Delhi

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. 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 SRK. 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.

Role of IT in India

Revenue - Cost = Profit

Most of the decisions that are made have economic reasons, as long as political interests don't come into conflict.

Profit is the ends of whatever happens in industry, and the means are, among other things, 1. Technology and 2. Management. Every endeavor is directed to maximize the revenue and minimize the cost.

In this profit-centric ecosystem, things like ecological balance may go to hell.

Modern Industry is characterized by Speed and Scale. Every industry is like every other industry - they all want to grow, they want to grow fast, and they want to grow infinitely.

Most of the problems, from personal to social to ecological, are directly and indirectly caused by this speed-scale mania. Growth is not as innocent a word as we take it to be.

Growth means growth of production, which necessarily means growth of consumption, and which necessarily means growth of market (enter the agents of business - WTO, World Bank, IMF etc with non-stop open-yourself mantra, and the 24 * 7 sales representative - Media - since what is produced has to be consumed, demand is identified and even invented to match the growing supply. enter Aishwarya Rai.)

Also, the economy of scale ensures an inversely proportional relationship between scale and cost, so setting any upper limit on production is illogical in this premise. Organizations strive to expand their business, become multinational, outsource their work and acquire firms in order to reduce the cost of production. Sometimes the pursuit of cost reduction goes slightly overboard - when the need to control the means of production leads to war.

If you ignore war, all this business usually looks pretty harmless. But it is anything but harmless. For every commodity that is made in factory, existence of a market is essential. To consume the ever growing supply of junk food and junk entertainment, our homes have become market. For weapons and bombs to be consumed, places like Afganistan where nothing else can be sold have been made market. If they can not dump their goods, they dump their bombs!

Urban India is an expanding market - dumping ground - for expanding supply of junk food and junk entertainment. Rural India, since it doesn't have purchasing power to save itself, gets shiploads of imported nuclear waste piled on it year after year. Did you know that our governments allow this - dumping nuclear waste on our land? I will not be surprised if you didn't - gone are the days when newspapers used to wake us up. Now media sings lullabies. So switch on your TV, watch Sachin playing between breaks, in which he does the real thing - sell Coca Cola.

Technology speeds up things. It all began with the advent of assembly line and now, thanks to the development in Information Technology, things happen faster than ever. Investment bankers earn millions of dollars for their organizations with click of buttons. Manufacturers launch new models of car or mobile phone in months instead of years. No wonder we get to see new products everyday.

However, the text-book of economics talk about free market and* ...

*this is an incomplete post.

Nausea

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

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

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

"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?

Gods of Netherworlds

One who has wealth might not be rich; rich is the man who does not want wealth anymore. Richness is just a state of mind.

I was told that God fulfills our wishes. It took me years to find out that the truth is slightly, but significantly, different. God, thankfully, can not fulfill our wishes. Even He can not. He can only empty us of our wishes. Only when we are emptied, we are fulfilled. Because when we are emptied, what remains is God.

But man does not want God. He does not want richness, he wants wealth. And he wants God to give him wealth. Man is acquisitive by nature, so much so that even his God is made up of gold and greed. Man worships God, and when he worships him, he makes an investment in hope of a return. God knows that man worships Him not because of His virtues but because of His power.

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

We are living in an age where everything is becoming an overdose of itself. Economy of scale might promote the cult of overdose to keep its machinery moving, but even in modern times - overdose is poisonous.

When insanity spreads like plague, keeping sanity - sense of proportion - is difficult. When insanity is norm, sanity itself becomes insanity. And it takes insane awareness, insane courage and an insane will to keep yourself aboard. And may be something more - an insane faith.

Desire is a spell cast by the Devil. It prospers in the murky darkness of confusion. Desire is not a dream to be fulfilled; it is a mirage to be pursued; and it is doubly dangerous because it talks logic but doesn't hear a word of it. We are deceived into a disgraceful longing even before we could take a notice of it.

(No philosophy will help you in the jewelery shop when the sales-girl casts her magic on your wife, delicately putting that exquisite work of love on her heart throbbing with greed, leaving her moaning with desire. And as you would know, desires don't listen to logic.)


Godliness is light; it is a condition of joy and contentment, and desirelessness.

Have I seen God? Can I recognize Him? Yes.

When darkness disappears, when noise subsides, things look less real than they used to. When sanity returns, things regain their sense of proportion. Old held beliefs begin to lose their meaning, and their grip on us loosens. Long cherished dreams don't seem to be worthy of our sight anymore. In a moment of epiphany, we see that desires are like mirage, and dogging desires is downright degrading; and we wonder why we do that - dogging, all through our life.

What are we trying to be? We are already complete - each one of us. We are made complete. Growth? Growth is not a desire, it is Nature - a Will of Nature. A tree has to grow unless its roots are clipped. Similarly a man has to grow unless his roots - cerebral roots that expand upwards in the vast expanse of infinity - are clipped. Alas! We see human bonsai everywhere, their roots clipped by their own desires. Nature is one's own; desire is not, it is borrowed. Growth does not need desires, it needs desirelessness.

We laugh and tears of joy roll down, purging all our being, wiping layers of blindness. And when eyes are cleansed, world looks beautiful. We seem a strange sort of affection for all.

This happens when we see God; and when we see God, this happens.

Have I seen God? Yes, I have.

How could I do that?

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 = ∞

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?

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

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

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

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

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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

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?

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

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'

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

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


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In search of truth, I found love;
In search of love, I found God*.

10

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

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 publicly 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

"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.

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

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

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'.

On Ambition

It's good for you if you like it, but do remember it's not there because you like it.

Economic growth is no longer a matter of choice. It's no longer optional. It's a political imperative. Similarly, and consequently, ambition is not optional for individuals anymore.

A tree that bears fruits is a good tree. An animal with a bulging udder is a good animal. The more fruit, the better the tree; the more the milk, the better the animal. 'Good' is a purely utilitarian concept, which reduces existence of a living being to mere usability. By the same token, if I don't have fruits, flesh or milk for others, and they tag me 'bad'. But why must it bother me? Do we live to please others? Perhaps yes. That's why we die to be good student in institutes, good employee in organization, and good consumer in market.

Do ambitious people live a better life? Or a more meaningful life? I don't think so. I don't think Alexander was great, and I don't think his life was meaningful. Ambition is just an acceptable and a more sophisticated term for greed. Fathered by a complex, it further fathers complex. It spreads like a communicable disease. That's what ambition is - a communicable disease.

Besides, I often feel that the ambition that we call ours is not really ours. We carry out someone else’s ambition like our own, and worse - at expense of our own. The question to be asked is – whose ambition is my ambition?

Coming back to growth, it's like love making or rape depending on the consent of the other. One is led to thinks why someone would be so much interested in others' growth? Whose growth is it?

The Resurrection of Dada

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

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.

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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

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

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

"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

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!