At Hinjewadi Chowk

Today morning, as I was coming to office today, I saw an old man standing at my left side of the road. He wore thick glasses and was held by his arm by a young man. I guess he must be too old to be left alone. He must be too weak to be left without support. I figured that he wanted to cross the road. It was tough though. There was, as usual, a heavy traffic at the Hinjewadi chowk. Everyone seemed to me in a desperate haste. In a fear of being outmaneuvred by someone else I criss-crossed my way through the crowd of cars, buses and uncountable two-wheelers and rode off.

I sped ahead, but the sight of old man, however, continued to disturb me. It must have been difficult for him to stand there waiting for the road to clear up. In this sun! In this dust! And roads dont get cleared up soon enough nowadays. He would have to wait for long. And yes, By the way, I remember that Tata has promised to sell cars in Rs 100 K from next year perhaps. Bringing socialism in consumerism! Wow! Everyone will have a car of his own. Everyone will realize his dream of driving a car on the roads they show in the ads; the roads that are seen *only* in motor ads and nowhere else.

Public transport system? What is that? What an obsolete concept! How pathetically socialistic thought! Hush!! India is shining, especially near the red light. This part of red shine is brought to you by Tata Co. Relax and see the shine.

Phase II is ready. Hinjewadi Chowk is grudgingly ready to let pass few hundred vehicles more. After all this small sacrifice is nothing for the development of Pune. Pune also wants to be prosperous like Bangalore. Bangalore wanted to be like something else. After sometime every town will look like one another. You see one, you see all. I visited Gudgaon. Sometime later I visited Bangalore. I had almost a deja vu there. Same malls, same multiplexes. Similar men, similar women. Anyways, now I hear that phase III and phase IV are going to be developed soon in Hinjewadi. I shudder from the very thought of what will be the scenario on the road then? What will happen to the people who are not in IT industry? How long the old man would have to wait in sun and dust?

I will leave Pune by then. I love Pune as long as it is beautiful. I wouldnt like to live in a screwed up city. I will go somewhere else. May be abroad if get a chance. But I dont think that the old man would do the same. He will stay here. He will continue to live in the screwed-up city. Perhaps he loves Pune more than I do. But no one asks him anything. The destiny of the city is designed by those who seldom visit this place. By those who are here only because they didnt get a call from their heaven.

I hear some bad news. The villagers have decided to oppose this deveopment. Led by anger and frustration, they are said to having resorted to violent protests. They perhaps want the restoration of erstwhile days when crossing the road was less challenging. The government, their government has decided to give them a police treatment. At the top floor, in that air-conditioned room, someone is smiling, or faking a smile.

Candlemakers' petition - Frédéric Bastiat

The following is an excerpt from the famous satirical "Peitition of the Candlemakers," by Frederic Bastiat, written in the middle of the 19th Century. Bastiat was an economist and a member of the French Parliament (the Chamber of Deputies).

A PETITION From the Manufacturers of Candles,... generally of Everything Connected with Lighting.

To the Honourable Members of the Chamber of Deputies. Gentlemen...

We are suffering from the ruinous competition of a rival who apparently works under conditions so far superior to our own for the production of light that he is flooding the domestic market with it at an incredibly low price; for the moment he appears, our sales cease, all the consumers turn to him, and a branch of French industry whose ramifications are innumerable is all at once reduced to complete stagnation. This rival, which is none other than the sun, is waging war on us so mercilessly we suspect he is being stirred up against us by perfidious Albion (excellent diplomacy nowadays!), particularly because he has for that haughty island a respect that he does not show for us[1].

We ask you to be so good as to pass a law requiring the closing of all windows, dormers, skylights, inside and outside shutters, curtains, casements, bull's-eyes, deadlights, and blinds -- in short, all openings, holes, chinks, and fissures through which the light of the sun is wont to enter houses, to the detriment of the fair industries with which, we are proud to say, we have endowed the country, a country that cannot, without betraying ingratitude, abandon us today to so unequal a combat.

Frederic Bastiat (1801-1850), Sophismes Èconomiques, 1845

[1] A reference to Britain's reputation as a foggy island.

the full petition can be read here.

The gravity of perversity

Perversity --> Deliberately (and obstinately) deviating from what is good (courtesy Webster) ; being perversely wicked

We are liable to confuse it with a relatively more known word -perversion.

Perversion --> 1. An aberrant sexual practice that is preferred to normal intercourse
2. The action of perverting something (turning it to a wrong use)
for instance - "it was a perversion of justice" (courtesy Webster)

I recognize that what I am going to say can not be said in prose without making the whole water turbid. Also, it can hardly be defended by arguments or substantiated by ready evidence. The thought is very subtle and its understanding presumes an observant, sensitive and sympathetic mind. Ideally this thought should have been expressed in verse. Only poetry could have carried its butterfly-like fragility with safety and dignity. Only poetry is capable to stir a pond without making the water turbid. But I am not a poet.

I am going to dive in the sea of thought in hope of some gems. Lets see what I come out with. We start with a question.

Have you ever thought of a duel in which the harder you hit, the harder you hurt yourself; the deeper you slash other's breast, the more copious your own heart bleeds?

I am sure all of us have. It can happen when you respect your opponent(whom you wound), when you consider him not exactly separate from yourself, when the distinction between him and yourself is deceptive, unreal and situational; when you can not slay him like 'the other' and sleep peacefully. Our literature is full of such complex conflicts. Remember Mahabharat.

It can happen only when you begin to get a sort of pleasure in pain. This pleasure is black in colour and sinister in nature. It breeds an array of repentant nights. We call it perverse pleasure. It contains the elements of sadomasochism, as a psychologist would perhaps like to say.

But then why would someone indulge in this ghastly business unless he/she is insane? Right, but we see that all of us have insane moments in the age of tired days and restless nights. And so much confusion around us. In those dark, destructive, insane moments we do lash our swords and cut the throats of our own friends. Later we lament over their dead bodies. Oh the futility of sleepless nights and moist pillows!

But we can do better, something less helpless. This post is an attempt to stimulate questions that prompt us to identify a pattern, a pattern of circumstances that are liable to trigger perverse behaviour in a normal person. It is a attempt committed to decode the mechanism and demystify the overpowering power of these insane moments. To defeat your enemy, you must know him.

I have seen this enemy more than once in my life. And I remember some of his prominent features that will help us draw his rough sketch. Whenever you sense his minotory proximity, run away. Or shoot him.

1. Perverse mood - When you secretly *long* for a situation that give you a chance to unleash your unenviable stock of words that sting infernally, you sense that you are in a perverse mood.

Often we actually prepare ourselves for the decisive battle, especially when something irritates us to the limit of our tolerance. Not appals or repels, just irritates. Like a buzz of a gadfly in your ear. Like dripping of water from your bathroom tap. Like bad breath or body odor. You just can not stand it. Nor can you justify the magnitude of your frustration by means of reason. Most of the relationships break not due to differences of opinions on India's foreign policy but due to an incorrigible and irritating habit, for instance, sending those nerve-wrecking forwards that threaten a doom if you don't forward them to your friends! As silly and as unreasonable(for some) as that!

But how you say something is often more important than what you say, especially in personal matters. We must watch our manner. A perverse mood makes us absolutely incapable of keeping any pleasant or even agreeable atmosphere around us. It's sort of mental acidity due to indigestion of some disturbing thoughts. So, when in a perverse mood, the golden rule is - save yourself from conversations and dont let discussions bother you. In short, postpone all the programmes of socialization. Cancel all dates. There are so many things to be done in isolation. When others are in that mode, waiting for an opportunity to trample on your nerves, again do the same. This is time-tested recipe. My experience substitutes for any further rationalization you might ask for.

Also, this mood is contagious in nature. And I have seen that a mistake has its own momentum, and has a snowball effect. It's hard to stop it. Once you are in the game, it's difficult to get out of it. It has a gravity that sucks you within it. Escape is not easy.

2. Shrinkage of egoes - The fission of we into you and I takes place sooner than we come to realize thanks to the perverse discussion. And then their egoes abandon themselves in a wild strife of meaningless recriminations (alternatively ominously invulnerable silence) and knowingly injure each other's precious pride with insensitive cruelty. Followed by vulgar mudwrestling and disgraceful wallowing in the each other's blood. The sad thing is - all this more due to inertia typical of perversity than any resentment!

Result-a wall is created between you and I. Time heals but the wall gets cemented by the pasaage of time. Why? Here come some simple but interesting observations.

a. Guilt: One who feels the pangs of a guilty conscience is more(!) likely to resent the thought of reconciliation. Saying 'sorry' sometime disturbs the political balance inherently and tacitly established in a relationship. Apology is a luxury that can be afforded only by those who are in a position to assume moral superiority. A guilt-ridden person is more prone to blindly recidivate to the easy refuge of biting bitterness and vicious cruelty. It delivers him of the uneasy situation where he has to act what he can not, for long. So he screams 'Let me be!' and flees to the place he belongs to. No one wants to come face to face with his inferiority complex. That requires a big, very big heart.

A sense of guilt rocks the base of one's moral position and clouds the ability to choose the right direction. It's like being left on a strange land without a map. It engenders chaos and panic in a conscientious mind. And then that god damned Murphy's law. Overwhelmed by an unsettling scruple, in order to get rid of the immediate cause of shame and torment, a man does wrong after wrong and each blunder presses him to commit the next. Someone who places an inordinately high value on virginity is very likely to go berserk if somehow stripped of it. Try to understand this point. Puritans think in terms of binary opposites and that's why very hard to handle.

"There are two kinds of men and only two. And that young man is one kind. He is high-minded. He is pure. He's the kind of man the world pretends to look up to, and in fact despises. He is the kind of man who breeds unhappiness, particularly in women. Do you understand?

I think you do. There's another kind. Not high-minded, not pure, but alive. Now, that your tastes at this time should incline towards the juvenile is understandable; but for you to marry that boy would be a disaster. Because there are two kinds of women. There are two kinds of women and you, as we well know, are not the first kind. You, my dear, are a slut." - Komarovski (Doctor Zhivago)

A cruel man is often a pitiably confused man.

b. Pride: I am beginning to realize that maintaining a relationship is an art. It comes naturally to some. Others learn. You must know when and where to stop. You must not forget the inviolable sanctity of territorial boundaries. It is crutial.

There are times when you and I forgive each other in our hearts but do not say so. Why? Because of their egoes. In order to save their faces. Here I assume that our understanding of the concept of 'face' is sound enough. So unless one has something to save his face, he wouldnt come forward to patch up. Even when he comes to you and apologises, you might not be in a position to forgive and make up. Because though it is possible to live alone with bad memories, it is difficult to live together with them. It is embarassing to let the other fellow know that you can live with something that bad too. The fear of his taking you for granted in future precludes the possibilities of restoration of erstwhile chemistry. This is, I think, why girls tend to conceal their true feelings and hesitate to express themselves, in order not to look easy. It's all about the weight of your character, the perception of your social image and its management. It's about face-saving. And the social contract expects us to allow this bit of hypocrisy. But sometimes we deny every possible face-saving excuse, we consciously block every returning road in the heat of conflict. And most of the times we regret it, since many times the moments are insane not the man.

So we see that the perverse behaviour leads to shrinkage and creation of a wall between two individuals. Besides, it leads to a reversal to nature stereotypical to their surroundings. This process is deliberate, obstinate and essentially in reaction to something. Whatever is common is discarded. The bridges that join are blasted off. This is a way to distance oneself from the other and feel (and sometimes flaunt) a freshness of freedom. This pseudo-freedom is also perverse in nature. What is freedom when you are too much aware of it!

This is a complicated subject and offering a solution here would be too ambitious a task for me. So I would refrain from that. This post is by no means meant to be a conclusive article. Rather it is just a beginning to explore the deeper layers of human psychology and to understand our own behaviour in trying circumstances. The whole idea of this exercise is to identify that there is a bottomless abyss called perversity and there are certain signboards around it. Remember these signs to avoid a fall. Keeping this in mind becomes our point of departure.

Quizzing: How long? How far?

What is the difference between man and encyclopedia?

Ah! what a foolish question! This question *presupposes* certain similarities between the two. I hope you understand this argument. You look for differences only between those things that fall under the same category. I would not explain this further by citing examples lest I might end up hurting your ego. I trust your intellect. Lets go ahead.

We were looking for the similarities between man and encyclopedia. Is there any? Let's see.

Wikipedia defines an encyclopedia as 'a compendium of knowledge'. Well, I would say it is rather a compendium of information. This is because I consider knowledge to be a layer above the basic layer that consists of information. Roughly saying, the dead data constitute but the foundation of our cognitive super-structure.

A man is much more than just a compendium of raw data. Rather, a man is a man *only* when he has not only information and knowledge but also has what is essentially humanly, a proper understanding of the world, which enables him to take judicious decisions keeping in sight various possible implications of varying degree and scope.*

A man is useful for himself and for others not because of the gigabytes of data he stores in his mind. He is somebody only when he can afford something that Google or wikipedia can not. Can Google appreciate similarities between two seemingly dissimilar things and detect the subtle differences between two apparantly identical things? Can Wikipedia recognize an interesting pattern in descrete data? Can a software sort and arrange data? Can a computer program distinguish between relevant and irrelevant data? No. Never. But man must be able to do it. You can not mix up all the chemicals in a flask to make a medicine. Can you? You must be able to sense the quantitative as well as qualitative 'weight' of various data to come up with something sensible and valuable. All this can be done only by man, not by any robot, not by any software or search engine. Only man can do complex causal analysis, develope theories and design models, based on previous experiences and observations, in order to fortify the mankind from the treacheries of time.

How do we do that? For that we need to climb the stairs and reach the top floor where alive wisdom exists.

Education helps an individual to bring forth (to educe means to bring forth; look at the beauty here - the assumption is that the ultimate knowledge exists within us! where do we look to see the truth?) the hidden knowledge from the deep recesses of his own mind.

How different this is from loading data into a hard disc! Quizzing is nothing but a mechanism that effects uploading of information in a passive mind. It is a mechanical and a de-humanizing process. It is an act done on mind and not by mind! Technically speaking, your processor remains idle while your hard disc is acted upon. Hope I am being understood.

And may I tell you the most dangerous thing? Quizzing seems to be, oh my God!, a form of education!! What could be farther from reality! But no wonder, at surface they resemble so remarkably that sometimes most of us fail to see their very opposite nature. We fail to see how the persuit of quizzing impedes the very process of meaningful education, how it retards the very growth of higher faculties in a man, how it poisons the very spirit of enquiry. We fail to see that it prevents us from reaching at the top floor.

It detains us at the ground floor by its meretricious charms, by offering us petty success and trifle glory, till we lose our will and energy that is required to climb the stairs. Those who fall for it keep picking pebbles at earth. And they keep doing it forever because the pebbles are infinite in number and ever keep growing. Even a million life is not sufficient to complete the job!

It took me very long to realize the deceptive and dubious nature of success. I have seen that sometimes, more often than we suspect, a bigger failure is hidden in a success. I have articulated my feelings in 'the power of congratulations' also. Sometimes, it is not the failure but the success that is lamentable! It is better for some prayers to go unanswered. It is better for some proposals to be rejected. It hurts for a day or an year but it saves from life-long misery.

Well, I do understand the advantages of quizzing. But the law of diminishing returns can hardly be more suitably applicable to anything else. In school, I believe, the importance of data-collection can hardly be overemphasized. In fact, in schools, the very nature of pedagogy supports, and quite understandably, the introduction of a student to the 'general knowledge' of the world around him, which builds the foundation of his thought structure. And quizes provides a platform to the students to test themselves against one-another and pursue their activity.

But the cardinal question is : What do you do with the data?

But after a particular time, it is desirable for him to start climbing up as it is a necessary condition of attaining adulthood. It requires judgement to decide when to stop collecting pebbles in the bag and rush upwards. It is crutial because the heavier the bag, the harder it becomes to climb up. The ground floor has its own gravity.

After this particular time, I dont respect the blind collection of pebbles. For me, it is just a childish infatuation. And taking a pride in this is nothing but hopeless insanity. And guess what sponsers this insanity? Quiz. What else!

Quizzing, after a certain level, becomes a monster, a Frankestein. It turns into a vampire that sucks the blood of its victims to acquire its strength. The poor victim is seen to be cramming his mind with all types of crap - useless nouns and numbers without any sense of purpose - and sometimes stuffs his mind with something as ridiculous as logos of goddamn companies (pray tell me how does that matter anyway?) and the cast of unknown teleserials that had been telecasted somewhere sometime! And they invade your mind with their infantry of information. Hello boss! I will not let even one cell of my brain be wasted by keeping this shit in it. So spare me! And even you must be sane enough to decide what must be outrightly rejected without even giving a second thought.

I am sure my wise reader will find many such instances. Quizzing after intermediate is like a dangerous disease for people with decent academic background (in accordance to the law of diminishing returns). It becomes a pathological passion, an unhealthy obsession that leads to *indiscriminate* acquisition of data, just for the heck of it! After having known the knowables already, but further pressed by its competetive nature, a quiz-bitten man tries to collect more and more information about more and more. What good does that serve? I fail to understand that. It just delays the process of bringing forth the real character of an individual.

Quizzing becomes like an opium that keeps them away from the real issues of life. The footage and glamor given by media makes it even more irresistible. But it must be resisted. It must be shown its place.

A man must resist to be a quizzer who is nothing but a wanna-be encyclopedia an thus an ordained loser; a bonsai; a semi-human with no independent views and opinion, with no taste and understanding, with no education.

I repeat - Data are like raw material. Raw material is used to make something useful. It can not be treated as an end product. It has no value in itself. Only the necessary(that might be used in the formation of an idea) data should be kept in mind. Rest everything should be immediately jettisoned to keep the ship from sinking, to keep us able to climb up to the top floor.

*Given the nature and scope of Quizes, I will keep my arguments, to study the ill-effects of Quizzing, well within the intellectual domain only.

Remove judge to save justice

06.02.06 Peshawar

Sachin Tendulkar 100*
India 305/4 in 45 overs

The legend has carved yet another history at the timeless walls of time. A milestone has been achieved yet again, 39th time for record's sake. Those who understand the language of numbers have been assured of a well-established truth - the God is NOT dead. The heretics who blasphemously talked about 'the beginning of an end' are once again convinced of their all-rounded ignorance without a word spoken. Leaving the non-believers wallow in the embarrassment of their ignominy, the God gracefully stretches his formidable frame before his awe-struck devotees whose eyes, glued on TV sets, are virtually on a pilgrimage. Oh how would words describe the gigantic tides leaping in the bubbling sea of people surrounding the scene! The incessant noise of screeching trumpets and the relentless cheer of clamoring crowd! The flags and faces painted with the colours of cricket. The drumming hearts, the gawking eyes, the heavy sighs and the unfaithful breaths. The air laden with passion and apprehension. Life in one part of the world has come to a standstill. Art has once again defied time.

The world prepares itself for his post-century innings, though quite differently across the Redcliff line. He stoops to reverse-sweep a tentative delivery from a frustrated hand. The tired ball keeps low, hits the gloves and dies after touching the pad. An appeal, surely better than the bowling, accompanied with a blind cry from the world around. The umpire raises his finger indicating an anti-climactic end of a great and potentially greater inning. The cricket droops its head in utter disappointment. The umpire defeats the spirit of game once again. Sachin, with a grace only he can afford to have, returns to the pavilion.

Later on, the commentary and the repeated replays revealed that he was declared out when he was not. The ball was a no ball. But the decision was irrevocable.

Result: India 328/10 in 49.2 overs and finally loses the match by 7 runs.

What is the meaning of this result? If you conduct the game with arbitrary decisions then how does the result count anyway?

- Come on pal, take it easy. After all it's just a game.
- May be for you. But for many it's not just a game. And you know very-well that you are talking nonsense.
- Ok. What do you want then?
- It hardly matters what I want. What matters is the choice between the genuineness of cricket and the powers of umpire. They can't coexist in the age when sophisticated technology soon shows the replay and exposes the ineptitude of umpire. A human, no matter how much skillful he is, is liable to misjudge and it is therefore absolutely unnecessary to encumber the umpire with this huge and controversial responsibility of ruling a batsman out in the age of ultra-accurate camera.

It's not a once-in-a-lifetime incident. If happens frequently and it used to happen frequently too, but then it was not detected. Now it is detected and condemned. Now when we are in a position to bring about more transparency and more justice to the nature of the game then not doing it seems to me nothing but an absurd nostalgia to an erroneous past and an infatuation of a useless convention. And it seems quite incomprehensible to me how can cricket tolerates someone in the arena who is an obstruction in the enforcement of the rules that define and shape the game. How can law itself entertain the existence of a judge who is a living wall across the road to justice!

The course, if not result, of this match would have been different had the umpire counseled his sense rather than eyes and consulted the third umpire, the only umpire who should have the right to pronounce the 'life' sentence.

Rang De Basanti. A generation awakens?

Director's Note: There are two primary choices in life - to accept conditions as they exist or accept responsibility for changing them. Rang De Basanti is about changing them.

To do or not to do, that's the question.

Let's look at the pleasant colours of the movie.

Story. Rang De Basanti has a story to tell. That alone makes it a considerably superior to the the other contemporary formula movies running in the theatres. This movie draws an interesting parallel between pre-independence India and the India we live in. It also seems to suggest a flattering possibility of the presence of a dormant super-hero in each one of us. O wow! Feels Good!

Performance. A good performance is the least what you expect from Aamir Khan. And he doesn't disappoint you at all. The rest of the cast is also nice. Surprisingly, Rang De Basanti is not an Aamir Khan movie per se. He shares the screen time almost equally with other actors who have done well too. Atul Kulkarni distinguishes himself by his passionate expressions and powerful dialogues delivery. Siddharta looks convincing in his role and Sharman Joshi tickles the audience with his Haryana-accented humor. Soha Ali Khan does better than what I had expected from her. I wish Madhavan had a longer role in the movie. He is always good to watch. And this girl, Sue, is good too. But great actors like Om Puri and Waheeda Rehmaan have been under-utilized and wasted. There is not much for them to do in this movie.

Songs. I get repelled by beats very easily. Rock has always been a noise to my ears. My taste of music is, I admit, anachronistic. But for a change Rehman makes it quite a 'youthful' experience this time. The songs celebrate the spirit of the movie and colours your mood. The title song sung by Daler Mehndi is just too good. The lyrics as well as the timing of Roo-ba-roo in the movie is very nice. Overall a good musical score.

*Akshaya has written a fascinating review of the movie, especially of the music. Read it here.

Theme. It's a nice attempt. Movies, believe it or not, influence our psyche more than anything else. Especially in India where people derive their values (!) from movies, however absurd it might seem to you, any attempt to show something meaningful is welcome. As I am not very unforgiving with the idea of moralizing and preaching, which is the latent fallout of movies based on a socio-political theme, I enjoyed in particular the dialogues and discussions in the movie.

Now I'll talk about what was not so good in the movie.

The treatment of script does justice neither with the spirit of the script nor with the choice of the script. Result: Rang De Basanti paints your mood with eye-dazzling fluorescent colours, which goes down the drain in the first shower you take.

Characters: To start with the characters don't look genuine at all. They look made-up and they behave as if they are acting, as if a camera is watching them, as if they are living for someone's entertainment! They remind me of a 10th class boy, who in order to make himself interesting to the girl he loves, makes a big fool of himself. They try too hard to impress the audience. They look good but they look fake; distastefully, artlessly and hopelessly fake. The Director uses them as puppets. They have a life but they don't have a life of their own. In second half they lose their whatever scanty identity they have had in first half. They are used as mere mouthpieces. They say what they are asked to say; they say things that are incoherent with the portrayal of their character. Very hastily and equally clumsily they are pushed into playing the roles that were ludicrous to their taste. And hence their effect doesnt last long. It dies with the day.

Transformation: Ostensibly the transformation of these fun-loving cool dudes into the worthy successors of our freedom fighters was the soul of the movie. Who says it is impossible? No, it is surely possible.

-to kya karein?

-maar daalo.

-kya???

-haan.maar daalo use.

The bereaved buddy *asks* them to kill the defence minister and lo! kaam ho gaya, madam.

Again, possible! Oh yes it is. But sorry, I am not convinced.

Nonsense is a group activity and most of the group activities are essentially nonsensical in nature. Hardly anything meaningful or productive ever takes place in a group. Even individuals capable of better things talk nothing of any intellectual or even emotional import in groups. Of course I do understand that there are exceptions when people of similar interests come together and make groups to learn and grow together. Even then, I have observed, the mediocrity prevails and ultimately the main purpose gets defeated by petty political conflicts. Or romantic affairs.

Whenever one feels an inner compulsion of doing something he believes in, he goes alone. Each one of us fights his/her own battle. Each one of us chooses his/her own battlefield. This is the greatest burden and the greatest privilege as well. At any rate, one can not do anything of any worth in a group where a high 'hypocricy-quotient' is of utmost necessity, for mere admission in the group. Havent you noticed how the same individual behaves in one-to-one interactions and how utterly differently he behaves in groups? Havent you noticed how you yourself behave in a group?

This is what makes Dil Chahta Hai superior to Rang De Basanti. The latter looks pedestrian in front of the former. The latter is fake and the former was genuine. The transformation, nay metamorphosis, of the whole cool gang at the same time by the same incident in the same way? May be possible. Sue finds all the actors for her dream project in the same gang! Possible. All of them turn out to be having hidden DNAs of great heroes! Possible. The same question assail their minds and they are rescued by the same answer. Possible. So many possibilities in a row? Possible. Okay. But this possibility is not any more possible than the possibility of my liking it. In Dil Chahta Hai, the friends laugh together and dance together but when their destinies call them, they go alone. This is how life is. Nature has its own aesthetic taste.

Stereotypes and Simulacrum: And a particular observation has started getting on my nerves. I wonder why all punjabis have to be alike in nature? Why each one of them has to burst out in a flurry of Bhangra at slightest provocation? Why should one talk more than that is needed and more loudly than that can be tolerated? Why can't one even pretend to be thoughtful, even to look different, even to attract a female, even for God's sake? Why this burden of 24*7 enthusiasm? I am tired of these stereotypical pan-chewing biharis and chak-de-fatte punjabis. The filmmakers portray punjabis as arrant fools capable of nothing better than nonsense dance, as if they have to dance in order to forget the perpetual itch in their arse. God! A man has to die to make them leave the dance floor! And how credulously we have accepted it all though we very-well know that it's far from the world we live in. It seems that these film-makers don't at all respect for our intelligence and our capacity to appreciate the subtleties and various nuances in a character. It's ludicrous that a villain must look like a villain. So much sterotypes and so much kitsch. But kitsch has a power to overshadow the reality. It has done it again. This movie is a triumph of kitsch over everything genuine.

I wonder what would a foreigner, who knows punjabis (or biharis, for that matter) only through popular hindi cinema, say if he/she meets a punjabi who happens to be in pensive mood.

- you said you were punjabi?

- yes.

- but how come you are not dancing?

- ?

I'm sure he/she would take our pensive punjabi as exceptional or abnormal or lesser punjabi. And if our poor chap happens to be not very rich then o my God! What kind of punjabi are you? This is what happens when perception differs widely from reality and separated by a deep ditch of confusion.

Baudrillard's simulacrum and hyper-reality suddenly seemed to have more meaning than I had previously understood. As DJ looks more punjabi than our pensive punjabi. Similarly the gang looks more young than youth itself. I wondered how? And I wondered how ridiculous these guys would look if not backed by this noisy background music? All the effect, all the noisy gaiety and vacuous machoism would vanish in a flash leaving them look like a bunch of jokers with painted-nose in a third-rate fancy-dress show. Their youth was supported by nothing but noise and would die with it. So dance, or die.

This movie pretends as if we have been oblivious of the corruption in our political system. It wants a credit for letting us see the similarity between our former and present rulers. And it claims that a generation awakens. Awakens? To what?

Let me digress a little. We are living in changing times. After independence, this is the time of biggest upheavals. And unlike 1947, this change has affected even the lower middle-class also. Then I don't think things concerning our everyday life changed so drastically. Our constitution remained the same and police continued to be a repressive force in the hands of those few who were in power. The administration continued to second-fiddle the politicians and the judiciary rather deteriorated after independence. Hardly anything changed. Yes, the elite class surely claimed their right to rule and they distributed power and wealth among themselves. Nothing much changed for we, the people.

But this change has much deeper penetration. This post-globalization economic and cultural change has swept the entire nation under its great wings. The big ship has landed into the river and all the boats are rocking by the giant waves thus created. Some are being tossed about and some have been capsized. Either you climb at the big ship or you drown. Everyone is groping for the rope. But it is not easy as your neighbour also wants it. And he can knock you down to get it. So better you knock him down before he does to you.

Our values are left in the boats we had deserted. We dont know what is right and what is wrong? We are culturally confused people. We have lost our memory. Who are we? What do we do? Where do we go? I think these are the questions to be answered. Urgently. The problem in our generation is this ever-widening economic disparity and this sudden realization of poverty (accentuated by the stark difference in lifestyle) in those who have been left behind in their boats rocking precariously in the turbulent river. I wont waste my words and your time anymore on it and will come back to Rang De Basanti.

I disagree to those who blame this movie to have endorsed violent means of political reformation. They must have forgotten the Q&A scene where Karan apologises for what he had done. Rang De Basanti has not recommended violence and it should not be criticized for doing what it has not done. Infact it doesnt offers any solution. It just asks us to do something about the problems around us instead of doing nothing. And I admire the movie for it. The movie has already suffered the nonsense of a dumb animal-lover who finds torture on animals only in movies and nowhere else. How helpless emotion looks in the embrace of sentimentality, especially when it is fake!

In the last, on a lighter note, I have known two types of movie, good movies and bad movies. Then I saw Rang De Basanti.

Go and watch this movie. With all its weaknesses it's worth a watch.

Existential Crisis

'The Scream' by Norwegian expressionist painter Edvard Munch .

Acknowledgement: Thanks Sanket, for telling me about this beautiful painting. :)

The politics of economics

I am writing this article in response to an attitude, a frighteningly widespread attitude of ambitious criticism. By that I mean a type of criticism that adds little value to the subject under discussion and serves only the critic by catapulting his name towards his indiscriminating readers.

The occasional cause that prompted me to write this is this article from www.outlookindia.com. I will talk about this article per se later on in this post.

In any piece of writing, fundamentally, there are two aspects- 1. form, and 2. content. The form is the body of the essay that contains the content, the soul, of an essay.

An idea, if not embodied properly, doesnt remain presentable any more. It loses its appeal to the reader. However, it doesnt lose its intrinsic value. A good idea embodied in a bad word or sentence is like an idea in hibernation. It sleeps. It doesnt die. Sooner or later it reincarnates in a better frame and gets conveyed.

But the other way round doesnt exist. A form has little value in isolation. For a few moments it might amaze or amuse you by its words or wits but the effect is essentially ephemeral. It ends with the pages. It dies. A form without a content is like a body without a soul. It is like a dead body. It hardly matters how beautiful it is. Infact the more beautiful it is, the more sorry you feel about it.

Having an intrinsic value is very important for me. I have no taste for anything that lacks it. There are things that are very different or very difficult but these thing never charm me. One might spit 10 meters far or piss 100 meters high and claim a place in the books of records. Fair enough. But for me and people like me, these things have no value.

Oflate I have read a few articles about Indian economy. I have made a curious observation after going through these essays. I feel that most of these essays attempt to disseminate the (political) agenda of the writer rather than reflect his understanding of the subject. This trend is prevalent and pronounced in the field of economics more than anywhere else. Read this too. As a beginner I hardly welcome this disobliging skepticism but I cannt ignore the facts that I myself have noticed.

Rhetorics is also an element of form. It is a tool that helps the writer to create an effect in the mind of a reader. It is like the needle of the injection, it penetrates the skin but it is just a means to achieve an ends. It facilitates the ejaculation of both medicine or poison inside the body. What is actually injected depends upon whether the injection is in the hands of a doctor or a killer. The effect of the needle alone dies with the twinge but the effect of medicine or poison is more enduring and far more significant.

In a nutshell, how a thing is said is important only till what is said is important.

Coming back to the article (the link is given above) I feel that the writer must appreciate the difference between responsible criticism and ambitious criticism. The former involves adding value to the subject before demanding value for the writer. The latter involves omission of the first step.

A criticism is complete only when it suggests an alternative. Every system has flaws and anti-incumbency sentiments attached to it. It is easy to fan the fury of discontented people but it doesnt make any valuable contribution to the society. Deconstruction can be genius but it is never great. Only construction can be great. Only an irresponsible, power-seeking man indulges himself in subversive activities without having any idea of the alternative system. All he gives to the society is anarchy.

In this article the writer is not wrong when he says that GDP is neither the means nor the ends of our economic pursuits. But he goes on to say that it is not even a good indicator of economic development. I agree that GDP doesnt incorporate household activities and thus doesnt give us an accurate picture of the economic health. But we have no other better indicator with us. What if not GDP? How do we take decisions? The writer offers no suggestions from his side. Rather he repeats what many have already said.

Having an agenda is not objectionable as it contains a sense of purpose. But it must be supported by a sound understanding of the world around us. It is sad that young people fall for sides and slogans without proper study. One book of Ayn Rand can make us capitalist and the other one makes us a hardcore capitalist. This is ridiculous. A belief is discredited not by its detractors but by the frailty of its followers. It is bourgeois to accept or reject anything before understanding it. We must try to understand before making an opinion.

In this article the writer accuses finacial markets and IT industry for naxalism. He fails to see that naxalism is an endemic that is found only in the areas that are away from the reach of BSE and IT industry. The victims of the naxalite aggression are not IT professionals or BPO executives but the local land owners. The cause of violence is not poverty but hopelessness and injustice. True, the government has failed to control the growing economic disparity but in the same breath he says that IT and BPO industry has not provided any employment for the less privileged people. Nothing could be farther from truth. Whenever an industry thrives, other supporting industries also flourish. Apart from jobs that are directly created, many small hotels, restaurants, tea-stalls and other shops of small and big scale get opened. Many people earn and many people live. Just look around.

BPO and IT industry has given HOPE to Indian youth. It has provided empowerment to women. It has made India a force to reckon with on the international arena. Its contribution can hardly be negated without being incorrect. I hope this cloud to go to places where people are deprived of rains. I am waiting for this sun to rise in east.

A Letter to The Director, IITB

This is a letter from one of IITB's alumni to the director of IITB. It addresses some of the issues I have felt and discussed with Akshaya. Thought it might be interesting to you.

EFFECT OF UNLIMITED BROADBAND INTERNET ON CAMPUS LIFE & CULTURE: AN OPEN LETTER TO DIRECTOR, IIT BOMBAY

Author - ANIL CHAWLA

To,

The Director, Indian Institute of Technology, Bombay

Powai, Mumbai - 400 076

Sir,

Thanks for the courtesies extended to all of us from the batch of 1980 at our Silver Jubilee Reunion in the last week of December 2005. We enjoyed the meet and were really glad to see that the institute has grown during the past two and a half decades.

While we were enjoying ourselves and renewing our long-lost contacts, some of us visited the hostels and interacted with the present students.We learnt that the culture on the campus has changed drastically from our days. The hostels are different from what we nostalgically remember.

There have been significant improvements in terms of infrastructure - better-equipped messes, water purification systems, washing machines and an Internet connection in each room. Our batch was the last one to use slide rule. Calculators were allowed when we were in second semester.

When we came, hostel rooms did not even have ceiling fans (fans were fitted when we were more than half way through). When we passed out, personal computer was still many years away and all that we learnt of programming was using punch-cards. So, comparing today's infrastructure with our times is indeed mind-boggling.

We could have been envious of today's students. But, we saw a negative side of the picture that left us worried rather than envious. In our times, hostel lounge was a centre of activity. In those days, the lounge used to have a black & white TV, a music system, a carom table, a TT table, and a few magazines. It used to be bustling with activity, which was more often than not a bit too noisy for my liking. But, now when I visited lounge of my own hostel, it was a mere shadow of its glorious past. It still had the magazines, but everything else was gone. The furniture looked as if it had not been used for ages. The place looked dead and the silence was eerie.

The reasons for the change in ambience of lounge are not too far to seek. Every student now has a computer, which can be used for playing music - so coming to lounge and listening to music is passé. The computer has also replaced the TV. It appears that the computer has also replaced carom table and TT table. Now, students spend hours playing games on the computer in their respective rooms. We were told that counterstrike is the favourite on the campus, with some students playing it for hours at a stretch every day. I was even introduced to someone as the invincible champion of counterstrike. I tried to talk to this so-called champion. It was a futile exercise - he did not know how to talk. His language capabilities were limited to monosyllables and some shaking of the head as a zombie probably would.

Was he an isolated case? Probably yes, but more probably, no!

Unfortunately, it seems that the counterstrike champion was just a representative of the new crop of IITians - good at the mouse but very bad at almost all human interaction skills - an impression confirmed by the student who made a presentation to our batch about TechFest. His presentation used computer-generated graphics in a way that we could never have done as students. Yet, he failed to impress. His skills as an orator are unlikely to bring any glory to IIT.

Public speaking is a skill that only a few have. Even, in our batch, not many were (or are) good orators. So, if the present generation of IIT students lacks this skill, this cannot be a cause of worry. There is, however, one difference. Two and a half decades ago, while the average student at IITB might have lacked oratory skills, the leaders among students - the ones who acted as spokespersons - were comparable to the best in the world. The student leaders of IITB during 70's and 80s represented the tip of a pyramid. Most of us were nowhere near the pinnacle, yet had our own strengths when it came to putting a point forward.

An average student of IITB during the late seventies honed his skills at discussions, argumentation and debate in the mess, corridors and steps of hostels. I remember that when I came as fresher, I could hardly speak English. In less than a year, I was speaking fluently - albeit, with a lot of slang. Compared to that today's situation seems strange. The messes are too quiet; lounges are empty; wing corridors do not have any hot debates going on. The most surprising part was when a student of Hostel 13 told me that he did not even know the names of all his wingmates and there was at least one person in his wing with whom he had not talked even once during the past four months or so that he had lived in the wing.

The shocking absence of social and interpersonal interaction in the hostels is not something that can be taken lightly. IIT has a brand value today because of its alumni. On IITB campus, there are many buildings that have been funded by alumni who have been successful in their lives. How many of these alumni were outstanding in academics while they were at IIT? How many gold medallists of IITB have done as well as Nandan Nilekani or Manohar Parrikar? IITians who have shone across the world did learn a lot in the classrooms of IITB, but my humble contention is that they learnt even more in the hostels interacting at close quarters with some of the best minds of the country.

It appears that Internet and internet-based games have replaced the warmth that hostels of IITB had till very recently. A computer in each hostel room with an unlimited broadband connection was a technological dream that was too farfetched for us to even imagine when we were students. Now that the dream has come true, it is time that we took care of the negative consequences.

I understand that managements of various IITs are aware of the problem. IIT Madras Director is rumoured to have said in one of his classes that he was less bothered about porn and more concerned about computer games that are addictive and can take up hours at a stretch. IIT Madras puts off its server from 0100 hours to 0400 hours so that students can sleep and do not continue playing through the night. I am told that IIT Bombay has introduced compulsory attendance (80 per cent) in all classes to ensure that students come to classes instead of playing games in their rooms.

Poor attendance in classes is just one of the consequences of extensive computer-game-playing. As Director, ensuring high level of academic performance is surely one of your primary duties. But, academic life is just one facet of IIT experience. IITB, in particular, and all IITs in general have prided themselves on all-round development of their students. With the adoption of new technological advances, it seems that a crisis situation has been created - students are missing out the complete transformational experience that IITs traditionally offered. Classroom instructions are one part of what the students are missing out when they remain glued to the screens, but that is not the only part or the most important part that they are missing.

To stress my point, let me discuss about the recent suicide on IITB campus. The poor soul apparently was distressed due to some decision of IITB management. He was a genius in one field and was studying in another. But, was all these sufficient reason for him to take the ultimate step? Did he talk to his friends before that? As it seems, he was a loner permanently glued to his computer screen. He was an island all unto himself. It seems that too many of students at IITB today are islands with no bridges connecting them to others even around them. This is not a problem of just IITB. Last semester, even IIT Kanpur had a suicide.

IITians are known today across the world as great warriors who fight against all odds without losing their sense of humour and wit. None of the attitudes and skills needed for this grit can be picked up from a computer screen or in a classroom. If the future generations of IITians come without essential survival and human interaction mindsets, they may make good nerds but they will no longer be able to make much of a mark in various fields where IITians are shining today. If this happens, IIT will no longer be the big brand that it is supposed to be today.

Management, faculty and above all student community of IIT Bombay must discuss the impact of the present policy of providing unlimited broadband Internet connection in every hostel room. I am not against adoption of new technology. Probably, we need more technology to ensure that Internet technology does not become a curse. Should the broadband connections in hostel rooms block all gaming? Should there be metering of usage in terms of time or downloaded bytes? These are some of the questions that come to my mind. Surely, there must be many more questions, alternatives, solutions that must be discussed threadbare by the IITB community.

I am sure that IITB community will be able to face up to the problem and come up with solutions that will guide all other institutes, colleges and universities not just in India but also abroad.

Thanks & Regards,
ANIL CHAWLA

13 January 2006

15 Park Avenue

How I wish I could write a review of this movie! But I know I can not. I can not because writing a review, which could do justice with this movie, would demand much more competence and experience than I suppose I have. So I am going to write my general feeling and opinion about it which is based on the impression the movie has created in my mind. Please don't expect a detailed analysis or technical insights in this post.

To start with, it is a beautiful movie. Mind-blowing with all its possible limitations! Absolutely Amazing despite a few imperfections the professional critics would come up with!

I recommend you to watch this if you are interested in meaningful cinema and if your perception of fun doesn't belong to the genre of 'keep-your-mind-at-home' type. I will suggest you to watch this movie in theatre. I'm sure you'ld find it worth your while and worth its cost as well as its opportunity cost. For me this movie was an audio-visual treat that had made a heartfelt effect. This effect is still fresh. I can still feel its sweet fragrance.

Now let's talk about the movie as such. What's so great about this movie? Well, where should I start from?

Konkana Sen Sharma: I admit I don't have appropriate and adequate adjectives to adorn her with. I am afraid my adjectives will only understate the sheer genius of her acting. She is a sensational phenomenon. She leaves you bedazzled by her brilliance. She impales your heart by her penetrating performance. She gets you transfixed to your chair and doesn't even allow you to blink your eyes as long as she stays at the screen. She plays the role of Mithi, a schizophrenic girl who has delusions about her husband and kids who don't exist in reality (obviously!). She gives life to Mithi, she makes her breathe, she makes her so irresistably real! That's what an actor does to a character that is otherwise nothing but a collection of words on a piece of paper. In this movie there are many moments made momentous by her impeccable histrionics. Watch her when she says "Who are you who look like my parents?" while resisting her being taken away. You will not be able to forget the ferocious yet poignant look in her large watery eyes. Look at her while she comes back from the asylum. You will not be able to forget her defeated, shattered image. She looks like an innocent flower untimely withered by the sadistic scorch of a revengeful sun. The pathos stays in your mind. She stays in your mind.

Konkona has a courage to look ugly on the screen, without hiding those two eyes! And it matters a lot to me. Here I remember Nargis with great fondness and respect. No actress has done till date what she has done in Mother India. I want to write about her sometime. With the same feelings I also remember Raj Kapoor in Jagte Raho, an absolutely amazing movie and an absolutely brillaint performance! An actor need not always look pretty if he/she wants to make the character real. Konkona very much looks like Mithi would do in her real life. She does it very honestly and very convincingly. And it takes more than just a 'no make-up' look to achieve what she has achieved. Her theatrical skills are incredible. You have to see Mithi to get a glimpse of Konkona's genius.

Shabana Azmi: Shabana Azmi plays a beautiful and a very complicated role. She is Mrs Mathur, Mithi's elder sister in the movie. She is a divorced woman, an ambitious professor of physics with kind but impetuous disposition. She looks after her ailing sister and old mother. Bound by her familial obligations, she is bound to ignore the courtships of his colleague she likes. She consciously tries not to punish her family for her sacrifices and she rejects the label of 'saint' etc but in weak and trying moments her anguish belies her otherwise poised countenence. There was, I think, an immense scope in this role and consequesntly a menacing responsibility attached to it. But Shabana delivers it with perfection, panache and above all, control. Her mind is torn apart by heart-rending conflicts and such is the force of her acting that we feel the stress in our minds. She takes us in a different plane. We shuffle between our postures in anxiety and apprehension while she effortlessly goes on. We feel sorry for her. We empathize with her despite the conspicuous lack of a background score. Only she could have done it. We admire her without her doing much melodrama. Shabana has done justice with her reputation as a great artist. We want more of her.

Waheeda Rehman: Oh what an actress! I have seen her in Pyaasa but it was this movie that made me realize her potential.

In 15 Park Avenue, she looks so tender and so vulnerable that you unconsciously get cautious of her. Her frailty and fragility scares your soul. She looks like someone precariously standing at the edge of a cliff where even a slight touch could push her into the abyss. She trembles like a dry leaf. "It is so awful to be old and helpless", she says and she sends the shiver down your spine by letting you see imagine for a moment the horrors of senility that is more horrible than senility itself. Look at the naked shock at her face when Shabana shouts at her and says that it was her family that stops her from doing things she would have done otherwise.

Rahul Bose: Odd man out in this ladies' movie! We again get to see the same 'goody-goody' sophisticated, urban gentleman who fails to make any mark in the intimidating presence of the scintillating triumvirate. Sorry Rahul I can't ignore Mr and Mrs Iyer while writing about you. I found the similar character in 15 Park Avenue too. You were great in the former but not so great in the latter despite your being almost the same. More presicely, because your being the same. The similitude in the roles you choose to play is disconcerting and disappointing. Every artist has limitations but within those limitations an actor must display a minimal variety in his roles. So unlike Konkona, you hardly do anything but be yourself! That's what you have done is this movie. Do you call it acting? I don't think so. Enacting oneself can hardly be called acting. Every man at the street enacts himself. Big deal!

There are moments when you try to act but you try too hard and you nearly make a mess of the scene. Any discerning spectator will be puzzled by your inexplicable pauses and postponed responses in heated scenes. Why would a husband be so irritatingly and provokingly devious to his wife while answering her simple questions? Why would he unnecessarily let himself be suspected by his circumlocution and evasion? Your acting in those few scenes indicates insincerity on the part of Joydeep which is incongruous with the portrayal of his character. That reminded me of second-rate suspense movies in which the actors deliberately stammer and glance sideways to create cheap mystery.

Anyways, you manage to save the wicket. You stayed put at the pitch. You shared the screen with these formidable women and that, I understand, could be pretty unnerving. Keeping that in mind, you didn't do that bad. You did rather good. You deserve this much credit. But you don't play awesome shots which was expected from a man like you who, Media says, is an actor of great caliber.

Aparna Sen: I should have started with her. I would certainly have if her daughter had not overwhelmed my mind by her pyrotechnical performance. She is the mother of this movie. I have few words to say in her praise. She has proved again that she is a consummate director. She has an understanding of the subtle nuances of human emotions and human relationships and she portrays her characters with meticulous care and credibility. She respects the intelligence and sensitivity of her audience too. There are dialogues and situations in the movie that substantiate my feeling. I am sure you will notice the fine treatment of such emotions especially in Shabana's dialogues. All I would like to say that as a movie-goer I am thankful to her for making such a beautiful movie. Hats off to you, Ma'am.

Schizhophrenia: I am not sure whether schizophrenics behave like mentally retarded people. I am not sure if they urinate at the carpet. I am not sure if they don't recognize people they see in their hallucinations. I am saying all this because the review at rediff.com says that this movie makes the understanding of the word schizophrenia clear in our minds. I beg to disagree.

But still, unlike other movies, the patient is not shown to be a dangerously smiling psychopath who does all sorts of somersaults with his eyeballs to prove that he is really sick.

The End: This is controvertial and deliberately made so. I repeat - consciously and deliberately. If you understand this point, you would find yourself less judgemental about it.

Apart from the classic reason of leaving 'the end' at our imagination, the writer-director might have other motives to choose such an open-ended end. I think that the director didn't want to do anything dramatic to bring about a more palatable and popular end. Most of the directors do it. And it is ridiculous. However we are habituated to it. We take it as a necessary rule of the game. But our being habituated doesnt make it less ridiculous. On the other hand we are not habituated to such endings. We felt betrayed for not been told the whole story. But there is more to human life than a story can contain. That's the point and we must know it.

And without a spectacular upheaval it was almost impossible to conclude the story in 3 hours. There were many lose threads in the movie and a conventional end would have involved doing things that would ineluctably have threatened the quality of the movie. The director chose to be uncompromising about it and I respect her for that.

Verdict: A don't-miss movie.

The Power of Congratulations!!

"...and compliments became more and more unbearable to me. It seemed to me that the falsehood increased with them so inordinately that never again could I put myself right." - Albert Camus (The Fall)

How beautiful!! How true!! Camus bares the soul of the modern man. How undeniably true is our secret craving for compliments in spite of our awareness of the fact, continually corroborated by thoughtful observation, that most of the people have little or no 'sense of compliment'.

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I vaguely remember a story that I had read in my childhood. It was about a little boy. One day he came home with some fruits that he had stolen from his neighbour's backyard. His mother became very happy with him and patted him for it. Encouraged by his mother's praises, the boy involved himself in more acts of thefts. He brought more fruits, vegetables and other eatables to his home and saw his mother brimming with joy. As he grew up, he gradually mastered various skills of picking pockets, bluffing, cheating and dodging police. After a few years he became a highway robber. He looted many people and brought home money, gold and other valueables. His terror spread in the areas nearby. The local government issued a warrant on his name. He absconded and tried to escape but finally he was caught and jailed. The police implicated him in various criminal cases and he was proved guilty. The court pronounced a capital punishment for him. His mother came to see him before his execution. The man, who had dolefully reviewed the course of his life in the solitude and leisure that the prison provided, slapped his mother and looked at her with a seething hatred in his eyes. After a while he burst into spasmodic sobs. He said to her on his way to gallows, 'Your praises ruined my life. If you had scolded me the first day I had stolen fruits, I might have been a different man. Oh mother! Your compliments killed me! '.

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We must be cautious of compliments. We must be aware of their power over us. Congratulations-driven actions are exciting but dangerous. It is like riding on a lion. It gives you immense pleasure and a sense of power nothing else can afford. It gives you a high. You feel like God! But remember - you can't let yourself fall. You just can not let yourself fall! The lion will tear you apart as soon as you fall. You die with a mutilated face. You die another man.

At other times, this word - Congratulations is meaningless. It adds no value to our aspirations. What's the value of thos word for a man like Sachin Tendulkar? Nothing. It says nothing. It is like the unfortunate one that is added to infinite, only to be neglected and humiliated.

To a successful man, the gratification it provides is similar in nature to the delights of revenge. Indifference is answered with indifference, though belatedly.

I am the best

It is an interesting exercise to study the cultural disparity between our homes and our workplaces. And consequently the adjustment one has to make between accepted behavioural patterns, which can be quite exacting sometimes, that stands in direct proportion to the depth of our roots. We are grown up in a particular moral environment and internalize a set of values by education and observation. And then we are expected to exhibit a behaviour that is based on an entirely different and alien, predominantly American, set of values.

This is like subjecting a Sitar to Rock! Those whose musical sense is awakened can find a false note. A discord. Cacophony.

Life has given me ample oppotunities to register many false notes. I am going to share just one or two. This idea has been developed on phone while my conversations with Ashutosh.

We agreed that humility has no place in the corporate world. In the age of appraisals we are made to project ourselves better than our peers. We are made to sell ourselves. No wonder, after all we are living in the market where almost everything is on sale. There are certain items that are costly, that's it.

On the contrary, our culture seems to rest on a few pillars, humility being one of them. For us, who used to blush when someone ever praised us at our face, it seems really embarassing to convince someone about our being better than others! But this is what we invariably do in our institutes and especially in our workplaces. In presentations and seminars we ask questions just to show how smart we are. In SOPs and interviews we project ourselves as a super-smart wiz-kids capable of bringing about an economic earthquake or something of that effect in no time. Every second city-slicker knows how to do a smart-talk. We all have apparantly mastered the art of talking. We hardly let go any chance to let others know how unbearably great we are.

In a nutshell, we have bartered humility for verbosity.

Just try to watch a group of 'Modern School' kids and you'll see where we are leading to. I get shocked by their affectedness. Dont get surprised if an 8 years old giggles and smirks at your 'behenji' outlook or your having no girl friends! Sometimes I feel like slapping them. But more than that, I feel sad about them. After all, it's our failure and we must take the responsibility for it. We want them to be smart before being anything else. We make them lose their innocence long before they actually should. We condition them the same way as they are conditioned in Brave New World. Ohh I am getting goosebumps!

I remember my own childhood. And I remember Doordarshan and the programmes I used to watch. I remember Malgudi Days. How protected I was! And how defenceless these kids are against the blinding glare of MTv and Remix videos. How will they guard themselves against Sex and The City? Who will save them?

Maturity, if comes prematurely, remains shallow in character.

But shallow character is never a block in running a market, so let it be! Who cares anyways!

Happy new year

Darkness is nothing in itself, it has no separate entity. It is just an absence of light.

Depression is nothing but the absence of hope.

Read this article by Akshaya. An excerpt from the same -

"It doesn't matter whether the new year brings something new or not. What matters is whether you believe in the new year or not. It doesn't matter whether 'that morning' arrives or not, but if you refuse to look outside the window in the morning, it shall not. A man is just as alive as his dreams are, just as human as his hopes are."

Lets light our lives by the flame of our dreams. Lets keep our ideals alive!

Lets make this year a happy new year.

Gunahon Ka Devta

When Debu, my only chat friend(He is a computer science graduate from IIT Kgp, recently working with Samsung in Bangalore), recommended me this book, I politely said that I dont prefer that kind of book. By that kind, I meant, you very well know, which type of books.

This was my knee-jerk reaction after knowing the title of this book. I was quick to judge(so like me!) and I was sort of offended for having been taken for that type of guy who reads that type of books! But then he said that this book was an Academy award winner and a must-read for those who think that there could be anything that can be treated as a must-read. I was convinced enough to take a chance, after all I read Devnagri very fast.

I visited a Book Fair in Delhi or Ranchi, I dont remember where, and bought it. I must say that was a very good day of my life.

This is an all-time favorite book of almost all who have read it and here I include the people who do nothing else but read, and here I also include the people who picked it up with soaring expectations.

But I am not writing this because it is a super-hit book. I am writing it because I love it.

I hardly write reviews. I know people who do this better than me. So I leave it to them. But when Gunahon Ka Devta is in question, I must do what I have never done.

After spending a considerable number of hours with books and bookworms, I have a decently large sample size to make an observation about the category of books. There are 3 type of books I read.

1. Books that are written by brain.

2. Books that are written by heart.

3. Books that are written by soul.

I must say that I dont read unputdownable books. No serial-killer protagonists for me. Less due to excess of scorn and more due to shortage of time, I dont read the bestsellers and the charbusters. So I exclude the books that are written by other parts of human anatomy. Leave it. Lets not waste words for them.

Witty is the word for the first category. The author makes penetrating observations and uses spectacular language to leave you amazed and you marvel at his sheer power of making you amazed. Overall, it's an amazing read.

Moving is the word for the next category. These books might leave your face stained with lines at each side of your nose. You walk dazed throughout the day and you might find yourself examining your life, your relationships with those you love and your priorities. You feel unperturbably placid. Overall, it has a cathartic experience.

There is often an overlapping between the second and the last. The difference is that the former is more or less temporary but the latter leaves an indelible impression on your mind. This book belongs to the third category, the book that is written by soul.

Have you ever visited a small temple in a village? A temple surrounded by serenity and silence. A temple with ivory-white walls on the top a of a hill where you feel yourself lost in harmony with everything around. Have you ever been there?

This book creates the same ambience in your mind.

It is a love story.

But dont expect any cool-dude with a kick-ass confidence and a slapstick humor duly developed to make your dil go mmmm here. Chandar is far less disingenuous a character. And he is very simple and honest. There is nothing fake about him. You might not even notice him on the street. But you long for him for your entire life.

And there is no outwardly modern but actually traditional girl here. Sudha has never been exposed to smart education. She is innocence personified. She is so lovable that anyone would love her. She is the one who contains in herself the timeless beauty in the expectation of which a man wants to love a woman.

They don't go around with each other and have fun. Their love is not burdened by rituals and kitsch. Their relation has no social value. And their love is not that is shattered by one blow. They are not 'I-tried-but- it's-not-working-out' type people who seek the exit door as soon as they could.

It is a story of a boy and a girl who were not waiting it to happen in their life because it happens in everyone else's life and how wonderful life would be if it happens soon enough! They are not dying to make it happen. Well waiting for it is no way wrong and even you and I do it. But it is not our story. It is their story who live in Allahabad where life moves at the speed of an old melody. They share a cute nameless sibling-like relationship and imperceptibly become dependent on each other emotionally. When she fights with her father then it is only him and noone else who can persuade her to eat.

This is the thing that I liked the most. They didnt realize that they were in love! They were absolutely unaware of their own feelings for each other. When they come to know that they are going to be separated (by the girl's marriage) then only, very gradually and very unassuredly, they realize that what is between them has exceeded the boundary of friendship and perhaps it is what people call Love! But they are more confused than they were sure.

Imagine a sad bride who can not help thinking about a man who is not her would-be groom. And who is being teased by her giggling friends about her first night!

Imagine a man who simultaeously discovers his love for the bride and who is responsible to make various arrangements for her marriage. He is being torn apart by his mental conflicts and dilemma and suddenly he hears a call, 'O Chandar, beta where are you? You are sitting here! See where the doodhwala has died! Go and fetch him'.

I am feeling dizzy while writing it. And if you feel that it is a usual hindi-film story with the usual overdose of glycerine then it is I to blame and not the book. The moon is not less beautiful if the poet is inarticulate.

Well, what does he do? He suppresses his feelings. After all the girl is the daughter of his professor whom he worships. And it is sheer impunity and treachery to love his daughter. And the groom is many times better than him. He must not wreck havoc in a house where marriage is taking place because of his stupid emotions. He must keep his thoughts to himself and take care of where the hell the doodhwala is!

In this book, the writer doesnt say anything great about this supreme sacrifice. Rather he doesnt judge anyone and anything throughout the book. This is other beauty - no judgements, no logic, no rhetoric and no metaphors- and yet the effect!

The girl conforms to his father's wish and is peacefully married away but she could not do further. She could not make herself happy. She was incapable of enjoying herself. She falls sick, withers away her health and eventually dies before her clueless, helpless father and Chander who is a God of Sins! His nobility and loaftiness of character turns out to be the murderer of one he loves most! And his sacrifice couldnt outdo his love.

Read this book for its ambience if nothing else. I have found very few books who belong to the third category. Only The picture of Dorian Grey comes close to it because of Sibyl Vane and her understanding of Love!

The author, Dharmaveer Bharti, says that writing this book was like a heartfelt prayer for him.

"While writing this novel I experienced same type of feelings, which one does, when one is praying with full faith in the time of deep distress.... It appears as if same very prayer has been ingrained in my heart and I am repeating it."

Bhartiji, I assure you that as a reader I had had a similar experience.

Also read this post by Akshaya.