is cool, he is a jerk, and he goes on to pretend that it is cool to be a jerk. It's cool to be oblivious of what's happening around, and it's cool to misspell words. Also, he expects you to understand this. If you refuse to take part in this game, you are uncool.

Delhi is basically a market, and only two words are important there - shopping and money. In Delhi, every road ends at shoppers' stop. When a Delhiite doesn't shop, he prepares for shopping. He prepares in school, in college, in his company, in his solitude, and even in his dreams. Every occasion is seen from a shopping point of view - puja shopping, wedding shopping, honeymoon shopping, even hospital shopping. It's shopping that makes an occasion an occasion. His mind is an endless list of shopping items, and his home is a gallery. His consumeristic needs urge him to see any junk that is broadcasted, listen to any junk that is aired, and buy any junk that is sold. His shopping logic mocks at taste and discrimination. He thinks only in terms of points he earns in shoppers' stop.

And while most of his needs are imaginary, the costs he pays to fulfill these imaginary needs are real. Is this not insanity - paying real cost to fulfill imaginary needs? Is it sane to waste entire life sponsoring insanity?

Delhi's climate, in every sense of the word, is notoriously hostile. If you want to save yourself, if you want to live a meaningful life, leave Delhi at once. Otherwise nothing will ever catch your imagination except those silly ads that you see in TV.

What else do you expect to get in market anyway - Truth, Beauty, or God? Well, even they are sold in market - but all synthetic - synthetic truth, synthetic beauty, and synthetic God - and all dead! Can you see how dangerous this place is? This place is an arid desert, where man is running amok with thirst and all he gets is false promise; all he gets is a shadow, a mirage. Man dies, but not his cravings. What else is Hell?

What are you waiting for? Leave this God forsaken place or you will end up doing what thousand others do - collecting branded undies* and showing them off to all and sundry.

'Delhi' is a corruption of thought, a mental disease, and Delhiites are walking insane infected with this disease. 'Delhi' is a virus that eats the very spirit of man and makes him a raving show-off. In 'The Matrix', they pull out this malicious device from Neo's body by a hi-fi machine. Do we have any machine like that?

But cure comes later. Despite numerous symptoms, the sick keeps on denying the diagnosis. He is blind to facts. He is blind to truth. He can not see that there is something fundamentally wrong with the very idea of Delhi. It's maddening - a doctor kills his daughter**, a chartered accountant kills his wife (thankfully he didn't put her in tandoor), someone rapes kids, eats them and bury their bones, someone shoots a woman in a bar because she refuses to serve liquor after closing hour, someone rapes a medical student in broad daylight, someone rapes an embassy official barely 5 kms away from the Parliament, some teenager shoots his own classmate... oh I feel tired now. The newspapers burn with such headlines but nothing seems to scandalize, sensationalize, sensitize or even surprise us anymore. Is this state of mind normal?

Delhi might offer its explanations but who's interested in explanations! The fact remains that these offenders are not professional criminals. They are not outsiders. They are like us, they live in our colonies, and they hold our kids in their arms. Many of them are educated and sophisticated people, who work with MNCs, watch 'HBO' and read 'Time' in leisure. And this fact suggests that something is terribly wrong with the value system of Delhi, if they have any. Delhi doesn't need explanations, it needs an introspection. It needs a cure.

Let's have a look at one of the most BIMARU states - Bihar, vis-a-vis Delhi.

What's ailing Delhi is not what's ailing Bihar. The malady of Bihar is Indian, but the malady of Delhi is American. The malady of Bihar is caused by politics of caste and scarcity, but the malady of Delhi is, apart from patriarchy, driven by excess and relentless pursuit of excess. It's a bit comic but I can't even laugh at it.

There is a hope for Bihar. Bihar needs some political will to put the economic machinery at place. And sooner or later, with effective governance, it'll come out of its misery. But what hope we can have for Delhi? How much education and how much wealth it would take to restore sanity in Delhi?

It is outrageous that the whole nation is made to bleed in order to make Delhi look photogenic (and attractive to rich Americans). But Delhi's ugliness can not be hidden by any make-up. Every now and then the make-up melts, and something hideous shows up, embarrassing the whole nation. In fact, with all that cosmetics smudged over its dirty face, Delhi looks positively grotesque. The bitter truth is that no matter how much it develops, Delhi will always remain undeveloped. Because it is a civilization that stands out only for lack of civilization.

No. Cosmetics is no substitute for health and hygiene. Delhi should go wash its face before doing the make-up. Delhi must realize that it doesn't suffer from deficiency, it suffers from excess. And the irony of excess is a tastelessness followed by an acidity. It's high time Delhi decided the upper limit of its greed and profligacy, which is the reason for all its malady and sufferings. It's time Delhi learned to say a resounding 'No' to salesmen like Sachin and Shahrukh. Delhi should learn to stop sometimes, sit out in the open for a while and look at the moon in the sky. If they do it, they will be cured.

The only problem with Delhi is Delhiite himself. And the problem with Delhi is, alas, that Delhiite doesn't understand this. He doesn't even listen, he just talks smart and shows off his branded undies. After some time, when he doesn't feel entertained anymore, he turns on some third class music at some unforgivable volume and zooms off in his swanky car. You just wish he reaches home safe. After all, it's Delhi.

* undies:- metaphor for anything private, which is irrelevant in public domain - it could mean anything from undies (literally) to electronic gadgets.

** Shame media, shame. Shame on you.

Nausea

2008-05-02T05:50:00.016+05:30

When I was preparing myself for higher studies in Economics, I was often made to face this sphinx-like question - Capitalism or Communism? And I had no answer ready.

Modernity is said to be based on Reason. But behind the facade of Reason, there has been a lust for Power, and power is procured by twin-procurers - 1. Technology and 2. Economy of Scale. Under the auspices of Growth (a hope, or a madness, or a mad hope?), there has been the same lust for Power, which sailed and soared with East India Company, soon unmasked its ugly face with advent of Hitler and then went berserk in Hiroshima. But even that was not the end. Despite collective disillusionment and shame, the juggernaut of modernity still rolls on, and little can be done to check its movement.

Why should this bother me now? This bothers me simply because it has a direct bearing on our life and our lifestyle. We do have alternatives but the cost of choosing is so high (scale, you see!) that you and I are practically left with no other choices. The door of this cage is open but we still can not run away. We have to stay inside and struggle for things we hardly care about.

There are always some incidental beneficiaries of a change, and they welcome the change even though the change was not made keeping them in mind.

Modernity needed people, men and women, for its factories and its shops, to produce and to consume, on a big, and growing, scale. The power-shift was to take place, and for its own reasons it was in no mood to put up with any nonsense of past that threatened to retard its progress. The creaking old system was ready to collapse and make way for the new system. Here enters Reason, which came handy to administer a coup de grace. Science came to reason away the dogmas of Church. And the liberals ideas of Democracy saw off monarchy to its grave. Bourgeoisie celebrated the mass release of the masses from the prejudices of tradition, unfortunately, though, for ends not entirely free from its evil. Unfortunately, traditional evil was only to be replaced by modern evil. However, people could not see the face of evil. They could not see the end of the road that lied ahead. They didn't have time to check whether there was any U turn ahead, and they forgot to check whether the brakes were working. They just boarded the wagon with a loud cheer.

Industrialization promised abundance. Everyone was to have everything. But with growth grew disparity among men. Poverty is by no means a modern phenomenon but now, when wealthy show-off their wealth, the poor see their poverty more clearly and feel it more bitterly.

Poverty doesn't mean lack of wealth. It does not mean not having what rich have - mobiles, cars and other waste of modern lifestyle. It means not having access to clean air and water, to fruits that trees bear, and to the other blessings of earth, which she showers on all. It means being deprived of the most fundamental human rights.

Disparity engenders discontent, and thus fosters hatred, crime and terrorism among marginalized. Rich often put the blame on poor but they forget that they are not only victims but also party to it. Legally or otherwise, they loot from outside and hoard in their houses. And the more the loot, the more the fear of being looted - result: anxiety, distrust, and high walls of isolation.

Finally, it has brought us face to face with the irony of excess - food is in plenty but it doesn't taste good anymore. It fills, but fails to fulfill. An undefined hunger still remains. And all we feel is nausea - from overdose inside, and from sight of beggars outside.

It is a zero sum game. Beggars are fallout of a system that produces millionaires. For mansions and palaces to exist, slums have to be there. Lullabies like trickle-down have lost their spell.

Modernity is a modern reminder of a Tragedy. The protagonist - Reason - fights away the mighty villains and returns proudly as hero, only to find out that he has been used by other villains to achieve their small purposes, on a big scale. He finds himself at receiving end of a practical joke. Fallen out of his ideals, he feels betrayed. He feels like a traitor. And he can do nothing but helplessly watch the wagon rattling on towards a dead end.

Coming back to the question of Capitalism and Communism, which doesn't seem sphinx-like to me anymore, it is clear that they are offspring of the same parent - Modernity. The only difference lies in the manner in which Capital (read Power) is said to be shared. The lust for capital remains the same, and so is the fetish for growth. Both are materialistic (thanks Sanket) to core and devoid of any element of spirituality. None can afford what I am after.

Identity

2008-03-29T18:44:00.003+05:30

We often hear people talking about their 'identity'. They seek identity without knowing what it is and without even knowing whether it existed. Some get tired after sometime and get busy in life. Others think and make themselves miserable.

Identity is defined in contrast to surrounding, and so it separates one from one's surrounding. The more pronounced the contrast, the more defined the identity. Man loses his identity when he mixes with surrounding. Identity is not defined in isolation.

The understanding of identity is accompanied by rather unpleasant realization - of irreconcilable differences with others, impossibility of communication with others and an intense feeling of loneliness.

Man is conscious of his identity when he is placed in an unfamiliar surrounding. Even the most philosophically challenged man starts thinking about the question of identity when he finds himself in a foreign surrounding. He looks more visible to others, and to himself as well. And the more conscious he becomes of his identity, the more unfamiliar the surrounding looks to him.

Sometimes we assert our identity and sometimes we hide it from others, depending on situations and their payoffs. When our attempts are thwarted, we shout 'Identity Crisis' or 'Marginalization'.

I wrote so much without intending to do so. All I wanted to share was that I suddenly realized that I am rural in nature. I feel out of place in cities.

Stock Market

2008-03-10T17:03:00.003+05:30

I found this forward interesting. Read On :-

Once upon a time in a village, a man appeared and announced to the villagers that he would buy monkeys for Rs10.

The villagers seeing that there were many monkeys around, went out to the forest and started catching them.

The man bought thousands at Rs10 and as supply started to diminish, the villagers stopped their effort. He further announced that he would now buy at Rs20. This renewed the efforts of the villagers and they started catching monkeys again.

Soon the supply diminished even further and people started going back to their farms. The offer rate increased to Rs25 and the supply of monkeys became so little that it was an effort to even see a monkey, let alone catch it!

The man now announced that he would buy monkeys at Rs50! However, since he had to go to the city on some business, his assistant would now buy on behalf of him.

In the absence of the man, the assistant told the villagers. Look at all these monkeys in the big cage that the man has collected. I will sell them to you at Rs35 and when the man returns from the city, you can sell it to him for Rs50."

The villagers squeezed up with all their savings and bought all the monkeys.

Then they never saw the man nor his assistant, only monkeys everywhere!!

Welcome to the "Stock" Market!!!

Institutionalized

2008-02-24T02:58:00.002+05:30

"This is all he knows. In here, he is an important man; an educated man. Outside, he is nothing. Just a used-up con with arthritis in both hands."

"These walls are funny. First you hate them. Then you get used to them. Enough time passes, and you get to depend on them. That's 'institutionalized'". - The Shawshank Redemption

What an irony! A man depending on the walls of his prison! The gates of the cage are wide open, yet the bird wouldn't fly. Is this not a tragedy?

How could I do that?

2008-02-15T08:50:00.014+05:30

This is what I scribbled on a piece of paper just after I woke up -

How could I do that?

I can not relate to the state of mind in which I had committed that nonsense.

The act seems foolish to me now.

I feel exposed. I feel jittery.

************************

I have to go back to yesterday evening to reconcile myself with that mood. Why did I do that?

Yesterday I wrote a mail to a girl in my organization, asking for her friendship. And when I clicked the 'send' button, I felt a huge sigh of relief. I congratulated myself.

For quite sometime, this thought had gripped my mind - 'There is nothing admirable about your decency, because it is based on cowardliness.'

Conditioning was still acceptable, but cowardliness? No!

Yes, I like the girl. I like her whenever I see her, and nowadays I always see her. How can you not like such an exquisite grace? But I have also heard the words of wisdom - that such things don't work - proposing etc. When I clicked 'send', I knew that I will hear my own echo, and nothing else. I also knew that I must refrain from such type of misadventures at my workplace. And, above all, I was well aware that a mail is a reproducible document and could prove to be dangerous. It could come back and hit me, and haunt me for a long time.

God damn such cowardly wisdom. They make a man tight-arsed, and living tight-arsed is worse than death. I'd rather be foolish if wisdom prevents playing out in the open. I'd rather go out and play the game of life. I'd risk a little loss in hope of a large gain. I'd risk my ego in order to grow as a man. That, I think, is wisdom.

My purpose of writing was not just to elicit a response from her. I have asked for a response but I don't expect any - and reasons are plenty. Doing what I did was a response in itself for me, which I got there and then. And that was the main pay-off.

I did that because I couldn't do otherwise. I had to do something dangerous. I had to expose myself. I had to make myself vulnerable. I had to refute that nagging reproach of cowardliness. And I had to defeat my ego, for once and all. I had to come out of my shell. That was the whole point. And, I admit, there was (and is) a faint hope to be lucky. Because, you see, she is lovely.

Off to office now. :)

0 = ∞

2008-02-13T12:49:00.012+05:30

1. A life of substitutes - We look at mirror to see ourselves. We meet Nature at Discovery Channel. We clip our wings and crawl in cars. We see our bank balance growing and believe that we are growing with it. We have been convinced that it is practical to settle for the substitutes.

But we have been fooled because shadows don't have warmth. And when night falls, they disappear, leaving us lonely and restless.

We don't meet Nature on TV. We don't meet Nature unless we feel it in our lungs, unless we let it penetrate our being, unless we become one with it. Cars do go fast, but they don't go very far. And bank balance don't fill the emptiness we live with 24*7. We can not con (or console) ourselves by numbers for long. Sooner than later we realize that there is no substitute of inner growth.

But most of us live with substitutes. And that's why we feel empty.

2. In terms of? - Hatred is not opposite of love, but it is love turned bitter. Hate is just another form of love. Both draw their life from same source. And both revolve around the same thing.

Christianity warns us of seven deadly sins (Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride) and recommends corresponding seven cardinal virtues (Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, Humility). Virtue, as defined, is nothing in itself without vice. It is anti-vice. It is just a denial of 'sinful' instincts.

But denial can not be a solution to any problem. Fasting doesn't quell hunger, rather it fuels it more. A hungry man can think of nothing else but food. He thinks in terms of food - its taste, its aroma, its feeling, having it or not having it. He resists food, and he keeps it cooking inside him.

Resistance is futile, because it keeps the enemy alive. Most of us live in terms of things that we dislike or disapprove, and not for what we like or admire. Isn't that so?

How to deal with Cancer?

2008-02-07T15:25:00.000+05:30

Let me give you a few tips about dealing with those who have the sign of Cancer strong in their horoscopes. How do you tell if a sign is “strong” ? If the person has the Sun, Moon, or Ascendant (also called the Rising Sign) there. In this case, you can include those who have the Moon within six degrees of the Ascendant as well.

Cancer wants what it can not have. As soon as it gets something, it forgets about it. A friend of mine told me that she used to go out with a Cancer man. “He kept asking me if I loved him, but I don’t like to rush into things”, she said. “When I finally told him I loved him, he left suddenly and I never saw him again!”.

The way around disasters like this is to keep the game going. Keep them guessing forever. A client told me that her Cancer Sun-Sign boyfriend had canceled several dates recently. “He says he had a hard day at work and he’s too tired to come over, and he’s doing it more and more”, she complained. I told her what to do. The next day, she called me to say that it worked. “The phone rang at 9 P.M. and I didn’t answer it”, she said. “Did it ring at Exactly 9 P. M.” I asked. “Yes”. Good. It was him. “Then it rang at 9:30, and I still didn’t answer it”. Exactly at 9:30? Yes. So predictable. “Then it rang at 10 P.M., I picked it up and said “Hello”. What did he say? “He said “where were you?’ No hello. Just ‘Where were you?’” He was over there in another half hour and spent the night. Like I say, Cancer can’t stand to loose anything.

Never, ever, give a Cancer a straight compliment. If you tell them that they look good, they will think that something is wrong, or that you’re trying to set them up for something. You have to tell them that they are looking “less bad today” and then ask them if they are trying to break a lifetime trend. Watch them smile.

Cancer men are known for needling the women in their lives until they blow up. They want to “get mommy mad”. If you are involved with one, just be a “tough momma” who’s trying to help them get their life in order. Correct them constantly. If they ask you if you love them, use one of the following lines:

(1) “I’ll think about it”. If they press you for an answer, say “For goodness sake, you know how busy I am. I’m taking time out of my busy schedule to think about whether I love you or not. I think that says something. But some people are just never satisfied!”

(2) Say “Of course I do, uh.. uhh...” and pretend that you forgot their name. Then say “Well what’s in a name anyway. Whatever your name is, I love you.”

(3) Tell them flat out that you have “Better taste than that”.

(4) If you want to tell them that you love them, shake your head, sigh, and say “I don’t know why I put up with you”.

- courtesy http://www.bobmarksastrologer.com

है तुझे भी इजाज़त

2008-01-29T18:44:00.000+05:30

बेरंग सी है बड़ी ज़िंदगी
कुछ रंग तो भरूँ
मैं अपनी तनहाई के वास्ते
अब कुछ तो करूँ
जब मिले थोड़ी फुरसत
ख़ुद से कर ले मोहब्बत
है तुझे भी इजाज़त
कर ले तू भी मोहब्बत

Lyrics by Syed Quadri @ Life in a Metro

"है तुझे भी इजाज़त"

So liberating! So full of compassion!

On Wealth Voyeurism

2008-01-22T15:26:00.000+05:30

Tapes of Paris Hilton having fun with Dick and Jane in her bedroom are passe. So are steamy MMSs featuring morphed images of Shilpa Shetty. The new titillation for Peeping Toms is wealth voyeurism: peeking through the keyhole of 'rich lists' in glossy magazines which tabulate just how much money super-rich individuals have.

An unconscionable invasion of privacy? Certainly not, say the publications which feature such lists, citing freedom of expression and the general public's right to information. It is certainly in the public interest that the asset value of a corporation, particularly one listed on the market from which it raises funds, be open to general scrutiny.

But can the personal wealth of an individual fall within the purview of the public domain, or should it be the business of that individual only, and of course of the internal revenue department and credit rating agencies, which are bound by strict codes of confidentiality?

Such ethical nitpicking aside, why do popular publications carry 'rich-lists', the 'who's whos' of the plutocratti? And the obvious answer is that such revelations — like a flashed-open trench coat — are supposedly 'sexy', arousing prurient interest as Paris Hilton's boudoir rompings used to before they became monotonous through robotic repetition. Is financial striptease — revealing a person's intimate economic vital statistics — the new erotica?

Leafing through a Grade IV employee's savings account passbook is not of course an acceptable substitute for Penthouse centrefolds. But what about the monetary equivalent of a 'wardrobe malfunction' of the super-rich, a tantalising glimpse of voluptuous superabundance? Isn't money — or at least supermoney — sexier than sex? After all, even the Kama Sutra is anatomically limited in application. But, surely, supermoney is limitless as a lubricious lubricant of endless desire.

The trouble with supermoney as an object of voyeurism is that, after a point, it just doesn't work. Like any other form of pornography, wealth voyeurism is subject to the inexorable law of reductio ad absurdum, or reductio ad boredom. Years ago, the then editor of Hustler magazine complained that after pubic had been made public, what next? X-ray pin-ups? The bare bones of all pornography's dilemma.

Supermoney, and the voyeurism it excites, is no different. After the vicarious frisson of reading about the private jet that Mukesh bought Nita as a birthday present, or about the palace that Lakshmi Mittal acquired as a pied-a-terre in London, what next? Your own personal desert island, a 100-foot Mediterranean yacht, a custom-built Lamborghini with monogrammed number plates? And after all that and more? What comes after all the seemingly inexhaustible devices and desires of wealth have been exhausted? Beyond the dreams of aspiration and avarice, supermoney as an object of voyeurism becomes just a string of zeroes, meaningless and meaning less with each additional cipher.

Full frontal nudity transformed into full frontal nullity. Literally, a zero-sum game.

-- Jug Suraiya (TOI, 17.12.07)

Taare Zameen Par - Every Child is Special

2008-01-20T01:03:00.001+05:30

I have seen four movies in Hyderabad and this was the last. As far as cinematic experience alone is concerned, I'd rate Nishabd way above the others - Bheja Fry, Chak De and Taare Zameen Par. But for reasons other than that, Aamir Khan and his team deserve heartiest congratulations. Kudos to him for making this beauty! May God bless you.

[+] Darsheel Safari, Story and Screenplay, Cinematography, Direction

[-] Dialogue, Background Score, Music (Shankar-Ehsan-Loy were predictably mediocre), Lyrics (Gulzar was sorely missed), The entry scene of Aamir Khan (that was downright stupid)

Rate - Cinematic Experience (6/10), Overall (9/10)

Verdict - Watch in theatre

***********************

1. Education is supposed to educe - to bring forth. The teachers should identify what is to be educed, and not upload a child's mind with whatever junk they lay their hands on.

2. Children must not be ranked because they can not be; intelligence can not be measured. And what is measured can not be intelligence.

3. A child can not fail; only his teachers can fail, and they often do. Our schools and universities are filled with thousands of pathetic losers who are out to clone themselves.

4. If exams are absolutely essential, the exams must be examined first. Wrong exams can not give right results.

5. The outside world is not made any less hostile by promoting hostility among children in name of competitiveness. This is irresponsible, even criminal, on part of our institutes.

6. Asking questions is more important than answering questions. Even a bad question is better than a good answer. Till now an answer has been the expected response from students, not questions. Let's change that mindset.

7. Answers are of two types - 1. own, and 2. others'. Own answer may not be as right as others' at first, but have patience - you've nothing to lose and a whole new world to gain.

8. A teacher can learn more from a child than other way round. Children know but they don't know that they know. But the teacher doesn't know and he doesn't know that he doesn't know.

9. If you can not understand children, leave them be. Even if you do, leave them be. Thank you.

10. Every child is special. If you expect a mango tree to grow roses, you know who's a fool. First identify that it is a mango or a rose, then nourish it accordingly.

The Divine Beloved

2008-01-16T03:38:00.000+05:30

Love is an existential imperative. But love is forbidden first by society and then by ego. What would one do then?

Enter God the omnipresent. I don't know whether God is a benign source of love but He surely has been the recipient of the deepest of human devotions. Since man is not allowed to love one another, and since he has to love something, he loves God. God is more accessible than the person sitting next to you. When you talk, He listens.

Society wouldn't have allowed Meera to love any living man with the intensity she loved Krishna. And our loving lady would have died of cardiac arrest if Krishna were not there for her. He might have had thousand maidens dancing around Him, but for each of the maidens there was no one else but Him. Men might see Krishna as a lucky lover, or as a Casanova, but women see Him not as a lover but as their beloved - their graceful beloved. In Him, they express the forbidden. With Him, they feel like women. With Him they play, and in him they redeem themselves.

कान्हा काहे करत बरजोरी

Similarly, Tulsidas had to drown himself in Rāmacaritamānasa when his wife rebuked him for his earthly passions. She asked him to go to God, and so he did; and in Him he found solace. When the flame of love burns passionately, God is the only beloved who can stand the heat. Cleansed by the silent stream of tears, poetry becomes prayer. Like true love, true prayer is also unconditional. No other experience can match the experience of prayer, so what else can one ask for? Also, there is nothing called unrequited prayer. How can gratitude be unrequited?

हो गई किरपा राम की, तो बन गए तुलसीदास

There can be no moderation in love; it's free, and it's infinite. Only He can be loved freely, and infinitely. There is no ego, no fear, between a lover and his divine beloved.

Who are you?

2008-01-15T00:41:00.000+05:30

Let's assume that you are a prince/princess. You have everything that can be bought by money. You have everything that can be obtained by power. You don't have to work for a living. You have days and years lying ahead of you. Now what would you do?

Think about this scenario to know who you actually are.

For most of your waking hours you are a software engineer, or a financial consultant or things like that. You are them to earn money. You play roles, and be your role. You are them to have an identity(!), and status in society. But you are a prince now. You don't need money anymore. You don't have to do nothing for status now. You don't have to play any role.

Think about this. Now you do not have to be anyone else. You can be yourself. Now ask yourself - who are you?

And what do you really want? What do you want apart from palaces and cars, apart from recognition by others? Have you ever thought about it? Have you ever asked your heart what you really want?

If you can hear your heart you will know what it wants. And money and power couldn't afford you those things. In fact you could only lose them in the mad pursuit of money and power. But still you want to be rich and powerful. What for? What else is Maya?

Siddhartha had to renounce princedom to become Buddha; what do you want to be?

Shame Australia, Shame

2008-01-12T05:44:00.000+05:30

About two years back I had said - Remove Judge to Save Justice. The conflict between the game of cricket and those who are appointed to officiate the game has become irreconcilable, and worse - visible to all. Technology has brought everything out in open for everyone to see; and media has educated the people round the globe and allowed them to express their opinions. Cricket is not the same anymore, and so the truth can not be ignored in the name of tradition. The decision-makers have to decide whether the modern cricket will be played and seen as a game of random decisions and wanton contempt for its law or otherwise. A right decision may not save the losing team, but that will surely save the spirit of the game. And I am afraid that if Reason is humiliated anymore, the Economics might wreck vengeance upon them whom it has made powerful.

Now have a look at this video.

Coming to the banning of Harbhajan, he must be banned if he has done what he has been accused for. However, he can not be penalized without a fair trial, and without his offense proved. And offense is not proved by mere accusation. But it seems that Procter's court didn't need any trial, any evidence to do what it did. Perhaps he will be in better position to explain the reasons for the sentence that he has pronounced without any incriminating evidence available. To an outsider like me, he looked just too eager to push the button. Being a South African, he claims that he knows what racism is. I am sure you do Mr Procter, just as a butcher knows the pain of death.

Saying someone 'monkey' is saying that he is 'less evolved', and that indeed makes it a racial slur. I have no doubt that it is a racial comment. This is what a racist says to others - less evolved. All allusions to Indian Mythology is nonsense.

But it should not be forgotten racism is founded on the history of colonialism, and subsequent cultural subjugation. It has a meaning only in its tradition; there is nothing that is logical in it. Isn't it curious that the first convicted accused of racism (in ICC) happens to be a colored man, who also happened to have been the poor victim of the same?

Finally, I have no hesitation in saying that the Australian audience have much more respect for the game of cricket than their national team; and the Sydney test has established it officially. They are undoubtedly the most competent team around, but they are hardly anything more than that.

Introducing - 'Sitara'

2008-01-11T18:06:00.001+05:30

Born in Pakistan, and proud of it!

When Nano was still on drawing boards, Habib Motors of Pakistan beat India by launching Sitara - the marvel of Pakistani technology.

Read this article on Sitara (courtesy TOI).

Sitara includes parts almost entirely designed and manufactured locally. The 175 cc Chinese engine is manufactured in Lahore. The car does not exceed 400 kilograms in weight, and has a load-bearing capacity of 250 kilograms. The capacity of the fuel tank is 10 liters and consumption is 18 kilometers per liter. The maximum speed allowed is 60 km/hour.

Keeping the safety of people in mind, especially at high speed, locally made seat belts have also been provided by the manufacturer. Understandably, Sitara costs a little more than Nano - 1.26 lakh.

Habib Motors have sold not less than 60 Sitara car(t)s since its launch in 2004. That many Pakistani families now fly at 60 kmph with their seat belts safely (and proudly) tied on. Mashallah!

Between the Two

2008-01-10T08:58:00.000+05:30

चलती चक्की देख कर दिया कबीरा रोय,
दो पाटन के बीच में साबुत बचा न कोय।

Between the two moving slabs of grinder, i.e. the days and the nights, man gets crushed.

Kabir says that days and nights are like the heavy slabs of a grinder, one turning on top of the other, and crushing whatever is stuck in between.

But this is just one interpretation. What about the conflict between mind and heart? Mind seeks truth, but the world of heart is a world of thousand ironies - where the opposite of truth is equally true.

ईमाँ मुझे रोके है जो खींचे है मुझे कुफ्र,
काबा मेरे पीछे है कलीसा मेरे आगे। - गालिब

********************************
In search of truth, I found love;
In search of love, I found God*.

10

2008-01-08T07:41:00.000+05:30

Our popular hero, Abhishek*, ran for a cool 10 km today.

Unperturbed by popping of eyes and beating of hearts around him, he did quite a Forest Gump this morning in KBR Park, Hyderabad.

We are so tearfully proud of him. With extreme sense of pride and honor we bow before His Valor. Now let's raise a toast and celebrate this momentous occasion with a glass of milk.

Reading The Last Word

2008-01-07T02:47:00.001+05:30

Last month my landlord said that we should know each other.

And yesterday he came up with a bagful of books on Islam. Perhaps he wanted me to know about him by reading those books. I wonder if he has ever taken any pains to know something about me.

I asked him his opinion about the girl from Qatif, and asked what he has to say about Taliban. Quite an amiable fellow he is, he smiled amiably and said that there was an order in Afghanistan while Taliban was in power. And there was peace, and freedom too; in fact it was Taliban that freed Afghanistan from the clutches of Russia. After coming to power, they put an end to drug trafficking and stopped other corruptions prevalent at that time. When I showed him The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini, the book I have read recently, he dismissed the work as a false propaganda by the West.

As far as the girl from Qatif was concerned, he had little to say except 'there are some rules that must be followed'. Talking of the rules, he had seen a man publically being stoned to death in Saudi Arabia, and he holds this practice as just since he thinks that this severity discourages others to commit similar type of crime. Well, right or wrong, he of course couldn't have denounced Sharia (system of devising Islamic law) which is based on Quran and Hadith (sayings and doings of Mohammad). He looked too old for that.

Well, I told him upfront that I am an atheist and I believe neither in Allah nor in his Prophet. I am young and no word can be harf-e-aakhir for me; and I don't respect too many things. Worse, I doubt and ask lots of questions. Till date, I have not felt any particular need for religion, and as far as Islam is concerned, I see it as something very alien and something very very suffocating.

Finally, I assured him that I will still read a few of these books to know each other.

you become the one you hate

2008-01-03T14:50:00.000+05:30

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you." - Nietzsche (Beyond Good and Evil)

What an irony! A man is likely to become like the one who he hates, the one who he fights against. For instance, many of those who hate rioters become rioters themselves.

However, those who hate riots are less likely to become rioters. Those who fight monstrosity are less likely to become monsters. Perhaps that's why Gandhi asked his followers to love their enemies. Perhaps he saw his enemies as ailing people and he wanted us to hate their malady and not them.

The million-dollar question is - is that practical?

I don't know about that. I find it difficult to love my enemies. But what is told to be 'practical' may not be practical as well. Wrongs don't cancel each other, they just pile on.

I Defy? Not Anymore.

2008-01-02T12:02:00.000+05:30

Defiance, just for the heck of it, is nothing but an another form of obedience. Defying is not freedom; it is a slavery. A man who obeys needs someone to obey. Similarly, a man who defies needs someone to defy. Each of them gets confused when he is left on his own.

Moreover, defying without value is perverse. Defiance has only a negative value - 'I don't' rather than 'I do'. And 'I don't' does nothing.

Defiance doesn't need courage; it needs recklessness. And it breeds what it needs - recklessness.

The spirit of 1st

2008-01-01T01:36:00.000+05:30

A phoenix renews itself after every 500 years. It burns itself and from its own ashes it takes another birth, a new birth. Death marks a beginning of a new life, therefore there is something vital hidden in mortality.

A circle has no start and no end. But a running track has both, and both are same - the start and the end. When a runner reaches at the end, he takes a deep breath and pushes himself with a new energy for a new start. One end point pats him at his back and the other calls him forth, cheers him, challenges him.

Life, in many ways, is like running. A periodicity in it makes it less monotonous. A pat and a call makes it more exciting. A deep breath brings a gush of life with it, a fresh life, a new life.

The fate of 31st

2007-12-31T15:20:00.000+05:30

2008 is not blind. He has eyes and he can see. He can see how people are treating the poor old 2007. Also, in his mind, he can look back and see the day when the same people had cheered and welcomed 2007. They had decorated their homes and greeted one another on his coming. They had thrown parties when he had arrived. It was not long back when they were running towards him with outstretched arms, hugging him and kissing him. How precious, how special, they had made him feel that night! And barely an year after that night, they can't wait for him to leave!

2007 will leave anyway. And he wouldn't ever come back. But it hurts to see people deserting him in the last moments. And they have not taken any effort to hide their impatience. It hurts to see how people carried other's luggage into his room while he was still packing. He wanted to scream - 'I am still here, I am not dead yet', but these things can not be said without looking ridiculous. And he doesn't want to look jealous either. He doesn't grudge a welcome party for 1st, but deep in his heart he did expect a few kind words of farewell for 31st.

But such is the fate of 31st that even his flowers seem to cause a delay the arrival of spring. He feels like an actor whose dialogs have been given to someone else, and who still has to stand on the stage for the time allotted to him, sweating in uncomfortable silence, freezing under unsympathetic gaze. As soon as he arrives, he is made to realize how eagerly people want him to leave! And when he departs, he hears the sound of crackers behind his footsteps.

2008 knows very well that it is not him who they embrace. It was not 2007 who they had embraced and it will not be 2009 who they will embrace. They embrace whatever is 'new' and he knows well no one has remained 'new' for long. He knows that he will also be sent like this - unceremoniously - wrapped in an ominous quiet, amid noisy wait for someone 'new'.

The Resurrection of Dada

2007-12-16T03:59:00.000+05:30

I love Saurav Ganguly for showing this gesture. Look at the joy on his face at his teammate's success. Each one of us knows in her/his heart that it takes a character to tolerate, let alone celebrate, your neighbor's success. Not everyone can achieve that character, that strength, and that peace of mind. This man indeed has a Lion's heart; and he wears that heart in his sleeves. Perhaps that's why he gets carried away; takes off his shirt, runs into the arena like a little boy and hugs his boys like an affectionate father. Perhaps that's why Dada is loved like no other cricketer in India, passionately, and unconditionally! For skill and technique can command respect and awe but not what we call love. Love is bestowed upon those who, once in a while, do get carried away by it. This post is a tribute to the spirit of Dada - the beloved Prince of Kolkata, and to the most inspiring comeback in the history of Indian cricket.

*******************

If you're looking for a clue to what has helped Sourav Ganguly sustain his spectacular run in Test cricket since his return at the fag end of last year, don't bother looking at his footwork or the flow of his bat. Take, instead, a close look at his eyes while he is batting. They speak of a calmness that borders on serenity, and a combination of composure and resolve. You could see it in his comeback innings in Johannesburg, which fetched him an unbeaten 51, and you could see it through his epic innings in Bangalore that marked a new high in his career.

In his bowling, and on the field, we have seen the more familiar Ganguly; excitable, emotional, even fiery. He has appealed cantankerously and celebrated his wickets and catches with child-like gusto. His batting hasn't lacked his natural flair - in fact, he has been batting with greater freedom than he did in the period leading up to his temporary banishment - but the most noticeable feature about his cricket has been his poise. It hasn't left him even after he has occasionally been cornered into an awkward position by a short ball.

He has let himself go only once: it was an emotional moment, getting to his first hundred before his adoring home fans. But his celebration after he got to his first double-hundred, a landmark he sought and will cherish, was far more subdued. There was the raising of the arms and the acknowledgment of applause from his team-mates and the crowd. But then there was also a series of little pumps of the fist, and a waving of the helmet. Those were for himself. There was an air of fulfillment, of a man celebrating privately in public. His smile touched a million hearts: his struggle to regain his place, and some would say his honour, have been among the most stirring and uplifting stories in cricket.

Let's be done with the numbers first. Incredibly for a man who was given up for dead, 2007 has been his most successful year statistically. Potentially he has three innings left still, and he has already scored 932 runs at 62.13. His most prolific year to date has been 2002, when he managed 945 runs - but it took him 16 Tests back then. Put together, 2005 and 2006 yielded him only 422 runs from 11 Tests at 28.13, and that included a painstaking hundred against a hopeless Zimbabwean bowling attack.

The manner of his removal, first from captaincy and then from the team, continues to rankle with his supporters, and surely with him. But it is undeniable that from that low has emerged this high. It was perhaps a bit disingenuous for Greg Chappell to claim credit for Ganguly's revival, but in the cold light of the day, the exile, the sheer indignation of it, did make the revival possible, and ultimately far more poignant.

The credit for it must go entirely to Ganguly, for few rational observers would have seen it coming. It wasn't just that the runs had dried up; his skills, his responses, seemed to have deserted him, and he bore the look of a haunted man.

He owes his return to a change in the selection committee, but the rest of the story is about a man who simply refused to surrender to what seemed inevitable to most. Much can be said about his improved footwork and the decisiveness of his stroke-making, but in the end, it has been a triumph of spirit, of incredible strength of mind and faith.

Remarkably, in a batting line-up featuring Sachin Tendulkar and Rahul Dravid, Ganguly has been India's best batsman since his return. Not merely for consistency and the number of runs scored - during the course of his double-hundred he became India's leading run--getter this year - but for the assuredness of the manner in which he has made them. His half-century in his return Test in Johannesburg, though subdued and a bit laboured, helped India to what ultimately turned out to be a match-winning first-innings total in a low-scoring Test. And in the decisive Test in Cape Town, only he looked fluent and in control in the fateful second innings; his dismissal induced a crawl that proved terminal.

In England he had a series of vital contributions, and none better than a 79 on a challenging pitch in the second Test at Trent Bridge. Apart from Zaheer Khan's inspired swing bowling, my warmest memory from that match is of Ganguly's square-driving.

Michael Vaughan set an off-side trap, with four men between cover and gully, and Ganguly teased and mocked him by caressing, punching and guiding the ball repeatedly through that cordon: one to the right of point, then one to the left, and then a couple between the two gullies. He was denied a hundred by a wrong decision, and his response to that dismissal told a story. In an earlier time he would have left kicking and stomping; here he did so with an ironic, rueful smile. The protest was registered, but without causing offence.

Admittedly his hundreds in the current series have come against feeble opponents. The pitch at Kolkata offered nothing to the bowlers, and Shoaib Akhtar was drained by illness. But at Bangalore he was not so much up against the bowlers as the match situation. He provided the calm cushion for Yuvraj Singh to flow at the other end without ever sacrificing his own strokes.

Personally, my favourite Ganguly innings of the series is a small but vital one. It came during the run-chase in the final innings of the first Test. Shoaib had just cleaned up Rahul Dravid with a ripper; India had over a hundred runs to get; and Tendulkar was finding non-existent demons in the pitch. In this banana-skin situation, typical to India, Ganguly, who had fallen cheaply in the first innings, set about cutting down the target nervelessly, with deliciously timed fours against Shoaib, Mohammad Sami, and Danish Kaneria.

The toughest challenge lies ahead. Australia will come hard at him, and the pitches will test his skills. But he is living out a fairytale at the moment, and nothing he achieves will be a surprise anymore. There are many, me included, who believed Ganguly's time as an international cricketer was over. We owe him an apology and a salute.

- Sambit Bal (Editor, Cricinfo)

burn Bangalore and burn IT

2007-12-10T11:07:00.000+05:30

We shouldn't expect others to stretch their tolerance for those who neither deserve nor respect it. The angst of South Indians is not at all misplaced, and is still too mild to match New Delhi brand cockiness. Anyone who has loved any place ever in his life can easily relate to their anguish. The serenity and simplicity of the garden city exists only in their memories, and is being threatened by vulgarity of heartland and NCR. The city has been virtually ravaged by IT and the IT sponsored brats. The pop-Punjabi lifestyle coupled with ample availability of disposable money causes cancerous growth of malls, pubs etc. Result - tawdriness all around the city. Enough of economic development at cost of culture! It's time the cool dudes are made to realize they will be solved if they continue to be a problem. Those who are insensitive to native sentiments better stay home.

********************************

I am a real Bangalorean. I was born in Basavangudi. The greatness of Bangalore was that it allowed simplicity and enjoyment—a cup of coffee and a masala dosa at Vidyarthi Bhavan kept you happy. I don't see that Bangalore anymore. It is now an awful city. There was more poetry and music here before the IT boom. The city we have created in recent years is rotten—highly polluted, garbage strewn everywhere, including the intellectual garbage dumped on this city by the IT industry.

Bangalore was always a highly intellectual city. Though people called it a garden city, there was more science here than anywhere else in India. Nowadays, nobody talks about it. They only call it an IT city. When it all started, I thought it was a good thing because so many people were getting jobs. Over the years, it has created a large upper-middle-class population who crowd the malls. There is nothing wrong in that, but what is really serious is the influence this has had on Bangalore's intellectual content.

It is wonderful to have a lot of young people getting big salaries, provided they don't take away the essential lifeblood of other professions. Bright people at a very young age, before they are even 20, think of IT as an option because they can make quick money. Lots of intelligent people are doing jobs that are much below their intellectual capabilities. They are like coolies who are working for wages and not producing great intellectual material.

Can an India of the future afford a highly skewed growth like this? All the humours should be balanced—we must also have good poets, good economists, fine historians, quality scientists and top-class engineers. An nri recently asked me, if India is so great in IT, how come it produces only 25 PhDs in computer science per year? That's a very good question.

Right in the beginning, the IT industry should have planned their campuses in towns like Ramanagaram (40-odd km from Bangalore). They should have created IT satellite towns, but they all wanted land inside the city. They not only took away that land, they also complain about not getting enough. They say they want better roads, but why should we create them?

IT people have a responsibility that they are yet to fulfil. If they're making so much money, why shouldn't they create an outstanding private university equivalent to Stanford or Harvard? Had they done something like that they would have compensated for the other problems they have created. If IT people are making money, what do I get out of it, unless I am employed in Infosys with Narayana Murthy? The trouble is, we have given them a lot, but have got nothing in return.

Our society has created a bunch of icons and role models who are distorting not just the future of this city but of all India, and of our sense of values. Our people have lost respect for scholarship. Money and commerce has taken over. If IT is going to take away our basic values, then you can burn Bangalore and burn IT.

- C.N.R. Rao
A world-renowned solid state and materials chemist, is chairman, Science Advisory Council to the Prime Minister

On Sophistication

2007-12-05T11:17:00.000+05:30

Greek gods talk only among themselves.

The excess of sophistication makes meaningful socialization as difficult as the lack of it does, though in different ways. Here I am going to talk about the excess. The 'excess' involves things like snobbery and vanity, which confines an individual in his own individuality. He interacts with others through an invisible wall of sophistication; he can't touch any of them, and none of them can touch him. He likes to impress, and loses his interest in intimacy. This excess makes a man cold and lonely, not to say fake and repugnant.

Understandably, the inhabitants of uber-sophisticated isles are usually cold and lonely even if they are not fake and repugnant. Most of them are indeed, however, fake and repugnant. Unaware of the malady deeply rooted in their upbringing, they take extreme pride in their upbringing. When awareness descends, these poor folks attend workshops to learn all sort of techniques to 'break the ice'.

Urban India goes gaga over sophistication (in its most superficial sense) but I fail to see too much value in it. You can neither feed sophistication to the hungry, nor soothe the sick with it. Ask Shania Twain if it can give her warmth in cold and lonely nights. I don't think sophistication would impress her too much.

Sophistication, if not in excess, indeed indicates good upbringing - self-discipline and education. However, it implies none of them. A man of sophistication may or may not be a man of values. He may or may not be a good friend or a good citizen. In fact he is most likely to be all appearance and little substance. And appearance is, we all know, deceptive.

Flight of Imagination

2007-12-03T11:38:00.000+05:30

Everything was calm and quiet as I looked out of the window. But there was something equally mysterious in the scene - like watching a huge painting and realizing (with an awe) that the picture is not exactly as it was a few moments back.

I saw a sea of smoke silently gurgling, and the floating tides of clouds rolling over and gently piling on one another. So large was the crucible and so slow was the change that there was a dreamy stillness despite all the churning. A gray serenity stretched far to the borders of horizon, above and beyond which a dusty red glow rose, giving an illusion of a distant desert unsettled by march of invaders.

A golden tinge had started to show at edge of shadows. And the edges shone brighter and brighter with every passing moment. The burning dust flew higher and higher till the edges started to glow with electric brilliance. Finally, the yolk of creation appeared at the horizon.

वो कागज़ की कश्ती, वो बारिश का पानी

2007-11-27T11:52:00.000+05:30

"अभिषेक, तेरी चिट्ठी आई है|"

चिट्ठी - जितना संगीतमय अर्थ, उतना ही मधुर शब्द! जैसे किसी ने सितार की धुन सुना दी हो। अब घड़ियाँ कुछ देर रुकेंगी, और चिट्ठी पढ़ी जाने के बाद चलेंगी। कम से कम मैं तो ऐसा ही करूँगा। घड़ियों को जाना है तो जाएँ।

काराकोरम हॉस्टल की वो सीढियाँ उतरने में भी इतना आनंद! एक-एक कदम में चार-चार सीढियाँ - जैसे पैरों में पर लग गए हों। आज की बात ही कुछ और है! आज मौसम अच्छा है। आज मेरी चिट्ठी आई है। किसी को मेरी याद आई है।

यादें भी अजीब होती हैं। उनमें न तो वास्तविक जितनी वास्तविकता होती है और न ही काल्पनिक जितनी काल्पनिकता। दोनो मिली-जुली होती हैं। यादें ऐसे सपने की तरह होती हैं जिन्हें हम थोड़ा-थोड़ा तब तक देखते हैं जब तक हमारी आंखें पूरी तरह बंद न हो जाये| फिर ऐसे सपने को सपना कहना कितना सही है? और जो सपना नही हो, उसे भुलाने की बात करना कितना तर्कसंगत है?

पहली रोटी के तीन टुकड़े, बाद में आई दूसरी रोटी के फिर से तीन टुकड़े, और अंत में तीसरी रोटी के भी तीन टुकड़े । अगर वही तीन रोटियाँ एक साथ आ जाती तो हमारे पास आपस में बाँटने को क्या बचता ? थोड़ी सी कमी थी तो हम कितने पास आये, और आज भी कितना भरोसा है उस तस्वीर में ! क्या इस चिट्ठी में उसी तस्वीर के रंग बिखरे होंगे ?

पीतल की छोटी सी थाली पर रखा तुलसी का एक पत्ता और गुड़ या मिस्री का एक टुकड़ा -- मंगलवार के व्रत का मीठा-मीठा स्वाद । आरती की गर्म हथेलियों का चेहरे पर सुगंधित घर्षण । क्या ये चिट्ठी वही जीवनदायिनी स्पर्श लेकर आई है ?

या उजले बालों वाला वो समय जो घर आने पर अपने हाथों से पाँव पखारता था । और जाती हुई बेटी के आँचल में मुट्ठी भर अक्षत प्यार से रख देता था । कहाँ मिलेगी वह शीतल छाया इन वृक्षों के गिरने के बाद ? हो सकता है कि चिट्ठी खोलने पर उस जाते हुए समय की गूँज सुनाई दे।

चिट्ठियों के ढेर में एक वो अपनी वाली - जैसे अनजानी भीड़ में जानी-पहचानी सूरत। लिखावट भी चेहरे की तरह ही तो होती है - सबसे अलग, बस अपने जैसी। तभी तो लिखावट देखते ही लिखने वाले का चेहरा दिखाई देता है।

वो भी क्या दिन हुआ करते थे जब लोग चिट्ठियाँ लिखा करते थे। कागज़-कलम लेकर किसी के बारे में देर तक सोचना और फिर लिखना। सोचना तो ऐसे सोचना कि उसकी सुगंध मन में फूट पड़े। और फिर लिख-लिखकर फिर से लिखना। और पढ़ने वाले को भी एक रंग, एक स्पर्श, और एक गूँज का आभास। किसी का अंतरंग होने की सुखद अनुभूति।

बचपन में मैंने कुछ पत्र-मित्र बनाए थे। या बनाने की कल्पना की थी, कुछ ठीक से याद नही। लेकिन दो अपरिचित लोगों में ऐसा मधुर संबंध! क्या आज के युग में यह संभव है? लोग बड़ी तेजी से जा रहे हैं। न जाने कहाँ जा रहे हैं। ऐसे लोग पत्र-मित्र नही बना सकते, न ही बन सकते हैं। बहुत हो गया तो e-mail से एक forward भेज देंगे। उससे ज्यादा आत्मीयता... चलिए उनकी बातें नही करते।

बात चिट्ठियों की शुरू हुयी थी तो बात कोमलता पर ख़त्म की जानी चाहिए, 'कशिश' पर ख़त्म की जानी चाहिए, और "सरस्वतीचंद्र" के इस गीत के साथ ख़त्म की जानी चाहिए।

फूल तुम्हे भेजा है ख़त में, फूल नही मेरा दिल है
प्रियतम मेरे मुझको लिखना, क्या ये तुम्हारे काबिल है।

प्यार छुपा है ख़त में इतना, जितने सागर में मोती
चूम ही लेता हाथ तुम्हारा, पास जो तुम मेरे होती।

The Sodex-ho Code

2007-11-22T16:53:00.000+05:30

Why would my employer take so much trouble to buy and distribute sodex-ho coupons instead of simply transferring money in our salary accounts? Why would a government allow circulation of a parallel currency in market? Who are the beneficiaries of this ubiquitous coupon system? And since no wealth is being created by this arrangement, who are being fleeced to sponsor its expenses?

One obvious beneficiary is Sodex-ho the company. But it can not be the only one. In fact it is only an incidental beneficiary in the game. Who are the real ones? My guess is - the decision makers - all those who allow this coupon system to run. My employer, despite all the operational and other costs that he incurs in managing coupons, must be gaining out of this system by getting the overall cost reduced. Though I am being paid the coupons of Rs 1000, he must be paying less than that. And the government gains by taxation. But then who are the poor losers?

As an employee I have no option here. I can not demand 1000/- instead of coupons of worth 1000/-. I have to take coupons even if I carry a lunch-box. And after getting the coupons I have to spend them too because they can not be saved - unlike currency notes they come with an expiry date.

A Saturday morning - I want to buy a packet of cornflakes. I step out of my house and walk down to the nearest supermarket. I could have bought that from the corner shop too but I didn't. The shopkeeper doesn't accept sodex-ho coupons. Perhaps the poor guy doesn't have enough money to buy a sodex-ho sticker.

A Sunday evening - A pizza in "Pizza Hut" is a bit hard on my pocket. I come from a middle-class family and for me Rs 250 still means Rs 250. I can, however, afford myself that luxury when the payment is to be done by coupons and not by cash. Since I don't feel the blow, I don't mind the blow. The coupons have to be disposed before the end of year anyway.

So the coupons serve two purposes. 1. They compel me to consume. And, 2. they compel me to consume from the selected stores.

It is not very difficult to make a rough estimate of the business that they do through sodex-ho coupons (since the coupons can not be used anywhere else). These chains grow in size not because they are better than the corner shops but because they are recommended by this system. People have to queue up in these supermarkets to get their goods billed instead of just dial a number and get the goods sent at their door.

The puzzle is solved. The profit these retail giants and restaurants earn - the cake - is shared between supermarkets, employers, and governments. And who is starving here - the man sitting in the corner shop.

The other victim is no one else but I myself. I buy costly Kellogg's because this is what they keep. And thanks to the Sunday evenings at Pizza Hut I have a tummy at 25, and a hideous craving for more!

Bike Safari to Kerala - A Reluctant Commentary

2007-11-14T10:26:00.000+05:30

The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience. The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him. He goes "sight-seeing." - Daniel J. Boorstin

It is rightly said that one who looks within finds nothing. But the one who looks outside finds it within. Similarly, he who goes out to meet people comes to know himself.

A traveler seeks experience, and experience is what he collects. The men of business run after gold without knowing what to do with it (except selling it to someone else); whereas a traveler stops and enjoys the glow without making any claim on the gold. And such is his gaze that things start shining when he turns his eyes on them.

Sometimes he suffers in his pursuit, but he doesn't grieve his suffering. Because those who court the pleasures of life don't mind her tantrums. Her tantrums only incite him more, and invite him deeper. For a traveler, even a bad experience is a positive experience. For experience can never be negative. And he evaluates his life in terms of the experience that he earns, and it is only this that makes him feel enriched and fulfilled.

*************************************

Route: Hyderabad --> Bangalore --> Hosur --> Palakkadu --> Pennagaram --> Perumbalai --> Mechcheri --> Bhavani --> Tiruppur --> Palladam --> Chinnar --> Munnar --> Thekkady --> Kottayam --> Allapuzha --> Kochi --> Hyderabad

Hyderabad to Bangalore -- by Train, and Kochi to Hyderabad -- by Flight. Rest of the way was covered by bike (Unicorn).

Quite contrary to the popular belief, a five days long bike trip to Kerala is less tiring than you are likely to imagine. In fact a single day of drudgery in an air-conditioned office is more tiring, and I am talking about physical tiredness here. How sad that most of you wouldn't believe this!

Day 1: Bangalore - Mariyoor (Munnar) --> The lush green hills and the breathtaking blue lakes of Munnar attract thousands of tourists, especially honeymoon couples, every year. Understandably, hotels are costly there. For the couples, stories eagerly wait for the nightfall; but in our case, climax yawns at doormat and falls on bed asleep. It therefore makes little sense for us to spend too much on hotels.

We had started at around 9 in morning and entered Kerala just before sunset. After crossing Chinnar wildlife sanctuary we decided to stay at Mariyoor, which is located appx. 40 kms from Munnar. In the way we befriended Maharajan, a Tamil gentleman, who made sure we got a cheap place to spend the night. When we checked in, he also made a point to drop in and tell us everything that could be of our use.

After bidding the kind man goodbye, we celebrated our Diwali with Kerala Paratha, came back to our room and switched off the light.

Day 2: Mariyoor - Nedumkandam (Thekkady) --> Staying in Thekkady, home to the Periyar wildlife sanctuary, would have been a costly affair for us. So we used the old formula again - using native wisdom and choosing a lesser known place near the main location to pass the night.

Well, Munnar happened in morning. More than the place, the ways approaching to it impressed us more. Munnar is picturesque; in fact pictures follow your sight wherever you go. But no picture could have captured what we were feeling through our skin - the warm massage of sun and the gentle caress of air. No camera could have captured the cool freshness of the valley in our lungs. Its eye wouldn't be able see the vastness in which the scene was stretched. Standing on the road, which crawled amid tea gardens like a serpent, there were moments when our ecstasy knew no bounds. Looking at the tea gardens it seemed as if someone had covered the hills by a green velvety carpet, which changed its shades with every angle and every turn. We saw the earth's shades changing with the change in sky. No photography could have captured that change, which makes a place look alive. So, leaving the gold for others to capture, we decided to enjoy the glow.

By the sunset, I could cover much less than that I had anticipated. Far ahead of Munnar, the curvy roads became bumpier and jerkier, and to make the matter further interesting, it started raining as well. Things had started to be a little difficult for me. I removed my sunglasses to improve visibility but the insects flying on to the headlight threatened to hit my eyes. I had to put my shades on even when the road was dark and the headlight was not bright enough. We were late and I was slow. Thankfully, an auto-rickshaw went past us and I followed the two little red spots for rest of our journey. The drops of water kept falling on my sunglasses washing those little red spots away. Quite surrealistic that feeling it was, and what a memorable ride! But for good reasons I will advise you not to ride or drive after sunset when you are at such a place.

Day 3: Nedumkandam - Kottayam --> A side seat in a ship, a ride in Periyar lake, few deers and elephants at the shore and that's it. I was beginning to feel like a tourist there. Ideally I would have liked to go deep into the forest, and sit on a Machaan in a moonlit night waiting to get a glance of a tiger. Thankfully ideals stay away from reality.

We had clearly understood the advantages of started early, so we decided to leave for Kottayam as soon as we got off the ship. It was a downward journey to the plains. There was nothing remarkable about this ride until we neared Kottayam. I will always remember this road for having the best hoardings I have ever seen. Being the one on the driving seat I should rather have focussed on the road only. But those ads were so tastefully shot and those women were so sensuously posed that it would've been rude to ignore them.

From Kottayam we rode to Kumarakom only to find out that the boats in backwaters don't move in night. But the boatmen still urged us to go for a "Home Stay" or hire a houseboat. We could very well imagine why someone would like to spend a night in a still houseboat. Anyways, we came back to Kottayam and stayed there.

Refreshingly, this was not yet another town full of malls and multiplexes. the kind you see one and you see them all. There is hardly any character that defines and differentiates, and so severe is the identity crisis that now towns and cities are rated and compared on the basis of their malls! But Kottayam is not a cloned copy of Gudgaon or Noida. It has an unmistakable local flavor, and it tasted good on our palate. Keralites are politically aware lot - "Are you a Communist?", they would ask when they would spot my Che Guevara T-shirt. Otherwise they are simple folks who spend half of their time fidgeting with their lungis. The women wouldn't hesitate to indicate a passing stranger that his bike's headlamp is on. They don't seem to have any idea why they should be scared of men. Well, all this is unimaginable in North - such simplicity and such civilization.

Day 4: Kottayam - Allapuzha -->

A charming good morning, soft golden sun, cool blue breeze and a road open to zoom through the heavy smell of aqua life - quite a delight of a ride this was along the famous backwaters of Kerala!

A. Backwaters - The backwaters foster a world on their banks. The green water grows coconuts and fish, and when winds blow from west, tourists would swarm to the merry of the ferrymen. Life was simple till came rich people with plenty at their disposal. The relaxed, rhythmic, romance of boating was ousted by the loud opulence of houseboats, which were owned by big businessmen of Bombay and hired by those who cared little whether they were in a house, in a boat, or in a houseboat as long as they were getting their privacy and their daily dose of vanity. Later on, some of them would expound on the interior aesthetics as well. However, this aesthetics has not done wonders to the ecology as well as the economy of the backwaters. If you seek a place free from noise and smoke of traffic, go somewhere else. And if you care to investigate, you'd find out that of the Rs 1200 that you had paid for a 6 hrs backwaters village tour, the poor man who rows the shikara gets something around Rs 60 (Rs 2000 per month)!

Those who know, know that big is not always better. Huge houseboats have no access to the narrow alleys of backwaters, where life prospers. Well, we not only got a village tour but also tried our hands in rowing. We also got a chance to talk with our boatman and other villagers. In the end he felt emotional enough to hug us. And that surprised me a little, because it was charming for us to be generous to him, but it must have been difficult, if not dangerous, for him to express his affection to those who were richer than him. It needs a heart of gold to love someone richer, and the poor man had that heart. But I could not have complimented him for this. Perhaps his peace of mind, which didn't even mind his poverty, didn't need that.

B. Beach - In night we drank some beer and lied down on the white sand to listen to the soothing music of sea. By the time I woke up the sand had soaked all the stress and left my body achingly blissful.

Day 5: Allapuzha - Kochi -->

Again a delightful ride, and this time along the coast. Though never visible, the sea always made its presence felt in air.

At Fortkochi we stopped to see the fishermen catching fish with their famous china net. A large number of visitors, especially foreigners, had gathered there and were waiting for the net to be lifted. The fishers would ask the spectators to keep back. The air was heavy with excitement and anticipation. Finally that moment came and numerous cameras rose to capture the awaited scene. And here came the anticlimax - just one fish in that gigantic net! And a few seconds later even that fell back into the water. So much for all those elaborate conspiracies. For some time there was a silent disbelief all around. What a goof-up it was! Good morning comedy show absolutely for free.

Kochi has a few good palaces and churches but we were not very keen on visiting them. In confusion I took the bike straight into the first lane that I saw. And that incidental ride took us through one of most exotic experiences I have ever had. The cultural affluence of Kerala was copiously scattered on both the sides of the lane. The exquisite works of art, delightful smell of spices, colorful handicrafts, beautiful paintings, and even huge snake boats: civilization at acme of its artistic accomplishment was there to behold. I was so overwhelmed that I didn't remember to note the name of the lane. Another goof-up of the day!

And then came a time when I had to see myself off at the airport. I was to come back to the real world. The air hostesses greeted with their fake smiles. I don't look at them while their eyes are on me. I realize that looks a bit impolite but I can't look at hypocrisy without looking rude. I am not crazy about flights anyway, and these air-hostesses make things even worse for me.

A few hours brought me five days back. I am again here in Hyderabad. Weeks come and go unnoticed. We don't bother to ask what makes a day any different from the other. Life passes by, only in planning and preparing for the future. We see people around us living in vain hope and dying with unfulfilled dreams. But we fail to see reality in our case. I am happy I have lived a life in these 5 days. These 5 days will always glow in my memories.

Useful Tips: Do not forget to use sunscreen lotion (SPF 50 or more) if you are to go for such a trip. I got severe sunburn on my face as I forgot to do so.

Being Emotionally Simple

2007-11-08T12:32:00.000+05:30

Playing with Metaphors is a risky game. Metaphors show as much reality as they hide; and worse, they sometimes lock your mind. If you enter the world of metaphors then you can not escape using the arguments of Reason. Apart from your God and your Will, only the key metaphor can unlock and free your mind.

I will not dwell on this. In short, metaphors are generally impressive in nature. They are meant to be impressive. So get impressed, but think twice before getting convinced by them. Because valueless imagination is being marketed with great aggression. The sellers feed on people's appetite for complexity and pseudo-intellectualism.

However, with time I have realized the benefits of being emotionally simple.

Making Yourself Vulnerable

2007-11-06T23:34:00.000+05:30

Hitanshu Gandhi's presentation on "Breaking The Ice" triggered a heated debate in the class of "Language and Communication" (3rd year, IIT Delhi). The girl students were particularly outraged by his suggestion, which according to them dehumanized girls - guys, go to Ansal Plaza, pick any girl and strike a chat with her. If she says 'No', hit on someone else.

His point was like this - effective communication greatly involves a skill that has to be acquired and developed. Today it may seem frivolous and flippant to you. But tomorrow you will feel for someone, seriously and sincerely, and it'd hurt you sorely if you miss her simply because you could not gather enough courage to come out of your shell to talk to her, or could not talk to her without being misunderstood. So it's vital for each one of us to get familiar with all the Don'ts of such intercourses before we face one. Go guys, break the ice, set yourself free from your self-imposed captivity, for learning communication is half about getting rid of useless inhibitions. For the rest of things, apply yourself.

Prof Srinivas backed him up simply for his heart, for his making himself vulnerable, which he maintained to be one of the touchstones of great communicators in the making.

********************

People are lonelier than we imagine they are. And if you care to look inside, you'll find out that the innermost regions of hearts are mostly desolate. Almost anyone that you see walking on road, no matter how rich or beautiful he/she may be, secretly but painfully longs for warmth and amae*. And in his/her heart, each one of us has always known this.

Then what are you waiting for? Break the ice which keeps you cold like dead meat. Let the sunshine of friendship spread its warmth through your arms. Don't be scared, and do remember that suffering is the privilege of the noble. Only the bravest of hearts are capable of making themselves vulnerable, if need be, to live their convictions.

And if you still can not, at least respect it; and if you ever happen to meet sunshine in your way, step ahead and embrace it. For you might realize later in life, that there is something sacred about sunshine.

* amae (Japanese) - a state of absolute acceptance by someone; a blissful dependence upon someone's love and benevolence; a feeling very much akin to what a child feels in presence of his/her mother.