Aamad

The bowl

2011-12-01T01:23:00.001-08:00

Walking, running and then walking again. Men on the streets were looking at the willowy figure with interest. Her dress of some soft material looked like hugging her without much interest. From faraway she looked like a lump of cloth floating on the street.

She was out of breath. She leaned on the banister nearby. It seemed like she was trying to gulp down all the air around her. She looked up and closed her eyes. “Isn’t she the prettiest thing you have seen”. “Ohh yes, certainly”. “Why don’t you just leave me alone and go to your fan club outside”? “What a pretty dress, you do have a great taste”.

She opened her eyes and started walking ahead. Fast, as if running away from someone. Or else running towards something. There was a buzzing in her ears. Disjointed sentences, random words, they seemed to be filling her mind and heart. A bubble was blowing itself at an alarming rate in her chest. It restricted her flow of breath. She wanted it to burst. Burst away into nothingness and dissolve all that it held. But it wouldn’t, it kept getting stuck at her throat. Making her head spin.

Suddenly her slippers gave way to hard concrete road. She looked down and smiled for the first time that day. She kicked away her slippers and started walking barefoot. The more she walked, the calmer she felt.

She stepped in a shop. It was full of old trinkets. The kind that have value because they have survived in this perishable world. She liked to look at them. The history they held within their inanimate selves. The way they told a story without the bias of right or wrong, true or false. Eternal listeners are what she thought they were. They didn’t care in whose hands they went. What they cared was to carry their stories safely in their bosom.

She picked up an old bowl. Encrusted with symbols and made of copper. It fit the shape of her small hand. “Ohh your taste is as exquisite like yourself Madame,” said a voice from behind her. She turned and saw a bald head and an expensive suit. He smiled and years of practice made her return it. However, her new resolution made her drop her mask of grace immediately.

“What is this”? “Ohh this is a pre-historic bowl. Excavated sometime back from the depths of a long lost civilization in Gujarat. I was told that it belonged to a King. Notice the symbols? Well they depict a war and the king winning it”. He finished impressively.

“It’s beautiful,” she said in a hushed voice. “Isn’t it now? Much like you,” he said in a flattering voice. “Should I then be locked up in a glass box to be looked at”? “Well certainly not. Although, you will definitely be a piece to appreciate,” he said smiling. “A piece to appreciate,” she murmured under her breath.

She held the bowl for some more time and then suddenly asked, “How much is it for?” “For you my lady only 800 dollars,” he said silkily. “800 dollars,” she repeated. “Only 800 dollars,” he smiled encouragingly. She looked at him and then at the bowl, smiled and pulled out a small bundle of notes from the pocket of her dress. The man counted the money, bowed deeply and started to take the bowl from her hand. “No need to pack it. I will take it like this,” she said.

She walked out of the shop and looked at the strong sun. It made her eyes sting but dulled the voice in her head, “Walking in the sun without an umbrella!!! Next you will be walking barefoot in the mud!” She opened her hair and let it loose. Walking with renewed energy she rushed towards the sea. There it was, blue as ever and frothing at the mouth. She looked at it for second and the flung the bowl in it with all her might. She saw the bowl float for a while and then a wave swallowed it full. She let out a shriek of delight and felt her eyes burning. Sitting there on the bridge, she cried her eyes out.

2011-10-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

This book is my first attempt in any kind of book writing. I have tried here to cover all the important aspects of film making, though I may have missed certain things. In that case, I sincerely apologise for my shortcomings.
Also, please don't expect to find "10 easy and quick ways" to make it to the film industry. Of course I have suggested ways and means that could help you in your endeavor. But the adventure is yours. This is a handy resource book from where you can draw information and inspiration.
In the process of writing this book I had the privilege to meet some truly amazing personalities. I have poured out all the inspiration and learning that I could gather from these encounters. Personally, I am of the opinion that experiences and stories are better teachers that how-to-do-lists. This book is a combination of both. Use it to your advantage.
I have also writen about some of the important but lesser known areas of the film industry. You could consider niche professions as well.
Lastly, all I would request of those reading this book is to enjoy it and give this new author a chance.

Rama ki Kahani

2011-05-18T04:02:00.000-07:00

Raat ka rang bahat gehra ho gaya tha. Uske kaanon tak awaz pohachkar fir lot gayi. Kahmoshi ki chadar usne kuch kaskar apne par lapet li thi. Inn parbaton ke beech woh khud ko yun hi kai baar kho diya karti thi. "Aari karamjali sunn na rahi. Chinghad chinghad ke gala fatne aaya mera. Yahan mui bethi taare taak rahi hai," amma hafte hue usse boli. Amma bada chid jaya karti thi usse yun betha dekhkar. Uski nazaron main itna sukoon dekhkar jee jal jata tha unka. Itni takllefon ka dhua jo unki aankhon main din raat pani bhar diya karta tha, Rama ko kabhi uss aag ki lapte chuti na thi. Jane kahan se usne itni saari muskurahaton ka pitara apne andar sama rakha tha. Kisi se churate na banta. Uski iss badhawasi ko dekhkar kai peer fakir bhi bulaye. Babaon se kai taviz banwaye. Ki kahin kisi bhoot pret ka saaya toh nahi ladoo par. Magar kissi ka koi asar hi nahi hota nigodi par. Din bhar daat khakar fir inn pahadon ke beech aakar beth jati. Jaise inse inki khamoshi udhar lekar khud main bhar leti ho.

Rama ne mud kar amma ki oor dekha aur muskurayi. "Aab bethi bethi muskurati hi rahegi ya ghar chalegi. Khana parosane ke liye naukrani aayegi?" anma ne jhlakar kaha. Rama uthi aur amma ke saath chalne lagi. Raaste bhar amma badbadati rahi aur Rama muskurati. Ghar pohackar seedha chule ke pass jakar beth gayi. Baba lete lete beedi pukh rahe the. Amma ne khane ko bulaya toh aakar beth gaye. Bole, "Itni der kuyn lag gayi?". Amma ne unhe bhi jhatak diya, "Tumhari ladli ke peeche peeche hi saara din nikal jata hai. Aur koi ghar ka kaam nahi hota kya? Pura din chule main maro, fir bhi yeh toh kissi se hota nahi ki madaat karde. Haan thandedar bane sawal zarur puchenge. Itni der kuyn ho gayi"? "Aare main toh sirf puch raha tha. Har baat par youn bigad kuyn jati ho"? baba ne zara zor se poocha. "Bigadungi nahi. Ek admi kaam karne ko. Uspar yeh hai ki bas apni hi duniya main khoyi rehati hai. Na kisi se bol chaal. Na kuch. Maa se tak beth kar do baat nahi karti. Fursta mili nahi ki bhaag jati hai. Kahe deti hun. Mujhe iss ladki ke lakshan bilkul aache nahi lag rahe. Yahin yeh haal hai jane sasural main kya karegi. Wahan na baat karegi apni saas se. Na puchegi apne rishtedaron ko. Mui jane kahan se paida ho gayi hai. Main keh rahi hun hamari bachi par koi saaya hai. Magar tumhe hosh hai kisi cheez ka? Kheton main pura din pade rehte ho. Raat main bhi jakar rakwali par beth jate ho. Kitni dafa kaha hai kissi ko rakh lo. Magar tumhe kissi par bharosa ho tab na" bolte hue amma rotiyan sekhane lagi.

Rama ne thali parosi aur baba ke samne rakh di. Baba chup chap khana khane lage. Amma ki baaton ka unpar kabhi koi asar nahi hota tha. Amma bol ballkar khud hi chup ho jati thi. Rama janti thi, amma ki inhi baaton se bachne ke liye baba kisi ko kheton ki rakhwali ke liye nahi rakh rahe the. Jabse pichle mausam main aalon ki fasal se nuksan hua tha, amma ne baba ki jaan kha li thi. Kai hafton tak un naspite aalon ko lekar hi roti rahi. Fir apni kismat ko ki na jane kounse paapon ka fal bhugat rahi hain iss ghar main aakar. Rama ne aajtak amma ko baba ki kisi baat par khush hote na dekha tha. Aur baba, woh toh bas apni hi dhun main jeete the. Ghar ke jhamelon main woh kabhi padte hi na the.

Amma ko bhi dadi hi pasand karke layin thi. Baba ne toh bas shadi ki din unhe dekha tha. Sundar toh thi hi amma hamesha se, dulhan ke libaz main aur hi kuch noor tha unka. Baba ne sirf wahi dekha. Amma ke dahej main bhi kai saara saman aaya tha. Aab tak uska wasta ghar main diya jata hai. Amma ke bauji kisi zamane main zamindar hua karte the. Ser ser bhar gehun, chawal aur fal bheje unhone apni beti ki sasural main. Ladke ka chunav kis tarike se kiya, bhai londa aache ghar khandan se hai, khet bhi khub hain aur umr bhi amma se kuch 2-1 saal hi badi hogi. Bas, aur kya chahiye ladki ko sukhi hone ke liye? Byah di apni ladli pehle muhrat main. Kehte hain Amma bada roi thin jab babul ke ghar ko chodkar aayi thi. Rama ko hamesha iss baat par hasi aaya karti thi. Kai baar woh mazak main keh diya karti thi, "Amma toh aab tak ro hi rahi hain. Jo hasti toh koi anokhi baat hoti". Iss baat par amma use khub daatti.

Amma ki baaton par Rama ne kabhi bahat dyaan nahi diya. Shayad bachpan se hi sunti aa rahi thi issiliye. Beti maa par na jakar baap se apne nak-nakshe udhar le aayi hai iss baat se unhe hamesha takleef rahi. Usspar uska ladkpan, woh unhe aur bhi gussa dilata. "Aae he agar jo khubsurat na ho toh kum se kum jo hai usse toh sambhal kar rako. Punji hai jo zindagibhar duniya main dikhani hogi. Ladkpan main yun isse lutao mat. Zara toh khud ka khyal rakhe apna. Yun thode hi londo ki taraf dhup main gandagi main fira kare. Uth se ho gai hai magar akal das paise ki na hai chori main," har din amma kehati usse.

Magar Rama hamesha se hi man mauji rahi thi. Yeh baaten uske palle kabhi padi hi nahi. Gaon main jeth ke mahine main ek chuski wala aaya karta tha. Sehar ko jane wali sadak par. Rama ko uski chuski aur uski chalti firti dukaan badi pasand thi. Ran birangi badi wali chatri jo uss chuski wale ne apni cycle par tanga rakhi thi, Rama ko uske rang bahat pasand the, Woh bhari dupahar main, chalti hui loo ko jhelkar bhi usske paas chuski khane zarur jati. Amma se daat na pade issiliye unke sone ke baad chup chap pichali kiwad se nikal jati. Tauji ke gulab ke kheton ke par ek choti si pagdandi thi, jo nathu chacha ke gehun ke kheton tak jati thi. Bas ussi pagdandi par woh apne baki saare doston ko jama karti aur puri paltan lekar sehar jane wali road par pohach jati. Ek ser gehun ke badle chuski le aati aur khub maze se bhagate daudte pagdandi par jakar beth jati. Baki saare dost kuch beri ke pedon par latak jate, kuch neeche jati choti se nehar main pav daal beth jate. Yun hi aadhi dophar nikal jati.

Chutpan main gav bhar ke dost hua karte the hamari Rama ke. Swabhav meetha tha so chachiyon aur taiyon ki bhi manpasnd thi. Amma bhi kitna hi jhalla len, Rama ki meethi nazaron se woh bhi na bach pati. Aakhir thi toh unhi ki aulad. Woh bhi ekloti. Bade hote hote Rama kai badlav aaye. Natkhat si choti Rama badi ho kar shant nadi ban chuki thi. Behna nahi choda tha usne magar bachpan ka woh ladkpan zarur chut gaya tha kahin. Umr ke saath saath uske shabd kam hone lage the. Boll chall toh sabhi se thi. Magar baaten kabhi kisi ko na kehati. Jo sab bolte woh sun leti aur chup chap apni aankhon main unn baaton ko utar leti. Magar nazaron main kisi cheez ka ya kisi insaan ki koi raay na hoti. Na kisi ko dekhkar uski nazaren jhukati na uthati thin.

Uski umr ki ladkiyon ko jo sajne sawarne ka shok tha, Rama ko na tha. Uss se toh bas ghanton tak pahadon ko takna aacha lagta tha. Wahan bethe bethe woh khub saari kahaniyan banati, geet bunti. Saheliyon ki shadi main kabhi kabhi gaya bhi karti thi. Padhai ka shok tha so sehar jakar B.A kar rahi thi. Gaon ke bachon ko saath saath padha liya karti thi. Amma ko yeh saari baaten pasand toh thi nahi. Magar ladki ki shadi karani thi aur aajkal bina padhi likhi ladki koun pasand karta hai. So unhone isse itni dur jakar padhne ki izzazt de di thi. Fir bhi magar jab bhi bechari se koi galti ho jaye, uske pure college aur masterain ko galiyan de daal ti thin amma. Inhone ne hi bigada hai chori ko, na jaane kya aan shaan padhate rehete hain. Samajh main toh hume rehna hai. Yahin ki baaten na sikhayenge? yun kehkar har baar uski soch par taala laga deti thi. Magar kaid toh kher kya hi kar pati woh usse. Ghanto pahadon ko takte hue woh apni soch khaniyon main bun liya karti thi.

Fir ek din gaon main ek masterji aaye. Waise toh Chandrakant babu bade zamindarji ke sabse chote bete the, magar choti hi umar main unhone khud ka kafi naam kar liya tha. Kai pustaken likhi thi, Ph.D kar rahe the literature main aur kai saare social works bhi. Ussi karan woh wapas gaon aaye the. Yahan unhone bachon ke school main ek saal tak padhane ka social work ka project karna tha. After all, charity begins at home. Yahi kaha karte the sabse. Dekhane main bade hi sushil lagte the. Kad kathi toh kher koi zyada nahi thi magar mukh zarur bada suhavna tha. Moti jaise daat bilkul seedhe. Aankhon par professoron wala chasma aur sundar baal. Rang saaf tha aur muskurahat bhari nazar. Badi hi seedhi aur saral baat karte the. Baat waise toh kam hi kiya karte the.

Unke aate hi thakurain ke kandhe aur chaude ho gaye aur aankhe jaise aasman ko chuti hon. Gav bhar main apne bete ke gund gati firti thi. Kuwari ladkiyon ki maon ke samne toh khaskar kar. Magar uski toh koi zarurat thi nahi. Gav ki har kunwari ladki ki maa ne apni nazar Chandrakant babu par jama di thi. Aas lagaye toh ladkiyan bhi bethi thi. Unki sabhiyat dekh kar sab ki sab jaise pighal hi gayi hon. Muh se lal tapane lagti sabke unke guzarte hi. Amma ne bhi badi apni nazar jami hui thi unpar. Magar Rama ko fursat mile apne pahadon se toh woh kahin kuch baat karen uss se. Iss taraf toh kai ladka uss se pasand nahi karega, yeh soch soch kar amma din ba din aadhi hui ja rahi thi.

Rama ne Chandrakant babu ke baare main bahat suna tha. Apni saari saheliyon se, unki maaon se aur jab hathe chad jati amma ke, unse bhi. Magar yun toh uss se kisi main koi dilchaspi na aati. Logon ki baaten sun sun kar. Ghamand nahi tha usme, magar vishwas zara kum hi sab par. Darasal saheliyan toh nain naksh se zyada kuch kehati nahi aur chachiyan aur amma zamindari ke. Issiliye Rama ne Chandrakant babu par koi zyada dhyaan nahi diya. Uss din tak. Shehar main college jate hue woh jo bus pakadti thi, uss bus stop par uss din uss se ek anjaan saaya dikha. Zara pass jakar dekha toh pata chal ki Chanrdakant babu hain. Rama zara jhep gayi. Logon se baat karneki waise hi adat nahi thi aur fir inse toh uska kabhi taruff hi nahi hua tha. Fir bhi zara hichkichate hue woh unke pass aakar khadi ho gayi.

Chandrakant babu raaste par bus ki raah taak rahe the. Nazar firakar dekha toh do moti moti aankhon se samna hua. Ek min ko zara dekhate hi reh gaye. Gol chehra, gappe jaise gaal, badi kali aankhe aur lambe ghane baal. Matha chota magar baalon ki maang se saja hua. Badan mota hi kehlta magar bahat zyada nahi. Dekhane bhar main koi bahat khubsurat shaks nahi dikhayi diya. Magar kuch toh tha usme jo ek min ke liye unki saas hi si ruk gayi. Unhone bina soche ek muskurahat Rama ki taraf feki aur pura uski taraf ghum gaye. Rama ne unhe dekha aur woh bhi muskurayi.

"Namaste Chandrakant babu"
"Aap janti hain hume?"
"Ji..Woh Amma ne bataya tha apke baare main"
"Aacha. Kounki ladki ho tum?"
"Suresh Gautam ki"
"Aacha Suresh Chacha ki. Aare Rama ho kya?"
"Ji"
"Aacha aacha. Tum shehar main B.A kar rahi ho na?"
"Ji. Wahin ja rahi hun. Aap kahan ja rahe hain?"
"Aare main zara shehar se bachon ke liye kuch kitabe lene jaa raha hun"
"Aacha. Toh Lalaji ki library main chale jayega. Bus stop se lagkar hi hai. Wahin aapko saari kitaben mil jayengi."
"Haan theek hai"

Itna kehkar woh ruk gaye. Fir na jane unhe kya suja woh bole, "Suno Rama, agar tumhe baht takleef na ho. Aur agar tumhe bahat der na ho rahi ho toh kya tum mere sang chaloge lalaji ke yahan? Mujhe bhi aasani ho jayegi bachopn ki kitaben lene main". Yeh sunkar na jane kuyn magar Rama ke rom rom main jaise ole padne lage. Haath pair thande ho gaye, dil ki dhadkan ek min ke liye toh ruk hi gayi. Fir zara uss se sambhalte hue usne kaha, "Ji kuyn nahi zarur". Unhone ek dusare ko dekha aur jaise bina kuch kahe bahat kuch keh diya ho. Uss din ke baad woh roz milne lage. Shaam ko school main chutti ke baad Chandrakant babu bhi Rama ke saath padhadon ka takne lage. Dono ne shadi ka faisla kiya aur gharwalon tak baat pohachi.

"Ai hai...main toh lut gayi barbad ho gayi. Duniya bhar ki khoobsurat ladkiyon ko chodke hamare nawabzade ko woh saand hi mili. Mujhe hi seengh maregi bahu bankar. Apna toh sikka hi khota nikla. Khub prasad chadha rahi hogi Suresh ki bahu aab toh. Sone ki chidiya phas li usne toh," yun keh keh kar thaukrain khub roi. Din raat apni kokh ka wasta diya magar Chandrakant babu ne apna faisla na badla. Maa bhi aakhir kya karti. Maan hi gayi. Saheliyon ne irshya ke maare Rama ko khub taine sunaye. "Ai hai hum hi kuch jakar padh aati college se. Na jane tumne toh kounse mantar padhe hain jo yeh maal phaas liya. Shakal se toh tumhari pyar hua na hoga. Yeh toh bata do kounsa manta phunka hai hamare shehari babu par". Rama sabko hass kar taal deti. Uss se pata tha ki uski saheliyan jal kukadi ban uss se chot pohchana chahati hai. Aur fir woh wakai khud ko khush kismat samjhti thi ki itne aache insaan uske jeevan saathi banenge. Issiliye usse inn sab baaton se koi farak na padta tha.

Amma toh jaise saatven aasman par hi pohach gayi hon. Din raat apne hone wale damad ke gund gaati aur beti ko duaen deti. Unhe bhi vishwaas na ho raha tha ki Rama se Chandrakant babu fas gaye. Magar unhe toh bas apni kush kismati main hi jeena tha. So woh iss baat par zyada gaur na karti thi. God bharai ka din aaya. Rama ko saheliyan saja kar dulhe aur uske gharwalon ke samne le aaye. "Rama aab tumhari shadi hone wali hai. Shadi par ladkiyon ka charera badan hi aacha lagta hai," Thakurain gurrai. Chandrakant babu ne unki taraf teekhi nazaron se dekha aur woh chup ho gai. Rama maan hi maan muskai. Sab theek se ho gaya.

Shaam ko Chandrakant babu aur Rama hamesha ki tarah tille par mile. Pahadon ko dekhate dekhate Chandrakant babu ne zara sharamnak bhav se kaha, "Rama main maa ki baaton ke liye tum se maafi mangta hun". Rama ne unki oor dekha aur uski muskurahat jaise dil main hi maar gayi ho. "Kya baat hai. Pareshan lag rahe hain aap," Rama ne chintit hokar pucha. Chandrakant babu ne uski oor dekha aur nazaren jhuka li. Kuch der baad bole, "Mujhe bas zara shadi ke liye daar lag raha hai. Aaj jaise maa ne keh diya, waise kai aur log kahenge shdi par. Rishtedaron ko toh tum janti hi ho. Ladki ki sundarta ko woh sirf mukh aur sharrer se hi napte hain. Mujhe daar hai woh kahin kuch aaisa waisa na keh den". Rama unki oor bas dekhati hi reh gayi. Uss se laga jaise usne unhe pehle kabhi dekha hi na ho. Unki shakal jo uski saari saheliyon ke dil main basi hui thi aab uss se dikhayi dene lagi. Usne jhep kar pucha, "Kya aapko fark padega"? Chandrakant ne uski taraf dekha aur kaha, "Nahi Rama mujhe inn sabse koi farak nahi padta. Magar mujhe iss samajh ka daar hai. Log kuch bol denge tumhe toh mujhe aacha na lagega". Unki yeh baaten Rama ke dil main teer ki tarf chubh gayi. Woh uthi aur ghar ki taraf chali gayi. Uss raat pehli baar usne tarron ko chodkar apne ghar ke seeshe main ghanton tak khud ko taka. Takte takte uski aankhe bhar aayi.

Auro Beach

2011-04-29T05:11:00.001-07:00

Auro beach in rain looks like a wet heaven. It just melts away all that you are, till all that is left of you is your body and soul. That day there were two bodies and souls on that beach, who were made to forget who and what they were. They looked at the sea silently and watched the waves that crashed on their feet. The waves were dominating. They made sure that the couple could see nothing but their changing colors. Feel nothing but the coolness of the water on their feet. The wind orchestrated its music in their ears. Singing away a song of life with all its emotions. The song seemed to reach their hearts, intervening their heartbeats in its rhythm. They held hands looking each other in the eye. They saw all that they felt in there. Without a past or a future. Right then, it was just the moment with its song and music.

They started walking on the beach and smiled at the sand on their feet. It seemed to change colors. Near the water it was velvety smooth, its cream color spreading thin over the dry beach. From there, it seemed to change into a path that felt like salt spread over velvet, a dark brown color. A little way ahead it mixed with the yellow of the beach with shells and pebbles spread wide and far. They walked on all three feeling their texture on the feet. Then they climbed a little hill of rocks spread on one end of the beach. They hopped on the rocks while the raindrops tingled their skins. It slipped down their mouths and made them giggle. They reached the end of it and for a long time kept staring at the never ending blue. Then they silently sat on the rocks and saw the blue turning into the frothy white and settling into sea green. Below their dangling legs they could see the reefs being colored different shades of red and green by the water. The girl smiled and looked at the boy. "You know what I think, I think that there is a magical world under there. There are mermaids living with mermen who fly to the moon in the night. When the world goes to sleep of course". With this she lost herself in her magical world and the boy silently rested his head on her shoulder, linking his fingers with hers. No one knows if he listened to what she was saying. But he did fly with her to an unknown world, where no one existed but they.

Rajasthani Bhindi

2011-02-23T00:35:00.000-08:00

Bahat din ho gaye the unhe uss restaurant main gaye hue. Bahat din ho gaye the unhe bina ek khalish ke koi baat kiye hue. Bahat din ho gaye the unhe sirf baate kare hue. Udate udate khayalon ko apne shabdon main bandhate hue. Bahat din...
Uss din raasta uss restaurant ka kuch kum sa lag raha tha. Unke hoton se khilkhilati hasi ne shayad unke kadmon ki raftar badha di thi. Restaurant pohache toh dekha ki andar bahat hi kum log behte hain. Ladke ne ladki ki taraf dekha aur muskuraya. Uss se shor pasand nahi tha. Yeh restaurant bhi kuch aaisa hi tha. Ek mohabbat ke maare shayar ki taraf. Jisko koi shor duniya ka sunai nahi deta. Woh toh bas apni hi kavitaon main mast rehta hai.
Woh dono kone ki ek table par jakar beth gaye. Kursi nahi thi chota sa sofa tha bethane ki liye uss table par. Ladki toh bade maze main pairon ko upar kiye uspar viraj gayi. Magar ladke se itni door apni mehboob se betha na gaya. Woh utha aur usne apna chota sofa hilakar uske pass lane ki koshish ki. Utane main chup chap aa kar ek waiter wahan khada ho gaya. Ladke ne uski oor dekha aur halka sa jhep gaya. Ladki magar zara bold tarike ki thi. Usse bhi uske baju main hi bethane ki jidd thi. Usne waier se pucha, "Hum isse yahan nahi rakh sakte?". Waiter ne muskura kar sar hila diya. Utane main uska boss bada waiter aa gaya. Usne pucha kya baat hai aur ladki ne bataya. Fir uss bade waiter ne dusare table se kursi ki taraf hi dikhane wali kursi lakar uss ladki ke chote sofa ke pass rakh di. Finally, Ladka wahan beth gaya. Bas fir kya tha. Ladki ne apni baaton ki fuljhadi jalayi aur uski chatakti matakit baaton ki roshni main woh dono kho gaye. Magar ladke ko lag rahi thi tez book. Ladki kuch bol rahi thi jab usne uski aankhon main ek bechani dekhi. Woh samjh gayi, ki bhaiya aab toh jo hai bina khaan paan kaam chalega nahi. Usne jhat se menu uthaya aur ladke se pucha, "Rajasthani Bhindi try karoge"? Ladka zara hichkichaya. Uss se ladki ki choice par pura bharosa tha, magar rajastani bhindi??? Nashate main??? Uski soch ke thode bahar hi thi yeh baat. Magar uss se nayi cheezen try karna bada aacha lagta tha. Kuch naya, kuch anokha. Uss se zindagi ko mauka dena bahat aacha lagta tha. Aakhir usse woh ladki bhi toh aase hi mili thi. Zindagi ke ek mood par. Jahan uske paas jane ka ki koi khaas wajah nahi thi. Usne tabhi ek chance liya tha. Usne aaj fir ek chance liya. Woh muskuraya aur ladki ne jhat se order kar diya.
Rajasthani bhindi aayi aur ussi ke saath unn dono ki favoirate hot apple buttered tea. Ladke ko rajhasthani bhindi bahat pasand aayi. Usne khush hokar ladki se kaha, "Tum na hoti toh main yeh kabhi order nahi karta. Sochta bhi nahi iske baare main". Ladki muskurayi aur jawab diya, "Tum na hote toh main kabhi inhe try karne ki nahi sochati. Tum mujhe mere mann ki sunane dete ho". "Aacha magar kaise? Tum hamesha apne mann ki nahi karti?" "Nahi. Sabke saath nahi. Agar aur koi hota toh main bhi ek safe bet main kuch pehle khaya hua, jana pehchana order karti. Tumhare saath mujhe galti karne main darr nahi lagta". "Aur tumhare saath mujhe zindagi jeene main. Main bhi nayi cheezen tumhare saath hi try karta hun. Warna kuch galat ho jaye toh sab bahat bolte hain". Woh dono ek dusare ko dekhkar muskuraye.
Fir unn dono ne baaton ke diye jalaye. kahin khwabon ki lau thi, kahin soch ki aur tel daala usme khoob saari hasi ka. Hot apple buttered tea peete hue kai armon main unhone jaan phunki. Kuch apni aankhon main, kuch ek dusare ki. Uss restaurant ki bheeni peeli light main unhone ek dusare ka haath thama. Fir ek baar ek pal unhone apni yaadon main bandha. Inhi palon ke dhaage bana rahe the woh. Hamesha jude rehne ke liye.

Mother

2011-02-04T03:37:00.001-08:00

...She was running very fast. The scythe in her right hand was dripping with blood. There was a sack in her other hand. It was empty. Her eyes were bright. Her nerves taut with tension. Her heart was full of emotions. It was hard for her to distinguish the feeling that overwhelmed her.

It was late evening by the time she came back to her hut. The last rays of the sun had begun to eat away the lightness of the day. She washed away the blood from the scythe in the nearby river. The wind blew strong. It whispered the screams that she had left behind. She ignored its chill. The grass seemed to be tangling around her ankles like ropes.“The grass has grown too long,” she thought a little irritated. She walked back home and settled to light her fire.

He came back from town with the spices. They had been a good excuse to get away from this place. And her, he thought. They had been bickering again. She couldn’t shout as much now though, he thought. She could see the determination in his eyes. He knew it made her angry and sad. Eventually, she will grow tired. She knew he was not going to stay. She knew he was not a child anymore. She knew he couldn’t sit on her lap and eat from her hands. She knew he didn’t want to work her fields.

He handed over the spices to her without a word. She took them without a word. By now the sun had gone down, taking with it all its colors. He lit the lantern. He thought about electricity and yearned for his hostel. She looked at him and followed his thoughts through his eyes. He looked down and sat beside her. She put a plate in front of him and served him his food. He ate in silence. Later, she ate herself and started putting away the utensils.

It was his ritual to sit with Raha, once his dinner was over. The horse had been his friend since he was a child. They had been bought up together. Both strong and independent. No rope could be held against Raha’s neck. Like mine, he thought and smiled.
He entered the stead. It was empty. That wasn’t unusual. Raha liked to roam around on his own. There were times when he was out for days at end. But he always returned. Just like me, he thought. He then stared at the celling and waited for his beloved horse to return.

...She was riding very fast. The forest but a green blurr. The sun rays were dripping slowly from her forehead. Her one hand griped the horse and another a sack. It held the scythe that she used to cut the herbs from the forest. The horse was panting too. But it was strong. He often raced with his care takers will. A will that had acquainted him with the entire forest.

She could feel Raha tiring beneath her. It made her feel good. It made her feel strong. It made her feel in control. She rode him faster. Her head was full of his voice. A voice she couldn't recognize. It was strong and heavy. Determined. His eyes. They were so big and distant. She had searched for her child in them. She was angry because those eyes had drowned her little boy. The words. They were in a language she didn't know. Didn't care about. It wasn't hers.

She whipped Raha. It surprised him. She rarely whipped him. He didn't like it. He stopped. She whipped again. He threw her off. She fell on the ground. She looked in his eyes. She saw the eyes that she had seen earlier that morning. She stared at them for a long moment. Then she emptied her sack...

I Love you

2011-01-12T02:40:00.001-08:00

He was coming. They were meeting after two weeks. She was very excited. She was new to the city. She lived alone. He lived with his parents. They couldn't meet often. She took out the new soap bar, which boasted of rose fragrance. She wanted to look her best.

She came out of her bath, took out her white t-shirt which she had bought from Westside the other day. She liked the quirky lines on plain T-shirts. She was comfortable in them. She wore it with her blue jeans.

He came while she was still combing her hair. She let him in. He came and stood besides her. They smiled at each other. “How do you like my new t-shirt?” asked she. “You know I am not a big fan of your Westside collection. Isn't this a little ill fitting?” said he. “I like to breathe in my clothes you know,” said she and smiled at him. He came closer and put his hands around her waist. “Well we surely don't want to stop your oxygen supply. However, why is there a need to wear your gym clothes all the time I can't understand. Why don't you wear those nice pretty tops like other girls. You know you will look more hot than many” said he, trying to kiss her.

“Because they are a pain to wear. I don't like them. I don't wear them,” said she, and turned towards him slowly. He kissed her cheeks and said with clouded eyes, “You need to sacrifice some to get some. You are such a doll. But you throw it all away by wearing such plain clothes. Why don't you stop being lousy and make an little effort to dress up? There will be mass murder at hand, trust me.”

“Look don't you love me the way I am? Why do you want to change me?” asked she a little hurt and irritated. He snuggled her more in his arms and said “Where did the question of changing you come from? I was merely suggesting how you could make your adorable self little more so. What is wrong in looking good”?

“Nothing. Nothing, whatsoever. But I place comfort before my looks. All right?” said she putting her hands between them and pushing him away a little. The manner suggested that the topic was now over.

He looked at her and smiled, “Yes mam”. He then moved closer again and said, “You know I love you the way you are. You are perfect”.

Tookie Land

2010-09-12T14:39:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time in a land called the Tookie Land, there lived a young tookie called Vinu. Tookies are a rare breed in our strange world. I am sure most of you must not even know of them. Although they are all around us, they rarely make an attempt to attract our attention.

Now, if you were to ask me what a tookie looks like, I would have to ask you to imagine a really young child whose human age might be four or five, with mere slits serving as their eyes and ears. For they rarely hear or see what we pretend to with our big eyes and heavy ears. They can see enough to make them walk without banging into a tree, but not enough to take away their imagination from them.

I am sure you all must also be curious to know how the land itself looks like. Well it is a magical land whose appearance depends upon the mood of one tookie, the Holy tookie. If the Holy tookie is happy, tookie land looks like it is singing in the mountains arm, with the trees whistling soft music of wind which carries the sweet pungent smell of many flowers in its bosom. There would be lakes glistening in the sunlight and dew drops dancing on leaves. Birds in every color available would look like flying jwels in the sky, demanding vibrantly their colorful right in that expanse of clear blue.

However, if the mood of the Holy tookie is not-so-good then the sun refuses to shine on the land. Snow covers the mountains, and sometimes, when its weight becomes too much for them to bear, they erupt and flow in the form of hot lava towards the tookie town. The birds leave and the dew drops disappear. The lakes become marshy lands and the trees become yellow.

This story is of the time when Vinu was a young child, and it had been years since she had heard the birds call or the trees whistle. The Holy tooki's displeasure was a subject of mere speculation on the towns part. The tookies were scared to ask him, for there were rumors about those who had. Although none knew it to be a fact, the rumor had it, that the city’s oldest tookies were burnt alive by the fire spitied from the slits of the Holy tookies eyes, when they asked the reason for his anger.

Coming back, this is a story of one hot afternoon, in those years, when Vinu was left alone at her home. Sitting by her window, she looked out and saw only yellow trees and brown grass. She looked down at one of the paintings drawn by her father, who used to be a painter a few years back. She longed to see all those white lillies and red roses so prominent in his paintings. She had not heard the sound of gushing water in the longest of time or felt the music of wind on her face and hair. The sun had been a orange haze forever.

She looked up and was welcomed glumly by the falling snow. She sighed and got up. Now, since it had been years since the season had not changed in the tookie land and because tookies are a imaginative lot, who also love smiling, they had made their peace with their rumors and the curse.

They had gone ahead with their life by leaving their old ways. They made new spells and things to make their then more cherfull. Like her father,who had gone from being a painter to a magic lamp seller. One could hang his lamps in ones backyard and have the illusion of the sun shining, for mere ten tookie tooleys (tookie money which is made of cookies).

Vinu alsways wondered why no one ever again tried going and talking with the Holy tookie. She had asked her father this question time and again. Her father always told her it was dangerous and that she should be happy with what exist and not run after what could be or should be. “If the times have to change they would change,” was what he said.

That morning, while she was walking around her house restlessly, her eyes fell upon the road that led to the mountain. She looked at it and went towards the window once again. She had once told her father that she wanted to go on that road one day. She found it extremely intriguing. She had never seen the Holy tookie or his adobe ever and wanted to see what it looked liked. His father was appalled by the idea and couldn’t imagine why a little happy tookie would want to put herself in danger unnecessarily.

“You should help me create better lamps and not run around the mountains coughing up hot lava every now and then,” said her father to her. She had not said anything to her father after that. She could never explain in words her need or want to walk on that road or see the mountains top. So, she silently helped her father invent new and better magic lamps.

However, her father was not there that day and her mother wasn’t home either. Her mother was busy teaching younger tookies magical ways to help them innovate better and discover more, at old Mr.Shuppe’s house.

She stood there at the window for a long while, fighting an internal war between being a good daughter and a curious tookie. Finally, her curiosity won and she decided to visit the Holy tookie. Generally, one would have expected her to write a letter for her parents filled with goodbyes and loving words. However, she did no such thing for it simply didn’t strike her that she might never come back. Which was why, she never looked back at the place, she was born and bought up in.

She walked towards the road that had not been walked on for years now. It seemed like it was accuomsted to the loneliness and wasn’t particularly happy with the incessant guest. It opened up a little in anger the moment Vinu put her foot on it, and the hot lava shisssed and shuushhed past her. She had seen enough lava flowing like a stream from the mountain through her window, but never had she felt its heat before. It threw her back a step, but then it cooled down and she gathered her courage once again to walk on. Her journey through the barren mountain was surprisingly uneventful, only marred by the hissing lava, which was unsuccessful in dissuading her.

The top of the mountain, looked like a charred painting of what could have been a charming forest or an overgrown garden. She could imagine the blacks and the greys to be the colors that she had seen in her father’s painting. Her eyes fell upon the lone edifice there, which stood tall and proud in the midst of that scalded land.

The house looked like it could have been a little cozy place, like so many other places in tookie land. It had huge windows with dirty dark blue curtains. The door was a complete circle made of old wood. The house itself was triangular in shape, and the slanting pillars could either look like they are welcoming one with open arms or throwing its anger on it. Right now, the latter seemed more apt.

The orange haze of the sun had dimmed into a soft silvery miasma, and the contrast of its grey against the dirty white house and its black surrounding lightened the fire of fear in Vinu. She trembled from it and it felt like she was stuck in the ground. The image of the old tookies being fried in the volcano kept flitting through her mind. After a few minutes of fighitng her terror and confussion, she resolutely decided to knock on the wooden door and leave the rest to faith.

It was not until the fifth knock that the door creaked and opened a little. By then she had flirted with the image of a tall body under long brown hair matted dirty with dust and red eyes. Eyes that were trying to burn her. That image seemed to have seared its fear upon her mind, which was pounding wildly in her heart. She opened the door a little more and entered it.

It would have been an understatement to say that she was surprised by what she saw. She was more than surprised, she was shocked. Not only was there a fire burning in the hearth of the house, there sat a clean shaved tookie with his dinner. He was sitting cross legged on the floor, and was staring at the food. He seemed pretty angry at something but not enough to spit fire from his eyes. It felt more of brooding to her than anything else.

“Er…hi, I am Vinu. Are you the Holy tookie?” she asked. The old tookie nodded, but refused to look at her. “Hmm…may I sit down? I have walked a long way?” she spoke again. He once again nodded but still didn’t look up. Vinu went and sat facing him and after a few seconds of awkward silence, once again tried her hand at conversation, “So how have you been”? At this he looked up stared at her. There was so much of confussion and hurt in there, that for a moment Vinu was scared that he might be actually capable of opening up a volcano under her. She shifted a little but didn’t look away.

“So finally someone decided to bother with me is it?” he said angrily. “What do you mean?” asked Vinu confused. “It has been years since someone bothered to even walk this path let alone talk to me. Everyone decided that they want to live their life without me. Now after so many years, what happened that your lot has sent you?” he asked, turning towards her.

Completely baffled by his reaction, it took Vinu a few minutes to collect herself. Once composed she said, “No one sent me. I came because I wanted to see you. But no one really knows that you were waiting either. And frankly, after what happened to those old tookies…”

“What happened to those old tookies? They were fine when they left me that morning they came,” said the Holy tookie a little confused. “Ohhh, none came back down and we all assumed that because you are so powerful and angry, you killed them”. “Killed them? Killed them! Are you all crazy? Why would I kill them?” he asked angrily. “Because you were angry,” she said. “So, do you kill tookies when you are angry?” he asked her, getting more angry with every word.

“Well no. But tell me why were you angry in the first place?” “Ohh well…one day I was walking down the tookie town and smiled at the old tookies there. However, they were busy thinking their thoughts so deeply that they didn’t even notice me. And then I went to purchase shweet sweet of sweeny’s lick-o-pop’s which have been my all time favorite, and they were over. So, I was a little upset because of that”.

“But then why didn’t you just ask the old tookies to smile when you next met them and why didn’t you just come down to buy the lick-o-pop’s?” asked Vinu incredulously. “Well the old tookies came to my place the other day and said that they would smile their smile when they came back with the lick-o-pop’s which I so wanted. But they never came back and I thought you lot have forgotten about me” said the Holy tookie.

“OH MY! Are you telling me, that we lived with cold up our noses and no sun or flowers, just because no one smiled at you, and that no one gave you lick-o-pop’s?” asked Vinu standing up now. “Well I like my smiles. Specially if one is living on the top of a mountain all alone. Smiles and lick-o-pop’s are and were an important part of my joy,” he said a little adamantly.

Vinu looked at him and smiled one of her most lovely and charming smile. He looked at her in revelation and was a little surprised to see his own long lost smile return to him. She then went up and hugged him tight. His stiff body which hadn't smiled or been hugged, for so long gave up its resistance in a few seconds and almost melted with warmth.

The stars started coming in the sky and the silvery haze started forming an almost round shape. She stepped back and promised him that she will bring him a valley full of supplies of smiles and lick-o-pop’s tomorrow. The stars now covered the blanket of sky and the soft green of the trees and the dark blue of the water could be made out in the region.

They then spoke all about tookie land in all those dreary years, till finally the sun came bouncing back, wearing its brightest clothes in the morning sky. The change in the season was noticed by all and missed by none.

The next day, all brought with them a smile and a lick-o-pop, filling the entire valley next to Holy tookie’s house with both.

Thus, the seasons in tookie land were returned by a valley full of smiles and lick-o-pop’s.

Kaziranga and Assam: Part 1

2010-09-02T09:03:00.000-07:00

It was on a sticky boring Saturday that my colleague read out a mail about a tour in the north-east part of our country. Maybe it was the heat radiating from mother earth or maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t been on a tour for the past five years, but I was hooked. My friend Bindi and I decided to do us a favor and go on this trip.
I will confess that it was the last time I read that mail or the chain mails that were sent our way in hordes in the next two months. Therefore, I was blissfully unaware of the places that we were to visit or the people that I was going to be with. At that time a much needed break from the monotony called my life, some peace and a few known faces were more than enough for me to get excited and board the plane from Mumbai to Guwahati. Who knew that this journey will mark the beginning of some beautiful relationships and sear my memory with images unforgettable?

12th April, 8 A.M: I reached Mumbai airport with a brand new headphones of a new china phone dangling from my neck and a backpack killing my shoulders. I was standing outside when Bindi and her friend Mitali joined me. All three of us went inside and were greeted by a pair of twins called Dipti and Preeti. (If not for their names I would have been extremely shocked to see them use the loo with a girls face on it). There was also a middle aged uncle called Vachlekar who joined our party.

Speculating if the security guys will ask Deepti and Preeti to join the mens queue, we got our boarding passes and were on our way to Guwahati. The flight was not unique in anyway. However, the fact that the air hostess in her gelled hair looked like a bad version of TinTin made it a memorable one. After taking my luggage and becoming a caricature of a dwarf, I was all set to face the sweltering city of Guwahati.
However, we were forced to become a search party as Dhwani’s brother Shreyas, whom none knew and who boarded the flight from Kolkatta was to travel with us to the city. I decided to be the guardian of our luggage.
It was while I was simply staring around, when my eyes fell on this guy standing on the other side of the glass panel. A rather good looking chap. Curiously, he was also staring back at me. I, of course being the writer that I am started thinking of all the possible angles that I can construct with that one carless but somehow warm moment that passed between us. While I was busy with my would-be-story, Mitali started waving at the same person. Surprised, I looked up and heard Dipti telling Bindi that he was Shreyas, Dhwani’s brother. Now I really looked at him and saw some flattering similarities. Interesting, I thought.
Adding another male in our group which was at the risk of looking like an all girl gang, we sat in a supposedly AC bus that took us to our destination, Hotel Tibet. Yes, you can laugh away to glory. I did the same myself.
Luckily the Airport is in the outskirts of Guwahati and the ride upto the main city is long and not all stained by pollution. In fact the landscape is quite a view with all its long lazy pastures and houses the kind that we used to draw as kids. A slanting roof, one beautiful garden and a small temple right outside, with wooden fencing done in that exact same crisscross manner.
However, once we neared the city, it felt like these houses were being stripped off their beauty. The houses in this part looked more like ghetto with just walls. The beauty of those pastures was encroached upon by the newly painted buildings demanding development. The air was corrupted by too many vehicles and hoardings. Guwahati was in one word disappointing. Simply because it did not appreciate the beauty that it had and marred it by applying too much of concrete make-up.

Kaziranga and Assam: part 2

2010-09-01T11:57:00.000-07:00

I was thinking these thoughts when Bindi showed me my first glimpse of Paltan Bazar, where our hotel was. It was like any other Bazar. Crowded with people and vehicles alike, full of voices and shops that prop out of nearly everywhere. One word of advice for all the fellow travelers. In case you want to pick up handmade wooden show pieces, Paltan Bazar is the place for you. Do not be under the impression that you will get better and cheaper goods further down, cause then you will end up like me. Buying things for your friends from the Airport as the last desperate resort and in the process forgetting your mother’s sari. Yes, the understanding yet pointed ‘ohhh’ of my mother is still ringing in my ears.
Coming back, our hotel was one of the cheapest hotels available in the town, literally and figuratively. However, since we had to spend just one night there and it wasn’t a part of the official YHAI tour we fought all our instincts and settled down peacefully. I am sure that the boys will have something else to say on this but we did sleep in that hotel ultimately.
Before going off to bed we of course had to spend our first evening as a group together. So, when we gathered down, the boys started walking and the girls followed. No introductions done or efforts made from either group. Dhwani who was a common factor was in her words being ‘sandwiched’ in between.
13th April 2010: We checked out of the hotel and were ready to leave for Kaziranga. However, our driv-ers weren’t. Another group was to join us and their train was running a little late. We prayed, we com-plained, we begged, but the sun turned a deaf ear on us. So we bought Bisleri after Bisleri from the nearby stall, proving our belief in supporting the local industry. Finally after winning the best customer of the day award, we sat in our cars.
Scorching heat, dusty road and too many stops marked the first half of our journey from Guwahati to Kaziranga. The transition period from first half to second half was played in my dream. However, when I did get up I realized that something more beautiful is being played outside my window. Never ending pastures with cows painted here and there. Tea estates with a green mountain posing in the backdrop. Brick houses springing in the middle of a palm tree conglomerate.
The blue gray sky with a hint of black was casted overhead as well. The sky must have been as overcome with emotions as I was, for it opened its arms and welcomed my arrival. Ahh! Raindrops on my palm, and the green in my eyes. A road between two mountains felt like a secret shared between friends. The shadows of night slowly falling around us made the black of the road more contrasting with the deep green of the mountains around it. Right then I realized that for me, Kaziranga will always be defined by this wet contrast.
It was night by the time we reached our hotel. It was in the middle of a tea estate. The location made us forget the disaster called Hotel Tibet and the rooms made us squeal in joy (at least the girls). Our rooms would have complimented the needs of a princess. The garden was as huge as my entire school area, and hotel staff was an ever smiling face. It’s a miracle that I didn’t sprain my ankles while expressing my excitement.
I took my bath lavishly and headed downstairs for a Bihu dance performance specially organized for us. Bihu is a festival celebrated from mid-April till mid-May in Assam. It marks the celebration of the new harvest and is also a season of love. Couples dance and express their affection for each other in the most melodious way possible. In fact the male uses a drum to call out to his lover who might be surrounded by her elders. The girl if not already headed for the Bihu dance will reply by playing her gogona and let the man know that she is still at home. It’s always said that love doesn’t require words. Well, Assamese seem to take that thought to their hearts.
The dance starts and unknown words start playing on my ears. The girls in their white and red sari look like a whirl of colors and the men become a synonym for music. One of the dancers was also a waiter in the hotel obliged us by explaining about Bihu. We, like all tourists clicked away every word he said and then some more. By dinner time everyone was talking about charging their camera batteries. Our second dinner together, the girls were all on one side, boys on another. One sentence here and one sentence there by each sex and that was it. We went up; we talked, and then slept.
Our reverie of jungle safari which started from that first mail flowed into our second day in Kaziranga. We all ran towards our open jeep and got seated as fast as humanly possible. On our way to the Kazi-ranga park, we saw tea estates breaking away from those heavy clouds of last night into yellow sunlight. The roads were like those in Bollywood and we felt no different. We climbed on every possible space on the jeep and got our pictures clicked in the oddest positions possible. We smiled our way through the gate and were busy discussing the youtube video on Kaziranga.
It took one hour and many sighing from us before the forest ranger finally graced us with his presence. Once he was seated next to our driver-cum-guide, we started our foray into the depths of the jungle. Ironically it was not until our first ride was over that our guide Salunkhe Uncle actually thought of telling us that the Rhinos and Deer’s that everyone was trying to spot in their zoomed in cameras will be as near as our hand the next day on our elephant ride. One reason I wasn’t much bothered about the 4x only zoom in my camera on our next jeep safari in the evening. Also why I enjoyed the butterflies and the canopy of trees more in these rides.
By the time our second night in Kaziranga was over, we all at least started putting up names across fac-es. Maybe it was the ‘Mayapuri’ style story-telling session taken by Sudhir, or maybe it was the magic weaved around us by the fireflies in that quite night. I don’t know. But the ice was definitely if not bro-ken, made a dent upon.
Next day we were up and about on our elephants wondering excitedly if we might come across any tigers. We did not but we did see our share of Rhinos and Deer’s. However, we also saw the inhumanity that is allowed in the name of tourism in Kaziranga. How else does one explain the cruel beating of the very elephants that bring in these tourists? The riders are mere teenagers who understand the power of force better than the companionship of a relationship, because force doesn’t take much effort. “How else do we control these animals?” was the statement made by one of the forest ranger there, when asked about this. Controlling the wild in their homeland and selling that to city sleeker’s like us. I might be sounding harsh, but I can and will never forget the wound near the elephant’s ear that I rode.

Cherrapunji

2010-05-26T07:01:00.000-07:00

Cherrapunji was the last stop of our trip. After this the softness of the mountains in our eyes was to be replaced by the brightness of streetlights. I was told not to expect too much from Cherrapunji. That it wasn’t beautiful anymore and it doesn’t rain too often. I was told wrong. It rained enough during our stay to remind me of my geography lessons in school, which gave this place ‘the rain capital of world’ title.

Cherrapunji was 56Kms from Shillong. The sun was shining boldly above our heads when we started our journey. However, the heat was not biting but rather a pleasant sensation on our skins. I was gladly reading my Nora Roberts when I heard the pitter patter of rain on my window. I looked up and realized that the mountains that I had taken for granted as my travelling partners were bowing down to small hills and flat plains. The sun had also disappeared behind the veil of dark clouds. The soft yellow of the day was thus transformed into the light darkness of a young evening.

I put my hand out of my window and felt the sting of a hailstorm. I smiled at my friend and we both put our heads out, literally hanging out of our cars. Soaked till our bones we arrived at Nohkalikai Fall, near Cherrapunji. It’s a different matter altogether that we weren’t able to even get a glimpse of the fall. As the fog was wrapped around like a thick white blanket around us.

Although we weren’t able to see the fall, its history we did hear. Local lore spoke about a mother’s love for her child who was killed by her second husband. The mother driven by her grief jumped from the fall.

The mist, the dew drops sticking on my face and the quietness of the place was instrumental in bringing out the most repressed feelings of my being. Contrast presented itself when I also felt peace. I was wet; I was walking in the fog and was lost in my thoughts. Smell of tea and a friendly smile across the road caught my attention. I walked over and after having a cup or two we were again on our way to Cherrapunji.

The outskirts of Cherrapunji felt like it was frozen in time. The landscape was green, the roads were fresh and the weather was always pleasant. Your eyes would fail to capture the vibrancy of the flowers but your heart will feel their gentleness. The houses stand alone and proud, not too far off but enough to mark their own place in that world.

‘Yeh raaten yeh mausam…’ was being played in my car when we arrived at Mawsmai caves. We were told to take off our shoes and fold our pants up, as there was water inside. I being a little claustrophobic immediately started getting images of too many people, water, no space and darkness. My friend nudged me from behind and I started moving in.

The cave was well lit but as we went in deep, crouching, we realized that at some places only one person can enter at a time. The stones were covered with moss and thus quite slippery as well. I will confess that I was terrified for at least a moment. The fact that I shouted ‘mummy’ must have been a clue for my friends for they helped me out hurriedly.

Well as hurriedly as possible with the queue waiting to leave.

One of the best ways to fight your fears is to concentrate on something else. I did the same and my point of concentration was the stalagmite and stalactites all around the cave. As I had never seem them before they seemed quite fascinating to me. I smiled remembering how I used to struggle to pronounce their names as a kid and walked out of the cave.

We ate a sumptuous meal at a dhaba of sorts next to the caves and continued our journey. We reached Cherrapunji Hotel resort by mid-afternoon. The place is tucked away at the edge of a hill and one can see Bangladesh on the other side. The flowers are blooming around the house, there is a small half- broken wooden bench in the front of the cottage where one can sit and look at mountains and clouds and butterflies.

With a cup of tea in our hand we all looked as if we are posing for Fredrick Williams, the famous painter. Once we were done posing we set out to see ‘The Living Root Bridge’. With shafts in our hands and no clue about the path we started following each other. The following was transformed into a full fledged trekking in about 20 mins. Considering I have never trekked before, it was surely an experience. It took us nearly two hours to reach the bridge and yes it was worth every aching bone in my body.

Although these bridges are natural, there is a human hand in their growing. According to Oddity Central (http://www.odditycentral.com/videos/the-living-bridges-of-cherrapunji.html) The Khasi tribesmen, using hollowed-out betel nut trunks, are able to direct the roots in whatever way they like. When the roots grow all the way across a river, they are allowed to return to the soil, and over time, a strong bridge is formed. It takes up to 10-15 years for a root bridge to develop, but it becomes stronger with each passing year and is known to last for centuries.

The one we visited was right at the start of a waterfall. I never imagined myself standing at the starting point of a waterfall and that was quite a thrill. But to see something so beautiful and strong also made me aware of the insurmountable strength of our mother nature.

Drinking some water from the stream we made our way back towards our hotel. Moon graced us with his presence halfway up the trek and dark shadows of the trees were then bathed into shimmering moonlight. The jungle sang its nighttime song and the light rain played the music. I forgot that I was tired and smiled at the unknown melody around me.

Finally we reached our hotel, took a bath and settled down for the local music sitting arranged specially for us. It was interesting to hear familiar tunes tangled with foreign language. After this we ate our food and settled down for the last time as a group, for this trip was over.

Queens Street

2010-05-09T11:48:00.000-07:00

It was the middle of the night. The road was deserted and dogs were howling. The trees that lined both the sides of the street, looked like they were deciding the best way to devour it up. The zari on her red sari was the only thing that gave her away. She was walking alone with a cigarette in her mouth. She didn’t want to work tonight. She needn’t work tonight. She had enough on her to allow her these moments of solitude and peace. She loved this street as it was more deserted than the rest of them in the city. The occasional cars passing by always gave her intense excitement and fear. She walked behind the trees so that she was invisible to anyone not in quest of another soul. It made her feel like she was playing hide and seek. Only that she didn’t know who was seeking her.
It seemed to her that the trees have slept under the blanket of that darkness. The music of that silence was amplified by the drizzle in the air. Suddenly the soft and soothing was transformed into fast and moving. The silver baubles glowing on the darkened form of the leaves could have put the brightest diamond to shame. Surrounded with such riches she felt like a queen.
It was the beating of another heart behind her. It put a stop to the journey of her smile ,from her lips to her eyes. She turned behind and saw a strong form standing there. For a moment she thought the sound of his voice has overpowered her own heartbeat.
“What are you doing here at this hour of the night ? That too in the rain?” he asked. “I am a prostitute on a break. Do you mind?” she responded. He raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. “Do you need a lift? I can drop you somewhere”. “Do you offer strange women lift at this time in the night?” “Depends, if I am in a mood for company, I do”. “Is that you car?” “Yes. It is”.
She walked towards the car and sat inside. The moment he entered, she wished that there were no lights inside the car. His features that looked human in the moonlight, looked goodly and still much more real in them. Her own ugliness that had sprung up like a wall between the two forced her to look outside. Funny, that what I see outside is what I feel inside, darkness, she thought.
However, this thought was a mere fleeting one. She didn’t bother to catch it either. In her profession it was too easy to fall prey to such self pity and loose oneself. She had lost too much and too soon already.
“Do you work hard?” “Yes, occasionally”. “Do you like what you do?” “If the man is handsome, yes. If not still yes because then I charge him for his ugliness too,” she said and turned towards him.
His jaw was set and he stared ahead. He was driving at 120 and wasn’t much aware of the heavy veil of rain clouding his vision. She looked away. She didn’t want to know anything about him. He was for her a dream she didn’t want to give a name to. She simply wanted to live it. She could smell him. That was enough for her to create his image the way she wanted to. She had his voice as well. What she didn’t want were his thoughts. Because they didn’t matter to her.
She closed her eyes and sat back. He looked at her and commented, “You look so peaceful”. “I am at peace right now”. “I wish I could say that”. She remained silent and smiled at him. “I like your smile. It is full of hope”. “Don’t you like hope?” “Hope can be deceiving. It can make you believe in things that are nothing but mirages”. “There is such a thin line between a mirage and reality. It really is all about your perception”.
“I am not a great fan of reality either. It’s ugly”, he said swinging his car. “But true,” she said with her eyes still closed. “How does it matter?” he asked. “You are right it doesn’t”. They both fell silent for some time. “I hate lies too,” he said. “Yes same here”. “Don’t you want to know the truth about me?” “I don’t think it will be much of use to me to be honest”. “How can you be so self-assured and confident? ” he asked in a calm and thinking voice. She just smiled at him.
Headline: A man killed his wife and three year old girl last night and set the house on fire. He then drove away in his car and was killed in a car crash near queens street. There was a woman in the car with him who died on the spot. The police still haven’t identified her.

The terror called resignation letter

2010-03-23T02:27:00.000-07:00

It’s an epidemic. And it’s contagious. Also it brings along with it other diseases. Diseases that recent study has shown can kill one. Yes, I am talking about none other than the most dangerous illness of all time, RESIGNATION. And that too not by you but by a very close colleague of yours. It makes you feel as if you have been left behind in quicksand and you are disappearing fast.

Its symptoms itself are killing. First when this word is uttered in the company of your group, which by the way is the rope that is keeping your head above that quicksand, you will feel numbness. Cold numbness. Then you will start counting how many are left with you to bear the oppression of stale coffee and bad food? How many are left who see the man responsible for all your pimples and hair loss? How many are left who understand why even the thought of buying a dress worth 5oo bucks makes your mind a super computer (a brain that had difficulty passing math exam in school)

When one is done counting those who are still left to bear the burden of earning money, one starts wondering about that lucky contestant who has won the ticket to freedom. That one person who has broken from the shackles of comforting chairs and a pay slip every 30 days. That one person who just might get up and do what he or she really wants to do in life (that of course doesn’t happen often as once an office goer always an office goer). Anyway there is always a chance that this one person will make you feel like a mill worker for the rest of your life. There is a chance that he or she might become what you wanted to be, but could never ever save enough to say the words ‘just do it’.

Why does this happen? It’s very simple. Office is a synonym for a ‘dead mans world’. Wherever you look around there is a blank stare which is a suggestion that no one knows what they are doing here or even why? That is why terms like ‘deadline’ were coined by corporate workers. It really is a deadline. If you work in accordance with it, it’s like walking your death row, and if you don’t then even god can’t save you. So, it’s simply a matter of choosing your death really. One can either die in peace or in chaos.

And as we all know, those who suffer similar miseries make best of friends. And when one of these friends even suggests that they might just leave you alone to deal with the wretched game of earning, they inevitably pass on the burden of their misery on you.

In the past 6 months, I had to bear this additional burden twice. First time around, I had Bindi (who by the way is the BBC world of network 18 and thus have contacts all around), who helped me deal with the towering sensitivity that I had developed towards my colleagues behavior, after Bharti left. Now it’s Bindi leaving and along with her goes my daily dose of wittiness by Gayathri.

My reaction? HELP!!!! The worst part was that I couldn’t even discourage them from leaving. It’s because I have been cursed with a good heart and I knew that they were really UNHAPPY (yes in bold letters too). So, I of course had to be all supportive and understanding, when actually I just wanted to tie them in their chairs and make them stay. Till I save enough to leave with them at least.
However, since the ball is not in my court anymore, I guess all I can do is wish them the best in life and count the days till I can leave this constant pain in my shoulders and that blank stare behind.

Some of the sweet and funny moments of my life

2009-11-16T01:20:00.000-08:00

I was in my ninth standard and had a major crush on this cute guy because I found out that he also had a crush on me. (At least I was led to believe that by my friends) So, one fine evening, after our algebra class was done (in tuitions, he was in my tuitions as well. How else do you think I got through those horrifying algebra lessons, which didn’t make sense even when I was paying an obscene amount to learn them), I walked out and stood at the entrance gate, putting my books away. He used to ride a cycle to classes everyday then. That day, without realizing I sort of bumped into his cycle while trying to put my books in the bag. He looked up, smiled and then did a 'dilwale dulhaniya le jayenge' on me. That is he circled on his cycle around me two times with this sweet plaintive smile on his face. And now the twist in the ishtory. Instead of blushing, I laughed out loud (literally) and shook my head disdainfully. Needless to say he never tried that with me again. But that moment is still one of those few precious ones that I hold within me.

Another one such moment was when I was in my 11^th grade. Three years later I again found myself fantasizing about this really cute guy, who was a friend’s friend (my friends have always been my savior. I never could become friends with good-looking guys on my own) One day, there was apparently a bomb blast somewhere in the city. We were all let off early by our college authorities. Quite unexpectedly, he had to catch the same bus that I had, to as he was visiting some relatives near my area. So, we decided to go together. However, when the bus arrived he got on it, and I wasn’t able to because of the crowd suddenly anxious to reach their places as soon as possible.

Imagine this, I am running behind the bus and he just realizing that I am not with him anymore, leans out of the bus to see what happened. He sees me and gives me his hand, again in a dilwale dulhaniya style, I take it and fall into his arms (quite literally) and he catches hold of me with both hands. As if this wasn’t dizzyingly embarrassing (in a good way though) enough, our common friends start singing, ‘Baho ke darmiyan…do pyaar mil rahe hain’. Times like these I wonder if it really would be a sin to kill friends. Anyhow, it was another one of those precious moments of my life. The fact that the guy turned out to be a complete bore now withstanding.

Harry Horror

2009-07-22T04:15:00.000-07:00

This Sunday I had no plans to go and watch a movie. However, just when I was settling down with the idea of being completely alone with my novel, the wretched phone rang. I would here like to add that I have a very strong sixth sense, and this incessant ringing of my phone was screeching premonition in bold letters in my head. Still, I picked up the phone and had the pleasure to hear the voice of a very dear friend of mine. After the much rushed into pleasantries, my friend asked me in a pleading voice, “Will you accompany me to watch Harry Potter?” For those who are my mere acquaintances, please note that I am a BIG Harry Potter fan. The mere mention of the name can get me started for hours. And the sound of those words, by even Hitler would make him a personal favorite of mine. However, if any information of the above mentioned epic is tampered with, it makes me see red and little demons of fury start dancing behind my eyes, shooting little thorny spikes at the ignorant git. To say that earlier conversions of this novel into a movie had this effect on me, would be an understatement.
So, although I was quite sure that this again would be an assault on my memories of the magical world of J.K Rowling, I gave into my better side and agreed to accompany my friend. As we all know, misery only brings along more misery with it, I had another thing coming at me. The theatre in which we were supposed to watch the movie only had the Hindi-version of it. I personally love Hindi as a language not just because it is my mother tongue, but also because it is so beautiful. However, hearing Gryffindor being referred as ‘garud duar’ is taking it too far. So, anyway I went in, hoping against hope that the script would be in tandem with the novel and will at least try to give the main fraction of the novel a lead.
However, not only was I disappointed in that area, but I also had to endure kids who had no clue about the book or the previous versions of the movie and a couple in making as well.
Let me first present my views about the movie. David Yates (director) and Steve Kloves (writer) either tortured J.K Rowling into agreeing with this version of her book, or they bribed her. How else could she watch in silence the brutal killing of her imagination?
The director was apparently more interested in showing Daniel Radcliff as a wannabe Casanova and not a teenager on his way to adulthood, struggling with feelings like love, unknown to him till now. This is the part in the series where Harry realizes the burden of his responsibilities while desperately trying to hold on to the feelings, which an average teenage boy of his age has. In the novel he has to constantly choose between being the 17year old and the one who is suppose to kill the darkest wizard of all. The fact that he kills Voldemort in the next part is a clear indication of what he chooses for himself. The Harry in the movie, however lacks any such complexities and is more interested in dating a girl he meets in a restaurant, than going with Dumbledore to help kill Voldemort.
Why so much of importance was given to Ron and his love life was beyond me. Rupert is good at making comical faces. However, to see the same emotion on his face from different angles, for more than an hour, hasn’t made him anymore popular with me. Emma Watson has once again succeeded in reducing Hermione to a sad looking, no expression, and no depth girl whose only aim in the movie was to crib about Ron and his love interest Lavender Brown.
The role of the potions book, which is the inspiration for the name of the novel and the movie as well, has suffered the blink and miss syndrome, thanks to the director. Tom Felton a.k.a Draco Malfoy who should have been the protagonist of the movie, came across as nothing more than a guest appearance. The story of Voldemort, his childhood, his rise to power and his apparent flaws which formed the crux of the novel were shoved under the carpet. David Yates must be mercifully in nature, for he shot a few scenes which at least suggested that Voldemort was still a part of Harry’s life when he was in his sixth year, and did not actually consume the love potion (which seemed to be on everybody’s mind, on the sets at least), thus falling in love with Harry and sparing his life in his show of love.
All in all it is a movie which can give new meaning to the phrase ‘self-inflicted torture’. Even as I was going through this torment, there was more in stored for me. A few kids sitting behind me were translating the Hindi version into Marathi and somehow they got into a discussion of Dumbeldore’s broom (something even J.K Rowling hasn’t thought about). So once the discussion on his non-existent broomstick died down, a row over whether pop corn is better than samosa started. I was already having a hard time getting over these conversations, when the guy sitting next to me started nagging his friend (whom he hopped to make his girl friend), about her family and life in general. The girl was quite uninterested in the guy, which was apparent from her nonchalant behavior, but I guess was sitting with him because he paid for her tickets. Not that she was interested in the movie. The fact that she talked to some other guy discussing every problem of her life over the phone for the next 20 minutes, was a proof of the above mentioned fact. My loud comments on how people, who talk on phone while watching a movie in a theatre defined insensitivity, went unheard. Finally I had to butt in her monologue and show her my ticket, confirming to her that even I paid for the ticket and that I would like to at least see without any distractions how badly the movie has been made. That shut her up fine.
Finally the movie ended, and I had a chance to give my friend a cold stare in the light outside, which she was very cleverly ignoring in the dark of the movie hall. She looked at me and said that she will treat me to a sandwich from my favorite joint. Deciding that I needed to sit down and eat, I forgot about the three wasted hours of my life and went for it.

One night...

2009-05-08T03:40:00.000-07:00

The night that fell around her was as dark as her thoughts. The occasional passing by of headlights sent a shiver down her spine with emotions ranging from panic to relief, jostling for space in her heart and brain. Finally she spotted a garage a little off the road.

There were eerie voices coming from the jungle on either side of the road. Or maybe she was imagining it. Resolutely ignoring the erratic thumping of her nerves she set towards that poor imitation of a garage. It was basically a rag pulled over three bamboo sticks and tires and tools all around. The light that fell on those truck tires all around somehow made her realize the smallness of her frame. The small yellow light glowing inside was laced with smoke of ‘bedi’ and cheap cigarettes. Her smelling senses were sent for a toss with sweat and liquor mixing with piss and grease. Her eyes stung remembering the ‘evening in Paris’, a gift from her father which was on the dressing table at the inn.

A sudden flash of arms and teeth brought her back. The panic which was jumping up and down in her body, quietly settled in her stomach making her feet and arms immobile. With wild eyes she looked at the mane of long dark hair on a high forehead and kohl rimmed eyes. “Are you ok Madame?” he asked, “Is your car broken”? Somehow she managed to mumble, “Down the road”. “Well there is a mechanic here, Raj will send him”. He said something to a relatively small person in the local language, which she took to be instructions towards her car. “Where do you want to go? You are not from here”.

“I am a tourist. I live in a nearby hotel,” she replied a little haltingly. “Come I am going that way. I will leave you in my truck” he said and gestured towards a giant black figure. The sheer mass and meanness of the vehicle seemed to make it much darker than the night surrounding it. The exhaust pipe seemed to be going directly into her heart and creating a holocaust of emotions inside it. Not sure if or not she should tell this stranger about where she lives, she stood rooted to the ground wondering how in the name of god she can politely but firmly reject him. “Don’t worry Madameji nothing will happen.

here are two kids in the back of the truck. You can sit with them” he said and smiled. The genuine smile wrapped with those words spoken seemed so true to her that her fears if not evaporate did subside a little. She went back and indeed there were two small boys there. She sat with them and the truck started with a roar. Those kids sat in a corner staring outside in the night with a comfortable but firm silence pushing everyone in their own worlds. She followed their gazes and stared at random things. Tress, small shops, headlights, stars, legs, moon, road. After a while the truck stopped and she realized that she has reached her hotel. While she was about to get down her eyes fell on s few markings on the legs of those kids. They were moving a little on the side and she realized with light falling on their right side from the lamplight outside, that there was frozen blood on their hind side. That blood was all she could think of while she stood on the curb of her inn and saw the truck dirver leave after passing a broad smile..

Life's about Eternal Optimism

2009-03-25T22:59:00.000-07:00

He Speaks in a voice that suggests a rare mixture of politeness and authority, which also defines his personality. His face has lines of experience etched on it and a smile that promises its charm even in tough times. I was interviewing ajai Chowdhry, the cofounder of HCL and Chairman & CeO of HCL Infosystems.

I wondered what is it that makes this man tick? Who are the people who can in-fluence such a person? So,when I ask him, he takes a moment to ponder and replies, “I don’t think I can attribute it to any single person. However, the person who comes closest is my co-founder, Shiv nadar. It’s quite impossible not to get influenced by his charismatic personality.” So, what is it about nadar that influences him so much? “He always believes in looking ahead and has a positive attitude,” he says. Accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory, said George S Patton. So what are the challenges that Chowdhry faced? “There have beenmultiple challenges. For example, how do you set a growth trajectory in a particular time? Sometimes it is through organic growth, on other occasions through joint ventures and acquisitions. We have done it all,” he says.

So, what are the learnings in these phases? “In the 1990s, when we went for joint ventures, we learned from global leaders and scaled ourselves up. at that point in time, we felt we are a passionate company. We soon realized that passion alone was not enough and that processes and qualities are as important as passion and people,” he says. Every company or an individual plans for the future. But, Chowdhry has a different take. “you can make a five-year plan but it’s never going to be sufficient. From being a hardware company addressing B2B, we went on to address B2C segment, and then we decided to go for systems integration as well,” he explains.

It’s said that time tests everybody. For Chowdhry it was the year 1991, when there was limited foreign exchange in the country. “During this period, our products were dependent on the components that were imported. So that was quite a challenge for us,” he says. To grow a business, it takes time and effort. To grow faster, it takes more time and more effort. But, it’s imperative to strike a balance between personal and professional life. “I have a methodology by which I detach myself from work the moment I reach home. One needs to train oneself. Despite the fact that you have a mobile and a laptop, you need to keep away from these devices. I believe

I have done a fairly good job in mastering this skill,” he adds with a smile. His smile is contagious and I smile back. Before I could stop myself, I ask him the question that was burning in mind. What makes an entrepreneur successful? “an entrepreneur’s biggest skill and strength is to be optimistic at all times, particularly during crisis. He has to be an eternal optimist. even at difficult times, he should talk about growing and not give up hope,” he says.

A leader is a dealer in hope — something that napoleon Bonaparte said so many years ago. It’s fascinating to know that someone follows his advice even today.

Books, Business and Bhagwad Gita

2009-03-25T22:56:00.000-07:00

When I walked through the door less cabin, with paintings adorning the walls and a glass pane overlooking a beautiful garden, the ambiance impressed me. However, the man who entered after me impressed me even more. Witty, calm and someone with a sense of humor is how I will describe P Rajendran, co-founder and COO of NIIT. An IIT graduate, he can talk about politics, movies and spirituality with as much clarity as about computers and engineering. Reminiscing about his IIT days, he says, “I always wanted to be an outstanding engineer. I wanted to invent something”.

His passion for engineering since his school days can be traced back to the influence his mother’s brother, the first engineer in the family had on him. “I was very much influenced with his strong ethics His professional attitude impressed me much”, adds Rajendran. So, was he the biggest influence in his life? He thinks for a moment and replies, “No, he inspired me in a way, but not completely. I don’t think I have ever been influenced completely by anyone or anything”.
So, what apart from his uncle has inspired him? “There is this book by W.Somerset, Razor’s edge. It made a lasting impression on me and opened my horizons to bigger world outside my own”, he says, suggesting me to get a hand on that book myself. I promise him to do that as soon as I get a chance.

His love for books is apparent from the way his eyes twinkle at the mere mention of the word. An avid reader, Rajendran has read everything from Ayan Rand to Bhagwad Gita. “I have marked some paragraphs in Gita red and put some tags on them. I sometimes go back and read those verses”, he adds. Influenced by Howard Roark, Rajendran believes that everyone should have an idol like him and think differently and respect and understand the other side of the story, without leaving the faith in one’s own belief.

Ask him the toughest time in his life, he replies with a resolve in his voice. The same resolve that got his company through some of the worst times in the history of IT in the country. “I think 2001; the last slowdown was the toughest time for us. There was this wrong perception in the country. India was just starting to understand IT. ‘After 20 years IT dies in India’ was the general story going around”, he says. Someone who believes in the concept of FOF, fight or flight, he fought all right. “We went into aggressive marketing. There 14 centers and rest franchise of NIIT around the country. Some partners got scared and pulled out. So we went ahead and invested our own money and from 14 we went on to have 50 centers in the country. This reinstated faith in other partners and gave the message that we are going to go on”, says Rajendran.

The calm on his face and the confidence in his voice suggests that he is one person who knows well how to balance his personal and professional life well. Ask him this and he asks back quizzically, “I didn’t know the term personal life existed”, breaking into a chuckle the next moment. “I do not believe in partitioning my life in different parts. It’s all integrated. If my wife calls me in a middle of a meeting I will pick up her call and if someone was to call me on a Sunday afternoon, I will pick up his call as well”, he adds.

Ask him how he handles difficult situation he says, “Depth of knowledge about the problem is of utmost importance. Also there should be a sense of urgency in tackling the problem and a laid-back attitude is a complete no-go”. His body language is a testimony that he believes in what he preaches. A straight back, alert eyes and a clam voice gives an impression of toughness and agility.

War movies, music and theatre are things that relax him. “When my daughter was born, she was my stress buster till the time she was growing”, he adds.

Once I am done with the interview, he saw me take out the batteries of my Dictaphone and said, “You doing that to save energy right? I will give you a better idea, take a cloth and put it between the connection and the batteries, it will save both time and energy” and winks at me. I smile back; take my bag and leave, a little wiser and extremely satisfied with the meeting.

A day's deaparting gift...

2009-02-18T22:16:00.000-08:00

I was coming back by 492 as usual this evening. However, there were no ‘Ladies’ seat, as the part where it is generally written that it is allotted for our sex was painted white. I personally think that the conductor of the bus believed very strongly in non –discrimination on the basis of sex funda. Or maybe he was just done with resolving the many man-woman clashes over this particular issue. Whatever be the case, I ended up sitting next to a man on a seat, where usually a woman is seated.
Don’t get too excited we barely looked in each other’s direction, and completely forgot the existence of the other when the bus started to move. I was engrossed in my music and sometime while I was listening to some random song, I looked in his direction. He was crouched in his corner of the seat. He probably thought that if he dared to come on ‘my side of the seat’, I might just pounce on him and eat him raw (I strictly refuse to believe that my dead expression was the reason for his peculiar behavior, and strongly believe that either he has a very demanding lady boss or girlfriend, there isn’t much difference either way, or else he must have been abused by a woman some time in his life). He also had his bag clutched close to his heart. It looked like his heartbeats were being pumped directly from this bag of his. I went back to my dead expressions and ‘Dard-de-Disco’ (One can only listen to this number if one is either drunk or drugged or has sat from 9-6 in his/her office with three meetings, with two different bosses who don’t see eye to eye. With me it was the latter one).
And then I smelled a very familiar smell for a fraction of five seconds. I must here inform anyone who is reading this that one thing that I like the most is fragrance. Perfumes, flowers are therefore my preferred options for any sort of gift giving or receiving occasion (those close enough to present me with my birthday gift please take note of this fact and for a change give me something that I really like. Also those who know my address are hereby given a chance to do some good in life by making someone else that is me, happy. :P) Coming back, this particular smell is actually from a perfume called ‘Charlie’. The last I smelled this smell was, when I was I guess 13 or14 and my neighbor, Jigna, was learning how to make perfumes. She had made this particular one which she presented to me (my mum actually, but she never used it). I used to wear that perfume almost on a daily basis and was very fond of the smell. Anyways, this fragrance turned my attention to the person sitting next to me, as I thought he might be wearing that perfume. This man or rather a boy on his way to becoming a man was fair, wavy black hair with a touch of brown and an extremely peaceful face.
Night formed the background with light thrown from the yellow bulbs rushing past. This contrasted so well with the still image of a milky white face with barely smiling lips, white shirt, brown half sweater and blue jeans. That image gave me my first genuine smile of the day. I didn’t like this guy in absolutely any way. I wasn’t even thinking of him. But his presence somehow helped me relax. And that smell took me back in time when a whiff of perfumes on strangers used to make my heart flutter and flowers were known to me by their scent. I thought it was the day’s departing gift to me.

Another country hanged from the rope of 'Liberation'

2009-01-22T01:48:00.000-08:00

It’s been a while since the Israel attack on Gaza strip, yet once again, flooded the international page of our dailies. Most of us, who can give only 10 minutes of our time to the world, will be familiar only with terms like Hamas- the victim, Israel- The big bad wolf and US- its ally. Maybe that is the reason people have been writing absurd mails about ‘saving’ Gaza. I am not of the opinion here that Israel was right and Gaza wrong. The question unfortunately does not arise of right or wrong. It’s all about power. It always has been.
For those of you who do not know, elections are supposed to be held very soon in Gaza. I would also like to mention here that not all are in favor of Hamas there. This war has however turned those not in favor of Hamas on their side. So, this can very well be a strategy to swing votes in their favor and come into power once more. A few deaths here and here is not a price big enough to deter them from getting the highest post in the country. Actually, it’s few people less to govern for them. Also even in Israel elections will be held very soon and the same thing can be said for them as well. After all, history is a witness to the fact that nothing works better in favor of political parties than war. The wonders that Kargil did for BJP is known by everyone.
In this case it was Hamas that broke the truce by attacking Israel first. The fact that the truce was suppose to get over in a few days after the attack, now withstanding. Israel was willing to extend the peace period with Hamas.
It may sound like I am in favor of Israel but that is truly not the case. U.S and Israel have more commonalities than the Jewish population in both the countries. They both believe that they are the sole guardians of terms like ‘liberation’ and ‘freedom’. I really had a good laugh, when I read that Mr. Ehud Olmert, PM of Israel, said that the attacks on Gaza was a way to ‘liberate all the Palestinians’, in a report by the agencies. Rings a bell? Let me help you, this was exactly what Bush said when he was going on a war with Iraq. U.S and Israel think that if once declared a terrorist organization by them, no group is liable to rule a country, the fact that the people of that country are the one’s who brought these ‘terrorist’ organization into power, is immaterial. After all how can these people who do not even understand the meaning of simple words like ‘freedom’ and ‘liberation’ be capable to decide for themselves and their country? It is their moral duty to make them and the rest of the world interpret these terminologies form their point of view.
Another similarity between Gaza and Iraq is, both are rich in natural resources. We are all aware of the madness that is created by the words ‘petrol’ and ‘natural gas’. These terms have been officially recognized by the world to offset the word ‘Humanity’. There is an untapped natural gas resource in the Gaza Marine gas field, an area about 36 kilometers off of the Gaza coast, estimated to be 4$ billion USD. In 1999, UK based British Gas (BG) discovered natural gas there. BG proposed to pump the gas into Israel, however Gaza and Israel couldn’t agree on the price.
Yet even before the talks broke off, the situation shifted dramatically in June 2007 when Hamas violently ousted Fatah from power in the Gaza Strip, claiming ownership of the gas fields off the coast and the proceeds from the sale of the gas. This posed a serious problem for both Israel, which obviously was not going to pay a portion of the money to Hamas, and to BG, which was banned by its government from negotiating with Hamas, declared as a terrorist outfit by the UN.
“Looking at the current situation, the main objective of the IDF is to break down Hamas to the point where it is no longer capable of attacking Israel, or to negotiate a binding cease-fire agreement with an assurance from Hamas that it will stop its daily rocket attacks and cease smuggling weapons into Gaza through tunnels connected to Egypt.
Removing Hamas from power in Gaza and reinstating Fatah will be almost impossible. However, according to newspaper reports, cabinet ministers have been told that some Hamas leaders in Gaza are desperate for a cease-fire and would be willing to settle on almost any terms stipulated by Israel”, reported Jerusalem Post.
Israel till now has been getting natural gas from the neighboring country Egypt. The realization that Egypt’s resources will get over sometime in future has dawned upon our friends now. So, why not bleed Gaza whose airspace, territorial waters and land borders are under Israeli military anyway.
Right from food to electricity, everything is brought into Gaza from Israel. The biggest exporter for Gaza is Israel. Israel is the only connection of Gaza with the outside world (the opening from the Egypt side closed after Egypt lost Gaza in 1967 to Israel). Basically Gaza is actually only a strip, which can be called an extended territory of a full-fledged countryIsrael, known by another name.
So, practically speaking, what sense did it make for Hamas to attack Israel when they know they are in such a delicate situation? The whole natural gas bit was on hold anyway. By attacking Israel, Hamas has only given Israel a way to make sure that it can now take over those resources by including them in the cease-fire agreement. Hamas had the chance to actually extract money from this whole deal. Alas! Their hunger for power is going to make sure that the country never comes out from the depths of poverty whose bottom it is hitting already. Maybe it will give birth to another extremist group which will bomb either U.S or Israel and then Israel can formally take over Gaza. Then we shall have ‘freedom’ in the Gaza strip. And then we will also have another war and another country to talk and abuse and blame.

One of those days...

2008-12-18T03:55:00.000-08:00

For normal people the cause of depression will be, maybe a heart-break, fight with boy friend, parents divorce, friends betrayal…but not for me. For me the cause of depression last Friday was a PRESS CONFERENCE. Yes, as weird and impossible as it may sound to you, it is very much true, and possible with my fate. The fact that it was not one of ‘the best days of my life’, might have had something to aggravate my depression, but nevertheless, this can not undermine the role that PRESS CONFERENCE played in bringing out those watery captives from the prison of my eyes.
It was on that fateful Thursday, the 11th of this month. I got up and realized I was too lazy to boil water, which I have to do because I am too lazy to go and buy a rod (also the fact that I am concerned about my electricity bill, now with standing). So, I took a bath from chilling tap water, for those of you who don’t know, I stay in Delhi and Delhi in winters is like a Harry Potter land where there is a constant presence of Dememtors in the area.
So, after cursing the place, god, my landlord and my office, I set out for my office. One of the most irritating things about Delhi is, that busses don’t stop at the bus stop if there is no passenger who wants to get down or else you are not literally standing in front of the bus, waving your hands high up your head, creating a doubt about your sanity in the minds of those who are not used to this kind of humiliation and are not aware about the limited viewing capacity of the bus drivers.
So, while I was waving my hands like I am trying to catch butterflies in the middle of the street, five bus drivers decided that I was actually doing that and ignored my pleas to stop. Finally, at 9:50 (my office starts at 9:30) a buss driver decided to show some pity on me and stopped the bus. It was as usual stuffed with legs and hands and sweat. I didn’t even bother to try to get past these as I knew I will only be beaten up by the crowd. So, I was standing right at the edge of the bus. A word of advice for those who plan to follow my example, DON’T DO IT. The drivers not only lack visual capabilities, but are completely ignorant that they are actually carrying a bus full of people, most of them hanging on others and bits of metal for dear life. So he made sure that I was swinging like a pendulum and hit each and every part of my body, with either a person pushing his way to get down or from the many rods in the bus.
Finally I arrived at Nehru Place and by them I assure you every joint in my body was paining and screeching for a massage. Thinking about beautiful resorts and spas, I made my way to my office building. I missed the lift and had to wait for some five minute before another arrived. Some how I knew that my day has just started, and was I right or what? The lift got stuck at 3rd floor (my office is at 4th) and after five minutes of everyone in the lift trying their hands at the panel, the lift started juggling upwards and stopped at the 10th floor directly. I rushed back down and slipped, making the two very executive type (good-looking though) men almost giggle. They offered for help but I was too embarrassed to even look at them, so I nodded my head and said something about water on the stairs (it was as dry as an autumn leaf) and left. I kept wondering all the way to my office that why does it so happen that whenever some good-looking man passes me, my life becomes a horror story. Meeting good-looking men is jinxed for me I guess.
So, after reaching my office, I asked for a cup of tea as usual, which I have become quite addicted to, and my brain simply refuses to work without it. Guess what? My tea machine was broken and I couldn’t get any. Typical na? So, I decided to order some tea and biscuits from down stairs ‘chaiwala’. However, before I could even complete this thought, I made the suicidal mistake of telling my boss that there was a press conference of Microsoft today and before I could complete even that thought (which was of not going there) my boss requested (which as an employee when came down to me looked like an order) to go there. I went to see him and told him that I didn’t think it was wroth it. Only that I didn’t say it that way, I said “What do I do in this press conference”. Yes, I know it sounds like the fish is asking how to swim and the reaction you would have given your employee was the same that I received. Which was a blank look and a repetition of the same question in a half-irritated and a half-awed voice. After repeating after me, my boss said I know there is no news there, but go and make contacts at least. I agreed to do the same, for which I paid a heavy price I must say.
I was supposed to go to Taj palace at Sujan Singh Park. I am fairly new to Delhi and haven’t really got a chance to explore the place. And honestly, I am so bad with directions and remembering the name of roads and places that I wouldn’t have been able to tell the rikshawala directions as and how. So, when you have my sense of direction, you have to depend on the rikhshwala to know the place and trust him completely. That day, I asked five rikhshwala to take me there and all in turn asked me if I knew where it was. So, I gave them the look my boss gave me and went ahead to look for another one. Finally, I got a guy who agreed to take me there, however the person who got off the rik before I got in went to some office in the interior of Nehru place, as he forgot his money and had to borrow from someone. This whole process took some 15 minutes during which time the rikhshwala and I were waiting for the guy the come back. After that he drove to Taj at such an excruciatingly slow and cautious way (I am so used to fast driving in Delhi), that I almost dozed off and was rudely awaken by him. I paid him and entered the hell hole (Imagine paying to go to hell!).
I must mention here that the press con was supposed to start at 11:15 and I was dot on time, considering all the odds. However, it is a cardinal mistake to expect a press con to start on time. All though I was expecting an half and hour delay for the proceedings to take place, what followed was unacceptable. There were no chairs to sit on and because they had five laptops and smart phones they wanted to give away to people, who win a very idiotic game I must say, there were flocks of journalist pilling up in that room, which was half the size of a big classroom (the other half was occupied by their banners and laptops for groups to play). Everyone knows that Vista and the smart phones by Microsoft aren’t doing well, so it was basically a promotional strategy. They had set up some laptops in various colors, blue, green, etc and two people were standing around it, making us understand the so called ‘new features’. The lady at the podium started the meet by 12:30, which means that that for nearly a hour and a half we were simply standing and looking at strangers , and as the AC (in winters) was on full blast, our legs were shivering from the effort of standing and bearing the cold as well. That lady herself was smiling like a maniac (literally) and speaking of oceans and skies at a Microsoft Press con. Go figure! Even the PR guys I later heard were flabbergasted by her lack of intelligence. Even for a Marcom person, she was dumb.
We were sorted out in groups and after listening to that lady go on and on about describing the various colors (in which we were sorted), we were sent to laptops under each color platform and were educated about the features. The features were not only old and nothing extraordinary, but also the people talking about them looked like they were being tortured by having to handle us. Lame jokes and scripts that they had prepared (friend-talking-to friend act) added to our misery. I remember one man in particular, who was telling us about this new feature in MSN (which is owned by Microsoft) where one can customize their smiley. The smiley he chose to customize as an example for us was the kissing one. A middle-aged man kissing on a chat box, which fills up completely with his cracked lips, in a press conference, is not a pretty sight, trust me you. While the rest of my colleagues were smiling or looking at their feet, I was openly gaping at the man.
Also the mad lady on the podium was counting down to 10 in every few minutes and pressing the buzzer until she saw some ear bleeding. After that I didn’t have the heart or sense to take in the rest of what went on.
The reason I went there was to meet Hemant their new Joint MD for online and marketing. He was sucked in from Bharti and I was told to make ‘contact’ as is necessary in our line of business. He came around one and addressed the meeting for some 10 minutes. In fact I think those 10 minutes was the only worthwhile period of those three hours I spent there.
However, he came by 1:15 and the whole circus, with the games played and stuff, was done by 2. By that time we all had been standing for almost three hours straight. By now, most of the journalists were sitting on the floor completely exhausted. Luckily there was a rug and they had the comfort of knowing that their asses wouldn’t freeze, like their legs had.
Before they announced the winners, they requested us to join them for lunch. Most of us have our food by 1, so you can imagine how hungry we must be by 2. I, for one left office without having anything so I was famished. However, the line was so big and people so hungry that I didn’t really get a chance to eat properly. Also the fact that the whole set-up of the stalls was done in a space of 3 foot, didn’t help the situation. By then I was done with the whole thing and left on the verge of tears. I reached office, abused everyone and everything, bitched about the whole damm press con, cried a bit (as I was in office) and had momo’s (veg one’s).

When Mumbai got raped once again

2008-12-01T04:12:00.000-08:00

27th November, it was the day I had to go to Jodhpur for a press conference. My flight was at 12, so I was peacefully sleeping. At 8 my friend called me and gave me the news of Mumbai terrorist attack that happened previous night. I will very honestly confess that I heard the news half asleep, nodded my head and went back to sleep. I will not get into this whole discussion of how numb and selfish we have become. It is a reality lets accept it. Yes, we have become numb, because we are not left with much choice.
Should we blame the government and the security lapse? I think we should and we have to. We pay taxes heavily for our security and anyone who is even a little interested in the finance world, will know that every country keeps the maximum and a flexible budget for security of the country. Should we blame the politicians? Yes we should, because their job profile clearly states that they are responsible for our safety.
And last but not the least, should we blame our selves? Yes, we should. Not only because we have become numb, but also because we are not joining politics and making a difference. I read a post by Khusboo, a very dear friend of mine on face book, about five minutes ago. And God, was I frustrated by that post or what. The reason I avoid reading opinions in newspapers because it tells me things I already know. The post like many of that same nature spoke a lot about how we are realizing the impact of “terrorism” because it’s happening in our own backyard right now. Sorry to say but it was always happening in our backyard, it’s just that now we have forums like facebook and blogpost and everyone has decided to start writing on these subjects.
I do not want to say here, that the writing in its own effect was bad or wrong. No, it was not. Although I do feel that it did not ask the basic question, which I would like everyone who reads this blog to ask themselves at least once. Why did a 25 year old man become a terrorist? What has gone so wrong with the world that people are ready to kill themselves and others for absolutely no rhyme or reason? What is it that we as individuals and a country can do to save these self-destructive people from themselves and others from them as well?
I have a few theories on what can be the reason for all this, which I do not claim to be an absolute truth. As mentioned it is a theory and I would like everyone to look at them that way. Now, as to why a person picks up a gun, there are multiple reasons behind it. They are brain washed by a few leaders who want political power and their own pawns in the system being the most logical one. Although I don’t think that these leaders are the main problem. They are simply playing the old game, which has been a tried and tested formula for every leader, but with new weapons.

The mail focus for me, is that individual and his issue with the system that makes his mind so vulnerable to such manipulations. He could be poor, or an educated engineer with no work or someone who has been fooled to believe that the rest of the communities are being unfair to his community or religion and he is only reacting on their behalf. In all these cases, it is the collective responsibility of the state to take care of that individual. To make sure that none of these reasons rise for some 25 year old to pick up arms.
Looking at the second question, I would say that the thing wrong with all of us is that we have simply forgotten the importance of being personal and everything is too mechanical and technical these days. It has led to a lot of insecurities popping up amongst the common man. We are so engrossed in our own lives and computers, we simply forget to even look at what our friends or family or even a neighbor, is going through. It has kind of made us blind to their problems and issues. And here I am talking about ‘terrorist’ who are not living in the Kashmir’s of this world. They are in fact a part of our neighborhood in Delhi and Mumbai.
Terrorist living in remote areas have different things working for them. Things like poverty or an Afzal Guru scenario, where a person is forced to become a terrorist by holding their families hostages by these so called leaders. In these areas only our leaders can help them by empowering them with a job or security for their families. Or else one of us can join politics. And yes I am thinking about it myself.
So, should we kill these terrorist. Maybe yes we should. But will this solve the problem of terrorism. I think not. What we have to tap at is the root cause of all this. One of the very obvious of which is development. And here I do not mean making flyovers and dams. Development is changing the attitude of the people. India is a developing country where people earning lakhs of ruppess pee on the road. I think this statement should make you stop and think.

Also, we have to learn ourselves and educate those around us that religion is a personal faith and if somebody tells us that their religion is better than ours we should simply keep devotion to ours and not start reacting to it. As this is what the religious heads do to poke at our most sensitive and intimate belief.
Secondly, please let’s get out of our computer mode and take some time out of our busy lives for our friends and family. How long has it been that you have called one of your closest friends who are not in the same city? Or met those who are in the same city. How many of us take out 10 minutes out of our busy schedule to talk to our parents or siblings or kids or spouses? To know what is it that they are going through or maybe just to know how was their day. It might sound very naïve but this is the only way to make sure that a kid is not lured towards extremism because he doesn’t have parents to talk to at home and seeks solace in god and these so called religious heads to get close to someone.
Yes, we can protest and wave flags, but if we do not even communicate personally with our own selves, the cause is effectively lost.

My anthem

2008-11-20T00:17:00.000-08:00

There are words everywhere
Words of hope and despair
There are voices screeching away from the enclosed darkness of our homes
And there are voices singing them from the yellow of the sun
But when they enter the walls of my mind
And make themselves comfortable in the corners of it
They squeeze their colors which reflect in me.
Then are all those colors yours?
And am I simply a painting made by you
I think so not
Because in your voices these colors rot
And smelled of the putrid past or
Tasted of the rush of the future
I plucked them from their backyard of past
And caught them while they ran on the path of future
And planted my dreams and hopes on these seeds
Those seeds might be yours but the dreams are mine
The thought might be yours but I am the one who has made them flourish with the water of my reasoning and interpretations
I am not blind and should I choose to see from your eyes,
The choice would be mine
The repercussions will be mine
For, only I am the sole reason for making me
And none shall ever blame thee
For who I am and what I shall be.

A day in my Life

2008-10-17T01:07:00.000-07:00

I live alone in Delhi. No big deal, a lot of people do. So, don’t worry this is not another run-of-the mill piece where I am wallowing in the hardships of living alone. I actually quite enjoy myself. But this isn’t about my oh-so-perfect life either. Actually, it’s a part of that perfect life. It’s about one of the most enjoyable and unforgettable day of my life.
Yes, so I live alone and although I love being by myself, having my family around is more than pleasurable. So, on Friday after convincing my dad that he can survive alone, my mum came down to visit me, ignoring the killer looks and heart-burn of my grandma (she personifies Shashikala's character of that typical Hindi movie mother-in-law) and many hints from my dad about his plight (For the life of him he can’t cook and actually I don’t think he should try either because nothing will be left of the kitchen if he ever attempts that feat). So, on Friday my mother and I had a very enjoyable evening wherein we went to Lajpat Nagar market, gossiped about our relatives, had an ice-cream and a gola and bitched about my relatives some more.
Next day my sisters (I have two elder sisters) were going to visit my place. My mum got up at 6 in the morning (thanks to my dad, who simply does not allow her to sleep after 5 because he goes to yoga at that time and obviously my mum has to do everything right from getting his clothes to making him tea, because as I mentioned earlier he is completely lost without her and cannot manage to even comb his hair on his own), and was tossing and turning on the mattress (I am a bachelor, I don’t have a bed!). No, I did not wake up because I am a sound sleeper and the world can crumble around me with cannons going off and aliens riding down with really noisy spaceships and I still wont get up! My mum tried sleeping till 7, gave up the attempt at 7:10 and then went to take a bath. She washed all my clothes (most of them did not require any cleaning according to me but she cleaned them anyway, out of boredom or because she was disgusted by my effort’s of keeping them clean, I do not know). She was done by 8 and by then she was fruitlessly trying to wake me up. Then by 9 she was done with making the breakfast and cleaning the house (my mum is a neat freak and cannot stand a dirty house). Although I said that even cannons blasting cannot wake me up, my mother washing dishes can. The clanking of the plates and cups were enough to wake the dead. So, I was very unceremoniously woken up and had no choice but to try and pick my body up to the bathroom (It often happens with me that when I wake up, although my mind is in my bathroom brushing my teeth my body simply refuses to make this surreal situation real). So after fighting the resistance that my body was offering ,I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and washed my face. I then came out and had my breakfast .
Till then we didn't know if my sisters were coming home or not. As they have husbands who will simply refuse to take the responsibility of the kids until and unless it is thrust upon them.
But somehow my sisters managed to convince their husbands that the kids wouldn’t really blow off the place and try and kill them. So being relieved of this temporary job of a jailer they were to come to my place. To freedom at last! But well, one cannot expect exemption from all their responsibilities and roles. And the role that they simply couldn’t shake off was that of a cook. They had to cook food for their family which is nothing short of an army (joint family you see) and can definitely give the appetite of an army a run for their money (or machine guns, have your pick).
As my sisters were supposed to cook for their family, I had to cook for them. No big deal you would say, but what if you have put all the masala and are almost ready to cook your Dal when you realize that the valve of your cooker is missing? It means your cooker isn’t working properly. Did we panic? No we didn’t. I cooked in it and left the rest to god. Apparently it turned out to be just fine. The utensil in which I was to make sabzi for us was too small to hold sabzi made for four people (I guess it never occurred to me and my parents while buying utensils that I might have guest some day at my house or that I will ever cook for them. My relatives really do not believe me when I say I can cook, including my parents).
I managed somehow and it was also quite ok and eatable (I am quite good at cooking actually. And I personally believe that self-praise is necessary at times).
So, with these minor glitches I finished cooking. However, it was 1:30 and my sisters were no where in view. So, I called up their place to find out if they have left or not (both my sisters are married in the same family).
Here I would like to mention they have two phone lines, one upstairs and one down and both are interconnected. So I called them up and guess what, everyone in the house decided to pick up the phone (the attention that you get form your family!). I first spoke to my sister’s mother-in-law but I could not do more than exchange a few pleasantries with her as my oldest niece (14 year old) snatched the phone from her hand, she apparently wanted to talk to me about something but could not because before she managed to take my name, her brother (8 year old) took the phone from her. After this it was a complete chaos! My younger sister’s kid’s (3 and 9 years respectively) picked up the phone from upstairs and all four were fighting on the phone, while in the same house! Yes that’s my wonderful family for you. And what was I doing the whole time? Trying to catch their attention and worry about my prepaid acc getting over. But alas! I failed to make my voice hear over their fighting and was completely denied my existence on the phone by them. Then my brother-in-law came on the phone, and wouldn’t you expect a grown man to sort this mess out? Well, with my family you cant. Instead of telling them all to shut up and keep the phone, he joined in the fighting and in fact started fuelling the brawl. As optimistic as I am, even I gathered that this is not getting me anywhere and I kept the phone without even bothering to say good-bye.
After that we had no option to wait for my sisters to turn up soon. You must be wondering why I didn’t simply call them up on their cells. They are completely technologically challenged and I did not know if they would have got their cell phones with them, which they don’t most of the time. Also, as everyone in my family is partially deaf and cannot hear their mobiles, even if it’s shouting on top of its voice (again and again) and craving for their attention, I knew it was pointless calling them.
It was almost 2:30 now and I was dying of hunger. Finally at 2:40 I decided to have my food as people who know me will tell you that I do not like to ignore natures call (yes of all kinds).
Luckily before I could attack my food with the knife of my hunger, my doorbell rang and my sisters were there. No, I did not get angry at them or greet them, but told them to join me later as I simply couldn’t wait anymore to eat (I could imagine the food begging me too). My sisters joined me before I could manage to get the first bite in (thanks to my super fast mum) and we had a very hearty and enjoyable lunch spiced up with lots of gossip, family and otherwise.
Then we decided to go to Chandini Chowk, as my mum and sis both wanted to buy saris and suits. Most of you must be aware that in India, once married very few ladies wear jeans and t-shirts as their husband’s family isn’t really comfortable with it. Same is the case is with my sisters. So, my younger sister decided to wear my jeans and t-shirt (my elder one didn’t as my jeans couldn’t fit her). Even my mum, who never wears anything but sari, was wearing a salwar kameez.
So, after this makeover was finished we went to catch the rickshaw. Riding on a road of jokes, laughter, light conversation with many bumps and a driver in a lot of hurry, who did not think of us more than human luggage and whose conscience did not screech at him when he drove too fast and nearly hit every vehicle on the road, we reached our destination.
We shopped for nearly two hours and had walked the length of the Bazaar. The crowd was unbelievable and there were enough people there to create a whole new state. The place itself was full of dilapidated shops, and here is where we see irony which can be only found in India, that these shops did a business of more than a crore every year. I imagined the place without the smell of the sweat and the voice of a person and shuddered involuntarily.
I was suffocating and not just by the crowd but from the way the shopkeepers where throwing the exorbitant prices of the most ordinary stuff at us. The fact that people where actually buying them (including my sister) now withstanding. You see I have recently started earning and have suddenly realized the importance money holds. However, the smiles of the would-be brides and their expectant faces along with a pout of a child and the stubborn argument of a girl to buy only the most expensive dress in the shop with her father, were enough to offset the otherwise glumness of the place.
We did our shopping and were ready to go back home. We didn’t find a rickshaw for nearly an hour. When we finally did, we went to 3C’s (a restaurant) in lajpat nagar to eat. My elder sister and I left my younger sis and mum to choose the dinner while we went to the loo to freshen ourselves. After looking at the prices of food items there, my mom decided that we better go to some other place. So, we took a bottle of water (paid more than the MRP, but didn’t really have any choice as we were all dying of thirst) and went to Haldiram’s. Although the prices were no less, my coupons (which I get from office) worked here (We Indian’s can spend 5000 through coupons but 500 in form of cash seems like a lot to us!)
By then my brother-in-law was begging my sisters to return as my niece’s and nephews had fought and blood was shed on both sides. My sisters were ignoring him and I was convincing him to make the kids have haffem (drug) and put them off to sleep.
Although this did not really convince him, he did let my sisters stay as it was already 8:30 by the time we finished with dinner and being the paranoid that he is, he didn’t want them to travel back home so late.
So, after doing a quick jig in Haldiram’s and entertaining people, we went back home. We all changed into my many ‘ghar ke kapade’ (night suits and stuff), we had a cup of tea while watching old songs on my cable TV and some more discussion about my unique and weird family.
Later that night we watched ‘Singh is King’, with special comments from everybody, making the movie 10 times funnier. Had tea at 12 in the night and went off to sleep while talking at 2 in the morning.
That day I did not dream because no dream could compete with the day I had just lived in real life.

A Wednesday

2008-09-25T05:40:00.000-07:00

I saw A Wednesday last night. Finally! I had heard so much about the movie that I was extremely excited about it before it even started. I must say that I made the cardinal mistake of expecting a great movie from a good script. Alas! I was profoundly disappointed in that area. It was a good movie, yes. However, I think it could have been better.
Let me first say what I found good in this movie. The best part about this movie was that Nasserudin Shah’s name was not revealed. The reason that by revealing his name his religion would have also been revealed, was something that made me think that if Neeraj Pandey (writer and director of the movie) learns the finesse of film making, he can create great cinema. Secondly, I think that this movie raised a host of questions (for me) which are extremely important for us to understand and ask ourselves.
First, how little do we take into account the meaning of the word ‘life’, whether of a terrorist or a common man? It doesn’t matter who is killing or who is dieing, the question that is left to be pondered upon is that before killing do we even consider that a ‘life’ is been robbed away from a body, which can be the embodiment of so many relationships and emotions. Those relationships and emotions lost in the void forever, never to be formed again, leaving not just that person dead, killing a part of those connected to him or her. How is it possible that these thoughts never occur to those who indulge in this heinous crime?
The feeling of numbness and hatred that is being planted in the minds of the common man is something to think about. The fact that this man, who doesn’t have any direct link to violence per say, doesn’t hesitate in killing those terrorist was something that made me shudder. Imagine the kind of numbness and emptiness, that man would have felt before doing exactly what he was against. It shows that when such crimes are committed, they simply do not take away the life of people, but passes on that evilness to those who have survived it. And we are being thrown into a situation, where we become the monster that we set out to destroy.
Another thing that the movie was quite successful in portraying was the threat that the technology is posing to the world. I work for an IT magazine and I know that computers, although have replaced our best friends can be our worst nightmares as well. As was quite apparent in the movie.
There are multiple reasons why this movie doesn’t become what it should have been. First and foremost the script could have been crisper and tighter. Unnecessary scenes adorn the screen. The actress who plays Nina Roy looks good in an item song, but as an actor she ruined the movie for me. Whenever she was on-screen the only thought that crossed my mind is why in the name of god was she chosen for this role? And please do not insult my intelligence by telling me that a reporter, not even a hot-shot one, can take a camera-man and a van and roam around the city without any consultation with her editor. Only a Barkha Datta will be able to do a fete like such and Nina Roy was no Barkha Datta. The idiocy of our media is well-known but can be please have some sort of reality about how it works seeped in as well?
Secondly, the character of Jimmy Shergil was not explored the way it should have been. Yes, don’t give the guy any dialogue and let his body speak for him. But in that case also some sort of a background, the reason he became the most feared policeman, had to be shown. Also, the character's should have been explored rather than making them a simple accessory in the movie. Which didn't make sense any how because the central message of the movie was how the common man has set out to kill these terrorist before they can kill him. So, these terrorist need to have a character and not just a body and a name. If the director would have gone even a little further in establishing the reasons behind why and how these terrorists are made, this would have been a fabulous movie.
The scene where the terrorist is reminiscing about his childhood fell flat on its face. Was it written to supply as a support to the dialogue later by jimmy or was it written to make the audience understand their psychology? The message was lost on me. A lot of such senseless scenes are there in the movie which should have been deleted from the mind of the writer the moment he thought about them. But alas! He didn’t do it and ruined the effect that this movie could have created.

The stranger in the night.

2008-09-01T05:07:00.000-07:00

It was raining heavily that evening. She was standing at a bus stop waiting for her bus, cursing the rain that had rendered her wet. Her long open wet hair were sticking to her neck and back and felt like thorns penetrating through her dress. She was feeling extremely helpless, as she couldn’t fight her black.
As if her hair wasn’t causing her enough problems, the rain was fighting its way down to earth as warriors with arrows on them, shooting madly at anyone and everyone. She sighed and accepted defeat. It seemed as if the forces of nature have come together to make creases appear on her forehead.
She was looking around, as she didn’t know what else to do, when her eyes fell on a long figure looming towards her. He looked like a mass of darkness to her hiding behind the veil of rain, which had by now wrapped the black of the night around itself.
The man didn’t even notice her and went a little ahead; spread his arms, tilting his head upwards and started revolving slowly on the spot, with a huge grin on his face. She looked sideways and was surprised to find no camera or movie crew around him. She was a little taken aback by this erratic behavior.

But then she looked at his peaceful face, which arouse this sudden urge in her to join him in his solo act. Suddenly, he looked at her and asked, “Do you have face wash on you”? She was so taken aback by his question and the suddenness of it that she merely gaped at him and after a moment said “What”? “Face wash! You know the thing that cleans your face”, he said. “I know what a face wash is!” she said. “Then why are you gaping at me like I am from mars and I have asked you why do you have two eyes on you?” he asked. “ a) I am not gaping at you and b) you do look like you are from mars”, she replied. “Why because I am enjoying this beautiful weather the way it should be?” he asked looking quite amused at her stunned reaction. “No, because I think you are just trying to get some attention by acting like this. It's not necessary to go all Bollywood to enjoy rain”, she replied.

“Do you realize your nose is too long", he said. “What?” she asked again. “Is that your favorite word or is it that your dictionary isn’t comprehensive enough?” he asked smirking. “No, it’s just that when I meet people like you my intelligenece fails to understand such giberish”, she retorted turned away from him.
“I like your hands”, he said staring at her fingers. “Would you like me to choke you with them? I am capable of doing that”, she replied still looking on the other side of the road.

"You should have bought that chocalate that you wanted so bad. It's very rare that you get a chance to have what you want in life", he smiled at her. She turned around and looked him in the eye. The intensity in them threw her a step back. “How do you know I wanted a chocalate? Have you been following me? Are you a mugger or a stalker?” she asked, her voice betraying her fear. His eyes glinted and he replied, “Naw even better. I am a rapist”, he said and started moving towards her. Two things hit her at the same time. First, that he might just be the person that he is claiming to be. Second, somewhere in the last two minutes the black of the night and the balck of his eyes had amalgamated into one.

He was close enought for her to smell his cologne. She could not say if it smelled like roses or lilies or wood, but her nostrils were pleasantly surprised to know that it smelled good. She tried going back but her legs were temporary paralyzed from fear. Or maybe it was excitement. She didn’t know which. Her ideas told her that she should be scared as she didn’t even know him and he was going to touch her without her permission. But a part of here wanted to feel what he could do to her.

Was she actually going to let this man touch her? How could she? What was she, a bloody whore. She don’t even know him. How could she fantasize sleeping with him? The image of her father came into her mind and she shuddered at the thought of having him in there along with these thoughts. She feared her reaction more than his actions. She feared that she might actually enjoy this.
At that moment, he took her in his arms and kissed her fiercely and forced her to let him enter her mouth. She did. He then stopped abruptly and moved away from her. He started going the other way and then turned back and smiled at her, “I don’t think I will ever taste anything so sweet ever again". He turned on his heels and left.

She stood there looking at this stranger who gave her the taste of her first kiss. She wasn’t bothered about his name or his face. He was just a moment and the best moment of her life.

Life goes on…

2008-08-04T05:23:00.000-07:00

I was reading about the stampede in the Naina Devi temple, in Himachal Pradesh, which caused 145 lives. One of the devotees, namely Ram Prakash, said, "It's a question of faith. The tragedy does raise a question in your mind but faith is supreme. Life has to go on”. Life goes on…this is not the first time that I have heard this sentence being used after such tragic incidents. I have been hearing them for quite some time now. Being from Mumbai, this theory or philosophy has more or less been a part of my personality. Actually, it was made to be a part of my personality. There is a blast, don’t stop for a moment and think about it, start moving about, after all, life goes on. I am on stage and not feeling well, but I have to act, after all, life goes on. There is riot going on in Virar and I have a meeting in Andheri, I can’t get scared and stay at home, after all, life goes on. I had a heart-break, but I can’t moan it, come on yaar, it was just a crush, move on; after all, life goes on. Sister’s cancer, brother’s feud with parents, professional and personal insecurities, cutting through all these, life goes on.
But can we pause for a moment and think where exactly is it going on. If there was a rumor in the Naina Devi temple that there is a landslide, because of which so many died, who started these rumors and why? What happened to the victim’s family? Are they aware of their loss yet? What about those who were injured? Are they all right now? And what about the fear that must have been imbedded in the next set of devotees due the next day. Why can’t they take a day or two and realize the loss of others and their good fortune. Why do they want to be numb and move on when there is so much left to do in the past? Why don’t they help others and realize that a tragedy has occurred, and not just dismiss the dead as mere numbers. Why not moan for a while for the lives that were lost and families that were destroyed?
We always do this to ourselves and others. I remember that day when the serial train blast took place in Mumbai in 2006. Remember it like it was yesterday. Four trains left churchgate station that day, out of which three were blasted into oblivion. I was luckily in the fourth one, on which a bomb wasn't planted. Although, I was suppose to be in the one that was blasted first. I used to catch that train everyday for more or less two years then.
That day also I sat in the train, but was somehow unsure of continuing on it. I was hungry, but also wanted to reach my house on time and this being a fast train would have help me reach my place as fast as possible. I was undecided and almost ignored my stomach cramps and the seducing smell of the kathi roll from the nearby food junction.
However, my hunger won in the face of my willingness to sit comfortably in that first class compartment, and reach home quickly while catching a nap in between. I jumped from the moving train and went to buy my roll.
When I came back the train was obviously gone and there was one slow train for Borivali and one for Andheri. As I live in Goregaon, it was obvious that I should take a Borivali slow, otherwise I would have to change another train if I took the latter. But somehow, I landed up in that Andheri train, which I wasn’t suppose to catch and saw the Borivali one pass by, regretting my decision of not catching it and wondering why I didn’t? In fact I had half a mind of jumping from this train as well and catching the Borivali one. But something pulled me back and I didn’t. Wondering all the way up till Dadar what was it? That is when lights in my compartment went off and my train stopped with a sudden jerk. It was raining heavily outside and no one knew what was happening. Suddenly an SMS came to a lady sitting next to me, who informed us that a train has been blasted. We dismissed it as a rumor and sat tight in the train hoping it will start soon. It didn’t, and the rumors started getting wilder. It seems now there were three blasts. I got scared and started calling up my family and friends. I couldn’t get through and by then I was seriously panicking. I got out of the train and ran out of the Dadar station. I went under the pull right outside the station and went straight to a PCO. Now for people who haven’t been to Mumbai, Dadar station in one of the major connecting points of the city, and is always crowded no matter what time of the day you decide to go there.
But on that day, it seemed like half the population of Mumbai was there on the roads. It was jam packed and mostly with men. I must admit that seeing so many men together intimidated me a bit. I had no clue where all the women where, but at that point apart from a few here and there, I was the only one. I dashed towards a PCO and tried calling home again. By then, it was raining cats and dogs and I was completely wet ( I never carry an umbrella with me). I couldn’t get through as phones were jammed, which we came to know later. I asked a man standing there, what was happening who said he had no clue. No one knew what was happening and everyone was stranded on the road hoping that the trains will start soon.
However, I decided that I will take a taxi and go home. I beckoned a taxi who refused to go. Another one wasn’t interested either and his feelings were passed on to the next one. I was soaking wet and my books, which couldn’t fit in my bag, were falling out of my hands and were almost ripped apart. Finally a taxi guy took pity on me and saved me from getting desolved in the heavy rains. By then it was confirmed by our radio jockey’s that indeed trains were blasted, and many have died. That explained the dead phone lines and abandoned trains on the platforms. I was anxious to get back home and be with my parents. Blasts were always somebody else’s tragedy and were never a part of my life. But now, it had touched my life, allthough not in a big way, but it still had. I was concerned about my friends and didn’t know if they were safe or not. Suddenly two girls and one woman, who I vaguely remember as seeing on the same compartment as I was in, came in front of my window and pleaded me to take them in. I did and the four of us, who weren’t aware of each other’s existence till then, embarked upon a journey to safety.We didn’t talk much and were only concerned about getting to our respective houses fast, praying that all was well with the rest of the family as well.
We sat quietly, trying to get our mobiles work every now and then, got frustrated when they stubbornly refused to and cursed the mobile companies in return . Finally, I got through my place and the relief in my father’s voice was an indication of how worried he must be. The way my mother was giving me instruction of how to come home straight, without stopping anywhere, showed how nearly in tears she was just moment ago. Voice of my brother from behind enquiring about me, showed how he must have been trying my number every two minutes, praying that it will ring and I will pick up. I was just assuring them that I was ok, when the phone went dead again. But at least my parents knew I was alive.
One by one all the other occupants of the taxi left and I was the only one riding it. Suddenly, in Jogeshwari, a mob of men attacked my taxi and were trying to stop it. The taxi driver and I were scared to death, but didn’t have an option, but to stop. I wondered if a riot has broken out and wether these guys were fanatics who wanted to kill me. I am not a religious person, but at that moment, I think I would have flaunted my religion, in case those people belonged to the same community.
However, they were locals helping the many stranded on the road, by forcibly stopping the passing cars and taxis, and making them take the people who didn’t have a mode of transportation.
They were having an argument with the driver of my taxi to take a few with him, who was refusing stubbornly saying that I have girl sitting in my car and I won't allow any unknown man to come in. Finally, one guy realized I was sitting inside looking extremely pale and scared and he stopped the others from arguing. He got a really ageing man and told him to sit beside me. He then came to me and said, “Madame he is also going to Goregaon, please take him with you. We are sorry, but you know the trouble all of us are in and we have to stand by each other”.
I smiled at him and said it was no problem at all. I dropped that uncle at his place and went home. I reached my place at 10:30 that day and my parents have never been so happy to see me. I ate my food, called all my friends to make sure they were all right, and went to sleep.
Next day I realized, it was not an off and we were expected to go to our college. My dad was paranoid and refused to send me anywhere. He was abusing Deshmukh, who was talking about ‘Mumbai spirit’ and how ‘life goes on’ and how we should ‘move on’ and not let the terrorist think that they got us.
But the terrorist did get us. And I think I deserved some time to get over the fear of that evening. And many others who lost their loved ones needed time to moan their death and realize what has been done to them. But no, we were and are, not allowed to feel or think of what is happening. After all, life goes on…

Dreams

2008-07-31T05:33:00.000-07:00

I had a dream last night about a puzzle,
With too many A’s,
And strawberry cookies on silver tray’s.
A man made of wood,
With a smile etched on his face,
A silver dress made of liquid blue diamond,
With blue and black laces,
Shoes made of glass
And a carriage that can fly,
Little fairies in my hair
And their enchanting smile that is sly.
I dreamt of Ice Cream Mountains
And chocolate on trees.
Of little kids with squatted knees
I dreamt of flowery packages
With little pink bows
And happy birthday songs
With toothed smiles
Smiling across the rows.
I dreamt of palaces and flowing gowns
Of knights in shining amours
And of horses white and brown
I was dreaming a dream of stars and a flowing stream
When my alarm went off
And I had to pull my socks and walk back into the real world
And let my dreams linger on my smile and forget it for a while.

My golden haired choclate boy

2008-07-31T01:49:00.000-07:00

I was watching ‘The Departed’ last night (for the second time), and a thought suddenly came to my mind, while Leonard was exploring his insecurities and frustration with his job, with his shrink, whom he secretly likes. This flustered man who looks much older than his age, is the same who played the perfect lover in ‘Titanic’ and was a part of many dreams for many nights.
I must admit that before ‘Titanic’, existence of Leonard Di Caprio wasn’t known to me. And when I first saw that movie, I was much taken by his oh-so-typical-chocolate boy- looks than his acting skills. I was much younger; barely a teenager and my newly developed interest in the opposite sex demanded my ultimate devotion. So, you can understand why I wasn’t much interested in analyzing the acting skills of this golden haired boy, and drowning in his baby blue eyes was much more appealing to me.
However, over the years I have seen a lot more of Leonard and this time I have meticulously observed the various dimensions and layers that he possess as an actor.
Right from the street-smart yet naïve boy in ‘Titanic’ to a cocky smuggler in ‘Blood Diamond’. He got everything right in these movies. From the accents to the body language of the characters that he played, who were as different as a nut and screw. In ‘Titanic’ for example, he was sweet boy whose only possessions were his smartness and his integrity.
In ‘The Departed’ he was an insecure cop who doesn’t know what he is doing and why, but still has faith in the legal system of his country. In ‘Blood Diamond’ he takes us on a journey of a South African mindset and frustration with the system of justice and his distrust in it.
He has not just played these parts but he became those parts. He doesn’t just relate a story; he makes that story an experience which we live through.
On my personal ‘acting meter’, Leonard rates quite high. And I hope he continue to. After all, good looks and good acting skills is a combination hard to find.

Shame, Shame, New Yorker!

2008-07-14T22:13:00.000-07:00

I remember a scene in Parzania, where the American who was friends with the Parsi family in the movie, which is caught in the middle of the riots, is sitting at his desk, frustrated with the religious hegemony politics going on around him. He then starts writing in his dairy, all that is wrong with India. Of course, the problem that tops the list is that, “this is a country where people are waiting to kill each other in the name of religion”.
Well lets just cut the, ‘this country’ part (Which I have some major problems with, by the way) and re-write this dialogue. ‘Any country that allows its people to follow different religions, people there are waiting to kill each other in the name of it”.
To explain my statement I shall refer to the latest cover in the New Yorker, which features Obama in Muslim garb fist-bumping his wife with an Afro ,and a machine gun. Although this isn’t like really killing Obama in the name of religion, I personally believe that stunts like such are a way to murder his character, spirit and ideas, much more worse that physically killing anyone.
The New Yorker is reputed magazine known for its rigorous fact checking and copy editing; its journalism on world politics and social issues; and its famous, single-panel cartoons. Therefore, it was blaspheme on its part to allow publication of such a cartoon on its cover.
Though it’s a common knowledge that every media house does support one or the other political party in every country of this world, maligning the opponent’s character in such a way is simply unacceptable. Religion and ethnicity are two things that have unfortunately come to define our personality and role in the society. They have become reasons for enduring ridicule by many and has won undeserving honor to others.
In today’s world, our monitors have replaced our companion’s face and the impression of terrorism so embedded in our senses, that we trust no body . In this volatile world where we cannot trust ourselves, religion and ethnic connection are two things that have made people create a bond of illusion with the mentors, to feel some sort of connection with someone. However, often these leaders promote such ties for their own personal agenda.
And when you have personal agenda in mind we coin cliches and stereotypes. Like after 9/11 around the world this myth has been created that Muslims are terrorists. Also whenever we have to show barbarians, Africans top the list.
It is therefore, the duty of the people on whose shoulders rests the responsibility of the fourth estate to make sure that such clichés and stereotypes are not re-imposed on the masses and is neither used by certain elements for their own propaganda.

2008-07-06T21:51:00.000-07:00

Ek jane pehchane naam ne,
Zara rah main rukane pe majboor kar diya,
Gujara jo aankhon se saaya uss naam ka,
Toh muskurane ko majboor kar diya.

Right...

2008-06-25T01:36:00.001-07:00

I have very recently entered the world of journalism, and therefore I like to keep myself updated on the happenings around me. I generally read ‘Tehelka’, as I find it giving me information on things mostly missed (an oversight or intentionally, I do not know) by the mainstream media. Also I personally believe that ‘Tehlka’ does ask some basic and fundamental questions, which the mainstream media hell-bent on making a fool out of itself almost always refuses to ask. So, a victim of my habit of getting the most accurate (I think and hope so) or at least the most sensible information, I once again logged on to Tehelka’s official website. The cover story this time was about the case that in my opinion should win the ‘most- blown- out- of- proportion-not- even- that- high- profile- a – case’ award. Yes, you have guessed it right; it’s the Arushi murder case.
When I saw Arushi’s face smiling down at me from the cover picture, I groaned inwardly. My first thought was, Oh no! Not again. I expected better from you ‘Tehelka’. I expected you to give me other important news which is being blatantly ignored by our mainstream. I expected you to tell me about something on Naxalites in Bihar or some other tragedy like the water problems in Bhopal, which are not even considered to be news worthy anymore by our so called national newspapers and news channels. But alas! You have also joined the popular bandwagon and are out with your own theory of the murder.
It’s not like I had any issues with Arushi. Hell, I wasn’t even aware that she existed. That is until a month ago, when suddenly every news channel was talking about the cruel murder of Arushi by everyone and anyone. The way the police was accusing people left- right and center, and the way the media was coming up with its own theory, it seemed like either Arushi was this super-girl and was attacked again and again by the evil lord, as she just didn’t die the first time she was attacked, or else she did die the first time but the father, the compounder, the servant didn’t realize and went again and again to kill her.
If any mainstream media person is reading this, my dear sir, this ridiculous interpretation is what I came up with, from those absolutely ridiculous reports that you, without an iota of evidence or basic common sense put up on your channel.
And by the way, with the entire circus around this case, no one even bothered to talk to her friends or extended family, or ask the police about the three glasses in the drawing room or why didn’t it dust the house or at least her room for finger prints and what the hell was the time of the murder?
All we saw and heard was how she was a characterless girl desperate to sleep around with any goddamm man! “She was found in a compromising position with her servant”; “She used to chat with boys”. Firstly, was anyone present there to see how and with whom she was found in her room? Or was that servant even there in the room to be in a compromising position with her? Secondly, if a 14 year old does not talk with boys or for arguments sake (although no one has any proof) flirt with boys, who will? I mean she was a teenager. And that’s what teenage is all about. Crushes, boy friends, flowers, chocolates, rains, holding hands and blushing furiously if a boy/girl the one you like, even just smiles or turns to look at you. That’s the age when we all have crushes, which are taken so seriously by us, that we think that we are the Romeo’s and Juliet’s of this world. So even if that girl used to flirt or go out with boys, what’s so scandalizing about it? And how the hell is she characterless by doing this, when we all go through this wonderful stage called the teenage?
So, you can understand my exasperation with the whole case. Initially I ignored the article and went ahead to read about other things. However, my curiosity to know what ‘Tehelka’ has to say about this case, got better off me and I clicked on the story. Reading the first paragraph itself made me realize that finally I will know what exactly is the case all about. I shall proudly pronounce that my faith was not shattered, and the feeling of disappointment not allowed to take over me.
I came to know a lot more about the girl Arushi and not just the victim. Her relationship with her parents and friends were explored in a delicate yet detailed manner. Her social life was discussed, but not to malign her, but to add a personality to a mere name. And finally the basic questions were asked and the protectors of justice were called upon for a much needed explanation.
However when I was reading about her father and the relationship she shared with him, I was reminded of my own father. My father loves me and he completely spoils me by fulfilling all my wishes before they are even out of my mouth. He just can’t say no to me, no matter what my demands are. Even if he says no, all I have to do is bring a few tears in my eyes and he simply won’t be able to stand his ground, and say yes immediately.
Arushi’s father according to the report was the same. I then started thinking, how can he have killed her? I know my father won’t even allow a fly to hurt me, let alone he himself being a source of pain. No matter how big a mistake I have committed in his eyes. Then the images of her father being held by the police and all the accusations made on him by the police, media, my very own friends and family, started forming in my head.
I was scared. Scared because it suddenly hit me how quickly we judge people without even giving them a chance to defend themselves? How we always try to put another person, any person in a bad light and stand up as the wiser, morally right and the protectors of justice. How we are so damm insecure that we will try and put absolutely any random person on the slaughter table, without even knowing what their crime is, and persecute them using our weapons of suspicion.
Isn’t it a fact that the middle-class is enjoying itself splashing mud on this family because they will hate it if there is no scandal involved in the case? Because scandal will mean having a person or two who have a dark side to their personality, and then everyone can feel good about their much flaunted morally right and “good” side.
I wonder will we ever be able to get over this insecurity and start accepting things the way they are and looking at situations from all the aspects and in a way that they deserve to be looked at.

My Palace.........

2008-06-19T22:28:00.001-07:00

Sitting in a comfortable room,
On a chair beside my Barbie doll window,
With the sun making my face aglow
And the moonlight making it bright,
I used to write poems of love and hope.
When I used to feel the hand of sadness closing in,
I used to rush into the arms that were always open for me.
I used to cry in them, complain in them,
Leave the weight of my heavy heart and again move in
My world, created with a rubber protection around me.
I used to bounce back into those warm and soft eyes,
Whenever, the evil or the harsh used to stare at me.
And then I used to again sit by my window,
Reminiscing about the shadow of darkness,
And write about the different shades of black.
I was wise then, maybe even understanding,
But never did I realize the magnitude of the world outside,
I used to look out of my windows,
And only see shadows,
Of the world beyond my own.
The one in which I lived and the one that I owned,
I was confronted by those shadows once in a while,
But was never consumed by them.
I did recognize the shades of dark,
But was never a part of them.
And then one day, the protection gave way and a crack appeared in my palace of glass.
I ran away to another room, but the mirage broke apart.
It gave way to another world, a much larger one,
I realized I had many elements which were combined into one.
All my pieces fell apart and they created their own world in many different parts.
I found a new palace in various places,
The walls of which were painted in different colors,
Colors which were not blue or black,
But a blackish blue and a bluish black.
They reflected differently in different lights,
Sometimes glowing in the harsh sun,
Sometimes becoming dark and dank
and losing all its shine in the rain and the dark.
But it was still a palace nevertheless,
One in which I grew much bigger than my height,
And shrank smaller than I ever might,
Have done in my glass palace.
I am still creating such palaces,
In different worlds that I live in,
They are still made of glasses,
But glasses that are much stronger.
Although they are delicate and might be broken by the stone of grief,
But my hands of faith will make them again,
And my mind will always go back to the pages of memories written in that palace,
And will remember the time spend, however brief.

Colors

2008-06-19T03:11:00.000-07:00

Looking at the sky today,
I felt like reaching towards it and touching it.
Then I looked closely
And wanted to take away the colors that it displayed,
The purest of white,
The grayest of grey,
The black of the night
And the blue of the day,
I wanted to touch the softness of the orangish pink,
And drink in the lightness of the grayish blue,
I wanted to snatch the colors away from the sky,
And drown in them, having absolutely no clue,
Of tomorrow or today,
Of the night or the day.

Main

2008-06-12T01:36:00.000-07:00

मैं.
एक अनूठा अनोखा शब्द “मैं”.
कभी मेरी सक्शियत को सवार्ता,
कभी उसे दूसरों से जुदा करता है यह "मैं".
कभी ख़ुद मैं इतना घुल जाता की
ख़ुद से हे डर जाता है यह "मैं"।
कोई इसे मेरा स्वार्थ कहता
कोई इसे मेरी अस्तित्व की पहचान बताता
मगर इन सब से जुदा है मेरा "मैं"।
यह एक साया सा है,
अपनों को पराया करता,
और परायों को अपना करता,
शायद एक माया सा है.
मैं ख़ुद भी नही जनता की "मैं" क्या है।
अकेलेपन का डर,
या उसका एक अंश.
भीड़ से अलग एक पहचान बनने की कोशिश,
या उसी का हिसा बनने का प्रयत्न
बस इतना जनता हूँ की मेरा हमेशा साथ देनेवाला साथी है यह,
मेरा आनेवाला कल और मेरा माजी है यह।

A Childhood Destroyed

2008-06-10T23:54:00.000-07:00

Picture this. A 12 year old girl is sitting and watching TV alone at home. The shadow of a man falls on the wall opposite her. Her body tenses and she sits up a bit straighter. She prays it isn’t a repeat of last night. It felt like her body would explode and she wouldn’t be able to get up again. She starts crying and begs God to make her mother return at that very instant, but her father has already begun to unzip her dress.
Incest between fathers and daughters is far more prevalent than most middle class Indians would care to admit. The word in the popular mind might suggest consensus: the more accurate meaning in these circumstances is the rape of innocents in your care.
“A 16- year old girl child was being abused by her own father,” says Father Edward of BOSCO, an NGO dealing with street children. “An NGO member came to know about it and had the child agree to file a complaint against her father. When the family came to know about this, instead of helping and supporting the child, they deserted her. Similarly in another case, seven boys abused a 15-year-old girl child after giving her drugs. When we contacted the family, the members refuse to either talk about it or file any complaint.” Child sexual abuse according to him is a growing problem and a concern.
Child Abuse: India in 2007, a report prepared by the Department of Women and Child Development defines sexual abuse as inappropriate sexual behavior with a child. It includes fondling a child’s genitals, making a child fondle adult’s genitals, intercourse, incest, rape, sodomy, exhibitionism and sexual exploitation. To be considered child abuse, these acts have to be committed by a person responsible for the care of a child (for example a parent, baby sitter, etc.) or related to the child. If a stranger commits such acts, it would be considered sexual assault.
According to the report, 53.22% of all children in India were sexually abused. Andhra Pradesh, Assam, Bihar and Delhi reported the highest percentage of sexual abuse among both boys and girls. As many as 21.90% of child respondents reported facing severe forms of sexual abuse and 50.76% other forms of sexual abuse. 50% of the children were abused by a person known to them or in a position of trust and responsibility. Most of these children did not report the matter to anyone.
In a study conducted on the same issue of child sexual abuse by Anita Rattan of Samvada, an NGO, she notes that 47% of the respondents were molested or experienced sexual overtures, 15% of whom were less than 10 years old. 15% of the respondents experienced serious forms of sexual abuse including rape, 31% of whom were less than 10 years old.
Says Father Edward of BOSCO, “We don’t have data to prove this. But out of 4,500 children that we get every year, 60%-70% of them are sexually harassed. Street children, mostly girls are more vulnerable to sexual abuse. Although, boys are also not free from such abuse.”
“The people the children trust the most harass them, for example father, mother, tuition teacher, a close relative, neighbour, or just an older friend.” He continues, “In case of street children, the younger kids gets sexually harassed by the older ones. For example, a child who comes to Bangalore from let’s say Mangalore. The child will befriend some older kids, who will gain his trust and then after a few days will start sexually harassing the child. These kids live on railway stations, bus stations, etc. This is the problem that exists in society. The physiological and physical health of the child is not considered in face of the social stigma that will be attached to the girl if the word comes out about her sexual abuse.”

According to a report in citizenmatters.in, Dr Shoiba Saldanha, a gynecologist and counsellor by profession, who is active in Enfold, a Koramangala-based NGO creating awareness of child sexual abuse, says that 30%-40% of the patients who visit her are sexually abused children. Dr Shekhar Seshadari of the National Institute for Mental Health and Neurological Sciences, Bangalore, in a study conducted in the late 1990s on 146 boys found that 15% had been sexually abused by family members, friends or neighbours and the abuse started as early as at 6 years of age.

In an article on Boloji.com by Aditi De (and Nazu Tonse), who set up Askios, a local self-help group for woman survivors like her in Bangalore says, “I don't remember most of my childhood, except for brief flashes of when I was about three. I blocked out the experience of abuse, as many survivors do. I was 13 when I spoke to my parents, who got upset, made sure the perpetrator didn’t visit us any more and told me to get on with my life,” she recalls. “It was only in my mid-30s that I found it impossible to ignore the sexual abuse I had undergone as a child. In about the year 2000, a psychotherapist in Bahrain worked with me for almost two years to help me to heal.”

According to a report by United Nations Children’s Fund or Unicef on child sexual abuse in South Asia, in India victims of sexual abuse were abused by family members, relatives and close friends. Says Binoe Manuel, a social activist working with Save India Family Foundation, “I had a case where a divorced mother of an 8 year old daughter remarried. This girl was excellent in her studies before the marriage, good at elocution, extra curricular activities. She was the life of her class. Then she started lagging behind. Her attitude towards life changed. She even tried to commit suicide. When counseled we discovered the reason for the sudden change was the sexual advances by her stepfather.”

He adds, “Sexual harassment is not restricted to girls, even boys are victims of such abuse. I had another 10th Std student, who was brought for counseling due to numerous complaints of his sexual advances towards the girls in his class. We discovered that he had been forced to have sex by his paternal uncle’s wife.”

According to a report by UNICEF, sexual abuse of children severely undermines the notion of ‘personhood’. Its psychological and emotional impacts include depression, fear, mental disturbances, sleeping problems and low self-esteem. Says Mr. Manuel, “The child looses confidence in everyone after they have been sexually harassed. The child then just stops trusting anyone and everyone. Kids like such, lose faith in wholesome relationships. They find it extremely difficult to believe that people can actually like them for what they are, and not seek any sexual pleasure or don’t have any ulterior motive behind their actions. However, if counseled properly, they might be able to get over their past.”

We believe that our children are our future, so how can we allow so many of them to tortured in this way? Says a victim, “I want to challenge this world and ask people how they can continue to let things like this happen? How can they allow children to live unprotected while those who commit violent crimes against them go free? How will the world take the responsibility for children and protect them from violence, sexual abuse and exploitation?”

Before the meeting...

2008-06-09T04:37:00.001-07:00

A few days ago, I had my first meeting with my editor, with three other new recruits. One of them was a friend….no an acquaintance, and the other two completely unknown to me. We were sitting in a close room which looked like a typical cabin in a typical corporate house. The walls were white in color; the door made of light steel, a light shade of grey, with ‘Conference Room’ written in white, on a dark blue board. The room itself was not big. It was one-half of a long room, and was divided by a partition of sorts. It had a wooden table in the middle of it, which looked like someone got bored while in the process of making it, and therefore decided to leave it half-way. The result was it could neither be called a long table, nor could justice be done to it by calling it small. It served the purpose of both, depending on the role it was called to perform in different situations.
There were five seats around it. Two on each side and one on the far right of it. The seats were in blood red color and black handles, which rounded around them on both sides. They were the typical corporate sorts, which gives your back a very good reason to complain about the discomfort it endures while sitting on it. Also, when the message of such sorness is sent to your brain, it helps it in revising all the forgotten notes it took in profanity in your not-so-classy circles.
There were large windows in the room, on the left hand side of the wall, and were hidden behind shades. They were fitted in and therefore could not perform their duties fully, adding to the expenses incurred by the company on electricity bill, as the sole savior of the people in the room was now an A.C. The A.C also was not an ordinary one. It had a mind of its own and I think that it was tired of people asking for its services too often. So it switched off the moment it saw that the people in the room have stopped wiping the sweat from their foreheads and have just started heaving a sigh of relief.
The four of us took our seats, two on both sides. Whether, it was the conspiracy of the forces of nature or the company’s unconscious effort to balance out the different temperaments, I don’t know, but it so happened that there were two girls and two boys each on either side of the table that day. The boys were being chivalrous (quite surprising as most of you will agree with me that finding chivalrous boys these days is like finding a pin in a haystack.),and remained quite for most of time.
Now, Sneha being a shy girl isn’t really comfortable talking to guys. And I, although the word shyness rarely ever crops up in my dictionary, wasn’t left with much to say, as I was surrounded by people who by the looks of it, had sworn never to open their mouths ever again. So all of us were left to dwell on random deliberations that came to our minds as we were not forced to stir our thought process in a specified direction.
So, I started my favorite activity. Observing my colleagues. I love observing people. It’s so much fun to just sit quietly and see how people react to their surroundings. Saurabh, one of the boys (the more chivalrous one) and the quietest of the group was sitting on the edge of his chair. He appeared to be devouring an article in the ‘TOI’. His position was quite precarious and a sudden movement or a frightening ‘boo’ from behind could have landed him right on the cold floor. I imagined his embarrassed faced on the floor and a clumsy effort to get up, and silenced a giggle that was threatening to come out any moment. I looked at his hunched shoulders and his extremely formal attire (very much unlike me) and thought about this t-shirt I had seen the other day in ‘Westside’. It read ‘Be nice to nerds, they can be your future bosses’.
Now I shifted my gaze to the other character sitting next to him. It was easy to recognize that he was the extrovert and the outgoing one of the duo. He was comfortably seated and was half-spinning in his chair. Although he was wearing formal clothes, he was wearing it with an air of a person who was used to wearing casuals more than formals. Therefore the formals that he was wearing transcribed its basic nature of authority and discipline into a relaxed and laid-back one. He looked like a guy who was uninterested in any kind of sermon to be given to us by our seniors or the editor. One peculiar thing I noticed about him was that he was mostly always smiling with his eyes half closed. It looked like he was a saint giving gyaan to his disciples about the various complicated situations that one faces in his or her life. I was quite amused by him and smiled at his laid-back attitude, not unlike mine.
Then my attention turned to Sneha, who was sitting right next to me, I was pretty sure worrying about anything and everything in this world. She was quite unsure about meeting the editor and this was written all over her face. I could actually see her mind racing, thinking about thousand different things. What will the editor say to us? Why are we here? What will he make us do? I don’t know anything about technology. What if he asked me something about some latest technology? How will I answer him? What will these guys think? They are surely more proficient in this subject that I am. I knew I should have read more in the technology. I wonder how I will catch up with all this tech jargon and latest tech news. I also wonder whether this will help me if I want to change to mainstream. Will the mainstream guy’s prefer me if I come from such a niche background? But GP sir said they will. So, maybe they will. I hate the food in my PG. I would like to have some north Indian food. I wonder why these guys took up this job. Are they interested in the mainstream? Maybe they are. It’s quite late now. Where is our editor?
I was enjoying myself seeing Sneha play with her hands on her lap and her body stiff with tension, when the door opened and a kind smiling face entered the room. I turned my attention to our editor and like a good gal ended my interesting journey, where I so unceremoniously threw my fellow colleagues into my own imaginative mind-reading fantasy.

Beyond factual imagination

2008-05-27T03:41:00.000-07:00

Sheer boredom and nothing else would have prompted me to check random profiles on orkut. I already had three cups of coffee , was done with the little work assigned to me to make sure that I deserve some of the huge amount given to me as a salary (you see I am still in my training so am still ‘learning’), and Harry Potter fan fiction stories were finally looking naïve and juvenile to me.
Spinning around in my chair had also given me a headache, so I decided to give my head a rest by not using it for a while. And that’s how I ended up reading random profiles on orkut. I must admit orkut is one place which if not cure your boredom, can definitely reduce it. I am a member of the Ayan Rand community on orkut. So I decided to have a look at my fellow members. While browsing through some boring, some weird and some really hilarious profiles, I came across this profile of a guy who’s about me was really interesting (Yes, I am not shallow like most girls and don’t just look at photographs of men. I read their profiles as well. At least sometimes.) So anyway his profile was very interesting and so were his testimonials. His friends really had a high opinion about him. I saw his profession, engineer, not bad, our choice of books and music was almost similar. By then I was so impressed, I wanted to know where he is from.
I checked his location and paused. Literally I mean. He was from Pakistan, Lahore to be precise. To tell you the truth my first reaction was surprise. My mind forming images of all the news clipping about Pakistan’s internal war, a Quran, a bearded terrorist with a gun in his hand standing alone in the darkness , brownish mist all around a mullah, who was standing around ruins of old buildings and had a long dark beard and beads in his hands wearing a long and very loose light grey kurta and even more loose dirty grey pajama with closed boots with heels, he was talking something rapidly in Arabic. I could feel the gaze of that mullah on me. The intensity behind those kohl lined black eyes stirred something inside me. Something that could be called fear.
I snapped out of my stupor and felt absolutely stupid and shallow. Of course Pakistan wasn’t all about poverty and terrorism. Of course there were people who had a normal life like me. People who laughed when they heard a joke or cried when they their heart was broken. People, who fretted about their exams and enjoyed family dinners. Youngsters, who played cricket, and felt butterflies in their stomach when a smile played on the lips of a secret crush. They spent more time in their college canteen, than in their classroom. And of course their mother’s shouted at them when they come late at night with a vain attitude and a silly excuse. They ate and slept, and read and smiled like us. They even spoke like us. Using the same lingo and expressions.
I felt embarrassed for being so small-minded and sent this guy a friend’s request. He accepted and we started chatting on g-mail. I was eager to learn about Lahore and Pakistan and his views over politics and Islam. He listened to everything patiently and answered all my questions with such clarity in thought, that he might as well have been a professor in a university explaining in detail, things that his excited student knew and understood little. And he was my age! He didn’t discriminate people on the basis of their religion and was quite open about subjects like sex and girlfriends. He was sure he was going to have a love marriage and didn’t believe in the alternative. He had a girlfriend in the past with whom he broke-up recently. But he was still hopeful about the existence of love and was ready to take the jump when he met the right person. He had just taken a trip with his friends, whom he absolutely loves and was preparing for his final engineering exams.
Later that evening, while walking back home from work, I asked my friend if she could imagine a Pakistani engineer, she also paused for a moment and then said, “It’s hard to imagine”. I smiled and said I met one.

Numbness

2008-05-27T02:45:00.000-07:00

An empty cup on the working table,
And a few pages of thoughts strewn around.
A lone hand on my lap, waiting for someone to hold it and turn around,
My fate from this dreadful numbness,
Numbness that is thick and dense like fog on rainy days,
Numbness that takes me to a land where only dead reside,
Numbness that has withheld within itself all my emotions,
And thoughts that it stole from me.
I have been robbed off my feelings,
Robbed in a ruthless manner by this cold numbness,
My head aches when I think,
And my mind buzzes when I hear,
Voices, meaningless voices,
Screaming my name, calling for me,
I don’t know who they are,
Or what they want but my numbness doesn’t allow me to get up on my feet and move.
But this numbness feels good.
It’s deeper than anything I have ever experienced.
It’s cold and bottomless, and makes everything else shallow.
It makes me more independent as I don’t have feelings anymore,
I can now look at things and not feel anything and so I can look and think about people and situations, which had me crying at the mere mention of them.
I can now close my eyes and not dream or have a nightmare.
Maybe I am not happy, but I am not sad either.
It’s simply peaceful in here.

Random

2008-05-11T01:05:00.000-07:00

I was walking down a street which was dark as sin,
I didn’t know where it ended neither did I know where it began,
It didn’t seem so bad in the start, but then I wasn’t sure when this mirage would blow apart,
I thought I saw shadows of friendship in a semi-dark lane,
But as soon as I was put under a spot-light, the shadows would disappear in the veil of fallacy and behind it, they lain.
Sometimes I thought it was a nightmare and sometimes I thought it was a dream,
Sometimes it made me lonely and sometimes queen of my realm.
I used to fear loneliness before, but later it became my friend,
It was the only thing constant in my life and something that stuck with me till the end.
A ghost of a smile would linger on my lips when people around me would pretend,
Their pretense seemed so foolish when I looked at the darkness within,
This darkness which I had accepted was what they were running away from.
But this darkness was a friend and not a foe as they thought,
This darkness did not seek for a source of light,
Neither did it require one as it was soft like velvet
And when it engulfed me, my life looked more bright.
They were afraid of losing themselves in this darkness,
While I danced around in it, extinguishing every source of light.
As it seemed like it was not illuminating my darkness but rather penetrating it with its harsh notions of truths and lies.
I didn’t want any myths to be a part of this stretch of soothing darkness, which was devoid of any notions of truths and deceit.
It only understood and responded to emotions and only them did it wish to receive.

Only for a moment.

2008-04-06T07:28:00.000-07:00

“Lets make a night to remember….”, was playing on the radio that day.It was raining; she had a cup of coffee in her hand and was waiting for the bus. The dual effect of the rain and the song opened the door of her favorite fantasy. Tom cruise singing this number for her.

And then her eyes fell on him. He was dripping from head to foot. Wearing a white shirt with blue jeans, eating American corns from a nearby shop. Hmmm…he doesn’t look bad , she mused. Although I prefer fair guys, his skin tone is quite nice. A bit too tanned maybe. Also I wish he wasn’t wearing that ridiculous earring. I mean what’s this entire theory of metro sexual men anyways?

All these thoughts were swirling inside her brain when suddenly he looked up. Oh my god! He has brilliant eyes, she thought. Neither brown, nor black. A color that will change according to the will of its owner. I wonder what his smile is like? Is it as cute as him? If I marry him, will he live alone with me or will I have to live with his family? Does he have a joint family? How will his mom be? I guess we will have two kids. One girl and one boy. Oh hell! What am I doing? I am literally drooling on this guy. Don’t I have absolutely any dignity left? Staring at strangers like that. And where the hell is this bus? It just had to be late today.

Then suddenly he started walking towards her. A hundred thoughts started attacking her at the same time. Oh man! Why is he coming here? How do I look? Will he try to talk to me? Will he like me? What will I say if he tells me to come and have a coffee with him? I think I will go. But should I? What if he is a thief or a hooligan? Or worse he is a rapist? Maybe he is that murderer I read about in newspapers today. The one who woos women with his good looks and then kills them. Maybe he is a psychopath. Why isn’t there anyone here? This bus stop is usually so crowded. Over-crowded infact. I don’t even get bus at times. Oh Christ, he is here! Shit! This dammed rain must have washed my make-up away. Why is it raining today anyway? I know why. Because god hates me. He just won’t like me to look good on a day a handsome guy is standing next to me. I know this is his way of telling me that I can look at a pie but cant have it. Hell, why am I so NERVOUS?

The guy by then was standing next to her and eating his American corn, waiting for the bus. He looked at her and thought, hmmm not bad. Casual dressing sense. I like her t-shirt actually. And she is wearing my favorite color. light blue. She has a good figure too. Very curvy. I like her hair as well. Long and wavy. Her eyes are very pretty too, jet black. Her hands are beautiful. They look so soft and tender. I would like to hold them. And kiss them. They will handle a man with care. She looks like a good girl. Doesn’t look dumb either. I hope she is easy to talk to. I hate girls who cant understand cricket and don’t know that formula 1 is a racing car. Should I try and talk to her? I can ask her what time it is? No, god! that's so lame. How about starting any general conversation. Maybe I can talk to her about how heavily it’s raining today. Then I can offer to drop her to her place. No, she looks from a good family. She might just get offended. Or maybe she has one of those over-protective brother or a father who will beat me if they see me with her.

But she does seem like a nice girl. Her lips. Wow, they seem to be…well…sensuous. I want to know how they taste. I think they will be a bit salty, a bit sweet. Her neck, its really beautiful as well. It’s so thin, and looks so vulnerable. It will be like holding a precious wineglass. I think I will talk to her. I want to know if her voice compliments her body. And who knows, I might get lucky.

He turned towards her and asked, “ Excuse me what time is it”?
Honnnnkkkk………..just then the bus comes and the girl gets on it and says, “5:30”.
“ Thank you”, the guy replies. She smiles and the bus leaves.
' Her voice did compliment her body'. ' His smile was as cute as him'.

a few of my thoughts

2008-02-23T09:25:00.000-08:00

Ek sapna jo mujhe raaton main aata hai,
Har subha apni yaadon ke saath mujhe bandh jata hai.
Shayad kabhi pura na ho,
Ya shayad kabhi pura na karun,
Par har raat uske saath mera ek rishta ban jata hai.
Ek sapna jo mujhe raaton main aata hai,
Har subha apni yaadon ke saath mujhe bandh jata hai.
Jane kuyn isse bhula nahi pate hum,
Har baar iss hi gunguna jate hain hum,
Aab sapna nahi dost ban chukka hai yeh,
Haton main lakeeron ki tarah zehan main bas chukka hai yeh,
Ek sapna jo mujhe raaton main aata hai,
Har subha apni yaadon ke saath mujhe bandh jata hai.

Kuch sochti hai par kuch bolti hai yeh zaban,
Dil ke har raaz ko dil main rakhakar
Awaz main jhoth gholti hai yeh zaban.

Rooti hai aankhein raat main,
Kuynki har waqt khud ki tareef sunnane ke liye
Har shabd bolti hai yeh zubaan.
Jise nafarat se mehsus karti hai har waqt,
Ussi ko mukurate dekhane ke liye bolti hai yeh zabaan.

Kuch sochti hai par kuch bolti hai yeh zaban,
Dil ke har raaz ko dil main rakhakar
Awaz main jhoth gholti hai yeh zaban.

Dassti hai yeh logon ki aawazain
Aur gumname meri dil ki khamosh baatein.
Jo kehti hai ki chod de saare bemaiyne rishte
Aur tode har khwahishon ki buniyadon par bane naate,
Par inhain chupakar har baar ek naya bematalab rishta aage badhati hai yeh zuban.

Kuch sochti hai par kuch bolti hai yeh zaban,
Dil ke har raaz ko dil main rakhakar
Awaz main jhoth gholti hai yeh zaban.

Welcome Kosovo.

2008-02-19T21:36:00.000-08:00

The world witnessed birth of a new state on Sunday. Kosovo after demanding independence for nearly three decades will now celebrate its independence day on 17th February. Created out of the ashes of Austria-Hungary's defeat in World War 1 the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes - changed to Yugoslavia in 1929 - was in theory a single autonomous state, but ethnic tensions were not far from the surface. After invasion and a series of overlapping civil wars in WWII, a lid was kept on national aspirations by the creation of a federation of six nominally equal republics. In Serbia, Kosovo and Vojvodina were given autonomous status. But from 1991 Yugoslavia fell apart.
A series of splits saw the bloodiest fighting in Croatia and Bosnia. Kosovo become a UN protectorate after inter-ethnic fighting and Nato bombardment in 1999. In 2003 Yugoslavia disappeared from the map of Europe. Replaced for a short time by the looser union of Serbia and Montenegro, the latter broke away in 2006. Two years later, Kosovo's majority ethnic Albanians declared independence from Serbia.
However the international community did not recognize its independent state. On 17th February 2008 the international community accepted the autonomous status of Kosovo. According to a report in BBC, Serbs and ethnic Albanians had vied for control in the region throughout the 20th Century.
While Serbs latterly only made up about 10% of the population, the historic and emotional importance of the province for them was enormous. Serbs consider Kosovo the cradle of their culture, religion and national identity. Another report in Washington Post says that, when Milosevic the Yugoslav President, harnessed resentment over Kosovan influence within the Yugoslav federation. At the same time, Serbs were complaining about persecution by the majority Albanians.
The ethnic clashes between Albanians and Kosovian Serbs, during the Kosovo war, made the intervention of Nato inevitable. The fight for independence in this state that has a majority of Albanians in it was continuing till the 17th of this year.
BBC reports that although the Serbians are upset about Kosovo’s moves any major variance between the two countries is not on the cards. However local conflicts are unavoidable.
Germany, Italy, France, UK, Austria, US, Turkey, Albania, Afghanistan have all recognized Kosovo as an independent state. Russia has warned that the move endangers international stability, while China has expressed its deep concern. Apart from Russia and China, Spain, Romania, Slovakia, Cyprus Spain, Romania, Slovakia, Cyprus are some of the countries who have refused to recognize it. UN is still confused about its view in this matter.
According to AFP, Russia also says that recognition of the province's independence could spark violent separatism elsewhere in the world, including in the Caucasus, where several conflicts simmer. Some European Union countries, including Spain, have expressed similar concerns.
Russian-backed separatist leaders of two enclaves in Georgia -- Abkhazia and South Ossetia -- released statements Sunday saying that they would soon seek recognition of their independence, citing Kosovo as a precedent.
According to Antoaneta Bezlova a analyst working with Inter Press Service (IPS), What Beijing fears is that the immediate recognition granted to Kosovo by major European countries and the U.S. may lead to Chinese minorities such as the Tibetans and the Uighurs in Xinjiang province pressing for greater autonomy. By casting a controversial vote to secede from Serbia, Kosovo is threatening to set up a precedent for China’s 56 recognised national minorities that occupy more than half of the country’s territory. In addition, there are special administrative regions as Hong Kong and Macao and the territory of Taiwan, which in theory have the same relationship to Beijing as Kosovo has to Belgrade.
Serbia on the other hand is very upset over this new development and still considers Kosovo a part of it. It has also declared that it will make it impossible for Kosovo to be a part of the UN council or any other international organization.
US on the other hand is supporting Kosovo and is looking forward to increasing its ties with the country, reports Washington Post. EU is going to send its troop in Kososvo to ensure stable situation in the country. It is also going to help it decide its constitution and help sun the country for some time. EU has in fact said that it may even consider offering Kosovo a European union membership.
Everyone is supporting or turning hostile towards the new independent state for its own personal interest. The world is divided in its view of this new country. Whether this opposition will sound the death knell for this country or the support help it in emerging as a strong economy remains to be seen. Kosovo meanwhile is moving ahead by the philosophy that "The past should not be forgotten, but it belongs to the past and should be forgiven," as reported by the newspaper Koha Ditore.

Women at War

2008-02-15T22:59:00.000-08:00

When we hear the words domestic violence, we automatically assume it refers to women being abused by their husbands, brothers or fathers. After all, men are considered the stronger sex. But if recent data are to be believed, the boot is increasingly on the other foot.

Says V. N. Sarasvati, an advocate and president of Bangalore-based domestic violence support group Asha Kiran, "Violence against men is rampant. More than half of the cases in the high court are dowry cases. Most of them are false, and are filed to harass the man's family. They file cases under section 498A of the Indian Penal Code, which deals with cruelty against women and provides for the issue of a non-bailable arrest warrants without even investigation of the charge.”

Asha Kiran and Save India Family Foundation (SIFF) are two organizations that help men in such dire predicaments. SIFF was founded in Bangalore in 2003 in response to the growing incidence violence against men by their partners. The organization has branches all over India as well as in cities like New York and San Francisco and as well as the Middle East. SIFF provides legal help to men who are harassed by their wives and in-laws. They also provide marital counseling if there is any prospect of saving the marriage.

Says Aashish (name changed) 33, a hardware engineer with a multinational corporation in Bangalore, "Mine was an arranged marriage. I used to live with my brother here. After marriage my wife told me to move in with her family. I told her that my office was very far from her house. But as she insisted I had to comply. While living together, she never used to take care of me. I was diagnosed with tuberculosis and she told me to get admitted in a hospital. But even then she did not take care of me and left me on my own.”

“She used to take all my money from me and demand more,” Aashish continues. “She used to make me do the cooking as she also worked. Her job was in the morning and mine was a night shift so she used to tell me, ‘you slept all morning so now before going to office cook food’. She used to also beat me, to slap me and sometimes throw kitchen utensils at me.”

“A few months ago, her father started demanding money from me. When I refused, they filed a false case against my father and sent him to jail, saying he was demanding dowry. I didn't know what to do. Later we got divorced but I am still paying maintenance to her, for what reasons I can't understand."

Aashish’s story is not uncommon. According to a United Nations Population Fund (UNPF) report, 4.4% of Indian husbands are assaulted by their wives each year. UNPF also estimates that women are directly or indirectly responsible for the death of 50% of their spouses. According to National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) statistics, the ratio of suicides among men and women was 63: 37, that is, men account for almost two-thirds of suicides in India. More pertinent, according to the NCRB, nearly 44.7% of suicide victims were married men while only 25% were married women.

According to Respecting Accuracy in Domestic Abuse Reporting or RADAR, which is a non-profit, non-partisan organization of men and women working to improve the effectiveness of our nation's approach to solving domestic violence, throughout the world women in dating relationships are twice as likely as men to be perpetrators of serious domestic violence. In India, for example, in 200X, women instigated 23% of all cases of physical aggression while men instigated 15% of cases; while the rest were considered indeterminate.

Says Adip, 25, a software engineer at TESCO, "My wife's father used to demand money from me. There was no such misunderstanding between my wife and me. But one day she went to her father’s place and did not come back. It was nine months ago. From then her father started asking for 40,000 rupees. He said either pay the money or I will file a dowry case against you. I also got threatening calls from a goon called Badshah Khan, saying he will kill me if I don't pay up.”

“Later I found out that my wife had got back together with her former lover, whom she couldn't marry because her father didn't allow her to. I knew about the lover before our marriage. I had told her to tell her father that he does not have to spend anything on our wedding. To this she replied that her father did not let her study because of financial constraints and because it was more important for her brothers to be educated. He also never gave her anything. So she said let him spends money at least on the wedding.”

“Luckily for me, I recorded our conversations. She knew about this. Her father is now planning to file a case saying I took dowry during the marriage. He is going to show the expenses that he incurred. They think that I have deleted the recordings of our conversations. They don't know but that I have a back up of those recordings. "

A. Kumar, a project manager with SIFF says, "We have more than 5 lakh men coming to us with such problems. They are mostly framed with dowry charges. This act has empowered women, but has taken away the basic human right of a man to defend him. To get money from their husbands women misuse the act. These men are not even allowed to meet with their children by the in-laws. Men who come to us have lost faith in the institution of marriage.”

Says SIFF chairman Pandurang Katti, "We have a weekly meeting on Saturday, to know the progress that the cases are making and how our members are coping with the problems. Every time there are three to four new men who join us. This will tell you how extensive this problem is. Mostly all these cases are found in the urban areas. But recently we have been having cases from semi-rural and rural areas as well. Bellary is one area that we get calls and people from frequently. The number cases are also increasing in Raichur district".

“This problem is widespread in the lower and upper middle class, as well as in high society,” says A. Kumar. We have stars like Prashant, who is a big name in the Tamil movie industry coming to us. His wife filed a false dowry case against him. But it was later found out that the charges were false and that she was already married before, and had never got divorced. The police really harassed him.” (Ends)

Democracy in Thailand?

2008-01-24T00:27:00.001-08:00

A place known for its exotic scenic beauty, economic development and sex workers, Thailand has seen it all. An alliance, led by People’s Power Party was floated in Bangkok on January 19th to share power in a “democracy-restoring” government in Thailand. There was no immediate reaction from the junta leaders to the PPP’s latest move. And, if the ruling junta does not stop the coalition, Surayud Chulanont, the now prime minister of Thailand, from King Bhumibol Adulyadej privy council, may soon have to return his seat to Thaksin Shinawatra. With that, Thailand will come a full circle, from being a constitutional monarchy to a military regime in 2006, and now back to being a democracy.
Military took over the government of Thaksin Shinawatra, in a bloodless military coup in 2006. The media was censored, people lost their freedom of speech, protest went unheard and its protectors abrogated the constitution and destroyed the laws of the country.
The Administrative Reform Council (ARC) justified its seizure of power, on the grounds that the Thaksin’s actions had frequently bordered on "lese majeste”. Lese majeste is being critical of the King or going against him in any way, which is punishable by the law. For example, when Thaksin ordered in 2001 the sidelining of Kasem Watanachai and Palakorn Suwannarat, two well-known royalist bureaucratic officials, the King within hours appointed both of them to his Privy Council.
He was also said to have created "social division like never before". The council also indicated that Thaksin had "politically meddled" with state units and independent organizations. Charges of corruption were also made against the government.
Army chief General Sonthi Boonyaratglin explained on Thailand TV the military coup, saying that it was necessary to end intense conflicts in Thailand's society that Thaksin had created.
Thailand has seen a series of military rule, finally having a democratic form of government in 1997, with the dawn of its constitution. The coup of 1991 in Thailand ended when the masses took to the streets with demonstrations against the coup and in favor of restoration of democracy. King Bhumibol did not give his support overtly to the coup, the fact that he didn’t do anything against it as well as that the acting Prime Minister of the country is from his privy council, says it all.
According to the Asian Human Rights Commission (AHRC), Thaksin’s government was a civilian autocracy. It did not respect human rights, the rule of law or democratic principles.
However, AHRC argues that a civilian autocracy is better than a military one as at least it does not and cannot take away the basic civil rights of the masses, where as the military one annihilates that as well, along with everything else.
Although US did condemn the military coup, it did nothing in support of its so-called support for democracy. But Thailand is an ally of US post- world war two, and US has a military base in Thailand as well, so it really didn’t have a problem with the coup. Before the coup, US aid to Thailand was around $35 billion. Whereas after the coup it saw a decline of jus $1 billion, making it $34 billion. Other than that, the fact that Thaksin was so keen on increasing his ties with China didn’t really make him a favorite with US as well.
Similarly, China brushed off the coup as an internal matter of the country. Thailand is newly industrialized market and a growing one at that, which no country wants to antagonize.
General Sonthi Boonyaratglin, a Muslim, claimed that the military coup would help improve the situation in the Southern parts of Thailand. Militants in the South regions of Thailand claims that the government is trying to destroy or dilute Malay culture and Islam. According to him Thaksin’s government has aggravated the problem rather than solving it. According to the International crisis group, the coup opened the way for improved management of the conflict in the Muslim South.
Surayud made an historic apology to southern Muslims for past abuses, announced an end to blacklisting of suspected insurgents leading to a significant decrease in arbitrary arrests, and revived key conflict management institutions disbanded by Thaksin Shinawatra in May 2002. Insurgent groups have responded to the government’s new approach by stepping up violence and propaganda aimed at undermining conciliation efforts. The insurgents’ village-level political organization has improved significantly in the last eighteen months but it is not clear how much this reflects an increase in local support. Many villagers fear both the insurgents and the security forces and are caught between the two.
Thailand has not seen any major economic depression or faced any problems from the international community as such, after the coup. If anything it has tried to improve the situation in its southern state. But the fact that the military coup did compromise with the basic foundation of a country’s progress, the freedom of its people is not justifiable in any case. How successful was this coup, and how strong is the desire of the masses of Thailand to have a democracy will be seen in days to come.

The predicament of Indian Malaysians

2008-01-24T00:14:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, Malaysia was nothing more than a tourist destination, for most of us. A place where one can find tranquility and peace. ‘Malaysia truly Asia’. Everything has changed in a span of the last few days however. Malaysians of Indian origin are protesting against the government. Malaysia is being accused of ethnic cleansing. It seems all hell broke lose on Malaysia recently.

Lets try and gauge the reason for all this. Indians have contributed to Malaysian population, for the past 150 years. “They are the third largest population in the country. They make- up for 11% of the total population, of which 8% are Tamils”, says P Uthayakumar one of the main leaders of the Hindu Rights Action Force (Hindraf). "We were removed by duplicity and force from our villages (in India) and taken to the then Malaya and put to work to clear the forests, plant and harvest rubber and make billions of pounds for British owners," said Malaysian lawyer Waytha Moorthy Ponnusamy. P Uthayakumar. Who alongwith Waytha Moorthy and Rao is one of the three main leaders of the Hindu Rights Action Force (Hindraf).

The political and economic importance of some of the ethnic and religious groups from India far exceeded their numerical strength, in Malaysia. Two important business communities were the Chettiars, a money lending caste from Madras, and the South Indian Muslims (Moplahs and Marakkayars) who were mainly wholesalers. The third groups were the Ceylonese Tamils who were employed principally in the lower levels of the Civil Service and in the professions.

Because of this the economic and social status of the local Malay’s was reduced. They were marginalized in their own country. People belonging to other counties took the top positions, as well as the low- profile ones. Namely these people belonged from India and China. Although the Malay’s, also known as Bumiputra, have always been the largest racial segment of the Malaysian population (about 65%), their economic position has always tended to be precarious.

As late as 1970, 13 years after the drafting of the constitution, they controlled only 4% of the economy, with much of the rest being held by Chinese and foreign interests. Because of which Article 153 was drafted, to address this economic imbalance. To make sure that the locals reaped the benefits of the economic boom, more than anyone else. Its common knowledge that Bumiputra were given preference over people belonging from any other caste or relegion. In the 1970s, substantial economic reforms were enacted to address the economic imbalance. In the 1980s and 1990s, more affirmative action were also implemented to create a Malay class of entrepreneurs.

Seemed fair enough at that time. After all , we will all think about our family members first than we will about the guests. And Indians were guests in the country, who were not even invited to the house. Britishers, who were unwelcome visitors themselves, brought them in.

A majority of the Malays during that time believed that the Chinese and the Indians came to Malaya for economic purposes only,under work permits during the British rule. And they were promised that the immigrants were to return to their countries once their work permits expired.Many Chinese and Indians also felt unfairly treated since some of them had been there for generations, since the mid 1800s. And they were still treated as second-class citizens.

Things got out of hand when these feelings against ndians turned into fanaticm. Lack of opportunities, destruction of Hindu temples, right to education in their mother tongue and lack of avenues for advancement. Indians began to feel they were being colonized once again.

That is when the Hindu Rights Action Force or Hindraf, a Hindu grassroots movement that has won wide support from ethnic Indians in Malaysia, filed an unusual lawsuit. This lawsuit blames the British government for the plight that the Indians are in Malaysia. They took out a rally on 25th November, in which around 10,000 people from the community took part. They wanted to march to the British High Commission and hand over a memorandum complaining of marginalisation of Indians from the time their ancestors were bought to the then Malaya as indentured laborers.

Police used tear gas and water cannons to break up the demonstration, declared as "illegal" by the government.This incident carried on by the Indians, brought in sharp focus the class inequality in Malaysia more than anything. It showed us the problems that the underprivileged are facing in the country.

The only possible solution to this issue is to address to the problems of the poor in the country. And when I say poor, I mean deprived citizens, not categorized as Indians or Chinese. Economic development for all the communities. It is not that only Indians are poor in Malaysia. They are in great number, yes. But the fact remains that the richest man in Malaysia is an Indian as well. This shows that there is a class disparity more than a religious one.

The government of Malaysia must now make sure that this episode does not get marked as violence against a particular minority community. But as a problem that they have to solve for the poor of their country, who cut across all the religious borders.

Controversy over Obama's relegious bent

2007-12-11T09:25:00.000-08:00

The controversy over the religious bent of Senator Barack Obama, one of the candidates for the post of the U.S president, has come under the line of fire recently. The question whether he is a follower of Islam or Christianity, has taken the country by a storm. Obama on the other hand is trying to assure, anyone who listens, that he is a staunch follower of Christianity and although he belongs to a Muslim background, has got nothing to do with that faith.

In his speeches and often on the Internet, the part of Sen. Barack Obama's biography that gets the most attention is not his race but his connections to the Muslim world, according to a report in Washington Post.

During his contention for presidential seat in February, Obama, a member of a congregation of the United Church of Christ in Chicago, has had to address claims that he is a Muslim or that he had received training in Islam in Indonesia, where he lived from ages 6 to 10.

His paternal grandfather, a Kenyan farmer, was a Muslim. The son of a white woman from Kansas and a black man from Kenya, Obama was born and spent much of his childhood in Hawaii, and he talks more about his multicultural background than he does about the possibility of being the first African American president. "A lot of my knowledge about foreign affairs is not what I just studied in school. It's actually having the knowledge of how ordinary people in these other countries live," he said earlier this month in Clarion, Iowa.

"The day I'm inaugurated, I think this country looks at itself differently, but the world also looks at America differently," he told another Iowa crowd. "Because I've got a grandmother who lives in a little village in Africa without running water or electricity; because I grew up for part of my formative years in Southeast Asia in the largest Muslim country on Earth."

Obama aides sharply disputed the initial stories suggesting that he was a Muslim, and in Iowa, the campaign keeps a letter at its offices, signed by five members of the local clergy, vouching for the candidate's Christian faith, according to the Washington post.

Obama for many of us represents not only the hope to see the first ever African- American candidate in the white house, but also to have a man that understands the world- politics and US role in it, in a positive way. Obama’s strong opposition to the Iraq war and his policies towards those parts of the world where the United States is not popular makes him a tough competitor and a better politician.

However, this issue about his religious followings has highlighted a lot of other problems in the country. It has brought out the mentality that works in US. The mind-set that is yet to accept a person from a Muslim background as their own. Because of which, the US claim to be a democratic as well as a developed country is at stake. It also proves that the blemish that was left by the incident of 9/11 is still fresh. People are yet to start trusting the community, which was alleged to have committed the biggest crime in the history of US. In an August poll by the Pew Research Center for the People and the Press, 45 percent of respondents said they would be less likely to vote for a candidate for any office who is Muslim, compared with 25 percent who said that about a Mormon candidate and with 16 percent who said the same for someone who is an evangelical Christian.

Conservative talk-show hosts have occasionally repeated the rumor, with Michael Savage noting Obama's "background" in a "Muslim madrassa in Indonesia" in June, and Rush Limbaugh saying in September that he occasionally got "confused" between Obama and Osama bin Laden. Others repeatedly use the senator's middle name, Hussein.
His integrity does not get questioned whether he is a Muslim guy, following another religion. It gets questioned when he is so adamant to prove that his alliance with Islam is just fate and not by personal choice.

In the past few months, Obama has actively touted his Christianity, particularly in South Carolina, where his campaign hosted a gospel tour to appeal to black voters. He describes his movement from a "reluctant skeptic" to a believer during his 20s while he was working with black churches in Chicago as a community organizer, according to Perry Bacon Jr. a journalist working in Washington post. The title of his second book, "The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream," comes from a sermon by the Rev. Jeremiah A. Wright Jr., pastor of Trinity United Church of Christ.

The fact that, in making people believe that he follows Christianity, he has unknowingly shooed away the other faith. This attitude by the Senator has put a doubt in the minds of many, about the integrity of his intentions and claims to various foreign and internal policies, proposed by him during his presidential campaign.

My philosophy

2007-12-11T09:24:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when I look around me,
I cannot believe that I am where I am.
The people who surround me all the time,
Used to be strangers, whose existence was not known to me.
Now they are my best friends.
And my best friends,
I do not know their continuation anymore.
Is it how life works?
With new people, new situations and new places?
Where you don’t know about your past anymore, in order to know your present.
I am trying to strike a balance so badly.
But sometimes I feel detached,
Sometimes unconcerned,
Sometimes I fear that my present will become my past,
And I don’t know what my future is.
This is a circle in which your life moves and there is no holding it.
One thing although that I have learnt from all this is,
It doesn’t take time for you’re present to become your past,
So before it becomes just another memory, try and live it to its fullest.
Live your life on your on terms, because you never know when it ends.

2007-11-14T05:05:00.000-08:00

Some thoughts:

Har aahat par ruki dhadkan laga ki tera jawab aaya hai
Har saas ki gungunahat main laga ki tera naam aaya hai,
Har raah main pair rakhte hue laga jaise,
Har mood pe tere kadmon ko chukar mera anjam aaya hai.

Khali aangan main padti barish ki kali bunde,
Aur chand ko chummati chamkati kali bunde,
Ek sukha hua fool mez par pada hua
Aur pazeb ki jhankar jeene pe padti.
Ek anjani anchahi muskurahat hoton par,
Ek labz se lipte hue kai jazabaat,
Kapte haathon main,
Aur bolti aankhon main,
gudgudate sapne
Aur har sapne main simati hui kai raat.

Hothon se takrake shabd bikhar gaye,
Palkon se milkar sapne bun gaye,
Ghunghat iss dil ka kabhi uthaya hi nahi,
Unki raaton main fir bhi har raaz khul gaye.

2007-11-10T00:47:00.000-08:00

Freedom of expression and its limitations
Your freedom ends, where mine starts. Any kind of freedom comes with its set of limits. These limitations are necessary to protect that freedom from being misused. But, at the same time, every person has a right, to have individual thoughts, on any and every subject. We all have a right to perception and interpretation. In the same way, we cannot use freedom of expression to disgrace another person or hurt his sentiments in absolutely any way. Our freedom of expression does not give us the liberty to damage others person right to dignity or individualism.
I believe that James Watson was wrong when he said that ‘black’ people were intellectually inferior to white people. First of all ‘black’ itself is a derogatory term. Secondly, a finding like this cannot be generalized. It can be true to a certain extent, in some situations, for a chosen few. But it cannot be an absolute truth, and there can never be a proof supporting this theory, which hold true for everybody.
However, if we look at ‘Fire’ as an example here, I think what the Hindu activists did was absolutely uncalled for. Fire was a movie about two women (characters) finding love and solace in each other. Lesbianism has been there for decades and was not an unheard topic. And Lesbians exist. Those characters represented a section of our society, which we very conveniently choose to ignore. The setting of the story also represented the real social conditions of the society. So, showing something that already exists, does not account to violation of any kind of freedom.
What we do not realize is freedom of expression and freedom to degrade somebody are two different things. I have a right to criticize something or somebody, but I don’t have any right to offend or degrade it.
We have to realize that we all have a right to be against something or someone, but we don’t have a right to take away their freedom of expression. Like happened in the case of
Taslima Nasreen case or even the movie ‘Fire’.
What we have to realize before exercising our right so vehemently, is that the concept of freedom has to be understood in its right spirit, and not the literal meaning.
EOM

2007-11-10T00:44:00.001-08:00

My idea of Secularism

I have a friend, who is part Hindu and part Muslim. Her parents met in college and fell in love. Her liberal mother came from a conservative Hindu family. Same was the case with her father. They both decided to marry, against the desire of their respective families.
They both knew that religion was a matter of personal faith. It’s not necessary to belong to the same religious group, to be happy with each other. That religion and traditions are there for an individual’s convenience, to make his life a smooth flow, and not to dictate them. They understood this and respected each other’s personal beliefs.
This basic understanding and attitude is secularism for me.
The best part about this marriage was that, no one told the other, to convert. They accepted each other the way they are, without wanting to change anything in each other. This acceptance for me is secularism.
Secularism as a political and constitutional principle involves two basic propositions. The first is that people belonging to different faiths and sections of society are equal before the law, the Constitution and government policy. The second requirement is that there can be no mixing up of religion and politics. It follows therefore that there can be no discrimination against anyone on the basis of religion or faith nor is there room for the hegemony of one religion or majoritarian religious sentiments and aspirations. It is in this double sense--no discrimination against anyone on grounds of faith and separation of religion from politics--that our Constitution safeguards secularism.
But secularism in the broader sense is accepting others the way they are. Not just by the
Government, but the society as well. It is a change in the outlook of an individual.
Blurring of barriers of caste, creed, religion etc amongst the masses.
This change in attitude defines secularism for me. Secularism will be attained totally when we do not have classified ads in the matrimonial section saying, ‘ we want a fair Hindu Brahmin girl’, or ‘ a Vaishnav boy’.
Its not just confined to religion, caste, etc. It involves appreciation of our past and acceptance of our future and present. To know the reasons behind the age-old traditions and recognize the need for change in them. To know that we are all children of our circumstances. To identify that our parents had a different up-bringing, different environment. And to respect that. To realize that our children are living in a different setting, and that their needs are different.
We have to be aware of the fact that we need to give a certain amount of space to a person. Every being is entitled to have different perception and interpretation, which are of his own.
Secularism for me also means, the autonomy to analysis. Freedom of thought. Where we think for our own selves the way we want, accept it the way we think and not feel sorry for it.
Like if I want to have sex with some random person, whom I don’t even know, I should think about it without feeling guilty. This remorse comes from the way we are born and brought up in our society. We are told the most natural thing to a person is a taboo. Secularism is when you question this and ask why? When you look deep inside yourself, find an answer that makes you happy and accept it.
‘Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high…’ , this anthem for defines secularism in its true spirit.

2007-10-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

Venezuela pulling out of IMF and World Bank.
Venezuela and China Sign 19 Cooperation Agreements.
Venezuela funding to Latin America challenges U.S. spending.

Venezuela’s growing ties with china and its looking for oil markets outside America, can go against American interest. Hugo Chavez, Venezuelan president has made it very clear that there is no love lost between America and Venezuela. So much so that he made a public statement saying, he will pull out of the American markets as soon as he gets a market, more promising than the American one.

Venezuela supplies the United States with 13% of its oil, making it the closest major supplier. For quite some time Venezuela has been looking to foster new trade relations, in particular with China and Russia, in order to break dependency on the United States. The South American nation is currently the world's fifth largest producer of petroleum.

According to Iván Orellana, the Venezuelan representative to OPEC, over 60% of Venezuelan oil is sold to the United States. In light of their growing need for energy, China has been strengthening economic relations with energy supplying countries. Possibilities in Latin American look particularly bright due an abundance of raw materials and resources, as well as numerous sources of energy.
Venezuela is a major player in oil market. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind about how important a role does oil play in deciding the status of a country in world politics. Oil in today’s world if not the only important thing is still one of the most important one. We had an Iraq war happening for oil.

In future if there is any country that can compete with America for the super-power title it is China. Venezuela if goes ahead and makes china its biggest market, as it is in the process of doing, will be an important factor in making sure that China receives the title.

2007-09-10T02:43:00.001-07:00

People always tell me I want to be different. I don’t like clichés. But isn’t ‘being different’ the most clichéd term these days? When are we going to realize that we all are different? That there is no need to make an extra effort for that. That god already did that job for us. That’s the reason that no two people can think or feel alike. That’s why we have words like perception and interpretation in our dictionaries. That’s why we are individuals and not working machines. And what’s wrong if my mental frequency matches with someone else. It’s important that we think. But it’s not necessary that we think different. We can think alike and still understand different perspectives of a subject. Or send a message by just being simple and direct.

Short Story

2007-08-30T08:25:00.000-07:00

A pair of shoe:
I have lived in Mumbai all my life. There s no need t say, that I love it very much. However, I feel very lonely at times here. Everywhere I see people are running after something. Someone is running after the trains, buses, money; love or simply for a moment’s peace. I can’t join them, because I can’t walk. Some might think that I am a handicap. Yes, I can’t walk. But I can still go around in my wheel chair. It’s the same for me. Maybe because I was never able to walk. A rare disease affected me when I was a kid that left my legs very weak. However, I feel these wheels are my two legs. I can do whatever I want to do.
Well almost everything. My father doesn’t allow me to travel much. Cars in Mumbai can prove to be a big problem. There is not enough parking space and the traffic is unbelievable. Trains and busses are the favorite mode of transportation here. It’s no possible for me to travel by train however because it’s impossible to catch a train in Mumbai if you aren’t well versed with the art of fighting. Survival of the fittest is the principle on which our local trains work. Busses on the other hand although being more convenient than trains are highly unadvisable for long journeys. If a train takes one hour to reach some place, a bus will take around two. In Mumbai as we all know, time is money. Then again, being the only child my dad is over-protective of me as well. This is why I never had the pleasure to go and visit a mall before. I had heard about it from my friends nevertheless. My imagination of a mall was given a shape when I got a chance to visit one, which was opened recently near my house. It was humongous and magnificent at the same time. The human feelings and bodies that the place held within it self was enormous. I was very excited to see and moreover feel that place. The buzz about latest fashion, the excitement over new gadgets, and the colorful window displays trying to attract attention. I felt like all the different colors in the place have merged together to form this beautiful rainbow of life. This rainbow had colors that I had never seen, experienced or felt before. It was a two-storey building. The floor above, were dedicated to food and drugstores as well as some very expensive women’s footwear.
I was roaming around, very satisfied with whatever I saw around me. Then suddenly a pristine white pair of shoe in a shoe store, on the first floor caught my attention. It was so white that it made the color white look unclean in front of it. So sparkly that it made the stars look dull in front of it. It felt to me like a fairy godmother has sent those shoes especially for me from a far away fairyland. I was so fascinated by it that I forgot that unintentionally I was wheeling my chair towards it. And suddenly it hit the escalator. I became very frantic. I wanted those shoes. I wanted to try it. There, right then. I wanted to wear them and glide out of that mall. Dance on my favorite song. With my favorite boy. Who I know will never even look at me. Who loves to see girls in high heels. Something I can never wear. Someone who loves dancing. One thing I can never do. Who loves taking his girls for long walks on beaches. Who I know can only be my friend and nothing more than that.
Suddenly I saw the shoes being taken out of the display window. I was frantic now. I was calling for my dad. He was wishfully looking at some high heels he knew I adore. He came running to me noticing the urgency in my voice. By then, another one replaced those shoes in the display window. I told him about them and he offered to go and buy it for me, if it was still there. But I wanted to go with him. Try it then and there. To see the place in person that held such a masterpiece. To see them getting packed. To wear them then and there and walk down the stairs in them, like a winner walking down the podium. While I was thinking all this I saw a lady getting on the escalator. The realization drew on me and I could do never do all that. I can never glide down like a princess. There is no fairy godmother. That boy will never love me. And that I don’t need or want those shoes anymore. I smiled ruefully and went back home.

My Poem

2007-08-26T05:08:00.002-07:00

The awkward walk in a strange classroom,
No smiles, no familiar faces,
Just sitting alone on a seat,
Beside a stranger,
And try to subside the thoughts that races,
In my mind,
In my heart,
In the touch of the strangers pat,
And then he asked me my name,
And I thought I was worrying in vain,
For he had not the eyes of devil that I imagined,But rather were filled with the same kind of hope and fear that I had in mine.
I knew he was special from that moment,
I can still remember the smell of his scent.
He became my best friend,
Long walks on beaches,
A race to know who is the first that reaches,
Sometimes classroom, sometimes theatre,
Watching our backs for the latter,
To listen and to say,
Sometime words,
Sometime gestures,
Sometime eyes,
Sometime letters.
In the canteen a stale coffee with no sugar to speak off,
The Chinese in cafeteria a total rip off,
A smile of a stranger in the campus,
The quickening of heart beat in a spam of few minutes,
Stupid secrets that were shared,
A relationship of trust and care.
But it was lost by me in the race of time.
We drew apart,
We broke each others heart,
We cried in silence at nights.
But we did not find solutions to our fights,
And slowly we became oblivious to each others presence,
We went ahead and made new friends,
Today I don't know who he is?
What he is? Or where he is?
But I do know,
That he is still the one I remember clearly when I forget the name of my best friend,
I know I am gonna miss those days with him,
And hope that one day we will meet in real and not just in my dream.

My Space.

2007-08-26T05:08:00.001-07:00

I was wishing for a long time that my college would get over soon. But now when finally it has…………it feels kind of weird……A very mixed feeling I must say. Finally I am done with BMM and out in this world, on my own. I want to live alone for a while…….without my family……..without my old friends. Into a new world where I don’t know anyone and no one knows me. Where if I want 2 be out at night I don’t have 2 think that I have a family back home where my parents will be waiting for me. Where I don’t have 2 abide by the rules of my parents and live the way I want. Where if I want 2 go out with my boyfriend I can hold his hand on the road and not think that someone might just see me. Where I can go out 2 a disco and experience the thrill of it, where I can try a cigarette just once and feel the kick of it, where once I can get drunk totally and don’t have to feel guilty about doing so. Where I can fulfill my dreams of seeing the world and understanding it the way I want to. Where I can be independent and think for myself, choose for myself ……….where I can do what I feel like……..good and bad things. Where I am given the freedom to be myself without thinking twice about my family or my friends or of what this society might think……where I can be Pooja gautam and actually try to find her identity………through falling and rising……making mistakes and correcting them. But I am still scared. Scared of the world outside where I am nothing……but a nameless creature walking around infamous and nameless streets. Where there are hundreds of pooja trying to be what I want to be….and another hundred who already are at that level. Where there will be no mom to feed me and dad to fulfill all my wishes. Where there will be no brother and sister to support me when I do something wrong. Where there will be no friends to hold me when I am down…..who will make me cry and make me smile as well……I don’t know if ever I will be able to make it…but 1 thing's for sure……..I will try my best and give it all I have….

Movie Review

2007-08-26T05:06:00.000-07:00

China Blue:
An interesting overview of the communist democracy in china. This movie very well paints out the consequences of capitalism in a country, whose ideals still have roots in communism. This movie also makes us realize how the other half live. The ugly truth behind the glorious façade of china’s growth has been portrayed very well in this movie.Sequence that touched my heart:There were lots of scenes in the movie that touched my heart. There was however this closing scene of the movie that really said it all for me. Jasmine, one of the main characters of the movie writes this letter to the person who is going to buy the jeans that was made in her factory. The letter encompassed all the emotions and hard work that went into making that jeans.

Inmigrate:
Touchy issues like racism and illegal immigration have been dealt with in this movie, in a very unbiased and fair way by showing us both the sides of a coin. Story of the movie revolves around an illegal immigrant Eusebio and how he was killed. More than 60% of laborers in US today are illegal migrants, mostly from Mexico. This movie shows us the reason for such migration and the consequences as well.Sequence that touched my heart:The scene that really touched my heart was the one where the mother is showing us the relics of Eusebio’s childhood.

War And Peace:
Anand Patwardhan’s movie ‘War And Peace’ portrays people from different walks of life with different backgrounds and learning’s, talking about their perceptions and experiences about war and peace. To many people it might seem as a movie about Pokhran and the nuclear testing done by India. Yes, it does talk about it. But somewhere it goes beyond that. Beyond the agenda and propaganda of political parties. Beyond the ignorance of the common man. Beyond the selfish scientists who wants glory for making weapons of mass destruction. Who forgets that when they are receiving prestigious awards from politicians, someone is dying because he was exposed to radioactive rays. Beyond the way religion and politics are used to create fear amongst the masses, and to make them believe that war or weapons can ever be tools for peace. It shows us how no country be it US or India is free from all this. One day our teacher asked us in class. What is the first word that comes to your mind when you think about India. A Muslim friend of mine from a very affluent family said ‘discrimination’. I wondered at that time what made him say that. After watching this movie I got my answer. Discrimination on the basis of religion is a known fact in India. Political parties using religion to increase their vote bank is also a common phenomenon. These facts that we have taken for granted when presented to me the way this movie did, it intimidated me. The comparison that was done by the movie between the glory for our country and the price that we have to pay to achieve it was very interesting. It raised a question whether creating fear is in fact equivalent to making sure that we are safe? That is it necessary that we have to be makers of weapons of mass destruction to create that respect and acknowledgement in the world? Is it necessary to have war to maintain peace? The absolute futility of wars and nuclear bombings. The psychological and political reasons behind them were beautifully covered in this movie.

My Articles.

2007-08-26T05:04:00.000-07:00

“I aspire to be a doctor”, says 13 year old chandrakala studying in Nalaku school in Devegere. Two kilometres from devegere a boy named ashok shares chandrakalas passion to become a doctor. . “I get daily mid day meals, clothes and books in my school”, adds chandrakala. These villages in the outskirts of Bangalore provide a very interesting insight in the education system in south India as a whole and Karnataka in particularEducation is the first step towards development. There is a very famous saying that if the lady of the house is educated, so is the family. Here we can see that people surely understand the meaning of this phrase. “We have 18 boys and 14 girls in our class”, says chandrakala proudly.Although bumpy roads and potholes make up for the path to reach these places, they in no way mirror the social or financial condition of the villagers.“I am a farmer by profession. Here we grow ragi, paddy, vegetables, etc. Agriculture here mostly depends on the monsoons. However, I have never felt any financial constrains as such”, says 78 year old DM Subaana. They are also well informed about the world outside their village. “I read a newspaper daily; we have TV and radio in these parts too. I vote as well. In fact everyone in my family votes”, adds Mr. Subaana.They have a good water and transport facilities in place. “The government appointed medical people, come every month to give us regular vaccination. However we don’t have hospitals in here. We have to go some eight kilometres from here to get medication”, says Irshad bano, 27 living in tagachuguppe.“There is no proper sanitation. We also need some books and medical stores in here.The government hospital is also not of any use to us. Mostly we don’t have doctors and nurses. It also opens from 12 to 4 only”, adds girija, 25 from konipura.Apart from these few grievances of the locals, this place does not seem to be backward in anyway. Right from PCO’s to banks, they have everything. We surely hope that other villages and their respective governments take a leaf out of the books of these villages.

REALITIES OF MEDIA:

“ Journalism today has gone digital”, says Susan King. Vice President, External Affairs Director, Journalism Initiative and Strategy of the Carnegie Corporation New York. Talking about the changing face of journalism in today’s world. Ms. Susan seemed quite at ease with the fallacies and the technological change, which have gripped the media around the globe. Right from Watergate scandal to USA’s failure to recognize the political and social scenario in Iraq, Susan King gave a very broad and interesting point of view of media in general and US media in particular. A very prudent lady, she made it a point not to comment on something she wasn’t too sure about, but also did not care about being politically correct on certain issues, which she was fairly aware of. The introduction of her class was a brief on how the American media is in a tug of war, between ethics and truth on one side and media business on the other. How various propaganda strategies are affecting the dissemination of news and truth in the country. With the growing influence of advertisers and political parties in India, one can draw parallel with this experience.She introduced the students with a new phenomenon of seven I’s. Integrity, individual, independent, interactive, interesting, international, and illuminating. Each one being self- explanatory and a way to explore the interesting insight into what journalism should actually be. Her explanation on how the new media is catching the imagination of the new generation in US, makes us realize it’s the future in our country. Her introduction to the phrase ‘crowd sourcing’ was quite fascinating and novel. The power that modern technology has given to a layman makes him quite an interesting source of information.The technology can be in a form of a mobile camera or a handy-camera, which is with every other person these days. The lecture was definitely very illuminating and did in fact in store the lost faith in journalism. Kudos to Susan King for making us aware of the realities of the media and tell us how to fight them as well!