Lost In Translation

“Santhusht a Irukatheenga”, a smiley faced SRK ad-vises us Kuppans and Subbans of Tamil Land. This is the dubbed version of the DishTV ad on one of the Tamil channels. DishTV may not have plans to penetrate the rural veins of TN, but such an ad would plant a premature R.I.P on any possible prospects.

Ads are money. And big money at that. They provide the return on investment only if they reach the targeted audience. TN is not like other Indian states. You cannot afford to expect people to know what Santhusht is, especially when repeated in Junoon-tamil sentences. By a face alien to the masses (barring the peeps SRK made into few elitist tamil movies).

The equivalent Tamil word might destroy the lip-sync. It may even kill the cute little skewed rhyme the sathusht-dish-wish make. But retaining it would make the very first step in communication wobbly.

One can reason, that inserting incomprehensible info can create curiosity, but what the heck, even the well orchestrated “nalarai pal” and “pulli-raja” campaigns became relics way too soon in their life cycles.

When there are toddlers who can recite 1330 kurals verbatim, why do kids with tongues pasted to the roof of their mouths dub for ads? Creativity can take a backseat, but sensibilities can’t afford to. Ads as such, are an intrusion, and are more often than not used as breaks from the couch to check on the launderette or the cooking. Given the limited attention capture time, sloppiness can be a costly mistake.

As a contrast, the Tanishq ad for Diwali made one Santhusht. It had a known persona of star value, Asin, totting the jewellery for “Dhanteras”, also a concept new to tamils (the majority). It clearly conveyed the message, with Asin urging us, with flawless diction, to book in advance for the festive “Dhanteras”. I, for one, looked up for “Dhanteras” and was able to place the context.

As a check, I asked my maid, what she understood by Dhanteras. “Namma Atchaya thiruthiyai pola Deepvali ku etho podranma” (translated as “They are launching something like our Akshaya Thrithyai for this Deepavali”).

Its time ad-men paid attention to the basics.

Chak De, So they say !

I am really happy about India winning 'a world cup'. Even if it has been in a form of the game new to most of the contenders. And even if Lady Luck did more than smile upon the Boys in Blue (BIB).

But not long ago, an underdog of a sport, unfortunately one that was once India's pride in the commonwealth, did a heroic resurgence after decades. A bunch of non-descript Indians won the Asian hockey Cup, with less or mediocre media mileage than they deserved.

And unabashedly, the media pulled in a Bollywood flick, Chak De India to attribute this feat to.
Possibly scripted in the wake of the BIB's sad show at the Caribbean World Cup ODI's, this movie chose a Hockey Vs Cricket theme, perhaps for want of a Cinderella of Indian Sports. It could have been Tennis, Athletics, Kabaddi, or even seven stones and hopscotch, for all that you care. Although, it capitalized on the popular anti-BIB sentiment, I felt it was more of an Indianized version of Hollywood's Baseball- Movies. Of course, with a lot of babes for extra coverage.

Not to mention King Khan as the hard hitting coach.

Basking in the rare media attention thrown upon them, BIB's poor cousins, gratefully, nevertheless unnecessarily dedicated their hard earned victory to the actor and the movie.
Less was said of the win, in itself, and lesser of the people behind it.

Perhaps enthused by his name becoming resonant with one sport, King Khan made his presence felt at the Twenty20 Cup, where the BIBs salvaged a thrilling win. With our Baadshah of Bollywood, Chak De-ing them. Step aside, Mandira Bedi, you small screen belle!

Not to be outdone by tinseldom, our respected political brethren from all friendly and not so friendly states, jump into the fray announcing hefty sums of tax-payer's money as rewards to decorate the BIBs.

Our poor cousins, realise what a ride they had been taken for, blink back their tears at the scraps of media attention thrown to them, and begin a Satyagraha-of-sorts, that,sorry to say, looks more pathetic than anything else.

Despite not being a sporting aficionado, one can't remain blind to this incongruity. But, that’s what we, as a nation, have chosen to be. Becoming selectively amnesic, lapping up to the upcoming ODIs. Degradation of the sporting fan into the dastardly voyeurs who watched the Gladiators at the Colosseum.

Yet another classic instance of the Great Indian Apathy at play. (Pun –intended.)


An update :

• Another voice raised.
• Another feat that would go un-noticed.

People 6:Mommy Dear

A high profile outlet of a well-known chain of jeweler’s stores. A young couple. Romance is in the air. The husband holds up many a necklace to see which suits his lovely wife the best. An adamant toddler, all of two years and a half, may be. Refusing to get down from her vantage perch, viz her mother’s hip.

Pink turns red, when the little one intrudes into the adult’s bliss. The mother struggles to balance both her burdens, small and big. The neglected husband stomps off. A bored child, slides off her hip. The sales persons watch the melee. The haggard mother is left confused and dazed.

Not even once did the husband offer to mind the child. Newly flaunted Gender Equality bowing down to stereotypes ingrained from childhood.

And the sales persons watched.
A high profile outlet. Professional service. Sans the personal touch.

Flame of the Forest

Introduction:

I had a lovely evening tonight. I got to meet one of my best friends from college and we spent the evening watching a play. The play was in English, titled “Flame of the Forest”, and was by Madras Players in collaboration with JustUs repertory. The theme was based on Kalki’s Sivakami yin Sabhadam (The vow of Sivakami.)

The novel is a mini-epic in modern Tamil literature, and is a saga on the lives of Sivakami, the supremely talented courtesan of the Pallavas, her beau the crown Prince, Mamalla (after whom the sea-side head-away Mahabalipuram aka Mammallapuram was named)., and the culture loving king Mahendravarma Pallavan.

It was a special play to me, because, I, however hard I tried, have not been able to trace my ancestry beyond the limits of Chennai, both my parents having five generations behind them rooted in the port-city. When talking to other tamilians from Thanjavur and Madurai , places where the grandeur of the ancient dynasties still speak tomes, I have always felt small. Chennai has always had a relatively recent history, gaining much of its importance on account of being a strategic port for the British colonizers. And that isn’t something one can boast of as a proud heritage, compared to the Meenakshi and the Brihadeswara temples.

I have had a vague feeling that Sivakamiyin Sabhadam dealt with a time of history where the Pallavas were at their pinnacle, I had never dared to read the book, as it had poetic descriptions, the language being more than what my command over my mother tongue could take. I had been pestering people to read it out to me, but no one had had the time and patience for it. So I welcomed this play with glee, and the discovery that Chennai was indeed a part of the Pallava Empire came as a bonus.

The play did not delve into the facts, but was rather a character portrayal of Mahendra Varman, the artist-philosopher-king. Sivakami, the jewel of his court, also occupied a significant part of the script, having been the protagonist of Kalki’s work.

The Storyline:

The first act had Kanchi, the flourishing culture capital of the Pallavas under the threat of a siege by the Chalukya king, Satyashraya Pulikesi. Mahendra Varman, the ruler of the land, had spent time in inventing the seven string veena, and patronizing the sculpting of the Mamallapuram rocks, that he had been oblivious to the fact that Kanchi would crumble, should Pulikesi set foot in it. An unwilling but able military strategist, he keeps his foe engaged in minor skirmishes, while he buys time to strengthen his fort. He finds an energetic general in young Paranjyothi.

Sivakami, whose divine dance Mahendra Varman worships along with the rest of his empire, is in love with his only son Mamalla. The noble king stoops low to prevent royalty mingling with common blood, and keeps his son within the confines of his fort, and offers to send Sivakami (who lives in a forest, and is exposed to attack) to safety. Sivakami, full of desire and will, refuses to oblige.

The next act was a personal favorite. Mahendra Varma is playing his seven-string veena, while Paranjyothi brings in news of the siege being even real than feared. Paranjyothi implores Mahendra to don his war gear and get into the offensive. Mahendra responds saying “ I took so many years to discover that seven strings produced the most divine sounds. I have composed a new raga, and it fills me with joy”. The vexed Paranjyothi urges the King to stop playing his veena and to come out into the fray. Disturbed from his world of creation, and rudely brought back to the reality of destruction, Mahendra whips up the hidden vigour of his lineage and dons the war gear.

By a twist of fate, Nature intervenes with the monsoon showers, depriving the Chalukyas of their provisions. Mahendra extends a hand of friendship and invites Pulikesi to his capital. He treats his new friend to Sivakami’s divine performance, and shows him the art and architecture of Kanchi. He reveals his plans for a culturally rich sub continent, where only constructive forces exist.

But the Chalukya king has other plans. He captures Kanchi by deceit and fatally injures Mahendra, and takes Sivakami his captive. On the death bed, Mahendra vows to destroy Vatapi, the Chalukya capital to avenge Kanchi, and bring back Sivakami, the living soul of Kanchi.

Paranjyothi and Mamalla(crowned Narasimha Varma) fulfill his last wish. Paranjyothi disillusioned by the war, becomes a wandering mendicant, healing people in his wake, he who once had a gory glory.

Mamalla, pining for his love, disguises as a merchant of bangles and attempts to rescue Sivakami. But Sivakami refuses deliverance by stealth. The soul of Kanchi refuses to be redeemed unless by war and valour. Mamalla, fulfills his sweet heart’s desires. But is forced to marry the Pandya princess, to gain reinforcements for his revenge. Sivakami, who once demanded Vatapi to be burned to ashes, just as Kanchi had been, pleads to Mamalla to leave Vatapi unhurt. Her change is attributed to the nine years of confinement and the maturity having born with age. Sivakami returns to her homeland, but not to her love.
She dedicates herself to the temple, and becomes the chief devdasi.

The Play:

Mahendra Varman played by Deesh Mariwala, (a popular artist, as I gathered from my friend) played the character well, but that’s where the accolades end. He was faithful to the script (by Gowri Ramnarayan, who writes for The Hindu) but if at all there was any spark in his performance it was because of the script. The relevance of Mahendra’s dilemma to today’s world was brought out subtly. A man of finer instincts, a lover of art, a just king, a patron of all religions, a man whose diplomacy resembled the CBMs of the Indo-Pak Governments. He was a man who aspired for the Satya Yuga, the age of truth, fully aware that he belonged to the Kali Yuga, the age of treason. Gowri’s script has done complete justice to this, although my mother tells me that Kalki himself had vividly sketched the character so, in the original. An idealist at heart, he responds to calls of duty, strategizing like a fox to save his kingdom from the enemy’s preying eyes. However dear Sivakami and her art is to him, he gets malicious, in separating the lovers. He might be a secular man, envisaging a temple for every faith, but he is unable to let go his hold on caste differences when it comes to his own son, a prince by birth, falling for a lowly courtesan, however divine her art may be. The irony of his character, speaks of the momentary demise that all ideals undergo, when it boils down to one’s own self.
Kudos to the script writer, be it gowri or kalki.

Sivakami, the younger version was played by Mythili Prakash. Her performances had more to do with dance, than acting. But that was nevertheless a treat. Priyadarshini Govind played the older Sivakami, the chief devdasi, and had also choreographed the dance sequences.

The stage setting had been quite lacklustre. Nothing spectacular for a backdrop, and the lights mostly yellow, served little more than to accentuate the silks and gold worn by the cast. Costumes were not garrish, as is the case with such historical plays, but that did have a downside as well. The grandeur of the King and his court were not brought out. He didnt even wear a crown.

But there were some impressive theatrics. Verses from the original were sung, and their meanings enacted or danced to, and explained in English, the translation paying attention to details and not ruining the beauty of the original. In one scene, where the declaration of siege is followed by diplomatic efforts of Mahendra, the happenings in between are gossiped by the courtiers who are busy getting the room ready for the entry of the two foe turned friends. The supporting cast go about getting the stage ready, while the play is still on. The setting for this scene was quite elaborate with lounges, umbrellas , and cushions, brass lamps, and flowers. All this would have taken more than a few minutes to get ready, and an unwelcome break in the flow.
V.Balakrishnan played many characters, notable among them being Paranjyothi and Pulikesi. He was so good, that I did not realise that Pulikesi and Paranjyothi were the same person, till he removed his head wrap(as pulikesi) during a fight scene. It was his wavy long hair that shook with the war moves, that gave him away. His diction and delivery were very good, but nothing much could be said of the expressions, while Dheesh (Mahendra) scored an edge over him in this department.
For the women, Mythili as the young Sivakami, had a soft but powerful voice and delivery, which emphasised the doe-eyed tigress that Sivakami was. Priyadarshini as the older Sivakami, was very convincing, her voice breaking with the weight of emotion. Both of them did not resort to any advanced theatrics, but did leave nothing to complain about.
Saving the best for the last. My most favorite part of the play was the concluding act. The time where the older Sivakami reminisces of her past. Her captivity in Vatapi, her pining for Mamalla, her fool hardy refusal of Mamalla's initial rescue attempts, and the rationale behind pleading for toning down the impact of a war that she had demanded from Mamalla. All these were performed as dance sequences that followed the english rendition of the verses. The dance was performed by Priyadarshini in the fore, with Mythili, as the younger Sivakami behind. Both their dances were choreographed similarly with subtle differences. Priyadarshni's brought out the emotions of a woman visiting her past, remorse and longing heightened. Mythili's was the new, raw feeling of the moment, the emotional roller coaster of the present. This attempt at a flashback, bringing out the then and the now, was very very novel and held me enthralled. The last sequence where Sivakami says that when she dedicated herself to the services of the temple "she lost herself in the divine. And she found herself in the divine", Priyadarshini's expressions and movements conveyed the soothing peace that she had immersed herself in, while Mythili's was rapture at a new bliss engulfing her troubled soul... Amazing synchronization by the duo. Was out of the world.
Stopped for a late night ice-cream, in Chennai's surprisingly not-so-balmy air, and came home with the satisfaction of an evening well spent.

Har Har, Jujhar.

Happened to watch Headlines Today the past two days. Was forced to run away from the drawing room leaving behind a half eaten dinner* for the first time in my life.

Day 1:

The Host: Jujhar Singh

The topic of discussion: Women’s rights groups up in arms against profane ads.

The cause of Nausea:

The ‘ad-nauseum’ in question was one advertisement for Amul Macho showing a couple of ladies grow green when the village belle seemingly sees bliss in washing her man’s underwear. The arbitrator Mr. Jujhar Singh pitted Mr.R.Balakrishnan (of Cheeni Kum fame) against a women’s rights activist. I am perennially skeptical about anyone with feminist leanings, and had been reasonably impressed by Mr.Balki from the reviews of his movie, and was naturally quite interested in how the argument was going to fare.

Mr.Balki defended his fraternity with a fairly lame argument saying the ad was infact liberationist by showing a female boldly expressing her sexuality. He also did not fail to commend the “creative” juices that poured into the “masterpiece”.

There are so many brilliant ads that so many of us have grown up with, and cherish even though the products they advertised have long become obsolete, and they did not resort to such blatant profanity to be creative. But our dear Mr. Arbitrator lapped up this argument, with a fervent “Aye Aye, Sir”.

This rights activist was slightly different from her ilk, in the sense, that she didn’t raise her voice, although she didn’t really approve of her opponent’s views. She quietly discounted all the aspects, that she had initially put forth, (like women’s dignity, sensibility, blah blah, and the like) but hung on to one particular PoV, that of the aesthetics that this kind of explicit lewdness would instill in young Indians. Mr. Balki had no solid answer to this.

That’s when our heroic arbitrator jumped in and drawled with a resonant belch (that was meant to pass off as a stylish nasal accent), “But, ma’m, don’t you think we are over-reacting and stifling the creativity of our talented young ad-makers?”

Tolerance Meter hit red, and I ran out, secretly wishing I had a stronger hold on my senses.

Day 2:

The host: Jujhar Singh again.

Heated Debate on: Yuvraj vs. Yuvraj.

The cause of Vertigo, Nausea, and partial deafness:

Yuvraj Singh’s birthday bash case. Neelam Mahajan poised to create a new record in pushing the decibels, the wronged mother fuming in the studio, and Mrs.Singh, on the phone. Our dear arbitrator went tipsy with glee. For the lady beside him was set for some action.

The matter being sub-judice was of course something that HT and our dear Jujhar had so graciously chosen to overlook. Mrs.Singh not being able to hold up to Mrs.Mahajan’s well-toned vocal chords looked like a lamb ready for sacrifice.

Had it not been Jujhar and HT’s shrewd move to keep the two ladies physically separated from each other, the damage to life and property would have been immense. A heated exchange of words ensued. Some even warranting a defamatory suit, that might have had Mrs. Singh in the studio, and Mrs. Mahajan on phone, maybe, for want of a refreshing change.

Jujhar gave a toothy smile, and blurted out something inane in his guttural twang. In case, you had been counting the morsels on your plate for want of a suitable diversion, and had to lift your head fearing a crick in the neck, the progress of the fight flashed on the screen, each scandalous utterance making way to a new line of trash, uhmm… flash.

Tolerance Meter went bonkers. I stumbled out of the room, fighting for dear life and desperately clinging on to what was once my sanity.


*: Was forced to flee, as for reasons best known to him, my father insisted on keeping HT on at full volume. Jujhar kept chasing me to the remotest corner of the house, with his debonair din.

A letter to the Editor

Wrote the following letter to "The Hindu" regarding an article of the editor's daughter topping an US university. This kind of a propaganda is demeaning to any real achiever, something akin to blowing one's own trumpet. I am not sure how much of my letter would be published, if at all it is published. Here it is below :

Dear Editor,

This is in reference to your “news item” on Ms Ram’s academic achievements. I have been a staunch defender of “The Hindu” whenever someone said that it is not what it used to be. For in today’s world of frenzied media activity, I was of the opinion that “The Hindu” retained a certain appreciable degree of sanity.
But this particular coverage of Ms. Ram’s achievements and profiling of her academic career came as an assault to my beliefs. Publishing something that would be better off as an “advertiser’s feature” in the middle of the news section (thankfully, not as an editorial) seems to put “The Hindu” on the same standing as the TV and newspaper endeavors of Tamil Nadu’s leading political parties.
The common reader of a paper like “The Hindu” doesn’t generally expect to see blatant propaganda of any sort, leave alone the academic glory of the editor’s family member. Of what good, would this bit of news do to me, as a reader hard pressed for time to keep pace with the news, I fail to follow.
And besides, if Ms. Ram is an exceptional budding journalist, then, let her be profiled in the supplements concerning education, and not in the main newspaper. A feature of this nature befits a person who has won a prestigious award for her professional acheivements, which is not the case here.
All around the globe, in the hallowed portals of many a glorious institution, Indian students are topping the ranks every other year. Not all of them get featured even in the corner of your weekly supplements.
A decade back, I would be fully confident that such a letter of criticism would definitely be published, but yesterday’s story hints at an attitude that would rather send this letter to the trash. Please maintain the quality of unbiased and sensible news reporting that “The Hindu” has been known for all these years and kindly refrain from sensationalization of this caliber.

Regards,
SuCh

“Do you have change for 100 Rupees?”

I planned to get ready early today. But by some celestial conspiracy, couldn’t make it on time.The last bus that stopped at my bus-stop had left. I caught an auto to the next stop. There was a bus due there in the next 5 mins. I tried to keep the fare ready, so that I need'nt waste time in paying for the auto.
I could not find my purse . I pulled out all the articles that populated my overloaded bag. All those things I had been searching for since time immemorial materialized out of the frantic exercise.
Rummaging through all the rubble, I fished out a 100 Rupee note and a 5 rupee coin, stuffed in some inner compartment of my bag, lying forgotten for days.

In compliance with Murphy’s laws, it so happened that the auto driver had to say that he did not have a ‘single paisa’ on him, me being his first savari for the day. I asked him to wait, got down and began asking all those fellow employees who were waiting for the bus. Some pretended not to hear, some shook their heads in denial even before I could address them. Some were deeply engaged in a telepathic conversation with the crow on the tree above. Most gave a very toothy grin, that made me feel that they were happy not to have been in my shoes. Perhaps they didn’t realise I was not begging but was just asking for change.

I would have asked atleast a dozen, when one lady finally felt it appropriate to check her purse before she answered. She had a fifty rupee note, which offered me. I took it and asked for name so that I could return it to her. She said “First pay the auto driver, I ll tell you afterwards”.

I went to the auto driver, imploring him to accept the 50 rupee note, and somehow come up with the change (as they do, sometimes). But Murphy struck again, by providing me with a “truthful” auto driver (a rare species), who genuinely did not have a ‘single paisa’ on him. Just then, someone else who was late and was hurrying for the bus came by. I stopped him with the same request. “Do you have change for 100 Rupees?” By now the question had become so trite to me, that I hardly expected an answer. That guy took out his purse and looked into it, despite his haste. All that he had were 100 Rupee notes. “How much do you want?”, he asked. The auto driver offered “hathu rupai saakamma” meaning “10 rupees is enough” (I was supposed to pay Rs 12). The good samaritian then fished out all the coins he had, and managed to bring out 5 rupees, that with my 5 rupee coin would make the needed 10. I thanked him profusely; I thanked the auto driver with equal fervour and gave the fare. I asked for my benefactor’s whereabouts, but he said “Its just 5 rupees, don’t bother returning”. I returned the 50 bucks to the lady, and thanked her for her genorosity. And waited for the bus. (Murphy got bored, I guess, the bus mercifully was late.)

This incident actually took me back to another point of time, where the bus I was travelling in, met with an accident. Many of us got injured. The rest, who were unharmed, simply got on to the next bus and went to office. The less injured had to help carry the severely wounded to a nearby polyclinic.
I was appalled at the lack of concern these people have towards their fellow employees. To think of the apathy, they would show towards rest of humanity, would leave me in shudders.

Although many corporates involve themselves in community service and the like, much of it is voluntary. I really feel that making this mandatory, would help sensitize these people ,with their minds as confined as their cubicles, to the world outside.

Sol's soup for the Soul

The greatest fear is the fear of failure.

Go on, get on with your lives... Dont worry about me, I'd be alright.. (And leave me alone, for Godsake!)

The best kind of tribute is silence.

There has to be something good about everything.The question is, whether one wants to see it or not.

The best time on earth is when one can own every passing second.

The bigger picture is always better;The details being miracles.

Music becomes melody when the words dont seem to matter.

The strange can become familiar, and the familiar strange. Time is the greatest trickster of all time!

Love is a flattering feeling.

Its easy to be mysterious, but tough to be open.

We are all born with a burden, that of pleasing ourselves.


Disclaimer:

Some of these are my two cents on life. The rest, unforeseen consequences of too many Prav's world forwards .

Differentiating Difference.

This morning, was a sleepy one. Reluctant to let go of the last shreds of my morning nap in the bus, I stepped out dreary and bleary. My senses were rudely shaken by the chitter-chatter amongst the fellow commuters, eager and enthusiastic to start a new day. In my meta-state, I imbibed all the words that be-fell my ear, like a sponge. After, a considerable phase lag, I could make out at least five different languages being spoken. I was pleasantly amused at the diversity that I encounter day in and day out, without realizing it. This led to the train of thought that follows.

The school that I studied in was owned and run by members of a certain caste-based group. The quality of education, I must say, was above average and the school produced many an achiever. However, the culture that it professed was largely tuned to suit that particular community, and presence of others, was largely ignored. I was almost a frog in the well, not knowing how to interact comfortably with people beyond that community, with no inkling of the world that functions outside it. Amongst the students, at least in the years I spent there, a vague sense of caste linked differences prevailed, although nothing was explicit.

Once I passed out of school, and pursued my collegiate studies, the afore mentioned community's presence was reduced to a minimum, and those members that were, seemed to have much more open mind. People from all over the state, with different backgrounds, economical and familial mingled, and differences relating to caste gradually blurred. There still remained a certain criteria for affinity, that of belonging to the same district or region of the state. But this was amongst some members of the staff, and fewer of the hostellers.

It so happened, that I had to shift to another city that being a supra-cosmopolitan one, for work. People from all over the country swarmed in, and a mini-India was constituited. Here, caste, creed and region lost their significance. One had to be from your home-state, speaking your mother tongue, and the ice would thaw faster.

In all the above situations, I followed the norm, rather than dare an exception. I don’t see any anamoly in this, as it is but human nature, if not anything else. I have not ventured beyond the shores of India, perhaps when I do, I might find the state-based differences evanscent, giving place to nationality, and race based ones. Extrapolating, if men were to begin a space colony, even these would disapper, replaced by planetary differences. On the highest rung of this collectivistic ladder, maybe, all men are one, so to say, before the Supreme, a tenet shared by the ruling religions of the world.

I have not discussed religious differences yet, because it is one that transcends all levels and is omnipresent. The irony of it is, faith and religion are things which should, by principle be agnostic to such disparities.

Men cannot exist without differences. Each human is unique in his or her own way. But to be straddled with qualities which you were born into, and do not have the option to alter, can be extremely stifling. Some people fight throughout their lifetimes to free themseleves of such tags. Some others condition themselves to identify with these qualities, and start believeing that these are things that define their personalities. Pride and shame in things where one can’t place a righful claim on are nothing short of a sham.

There is a thin line between pride and prejudice. Pride that stems from one’s achivements is an exhilarating feeling. Whereas, pride that one cannot own deforms into prejudice. Shame in one’s attributes that one cannot control is a delusive emotion. Shame, on any other account, is guilt. Guilt again is a consequence of one not being able to relate or identify with oneself.

There has been no plan or purpose in what I have written till now. But it has been a subject that has intrigued me for several years, both on a conscious and an unconsious level. To understand the philosophy behind the differences which exist amidst the unity, is a quest that I can neither give up, nor end in fruitition. I know that there is much to unravel, and in the process I might end up contradicting myself. There are so many perspectives of the same picture, and each one is as illusionary and veracious as the other.

The Best Fit.

The confident I : I feel I am fit for everything.

The despearate I : I am fit for anything.

The persevering I : I must be fit for something.

The world : You are fit for nothing.

Voice: Doesnt anything and everything include nothing too ? Nothing is also something.

(Curtains down)

The Rubber Stamp

The first citizen of this Nation has always been a puppet, with multiple strings. But one man chose to differ. He, himself is a living example of pure honesty, sheer intellect and endearing simplicity. Definetly not a man of our decadent times. I happened to read an interview of President Kalam today,some excerpts which caught my attention:

Young India:

What do you feel about the innumerable interactions you have had with students all over the country?
Well, I have met children and youth throughout the country from all walks of life. I have seen students in islands, north-eastern States and tribal areas. One thing I find uniformly among 150-170 million students of 17 years age is that they want to perform. Their enthusiasm is very high and they want to live in a competitive India. No one can beat the youth power of our country, which is the most powerful resource. But, it is understood very little in the mechanism of our political and bureaucratic system.


All this rhetoric about the youth power has never sold well with me, for I believe the youth of today are so consumed by consumerism and are blinded by slefishness on all 360 degrees, that even the very immediate social circle, vis-a-vis the family blends into the background.

Quelling my pessimistic sentiments, is the Prez's response to another question.

In recent months, the IT and ITES sectors have taken away the cream of students around the country. How will the manufacturing and other sectors manage?
We are generating 3 million graduates every year. The migration to IT industry is only 1-1.2 million. Even if the IT industry absorbs one more million, there are graduates for the manufacturing sector. The shortage is imaginary. Like in the IT, Pharmaceutical and Biotechnology industries, challenges have to be created in other areas also. Focus should be on the Small Scale Industry that makes an impact on the nation's economy. The whole IT industry is a result of youth power. Similarly, in the manufacturing, agriculture and other sectors, youth power is required.

Despite one's leftist misgivings, one has to hand it to the IT industry for bringing the radical and exponential growth that a devoloping nation with a humungous population such as India's desperately needed. Inspite of a growth that was not ideally equitable, the very same consumerism which I so badly loathe, gave into a number of supporting services and products,generating employment oppurtunities, hitherto unimagined.

The Political Milieu:

Politics shall always be dirty. Power makes shenanigans out of good men. People who have climbed the rungs of the political ladder have done so, trampling innocents at every step. Even the so-called elite politician, can, by no reasonable means, boast of an un-stained hand. Politicans cant help being dirty. And Politics shall remain dirty. Poaching the predators with a shot-gun , ala RDB style, isnt practical and doesnt solve a single issue, and instead giving rise to unwarranted militancy and misleading naxal movements.

Working against the system requires strength of will,muscle and money. Working with the system will drag us into depths of degeneration. Working a change within the system, is probably what the most pragmatic of us would do. And thats what the scientist turned Head of the State, has tried to do.

You have addressed Parliament and several legislatures. What do you feel about the quality of debate in the Houses? Do you think live telecast of the proceedings can contribute to a more orderly conduct of the Houses?
No, I don't want to say much about it because everything is beamed (live telecast) directly now. But I have two things to say that will electrify political/Parliament activities and development missions. Politics has two components — political politics and developmental politics. The political politics concerns elections to the Assemblies and Parliament. Developmental politics is about the plan to develop the nation on different fronts. Elected representatives should focus 30 per cent on political politics and 70 per cent on developmental politics. The nation is bigger than political parties.


One book, that left a mark on me, was "The Man" by Irving Wallace. It describes the trials and tribulations of the first black man to become the President of United States, in a racially torn America, the forces around him that fabricate an impeachment case and how he survives the ordeal, never, even once compromising his character. So deep was the impact of this book, that I ended up wishing for such a man to lead the country I lived in. Guess my wish was granted, albeit within the system.

The Cause and The End.

In Today
Out Tomorrow.
Its all childsplay
This Joy and sorrow.

Tears that are born at dawn
But, to die quietly at dusk
All These Songs so forlorn
Yet so trite in the crux.

From the turbulent womb of genesis
Sets out the meandering bohemian
Seeking the tender grave of Peace
Forever the hunter, the Orion.

Sweet Chirps of nascent white
Drowned by the din of Red
Bloody Victory and Gory Might
First love at death bed

Run along, my little one
Up and ready for doom
Red Roses and redder Guns
As the shadow of the future looms.

-The Lunatic Bard




Catching up with the newspapers after a hiatus, I decided to abstain from them altogether. The causes that people fight for and the aftermath, left me disillusioned with life. The bigger picture is often blurred by the unidimensional perspectives. I was inspired to write on this after reading this piece of extended reality .

Re-Serving Reservation

Much has been said about the election time gimmick a.k.a the reservation move of the Indian Government in recent times. Voices have been raised, and some have been heard.
Some were vehement, ridiculed the government, in cynical and sarcastic undertones. Some garnered mass support to protest. Some took a moderate stance -suggesting “affirmative action” as a more viable alternative.

But all these reactions are by people who haven’t an inkling of an idea of what oppression means. I read a short story , “the Strikebreaker” by Isaac Asimov set somewhere in the future, which runs somewhat like this:

A sociologist from Earth goes to a planetoid in the fringes of the Galaxy, to study the socio-cultural scenario there. He finds the planetoid to be gripped by a state of intense crisis. The planetoid, owing to its limited water resources, survives by recycling everything, including human wastes to replenish its supply of water. This might be revolting, but something similar to this happens in the natural cycles on our own planet.
The denizens are very well aware of this fact. The planetoid boasts of a very rigid caste system where even inter-caste marriages are allowed. The crisis situation is the family which does the recycling now has revolted and stopped doing so. Their demand: to be recognized as humans, to allow their children to grow with the other kids, their women to mingle with other women. For all that they do, these people just push some buttons which operate the recycling machines. The government wouldn’t give in, though they face the acute danger of a pandemic due to accumulating wastes and a diminishing water stock. The papers wouldn’t even mention his name while reporting the crisis. The earthman sees the glaring exploitation, but for the sake of larger good, offers to do the recycling, his offer is accepted with a sigh of relief. The protestor succumbs the loss of his last weapon to alleviation, and resumes his occupation. But the earthman is deported back to his planet having become contaminated with the abominable profession and is denied further entry into the Planetoid that helped to save from annihilation.

Asimov makes a passing reference to the gravediggers in Ancient India in the story. One might delve into the pragmatic origins of the caste system and how it degraded into an antithesis of human progress. Or one can argue that all that talk is irrelevant to the current situation now that post-independence caste system has been abolished and so have other forms of prejudiced oppressions. But having had privy to the so-called erstwhile “upper classes” mentality throughout my childhood, I wouldn’t say that the tell-tale “them” and “us” notions have'nt entirely disappeared. So many times, I have heard “ungalava” and “engalava” being used for absurd and mundane issues which wouldn’t lift a feather in the over-all scheme of things. So many households which use separate glasses and cups for the maids who wash their dirty pots and pans. So many houses constructed with separate entrances for the washer woman to wash and leave without infecting the sanctum and sanctorum of their divine abodes. People who do all this aren’t barbaric in the truest sense, cos they are compassionate to their household staff, helping them monetarily, never forgetting to give them the (excess) boxes of chocolates (which they got tired of eating) that their sons and daughters bring from their trips abroad. But the strains of meaningless superiority still linger on. Simply abolishing caste system hasn’t removed the taboo associated with inter caste marriages. Even in certain professions, especially the monetarily rewarding ones, the presence of the socially lower strata is sparse.

Some of my random thoughts on the subject: (inspired reaction to multitude of other random thoughts.

Attributing brain drain to reservation is actually a wake up call to the government. What does the government gain by investing in “brains” that look for the slightest opportunity to flee for greener pastures? Such brains would drain even with the teeniest of leaks in the pipe.

You are comfortable only where you belong. And a certain sense of fraternity holds good even when people leave their hometowns to fend for themselves. Not just to promote their culture and have a feel of home, but also to enjoy the privilege of rubbing shoulders with the “high and mighty” of the corporate echelons for they happen to be from your state/city/district/village/street and what not.. and caste still has the invisible binding effect that forms closed niches in places of “equal opportunity”.

Dilution of quality is a vehement argument against reservation. Those who are afraid of their pedestal being usurped, but wouldnt admit this fear even to their own sub-conscious minds, might see logic in this. If one prevents the dilution of quality by denying access, then by what means is quality maintained?? The same set of students with identical profiles/interest groups tend to pass out year after year with the same ideals, goals and aspirations.. which revolves around social apathy and self-promotion.

Improve primary education – A noble and lofty suggestion.. in the so called right direction.. Right for whom? God alone can answer this question. True, grass root reforms alone can be sustainable, but they consume the precious years that make the difference and generations would have to be passed to taste the fruits. By that time, the rich would have becomer richer and the poor poorer.

Before we set to admonish reservation as a ruthless suppression of merit, we should first make clear what exactly “merit” is. Is merit the ability to quote the great men and women of litreture, art and politics even when one has to ask something as simple as the directions to the next street? Is merit the ability to mug up scores of unwanted information from the zillion books and CDs that your parents buy and win a trophy trove in quiz contests? Is merit the ability to belt out the cash for the “competitive – exam” coaching centers? Is merit the ability to have parents who enroll you into posh private schools?? Do any one of us stop to think what we are , is what we were born into? I for one wouldn’t be writing this blog, if I were born to tribal parents in Nagaland, or to a poor weaver in kancheepuram, or a flower seller in Chennai. We really dont know how much of our "success" is sheer luck and fortitude.

I hail from the southern state of Tamil Nadu, where reservation rules the roost. And has been a regular feature of every party’s election manifesto, year after year. 69% is the reservation in this state, and if they choose to, the insane political competition here could well strive to make it cross 100%. And where every single caste, sub caste, sub-sub-caste scrambles to make the most of it, by marching to the state secretariat to be declared "backward".(This actually increases the rat-race amongst the BCs whose cut-off scores are almost as high as the OCs).
But all that has done the least to compromise “the quality” of the educated class.. The state boasts of some of the stellar entrepreneurs in the country’s younger industries, and the IT sector sees a sizeable representation of Tamilians, from ALL CASTES AND CLASSES.. It is a state where the lower middle class father could very well dream of sending his children to a high profile professional college.. I realized the true empowerment that reservation has given the masses, only after I entered college. In school, though the atmosphere was competitive, the mentality and background of the students used to be similar. Its in college, that I got to see people from different stratas of the society, with different kinds of upbringing, showing the equal amount of logical reasoning and thinking, although sometimes, prowess with the English word was something they couldn’t boast of. They had the same, if not more, amount of zeal and enthusiasm towards learning, and were very original and innovative in their grasp of new concepts.


A couple of my friends who belong to these apparently “backward” classes, have done pretty well throughout their collegiate years and have secured themselves enviable (even amongst meritorious standards) positions in private sectors which don’t have “reservation”. The only worry that plagues them now is they don’t have equally educated men in their caste when it comes to the question of seeking marital alliances.

Quality of education is mainly the responsibility of the educator and the pedagogy involved. It is highly ridiculous to place the onus of keeping up educational standards on the students. If a system of imparting knowledge depends on the student’s potential alone, then the system is very much at flaw and ironically, lacks in quality.

I am not a supporter of mindless vote-bank politics, which does nothing but up the ante on the reservation percentage. Reservation is an area where much thought and planning has to go in. And the present move may or may not include a thorough analysis of the pros and cons, and could even lack in foresight of its own goal and vision. It would serve a larger section of the populace, if the economic ( now more relevant) criteria is also included as a clause. I wouldnt consider myself a puritan supporter of reservation in its currently absolute form.
What had disturbed me is the pseudo-standards with which the reactions to the move came up. Flared by a commercialized and headline-hungry media , misinformed, superficial analysis, I was appalled by the “quality” (forgive the pun) of views and reviews from people whose writing I admire (used to) and adore. Not one bothered to give the other side of the coin, nor did anyone go beyond the calculatively moderate “affirmative actions”.

Disclaimer :

I did not intend to lash out at any particular line of thought. Each one is entitled to his/her own opinions. And so am I.
I did not intend to make this post 'this' long. If you had had the patience to reach till here, I extend my sincere gratitude to you.
I did intend to make this article neutral and tried to adopt a clinical approach to the issue. But I can hear myself puffing and huffing after all the ranting that I have done. My deepest regret at having disappointed myself.

Crucified

Moats of tears
Pillars of pain
Armour of Loss
Safe and secure
No more assaults.
Seen it all
Steeled nerves
Broken beyond
breaking point
Nothing Left
To devastate
Embers extinguished
Resigned to ruin
mute submission
Pledging servility
To its cruel whips
Its hunger insatiable
Back for the last drop
Of Blood and Life
Fate Strikes
Yet again.

- The Lunatic Bard

Eyes opened..

There are things in life which can show you how big a fool you have been.. when realisation strikes, instinct devolops a shell to protect from further hurt and pain.. Seeking contentment in solitude... Becoming a rock of glass...

A song which I dedicate to myself ...

I am a Rock - Simon and Garfunkel

A winter’s day
In a deep and dark december;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the
streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I’ve built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship;
friendship causes pain.
It’s laughter and it’s loving I
disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Don’t talk of love,
But I’ve heard the words before;
It’s sleeping in my memory.
I won’t disturb the slumber of
feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have
cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within
my womb.
I touch no one and no one
touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

I am an Indian

Of late there has been a great amount of publicity for the neo-national spirit.
Movies like Rang – De –Basanti impacting the target audience in a profound manner. Just last week, I had a tea-break chat, with a friend of mine who has been pretty keen on advancing his education abroad. For all that I know of him, he was one chap who was very focused on his career beyond the shores of this country, and had a fairly well-planned strategy for achieving his goals. But what amused me was this guy who seemed so hell-bent on his dreams, was moved to the extent of reconsidering his choice, after watching a 3 hour flick. He went on to watch the movie a coupla times more, in different geographic locations as well. The dude joined an online fan group of the movie and was roused enough to start a blog and put up a review. I was amazed by the amount of influence a movie can have on a person.
Yet another acquaintance of mine made a similar career move and went on to work in the rural stretches of India, after being influenced by the movie Swades. As time and fate had it, he realized that he had burnt his fingers, and is right now considering a time-tested career path. But, nevertheless kudos to his courage to try and be different.
I haven’t seen either of the movies, and I am no authority on the quality of work in this form of art/expression. What these, movies have managed to do, is kindle the dormant desire in the youth of today, to make the difference.
Nationalistic fervor of yesteryears was something which needed a leader, and icon to inspire. But patriotism in today’s flat world has a different dimension, all together. Our youth force is as competent and ambitious as any other across the globe. People are no longer tied by stigmas and the economy seems to have empowered them with a sound financial backing. Knowledge has acquired fluidity throughout the lengths and breadths of the country and information travels faster than wind. Today’s men and women are able to think on their feet and have the guts to question tradition.
But, their apathy to take up the onus kept things at a stale-mate. And the ones that did take it up, didn’t (and still don’t) clearly know what they had taken up and what they were to encounter in their path. They don’t need a leader, they need a movement.
The system has become ridden with miscreants who look upon it as a never-ending mine of gold. Youth of today know what ruin these shenanigans had brought in their wake. They are well-armed in resisting the lure of moolah, and in keeping the system going ahead.
Its good to see that group of the best brains of the nation have launched a political party. But though they have been highly appreciated, much remains to be seen. Lets hope they aren’t just a bunch of charged up individuals, who after the pet project, (something that would end being an inconspicuous fine print in their resume), land up in some multi national biggie with a fat pay packet.

People who took on the system alone, sticking by their principles ended up resting their heads on soft earth, six feet down under. ( I am not including a hyperlink here, because I hope memories of such horror stay afresh and don’t need any recollection). This was a colossal set back to the bright starry eyed intelligentsia, which gets disillusioned when its brethren of excellent educational background, find not only their intellects but also their lives becoming feed to the political predators.

The will to stay on and make the difference is resident in each and every individual. Even the one’s that have chosen the escape route to greener pastures are likely to come back and do their part, once things start rolling. The system at hand, is filled with unimaginable filth. One or two idealistic rookies cant change the world over night. Before sowing the seeds of a new era, the weeds have to be cleared. A silent war needs to be waged. Somebody has to do the dirty work, someday. Why not we and why not today? Our children may not remember us for what we have done, but we shall go to our graves with our heads held high.

Sometime back, I had to stand in the queue in Chennai to reserve tickets for my impending train journey. There was a snag in the network and the queue started to build up. People were clinging on to their positions with all their might.
There was a slight commotion in the senior citizen’s counter. A mini-racket had taken shape. Some “young-at heart" man had started a debate and the rest of them were passionately getting into the ring. One particularly effervescent grey haired personality, who was the next to get to the counter, got up from his seat, walked all the way to the end of the line, to prove his point. From the bits of conversation that came wafting, I was able to conjure upon a vague picture of some civic issue that needed attention.

The senior citizens of Chennai have always been a very active lot. Anywhere they meet lackadaisical attitude, they will “write to THE HINDU”. They share their concerns in any scenario, be it the morning walk in the beach, the chance wait-together in the bank, the post-office and so on and so forth. Despite the rude remarks from the other end “ Ei Perusu, velaiya pathutu poga maata?” translated as “ Mind your business, old man”..
Perhaps they have seen more of life, or maybe since they have all the time in the world, and have come the full circle in their personal lives that they can now afford to digress and think of the society as well.

Why should anyone wait till their youngest daughter gets married and bears grandchildren to start thinking of their locality/society/city/state and the country?
Why cant we teach a little bit of social consciousness in our schools along with the novel ideas of educating them in the share market early on?

Heavy rock and other similar genre of music generally scores a hit with the rebel in everyone. A sense of liberation is can be experienced through music and words. Its time to realize the same kind of emancipation in action.

Every walk of life needs to be revolutionalised with a common ideal in mind, which is what the Government is ideally supposed to be doing.

Not too long ago, I had caught up with an old friend of mine. We were into the topic of philosophy, God, et al. He quoted some western schools, and their tenets to prove his point. I accept, without shame, that I am blissfully unaware of all such things. But one thing that disturbed me was the fact that even for philosophizing one needs to look upon the west. Why is anything and everything that’s oriental, considered backward and decadent? I fully appreciate a mingling of cultures, a seamless blend of the East and the west. But why don’t we accept if not appreciate our own, as an alternative? Is it because of the fact that familiarity breeds contempt?

These are just random thoughts which I thought I could pen down. In one of my previous blogs, I had posted a poem ("Dare I dream") on similar lines. Wonder why I keep doing an encore of writing on the need for action, without actually acting upon anything.. Sigh!, Afterall, I am Indian.

The Prey

Dead and Depressing
Numb under the oppressing
Insipid grayness
Rip up the layers
Reveal the masqueraders
Filth, decadent ignominy
Venom dipped in honey
Odium in forms so many
Beasts ready for the kill
Suck your blood, they will
But never enough to their fill
Wriggle under their clasp
Struggle to free their grasp
Flee, run and gasp
Trapped in their milling mob
Looted with nothing left to rob
Frozen without blood to throb
Remember, your lot is to feed
Their undying, perennial need
No soul would come to your heed.
The Lord’s design is thus,
So make never any fuss,
Die Living you mus’.

- The Lunatic Bard.

Manna from Earth!

As though it was a reply to my last post, I came across this good news through an intra-organisational group announcement today.. When millions like me feel the anguish and find their own means to express it, there are very few who actually make things happen. I dont know if I might be violating any legal or security related norms by publishing excerpts of the mail in this blog, but I simply couldnt resist the urge to share my rejuvenated belief in humanity with the rest of mankind.... Kudos to you, Mr. Venugopal!!

Signing Ceremony of Memorandum of Agreement between Ohio State University,Columbus and University of Agricultural Sciences,Dharwad

Venugopal Pinnamaneni, an engineer from our organisation (words edited here ) has been successful in establishing the collaboration between Ohio State University (OSU), Columbus, Ohio, USA and University of Agriculture Sciences (UAS), Dharwad, Karnataka, India. Coming from a farmer's family in North Karnataka, Venugopal had a penchant to assist the farming community. Upon seeing the opportunities galore in OSU, he initiated the talks with the professors of OSU and the Vice-Chancellor of UAS, Dharwad Dr. S.A. Patil. The Vice-Chancellor, Dr S A Patil, visited OSU, Columbus from 10-Dec-2005 to 15-Dec-2005 and signed the Memorandum of Agreement with Dr Hansen David, Associate Dean & Director-International Programs in Agriculture. This would enhance the research capabilities of UAS, Dharwad and bring in innovative technologies and solutions in Agriculture.

The response from OSU was very positive and Dr Larry Curtis Brown (Executive Director: Overholt Drainage Education and Research Program, International Program for Water Management in Agriculture) has agreed to do a research project in association with UAS, Dharwad on command area of Thungabhadra and Upper Krishna project which irrigates North Karnataka districts of Raichur, Bellary and Gulbarga. The objective of this project is to increase the water usage efficiency and to educate the farmers about better irrigation methods.

Going forward, many more projects will be executed in different areas of agriculture which will help farmers to reduce input cost and increase the productivity for better profits.

Train of Thought.....

I spent last weekend, in my hometown, the inundated coastal capital of Tamil Nadu, the land of enduring heritage. This epithetic phrase describing the state of my birth managed to catch my eye, when I was traveling alone on a day train to Chennai. I have seldom traveled on a day train, and alone, never. But, there are certain gains that traveling long distance on a train can provide. For instance, you have countless seconds to reflect upon your life. And then, if you are not the kind to feel uncomfortable about staring at your fellow passengers, and have absolutely no qualms at all about eavesdropping into the strains of conversation that come wafting through the confined atmosphere of the air-conditioned coach, then there’s a world of entertainment in store for you. The coach was half empty with just one person per each three-seater. There was this phirangi passenger who was indianised enough to choose “The Hindu” over the “The Times of India”, and got into my better books by this act of prudent discretion. Then there was this other person, tall and well built, so tall that I can now recollect the buttons of his shirt better than his face *. He boarded the train at Bangalore Cantonment and was such a nervous wreck by then, that he gulped down 1 liter of water in a fraction of a second. Jittery though, his maneuvers were swift enough to produce two more bottles of equal volume from his wondrously spacious backpack. This person too, got into my good books, by virtue of his preparedness**. From now on, I will refer to them as Messer’s Desi Foreigner (D.F) and Super Hyper (S.H) respectively. S.H was so vertically endowed that he was having a tough time, trying to ape my dexterity in fitting myself into a cozy position and dozing off. His long legs kept hitting the tea-tray, and I could feel the ripples of jealousy emanating from the other end of the coach. Self-satisfied at my upper hand, I presently slipped into a pleasant siesta. Meanwhile, D.F was poring over each ever printed space of The Hindu, dated December 9,2005, printed at Bangalore, India. Till about mid-noon, D.F was kept occupied by the stories that The Hindu published, S.H by his hyper active antics and futile fight with the tea-tray, and yours truly, by day dreams accompanied by “Strings” strumming “Duur” through the walkman. About mid-noon, S.H and D.F had some how struck a rapport at the restroom, and came storming into the coach, actively engaged in an animated conversation. Weird is the modus operandi which men use to make acquaintances. We, womenfolk would never comprehend the stratagem that unfolds in a restroom, or over a puff of fag.
My eavesdropping instincts aroused by this flurry of activity in the sonic realm, began focusing on just this dialogue, filtering out the household chatter of the old couple behind me. I happened to gather that D.F was a traveler of sorts, attracted by the mystic east, exploring Japan, the Far East and now India in search of the truths of life and beyond. He was going to Chennai for some event organized by Jiddu Krishnamurthy (J.K) foundation, and was concerned about the Fanoos stirring gruel in the Bay of Bengal. S.H, happened to be a I.T professional, who had traveled the west, on account of “On-Site” trips and was very much a Chennaiite in his phony accent. The conversation took a philosophical bend, when S.H pronounced that “If you have to endure the cyclone, you will have to, whether its close to Chennai or Nagapattinam”.. They went on to discuss about science, pseudo science, metaphysical fields, their equations, Japanese philosophy, The Shiva lingam, its significance, The form of Nataraja.. so on and so forth.. What made it compelling to listen to was that D.F was arguing on the side of metaphysics and spirituality while S.H was insisting on the power of science.. S.H got agitated at points, as all Chennai ites do when they argue, and D.F had to patiently pull him back on track with a demure “Lets discuss one thing at a time”.. Yours truly, had to lie low in the seat, ears conked up like two tiny antennae, to avoid being heard chuckling.. It was first-class entertainment, till this happened…

S.H: “Man hasn’t changed since his conception. The basic genome remains the same. Science has ample proof to this”.
D.F: (Blank)
Yours truly: (Stifling a giggle, mutters) “These phirangis look really blank when they are blank; their white skin looks bleached…at least we can pretend to be thinking of the next law of gravity.”
D.F: (Still Blank)
S.H: (Triumphant) “ Science and argument can prove or disprove anything”. “If it isn’t capable of that, then it is pseudo-science”.
D.F: (Still Blank)
Yours truly: (Thumping a fist in the air) “Now come on D.F, buck up, this has to be countered...”
D.F: (The light returning to his eyes, says in all bluntness) “I don’t believe that”
Yours truly: (Turning Back) Heeeehhhaaa hheeee haaaa heee haaa.. (Girls can giggle at anything)
D.F and S.H : (Glare in unison).
Yours truly: (Turning red, rushes out to the restroom).
Curtains Down.
After this fiasco, I dutifully shifted from the aisle seat, and started looking out of the window. The train was in Tamil Nadu, and for a change, bridges here seemed to serve a purpose, the ravines and rivulets actually carrying water. The recent rains had caused a sudden spurt of greenery and window presented a verdant panorama. It was twilight, and the setting sun, was bidding a goodbye to the flora. They were raising their heads in turn as a last salute to the provider of nourishment and life. As the train swept past the wilderness, paddy fields came into view. Flooded beyond recognition by the cyclone’s fury, head-heavy rice plants were floating as debris in rain water. Farmers working in the not-so-affected fileds, while those in the mini-lakes sitting over the now useless bunds with drooping heads, and heavy heart. “Why, oh lord, why this injustice..” Wanted to lash out at humanity.. “When the plants can thank and reverie their nourisher, why not we”.. Every walk of life thrives on the sweat of these men, and yet they suffer.. Every body’s job ultimately earns money.. Money to feed your mouth, money to satiate your gluttony, while the one who actually toils to feed your tummy, is driven to commit suicide.. Where would you earn your bread when there is no bread to sell??
I heard S.H harping “India isn’t like before, lots of foreign investment is flowing in, the economy is becoming very very techno-dependent”… I felt a white anger seething under my skin… why are we hell-bent on getting rid of the agro-based tag?? Is it an albatross strung around the country’s neck?? If all of us want a white collar job, refuse to put our feet into the muddy fields, what use would all the gold as foreign exchange be of?? Why do farming families migrate to the cities, why is there a mass exodus?? Why cant a farmer go to sleep peacefully at night, if his son happens to show interest in pursuing his profession?? Their livelihood is inherently vulnerable to the hands of fate and the whims of the skies. Why doesn’t anyone even bother to alleviate their burden, modernize their processes, and improve their lot?? Why is so much invested in Six Sigma, Lean management, and process enhancements when people have to bleed their lives to feed you?
Experimenting entrepreneurs are devising ways to tap the rural market for mobile phones.. The Government is trying to regulate the profit the corporates would make by exploiting the exploited.. Why did we stop with the Green revolution and the white revolution.. why didn’t we progress beyond that??
While I was charged up with such thoughts, the old man behind me yelled “ Arey Baarissss..” in typically accented Hindi.. It was drizzling outside.. I had imagined the wet sight was due to the impotent tears that could ve possibly welled up in my eyes at the plight of the bread-breeders of the nation…
S.H and D.F were exchanging phone numbers and e-mail ids.. S.H was suggesting some books on http://www.amazon.com/ to D.F. D.F was sincerely noting them down. D.F saying something about he being a zoologist and his research in the Savanaahs.. S.H using the chance to refresh his high school geography…
Yours truly calling up her daddy, asking whether he had reached the railway station to receive her, giving minute by minute updates on her location as the train approached Chennai.. The smells of the city obliterating the perfume of the villages left behind.. D.F and S.H back to discussing the rain.., S.H advising D.F to postpone his return journey in case there are floods.. Yours truly getting nervous and calling up daddy dear to hear of Fanoos’ fancies.. The train reaches Chennai.
And Life goes on…

Notes:
* : Not that its worth mentioning, but I happen to be just short of being a midget. But that is an achievement when your mom is less than 5 feet and your dad just above five.
**: was appreciating S.H’s preparedness, cos I myself forgot to bring water from home and had to be finicky*** about the bottled water that Southern Railways provided.
***: finicky ness courtesy: The Tamil movie Anniyan.

A Price-less gift for my priceless little girl

The recent policy of the CBSE to provide free education for 'single girl child' , in all affiliated schools across the country has once again proved to the world that India is condemned to have buffoons at the helm of affairs.

The rationale behind the policy being imbibed in the affiliation requirements is evanescent. Practical issues have not been considered, and the whole imbroglio appears to be the brainchild of well-bred high socialite kitty party banter. Educationists need not be theorists always; issues in the implementation of such ludicrous legislation should have struck any sane human.

Rather than waive the tuition fees et al, the number of scholarships could have been increased. If the girl child need be given any privilege, then some these aids could be made female-specific. A complete waiver with no reason except that of gender seems ridiculous. The glaring fallacy in this amendment is that girls with siblings, of the female gender get a 50% waiver; where as ones blessed with no sisters get a 100% discount. Is this a well-disguised population control measure? If so, it seems mighty contrived and round about.

Being a single girl child myself and having done 14 years of schooling under the Central Board, I very well know how many of the ‘single girl children’ in the flourishing private schools are actually in need of such a concession. If I may make an approximate demographic statement, I would say that most of the ‘single girl children’ are from pretty affluent families. If that is not the case, at least they are from families who don’t mind investing in their only daughter’s education.

Any educational aid, world over, since time immemorial has been on a “merit” or “means” basis. If at all, there are some regions in the nation where education for the girl child needs a fillip badly, then policy that is geographically specific ought to be framed. It would also be prudent to implement provisions conducive to female students in aided and government schools which the statistics show have more of needy students, and are more wide spread in the rural areas. No such thought seems to have gone behind this utopian drive.

Popular schools that cater to the bourgeoisie of the society are now worried about the reduction in their income, and are planning to shift to other boards to maintain their cash flow. The chief cause of their anxiety is that they would now lose out on the creamy, ‘can-afford-to-pay-our-daylight-robbery-fees’ students, and the dilution or rather corruption of their “class” students by the “government school” ones. A reasonable apprehension, if quality is to be maintained, don’t you think?
I am the daughter of a CBSE school teacher. A light tea time discussion with my mom, threw light on some of the funny aspects of the new directive. One very logical concern of mine is, if a girl child is single now, how long will she be single? What if the heavens destine her with a little baby brother or sister? Would she curse her luck, and pray for a “baby-for-puppy” exchange offer next festival season? Some of my school time buddies had siblings when they were in middle school, very much into their teens. Would it be so that they shun their parents’ bundle of joy for usurping their free education? One is left absolutely clueless when faced with such doubts.
My mom put forth a very interesting situation she encountered when she was listing down the names of the ‘single girl’ students in her class.
This particular student was the only child for her mother, who happens to have married her father after the demise of his first wife. The first wife had left in her wake, two issues who now become her half-siblings. This pupil bowled my mom a googly, “Ma’m, I am a single girl for my mother, but I am not a single girl for my father, am I eligible for this scholarship or not?” Doesn’t it sound more like one of the Vikram-Vethal riddles?

The Policy-makers sitting snug in their discussion rooms, sipping chaai and nibbling biscuits, what is your answer to her question?