Wait Weary ...

The things that make me happy are few
And dont occur ordinarily
Thus the wise say there is nothing new
That i am happy ever so rarely!

Damn the Laws of Probability..
- L.B

The Chasm.

Last week, I read a short story, “The Squabble” by Gogol. The central theme is about a petty quarrel between two of Mirgorod (a hamlet in Little Russia) ‘s landowners, who were thick friends. The squabble matures into a long drawn legal battle that devours the whole of their lifetimes. This set me wondering on how the best of friends can fall apart on the most trivial of matters. That’s when this conversation came wafting through the channels of my mind.

S: I don’t like him anymore. He’s developed an attitude.
Voice: The feeling is mutual, my dear.
S: That’s why I don’t like him at all. He gives me the cold shoulder.
Voice: Your behavior towards him would have frozen him to be a preserved specimen till 3010 A.D.
S: I just react. I don’t initiate. And that’s another reason I loathe him.
Voice: For all that you might know, he may have the same thoughts about you.
S: How can he? After knowing me for so long?? I feel disillusioned. He is simply not worth my friendship.
Voice: A smile can shorten miles.
S: I smiled, he didn’t return it. I hate him now.
Voice: You walked past him, without saying even a Hi the other day.
S: (silent)
Voice: Why don’t you talk it out?
S: He doesn’t deserve it. Anyways who cares…
Voice: You do..
S: Get Lost, will you? I ll stuff a barrel down your throat if you don’t shut up this instant!
Voice :( Sighs, and disappears)
S: (Sulks. Misses the voice). How I hate voices in the head!!



P.S: No points for guessing who S is.

A simple wish

If only I could stop time,
grab my long lost 40 winks,
and set the seconds ticking again...
Sigh!

-Sleepy and Lunatic Bard.

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

Thus spaketh my pen.

A fortnight back, one of my room mates came up with a writing assignment for me. Not that my prowess with the written word is known across the seven gutters of Banglore, but simply because she had no time to write it herself ( And I am not going to mention the fact that I have zillions of seconds at my disposal). Some one she knew had come over and narrated an incident that had happened to him/her (In my excitement at getting my first writing offer, I totally missed verifying this vital information.). He/She had wanted my roomie to write a story on that for him/her. And he/she was sitting on my roomie’s head to get it done. And he/she happened to be someone she couldn’t dismiss off with the choicest of expletives. So the buck was passed on to a more than willing victim..

I did it with all gusto and enthusiasm and mailed it to her the very next day. And waited with bated breath for his/her feedback. And waited . And waited. I asked my room mate for any updates on my client’s (!!!) reaction as many times as basic roomies decorum permitted. She gave me her approval of the same, but to me the end customer’s satisfaction is salvation.

As Providence may have it, I never got to experience my Nirvana. But still the desire to be pelted with rotten eggs and tomatoes is too strong for extraordinary immortals (if you are wondering who on earth could this be, its none other than Yours Humbly..) to desist. So I present to you, Ladies and Gentlemen, “With mouth Wide open….” the first story I was commissioned to write. Do be gracious and leave your comments/stinkers/roses and anything else in my blog.

“With mouth Wide open….”

“Hurry, its getting late!”, she hollered across the sea of neat cubicles. “We will miss the last cab home, if you are gonna amble any longer”…
He sighed. Muttering under his breath something unintelligible about all women being nags, he tried to hasten his steps.
Pretty soon, they were seated in a milk-white Indica, cruising through the traffic-free night streets of India’s IT capital.
She lowered the window glass to let in the cool evening breeze. He kept stealing glances at her as the wind ruffled up her long locks.. “Man, doesn’t she look pretty when she puts her face out like a puppy?”… He smiled to himself at this simile.. He had never been good with words..

“Get out !!, Out , I Say!!”… He was jolted back to reality with the cacophony that was raging outside… She was protesting wildly, at someone who was rapping at her window… He hadn’t realized she had drawn up the glass.. The cab had stopped and the driver was standing outside, his face reflecting all signs of impending calamity. A cop was tapping his cane at the window, ordering them to get out of the cab. He hushed her.. “Listen, lets do as he says.. get down”. She calmed down a little, seeing him take charge..

“Where are you guys headed?”, asked the cop.. His eyes were unfriendly, and his slurry speech disguised something sinister.. He could see the fear evident in her eyes.. He himself was slightly unnerved by the sudden interruption, notwithstanding the ungodly hour and the desolate setting.
The driver explained that he was from their company and was dropping them home after the night’s shift.
“Whom are you kidding, you bumble headed moron?” . “Don’t you dare to imagine that I am a half baked dim-wit!!” bellowed the beast in Khaki.
“ No, sir, but sir..” , the driver was groping for the right words to say..
“Open your mouth”, ordered the cop.
“Do as he says”, she screamed, by now a bundle of nerves. He couldn’t help stifling a chuckle, seeing her use his logic.
The driver did as he was ordered to. “Filling yourself with cheap arrack, and driving through the city at late hours , eh? , Wait till I lock you up, and break your bones..”., the cop held up the sobriety meter near the driver’s open mouth.
Silence. Nothing happened.

“Blasted meter, doesn’t work when we want it to”, he shook it with all his might, “Hmmm, open again”.. The driver opened his mouth wide, exposing 32 nicotine stained teeth with all grace. She squirmed at the unearthly sight by the light of the street lamp.
“God-forsaken meter, what s wrong with it tonight?” The cop hit the breath analyzer hard on his fist and held it up near his own mouth.
“BEEP, BEEP, BEEP”, the meter started to beep through the silent night, casting an eerie red light as it glowed.. The cop was flabbergasted. He shook it hard and held it up again,
“BEEP, BEEP, BEEP”.. He burst out laughing.. She shushed him with a fierce hiss..


“What is goin on here?” , An official looking plainclothes man approached the party of four. “Nothing , sir”, “Just the usual checks” , mumbled the flustered cop…

“No, Sir, we were stopped rudely by this constable…..”. The driver somehow found his tongue and narrated the whole outrageous incident at breakneck speed.
The man in mufti heard him out.
“ Hold that meter up to your mouth” , he ordered the constable,. “BEEP,BEEP,BEEP”… The senior cop turned to them, “Sorry, Sir, I apologise for the mistake” “You can leave now , Ma’m”..”Sorry for the trouble”.

“Write down the registration number of the vehicle and you can leave”, he told the driver.

She was too distraught to speak another word, He too kept to himself for the rest of the journey.

The next morning, at work..
She comes up to his cubicle, “Hey, did you read the paper this morning?”.. “No, I didn’t, was in a bit of a hurry.., why anything sensational?” … “Constable suspended for getting drunk on duty and bullying public”.. ..

Both of them chorus a giggle mixed with relief and mirth.. “Life ain’t unjust, after all”,…

The Interpreter

Come March, the mercury soars. Having lost its Garden-city status, Bangalore is no exception to the searing heat that rules the roost in the South of India.
The rising temperature might keep us humans indoors, but the reptilian community of the city seems to find it prudent to venture out. Discomfited by the heat, one particular denizen of our house’s hidden nooks, sought refuge in our bathroom door one fine Friday night.
This lizard, henceforth referred to as liz, (for we* have christened it Elizabeth if female and Lister if male.. And we have absolutely no desire to find out which one is appropriate.) became the sole object of our attention that weekend.

Lizzie Day 1:

Soliloquist comes back to the room late, after a hard day at work (!!) to find S.J cocooned under her quilt. S.J had left work earlier that evening with a fever fiercely competing with the ambient temperature. Soliloquist wants to wash her face and hit the sack, so stumbles her way to the bathroom to be rudely shocked by Lady Liz ( I am assuming that its female, cos I stay in a women’s P.G**) relaxing on the anvil.
Soliloquist is petrified in her tracks, and turns to S.J for help. S.J mumbles something beyond Soliloquist’s intelligence in her infirmed state. Soliloquist tries all sort of antics to scare Liz. Liz is unmoving. Soliloquist calls her chum for advice. He raises her fears by saying that Liz might ve been dead for hours.
Soliloquist turns desperate. Goes down to the landlady for help and assistance. Manages to communicate her anxiety in her broken kanmil ( kannada+tamil). Aunty (that’s what we call her) comes up armed with a broom and prods Liz. Liz spurs to action and moves behind the curtains. Soliloquist is happy . Washes face and snores away to oblivion.

Lizzie Day 2:

Soliloquist plans to work on weekends to make up her lethargy during the week. Double checks for Liz along the bathroom door’s perimeter and steps in the bathroom, at ungodly hours ( i.e on Saturday terms). And scoots off to work. S.J is still asleep under her over-sized quilt.
Soliloquist returns back that evening to find S.J staring at the ceiling lost in thought. Soliloquist surprised to see S.J so pensive and follows her gaze to end up staring in unison at the unfair reptilian beauty of Lady Liz. Soliloquist gets into action on a war footing. Calls an urgent counsel of all her able P.G mates. Everyone seems to have a lizzie tale of their own. An entire family seems to be residing in parallel for free.

End of meeting: Soliloquist more alarmed than usual, S.J looking unusually meditative.


That night.......:


S.J and Soliloquist follow the movements of Lady Liz like shadows. They get on the defensive. (Offense requiring more courage than both of them could ever muster).
The beds are moved to the center of the room. Soliloquist fights valiantly with sleep, having gotten up so early on a Saturday morning. The ever resourceful S.J picks up and M & B from V.N’s *** bed and is soon lost in pinky mush. Soliloquist tries to ape S.J and picks another M & B ( Both our stocks of books being too strenuous to be read in a sleepy state) . Soliloquist soon learns her lesson, the pink and red getting to her head, drops the book and resigns to her fate of keeping watch. Soliloquist is so impressed with herself, she even toys with the idea of being a sentry as if her profession gets any more unrewarding than it already is. A summer storm brews outside, with thunder clapping in applause to Soliloquist’s dedication.
The clock strikes one. The lights go off. Cursing the wretched transformer, Soliloquist and S.J fumble around the menagerie of cosmetics to find the candle on the shelves. Soliloquist resumes her sentry watch, joined by S.J, now having finally given up on M&B owing to poor lighting. Neither talks. The silence speaks volumes. Liz holds them enthralled with her maneuvers. Liz goes and hides behind the lampshade . S.J and and Soliloquist in a quandary. They wait with concentration for Liz to emerge from her hiding. Some thing bright flickers….
AAAAaaaaaagh!!.. Soliloquist screams..
Aaaaaaagh!!! S.J Choruses after a slight phase delay.
S.J stops to think. Soliloquist continues her siren. S.J shakes some sense into Soliloquist. Soliloquist gapes in new found wonder at Edison’s inventions.. The lights have come back… Liz too, scared by the two sopranos wriggles off to some remote corner.. Soliloquist says her wise thing for the day (her quota of one wise thing for the day still being unused) “Out of sight, out of mind”. And slumps down in a heap to snore her lungs away. S.J, still skeptical, plods on with her M&B.

Lizzie Day 3:

Liz is nowhere to be seen. S.J and Solioquist rejoice and thank the heavens. The even celebrate by shopping (!!) in lizzie’s honor. To be better safe than sorry, they lodge a complaint with the landlord. To their dismay, they discover he is as scared as them when it comes to Lady Liz. But as a solace, he offers to send his 2 year old toddler , Madam P , who happens to be an expert exterminator, specializing in Lizards. Soliloquist and S.J stay downstairs for most of the evening watching a deluge of dumb shows on the tube.
S.J finally gathers the guts and goes upstairs. Soliloquist follows with Madam P tagging along, lured by the snacks that S.J stocks up in the room.

Soliloquist is struck with déjà vu. Soliloquist catches S.J in the same pensive posture as on Lizzie Day 2. Both of them turn to Madam P for deliverance, eyes filled with hope. Madam P, oblivious, starts with her usual chime “S.J, Chips Chips chips..” “Chips, give me”..(A literal translation that she makes from kannada, to enhance our comprehension, her own and definitely not mine).

A diabolical gleam flashes across S.J’s eyes. “Madam P, you chase that lizzie away and I shall give your Chips chips chips..”. Soliloquist is bowled over by this master stroke.. Soliloquist filled with awe and admiration for S.J. Makes a mental note to pick up some pointers from S.J sometime later. Madam P marches across the beds to Lady Liz’s lair. And shrieks in her baby voice “Palli, Go”.. She repeats her cry with more vehemence and swings both her tiny arms to emphasize her point. And Lo!, , Palli (Lizard in kannada) obeys her command and does her bidding…

S.J and soliloquist heave a sigh of relief. Soliloquist utters her wise thing for the day “ Ahh, now I get it.. the Lizard was a kannada speaking one.. It didn’t understand our language.. All we needed was an interpreter”. They handsomely reward Madam P for her services, with “Chips, chips, chips”…




***** :
We*: S.J and Soliloquist
P.G**: Paying Guests
V.N***: Another roomie, who is fond of M&Bs and who was out of town for the weekend.

****: the astrixes are part of a novel strategy to reduce my talking in brackets.

A Kiss

Shrieking Still
Dark Night
Trial of will
And all his might

Frantic paces
Burning torture
His mind races
Heart in rapture

The stray twirl
The soft glance
Set him in a whirl
An eternal trance

She lay awake
Beads of sweat
A lot at stake
Desires whet

This is the moment
Of gain and loss
No time to lament
Fate’s own toss

He waits
She alights
Wolf cries
In the woods

He calls
She responds
A kiss






“Goodnight Papa”
She lies on her bed
A kiss
On her forehead

Dreams caress
Palls of slumber
Ruffling tresses
Sleep drowns her




The silent night
Wolf cries
In the woods
And he waits……

- 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.

Dental Drama (Trauma?!!)

Let me begin with by saying, that when I plan to fail, I really don’t fail to plan. Having led a directionless life in the double decade and odd period for which I had known Mother Earth, it so appeared to me that it was high time I took charge of things. I gave my resolve a jump-start by planning a lot many things for the 4 days long holiday that I was to spend at home. High on the itinerary was an appointment with the dentist, which had been long pending. It was a follow-up visit for the treatment necessitated by an accident coupla months back. (If anyone cares to know about the mishap, do rummage through my earlier posts, to find an account filled with all the more-than-necessary-for-the-world-to-exist details. (Frankly speaking, I myself don’t have the patience to do so... (But that’s a secret between you and me ... (mums the word! (and yes, I am back to writing within brackets))))).
Now, if you are out of the brackets finally, let me come to the point. This follow up visit turned out to be blessed with immense procreation of its own kind. The follow up visit was followed by a follow-up for the follow-up visit, and that was succeeded by its own follow-up. The crux of the issue is, that I had complained of some faint pain in one of my affected teeth, (that was just to sound serious, because I really didn’t have any big complaints to report.) which made the dentist take an X-ray and discover a crack in some bone, which had stubbornly refused to heal. This induced the proliferation follow-ups, each one being more ridiculous than the previous, the nurse forgetting to replenish the stock of some pain-alleviating drug during one of those, and making things difficult for the rest of humanity. My mother, who would be waiting outside, would give a perpetually woeful look each time, once going to the extent of forcing the Doc explain the rationale behind all the excavation work going on inside my oral cavity. It is a very funny thing, finding yourself in a hapless condition, jaw wide open, all sorts of heinous instruments flashing their malicious metallic grin, the cacophony of the drill, and you left to salivate like a dog, with a vacuum pump sucking out the fluid and leaving u, not high but dry. The pain and the ignominy reach their pinnacle, only when the Doc says: “That’s it, we just have 10 more minutes to go, its going to hurt just a little bit”.. In this respect, the Dentist resembles God, timing the hardest blow perfectly when our spirits are soaring sky high...
I still have one more follow-up to go, but that has been safely pushed into the middle of February. But till then, whether or not I like it, mush is going to be my mantra. Perhaps, not for the heart, but unavoidably for the mouth.
Something out of my 10th Standard English book just floated into my head – a poem by
Ogden Nash. I have pasted it below. In case, you liked my post so far, you might like the poem as well, for our tastes may concur. Even if you didn’t, read it anyway, for all of us have teeth, and have to visit the one-who-must-be-feared someday or the other.




***This Is Going T o Hurt Just A Little Bit***

One thing I like less than most things is sitting in a dentist chair with
my mouth wide open.

And that I will never have to do it again is a hope that I am against
hope hopen.

Because some tortures are physical and some are mental,
But the one that is both is dental.
It is hard to be self-possessed
With your jaw digging into your chest.

So hard to retain your calm
When your fingernails are making serious alterations in your life line
or love line or some other important line in your palm;

So hard to give your usual effect of cheery benignity
When you know your position is one of the two or three in life
most lacking in dignity.

And your mouth is like a section of road that is being worked on.
And it is all cluttered up with stone crushers and concrete mixers and
drills and steam rollers and there isn't a nerve in your head that
you aren't being irked on.

Oh, some people are unfortunate enough to be strung up by thumbs.
And others have things done to their gums,
And your teeth are supposed to be being polished,
But you have reason to believe they are being demolished.
And the circumstance that adds most to your terror
Is that it's all done with a mirror,
Because the dentist may be a bear, or as the Romans used to say, only
they were referring to a feminine bear when they said it, an ursa,
But all the same how can you be sure when he takes his crowbar in one
hand and mirror in the other he won't get mixed up, the way you
do when you try to tie a bow tie with the aid of a mirror, and forget
that left is right and vice versa?

And then at last he says That will be all; but it isn't because he then
coats your mouth from cellar to roof
With something that I suspect is generally used to put a shine on a
horse's hoof.

And you totter to your feet and think. Well it's all over now and after
all it was only this once.
And he says come back in three monce.

And this, O Fate, is I think the most vicious circle that thou ever sentest,
That Man has to go continually to the dentist to keep his teeth in good
condition when the chief reason he wants his teeth in good condition
is so that he won't have to go to the dentist.

Written By: OGDEN NASH.

Mindsfull....

Lots of things happening in a short span of time can actually leave you overwhelmed.
It’s barely a fortnight into the New Year, and I have already been a part of a lot many significant events in my life. But one common thing about all my experiences in the last couple of weeks is that I have been a passive participant, though I have had privy to the necessary details, I have never been the protagonist.
I was in touch with a close friend who suffered a tragic loss, till the moment the sad news reached him. This did have a profound effect on me, on a subconscious level as well. It set me thinking on lines that left me numb, bereft of any further thought. If that was ebb, the crest of the wave soon came to wash me over with a new kind of joy. The sound of wedding bells chimed in happiness; when I came to know that one of my close friends is gonna tie the knot. Having seen her struggle through life’s hardships, this ray of sunlight in her life also bathed me in a new found moonlight. For the first time, I could see the reflection of another person’s sorrow and joy in my moods.
The following days brought in incidents of separation. Two of my closest roomies, had to leave on assignments overseas. Though I had known about this weeks earlier, the actual impact of it sank in only when she had left.. To be precise, only when one of my other roomies was moved to tears by the separation, did I realize that I too would miss her... Her idiosyncrasies, and all the late night chats, the games of badminton in a garbage dump, roaming the streets of Bangalore… And proving time and again how gullible I am, by buying her crazy stories… I didn’t know why, but I wanted to spend as much time with her before she left.
A year in a PG accommodation, has conditioned me to get along with people coming and people going.. There were times when I grew really close to people that I would wish their trip gets cancelled cos of some last minute mishap... But this time over, I felt a new kind of reaction. I didn’t experience that excruciating pain of longing, that white angst against the cruel hand of fate.. All I felt was a need to make best of what I had - the few moments left before the flight. I knew it was a great plus to her career, and I wholeheartedly wished all the best for her. And at the airport, when she hugged me, I really felt a weird sense of completeness, an uncanny fulfillment, which said my life has been embellished by this wonderful person, and wished that the feeling was mutual.
One separation followed the other, one more person with whom I felt close, also left, though this time, I wasn’t there in station when she flew, and Heaven be praised, she is going for a shorter term.
My interaction with humanity, elsewhere, also provided me with some enlightening insights. I started seeing things in a new light, perceiving dimensions which were erstwhile invisible. People removed layers of their masks revealing hitherto unseen countenances… Some hideous, some beautiful…Leaving me with lots of thoughts to mull over…. Besides giving a reason to expect new things from the same old faces..
A multitude of emotions and a myriad of thoughts can either cause complete clamor
, or can leave one in a state of unadulterated calm. Till now, I have had the joy of experiencing the latter. Hope the Equanimity prevails.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Forget what is bitter
Make the future sweeter
Take the best of the past
So pleasures may last
Keep your dreams high
Let them scale the sky
Taste the joy of victories
& the wisdom of failures
Cherish the moments
That you have lived
Cherish the moments
You still have to live!!

Happy New Year 2006!

Luv and Cheers,
The Lunatic Bard

At the end of Pandora’s Box….

I attended the mid night mass at St.Patrick’s, Bangalore, on Christmas Eve. Amidst the many words that kept me awake in those wee-hours, there was one that stood out … Love, compassion, duty, and so on and so forth…It set me thinking on these lines … One quality that mankind has been blessed with is Hope.
Hope holds the spirit of humanity up like a beacon, engulfing every drained soul with an invigorating radiance. Hope makes living a meaningful exercise. From the day we set foot on this earth, each one of us faces the inevitable- Death. Then what is it that gets us going? What is it that makes us dream, aspire, laugh and cry despite the cognizance of an end that’s just around the corner? What is it that makes mankind resurrect itself from the embers of destruction and rise like a Phoenix just to face another bout of calamity?

Everything must die, plants, insects, humans, civilizations, cultures, nations, earth, moon , The Sun and one day the Universe…Then why do we look ahead of our times, plan for a future thatmay not be?? What is it that makes Existence as certain as Death?? Its hope… Hope that a tomorrow exists even though today is uncertain. A hope that what goes up must come down. A light that flickers at the end of the tunnel…. Hope makes man acknowledge his Creator, and his own Self…


My ode to Hope:

Lonely streets Beckon
Winding roads ahead
Burdens of the soul
Weigh me down
Tears die unshed

Invisible chains
Cut my flesh
With weary feet
I trudge along
Scars of the past
Rip open afresh
Their strident din
Drowning my song

Lost in the surreal
Groping in vain
For a foothold
My sanity faces
A fatal trial
Truth chimes in silence
When it goes untold

Drifting shreds of flotsam
Futile sifting in the wrecks
Sinking to the deeps, I am
An inconspicuous speck………………




Black shadowed by White
A flashing glimpse of paradise
I bathe in sublime delight
Of the Bliss that’s worth the price.

-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.

Shades of Similarity…

Buildings mushroom overnight in the IT capital of India. One such edifice was taking shape in the street where I live. The construction activity was in full swing, contract laborers being hired from the neighboring border villages. Temporary settlements had sprung up for accommodating these people and their families. Most of them speak a dialect of my mother tongue, Tamil, coming from the villages near Hosur, on the Karnataka – Tamil Nadu state border. Yearning to hear the twang of Tamil isn’t something strange when you live amidst people who either don’t speak the language or prefer the Anglican medium of the corporate world to express themselves. I generally satiate my hunger for my mother tongue by gaping at those who happen to speak it. Listening to a stray conversation in your mother tongue in an alien land, can be an exhilarating experience. That being a separate issue let me get to the point. These new tenements and their inhabitants presently revealed some very intriguing ironies. I have tried putting them down in a certain format...

1. Enjoy the great outdoors.. Barbeque bonanza.. Cook your cuisine in the open…

Read all this in one of the hoardings on the infamous Hosur road, forced to memorize them as a pastime in the no-one-can-escape-me jams. A nice way to plan a weekend to savor the world outside your cubicle...

That very evening I chanced upon my lingual compatriots cooking a delicious smelling kozhambu in an open pan on the streets, the scent of the boiling broth wafting through the chilly evening air, a heavenly delight... Urchins laying a dinner table, under the star spangled firmament... A teenage twosome having a moon light dinner… Who needs candle light to romanticize the air when the biggest candle in the Universe shines upon your loved one’s head...

2. Streak your hair, Great hair color for that great new look... Do away with dull boring black hair…

Had the kismet of following a hip young woman with copper streaked straight hair walking like a trapeze artist atop a high heeled shoe.. Another identical head bobs up and down beside her, with almost the same coloration.. Probably hued bronze instead of copper… Pestering our red riding hood, sorry red riding head, to adorn her locks with a few fragrant jasmines… Losing interest in the peddling and the rebuttals, I fixed my attention on the craniums of the two females.. The shorter form fascinated me, achieving the same hairdo at a lesser price.., in fact no price at all… it’s the lack of funds for hair care products, vis-à-vis a decent shampoo and some ounces of coconut oil that worked the magic… Hair dressers of the world should marvel at this master stroke woven by scarcity!!..

3. Work out.. Sweat your self out at the Gym.. For those great muscles.. Flex your biceps for the chicks to flock…

I have this habit of looking at my feet trying to count the cells of the cuticles when I walk alone on the street.. On one such occasion, I happened to look up… Was confronted with sight of three tall, dark well built men, in overalls smeared with distemper..

Was tempted to wolf whistle when they rolled up their sleeves to pick up a ladder…
Man, these guys get paid for working out!! Lucky souls!!.. Don’t have to dish out the bucks from their wallet for sweating their hearts out.. Don’t have to schedule and re-schedule work to fit the gym slot in… Glorious muscles are all in a day’s work for these fellas… What a perk to enjoy with your job…


Disclaimer:
My attempt at putting forth the paradox may have been slightly blunt and out of punch, because right now I am kind of grappling with a perennially pre-occupied mind.. Nevertheless as long as the ironies find their target audience, it is mission accomplished for me.

Just Think About It!!

What if we could read each other’s thoughts? Like the thought clouds that top people’s heads in comic strips... A scary and catastrophic line of thought… ahem... pun’s unintended. A funny prospective if taken in a lighter vein...

I was mulling over this after I gave the first conscious artificial smile of my life today. Saw someone and grinned heartily while muttering under my breath “what a jackass!!”...

The corporate world would be one hell of a circus, (not that it’s any better now...) if thought bubbles started emanating from everyone’s head. Cos the work place is where one encounters sweet caramel coated smiles as often as one inhales. And the probability of most of them being genuine is accurately zilch. Take for instance the silent skirmishes between the in-laws of a big family; all hell would break loose if thoughts were to buzz around like mosquitoes… Imagine the tradition worn cushion supported political discussions on coalition conundrums, if the criss-crossing thought arrows did make their mark, wouldn’t it mean chaos manifold, than what it already is?
Masters behind the camera have often toyed with this possibility, movies being made on men reading the thoughts of the fairer sex, and people being able to comprehend the language and thoughts of animals... Invariably they became being hard to resist rib ticklers.

I once had a conversation that was exhausting, literally and metaphorically, with a friend on how everyone’s thoughts travel in the form of waves. These metaphysical undulations send vibes about one’s personality even before the first words come out. The positive aura that surrounds someone, or the inexplicable prejudice you might harbor on someone else, all find a near plausible theorization in this.

There is one fable in ancient India that is an allusion to this hypothesis. There was once a righteous and just king who was of the habit of doing rounds of his Kingdom, masquerading as a commoner, in the shelter of the night. His wise and able minister unfailingly accompanied him on such nocturnal visits. On one such occasion, the King chanced upon a man sitting under a lamp post deep in thought. The King was troubled by incomprehensible ill-feelings for this complete stranger. Disturbed, he confided in his minister. The minister bought some time from the King to investigate into the matter.
The very next day, the minister put forth a proposal to buy a lot of sandalwood furniture and other articles of sandalwood for the Palace. Though baffled by this sudden scheme, the King approved it, out of his inane trust in his aide. A month or so passed. The King again chanced to run into this strange man on his nightly visit. This time, he had equally perplexing tender thoughts about him. Absolutely confused, he sought his minister’s counsel. The minister’s explanation was thus:
“My Lord, the stranger who had vexed you to such an extent, is a sandalwood merchant. When you first set your eyes upon him, his business was in doldrums. He was ardently praying that you should die, so that he could sell his ware to cremate your body. Who else, in this nation would use sandalwood for cremation?? So naturally, his negative thoughts sowed seeds of hatred in your mind. I investigated this, and placed that bulk order for sandal wood in his shop for all the articles we had planned to procure, for the Palace. This caused his business to boost, and not a day passed in this man’s life without singing your praises, and wishing for your longevity, so that he would get more orders from the Palace. And that explains the pleasant thoughts that filled your mind when you chanced upon him the second time.”

Our thoughts are not only ours to claim. They influence our lives as well as others. Agreeable feelings and thoughts not only guarantee our peace, but also make a better place of our surroundings.

My once alarmingly long hate list has now become almost vacant, once I started applying this tenet to my daily life. It does take time and patience to deploy such an utopian stratagem, but it is definitely worth the pains in the long run.

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?