Pom-Musings

The story of Rushdie's non arrival

2012-01-20T22:26:00.002+05:30

The Events

Jan 4th, 2012: Word is out that Salman Rushdie has been invited to the Jaipur Literature Festival, an annual event that has grown by leaps and bounds in its popularity since its inception in 2006.

http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2012-01-04/books/30588541_1_salman-rushdie-midnight-s-children-jaipur-literature-festival

Islamic groups across India protest his invitation to the festival and demand that he not set foot on Indian soil. Apparently, a ban on his "blasphemous" book in a country that believes itself to be secular and also in free speech, just wasn't enough. On confrontation with these facts, they cite the American Govt's act of cancelling Narendra Modi's US visa as exemplary. (Yes. They'd like to equate the Gujarat pogrom to the writing of Satanic Verses.)

Jan 19th, 2012 (Thursday): Islamic groups that were planning major protests on Friday, the 20th of Jan, to coincide with the festival's opening, announce that these protests are cancelled. The reason: A Congress MP from Jaipur's assurance that Mr Rushdie would be kept away throughout the festival period.

http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/article2816193.ece

Jan 20th, 2012 (Friday): Rushdie announces the cancellation of his visit to India citing rumours of paid underworld assassins set loose after his life. Livid authors at the festival start reading out from Satic Verses, his book that has been banned in India.

http://ibnlive.in.com/news/satanic-verses-read-at-jaipur-literature-festival/222731-40-103.html

The Congress spokesperson Abhishek Manu Singhvi issued the following statement: "If an individual author feels threatened about his own security, I think you and I must all respect his right not to take chances with his own life and liberty."

Cited from the video on this link. http://www.ndtv.com/article/india/salman-rushdie-skips-jaipur-literature-festival-says-he-was-warned-of-paid-assassins-168919

Mr Singhvi makes this statement in an attempt to sound like a magnanimous person respecting the rights of an individual's concern for safety. However, he conveniently fails to highlight that his government, whose duty it is to snub these Islamic extremists and ensure Rushdie's safety (and liberty!), has pitifully failed to do so.

Summing Up

On the surface, the government tries to assure its citizens that it did nothing to prevent Mr Rushdie's arrival and that the author's decision not to arrive in India was his own, trying to score points on how it is being large minded in respecting that decision.

Beneath the surface, the Congress tells the protesting Islamic groups that it has successfully prevented the arrival of the blasphemer, Salman Rushdie, on Indian soil. (Sure to be used for brownie points in election rallies.)

News on Indian Television: Endangered Species

2012-01-17T22:56:00.002+05:30

All through my life, I've been hard-wired to switch on the television at 9 PM and spend the next half an hour looking at the news. Each day spent without completing this ritual would feel a little incomplete. Off late, however, I've been steadily losing interest in the 9 o'clock news so much so that it even repels me on some days.

The reason: televised debates hosted either by incompetent anchors or by blatant bullies whose only motives are to throw their weight and their opinions around these debates. Debates you say? Opinions? Weren't we just talking about the news? Well, the boundaries between news and opinions have completely dissolved in the world of Indian news channels. And what's more? These debates sorely lack any intelligent quality. They are just shout-offs where the panellist with the mightier voice always has the last word (However, on Times Now, Arnab always does).

The country we live in is mighty large. There is enough news to report in any one of our cities to sustain whole news channels and newspapers. There is clearly no dearth of good material that wants reporting. Instead, must we spend 25 out of our precious 30 news minutes watching a discussion on whether the Govt of India's ego is bigger than its chief of army staff or whether the seniors in the Indian cricket team are mollycoddled? (Yes. Arnab, who makes no bones about expressing his passionate take on every news item, does think so.)

The root cause of this affliction is the average Indian's love for melodrama. It is as if everything on television that is worth watching must resemble a Saans Bahu soap opera. Even news! In the absence of any other examples, the success story of TV9 alone is a major facepalm moment for the Indian television audience. It is as if we have a penchant for having our intelligence insulted.

I hold that the last bastion of good reporting in India is the existence of newspapers like The Hindu. The content published in a newspaper is a subjective matter and varies with the taste of the reader. However, the style of reporting and the professionalism that goes into it can be put more easily to judgement. The firm stance that the editors of The Hindu have taken on how its content is to be published is inspirational. Rather than bow down to an abyss by catering to the baser tendencies of the masses, they've maintained a calibre that has given them a faithful niche of unswervingly loyal readers. Niche markets are clearly the way forward in services that cater to a large section of any population. Only that way you can ensure that not too many people outside of the majority are left out. Whether it be music, books or other hobbies, I always find myself outside the circles that are crowded with the vast Indian majority. However, niche markets in all these domains have ensured that I'm not left out.

Televised news needs a channel that is dedicated to good, neutral reportage, rather than sinking to whatever depths the thirst for popularity drags it down to. The Hindu could probably start its own news channel. I am tired of scripted melodramas being passed off as news. We need a channel that doesn't look at every incident as an opportunity to gain TRPs and subsequently make a killing in the advertising market.

Unconstitutional?

2011-08-27T09:10:00.003+05:30

There has been a lot of outrage on the part of the intellectuals of this country that the present India Against Corruption movement has been unconstitutional. However, as a friend rightly pointed out,

"There are many political parties that conduct bandhs, hartals, dharnas, padayatras and what not on a regular basis. Offices are shut down, stones are pelted at buses, tyres are burnt. Anyone who goes on the streets are wounded too. However, the same political parties say that a peaceful, non-violent, non-disruptive, perfectly legal protest is undemocratic?"

The Constitution of India is the supreme law of India, whose principles are to be followed for framing of laws, policies, granting of rights, and the functioning of the state. Like any other legal document, it can prove quite hard to read. The principles enshrined, however, are simpler to understand. Only the intellectual population of the country pays heed to even these. Hence, only a very small population of the country actually knows what is constitutional and what is unconstitutional.

Having read the speeches that Dr BR Ambedkar made on drafting of the constitution, I know that he would have surely struck down this protest as unconstitutional. I agree. This protest has been unconstitutional. However, let me tell you that if Dr Ambedkar were alive today, he would have been baffled enough at the rampant corruption that the parliament is responsible for today to immediately recommend some amendments to curtail the powers that the Legislature possess.

The legislature towers high above any other institution in this country. They seem to be able to call all the shots at present: How to obtain arrests of anybody (by using the Delhi Police as a scapegoat) in case anything goes wrong? How many Jan Lokpal bills to consider? Whether they should present bills to the standing committee? Whether the bill should undergo the process of voting in the parliament at all? (Whoa!)

I'd say that any constitution that has allowed for the parliament to thrive in such unfettered corruption definitely needs a re-look. (There! I've uttered a blasphemy). I'm sure that the founding fathers of the country would never have, even in their wildest dreams, envisaged the whole sale sell out of the country that is happening today. Why, A Raja might have made only a few hundred crores out of the deal, but has cost the country a potential whopping 1.76 lakh crores. Ethics apart, costing the country so dearly for making only a fraction of that cost is bad business!

We need laws to reign in the MPs today. The constitution has been amended in their favour so much so that they are the ultimate authority in this country. The laws against corruption, and their punishments are so ridiculous, particularly in light of the powers that MPs have. Also, these laws are so replete with loopholes that one can slither his way out easily with the legal expertise that the ministers have at hand, what with many of them being lawyers themselves.

The people on the streets have seen this happening time and again. They know that any political party that comes into power in steeped in the same systemic corruption. They do not care about the word of the constitution at this point of time. They just see that the country is being looted and want changes now! In their anger, they aren't ready to wait for a decade for palpable change to happen. Hence, they jump the gun on many occasions and demand the passage of their bill outright. It is true that anger clouds our ability to make the best decisions. It is also true that for this anger, the politicians are to blame and they are now facing the music.

As Arvind Khejriwal pointed out, intellectuals abound in the country, who think about how to proceed on every matter and are quick in their criticism of anything that goes against the grain of the many principles they hold dear. However, the vast numbers of people in this country operate on something much more basic: Common Sense. They don't want to hear your explanations of what is constitutional and what is not. They want corruption rooted out, and they want it now. The intellectuals are very relevant though. They keep checks and balances in the system so that things don't get out of hand. This movement has been a refreshing attempt at a correction of the Indian democracy. Rather than saying that Indian democracy is being threatened, it is good to see it thriving as ever.

What makes people lose faith in the democratic process?

2011-08-16T21:45:00.004+05:30

India is a participatory democracy where people have a say in who is ruling over them. Democracy is India's biggest boon, and in my opinion, the prime reason why we haven't broken up into separate states like Europe, since independence.

The best (and only) suggestion that critics of the current anti-corruption protests provide is for people to use elections to tackle corruption. However, the protesters seem to be exasperated at this democratic system's failure. Why are they on the streets? What makes the democratic process fail?

Let us start off with a young voter of this country who wishes to do it good. He isn't a walking, talking archive of The Hindu but he is far better informed than the huge masses who are transported in truckloads to voting booths. He can vote at the assembly level and the Lok Sabha level. But let us look at whom he can vote for. He has a choice between the two central parties, both of whom are steeped in the same corruption and malpractices. On voting for an independent candidate, he realises that his candidate will either not even cross the minimum number of votes required to collect his election deposit, or will side with one of the two 'national' parties. On voting for a state level party, he'll realise that he is playing into the hands of regionalists who are increasingly resorting to dirty, caste based politics. These regional parties also hold the trump cards in today's coalition governments and demand that they get ministerial berths out of which they can make the most money out of. ( viz. A Raja's telecom ministry)

The system is neck deep in filth. He compares it to vibrant democracies in the west where any spot of dirt on the candidates makes them liable for impeachment and unspeakable humiliation. He is now rendered speechless with humiliation at his country's netas. The parliament's first Lokpal draft dates back to 1968. His politicians haven't agreed on passing that bill for 43 years and counting. How could even the brightest optimist still harbour any hopes in the parliament?

Why not contest elections? If he wished to join either of the big parties, his purpose is defeated. Besides, there is the huge contribution he'll have to make to the party coffers for his entry. If he contests as an independent candidate... Oh wait! He already knows the fate of those naive independents.

The civil service! That is surely the panacea to his angst and eagerness to do good for the country. So he goes about exploring that option. Well, there is the rest of the young people in the country to compete with. As the civil services are highly coveted, the entire mass of India's huge and burgeoning population adds to the weight of this competition and he is faced with lakhs of competitors, vying for a few hundred posts. This also demands intricate knowledge of the country among a whole lot of other things. Only graduates can apply. After rigorous selection processes that run into the best part of a year, these hallowed people are selected to serve the masses. But wait. They are selected to serve the masses under the thumb of their neta who might not have even passed second standard! The neta is sure to transfer them if they try to do anything good against his vested interests. There is also this tradition among IAS officers to spend a huge amount of money on coaching classes and attempt at making solid returns on investment once they are in power.

The legislature and the bureaucracy are pretty much closed doors to this citizen. The judiciary is so swamped with cases to be heard that he has very bleak hope there. The legislature, with its passing of 17 bills in 12 mins, including amendments to the Prevention of Corruption Act, has also substantially weakened the judiciary's hold on it. Now that the supreme court is interfering with their dirty affairs time and again, they are going to threaten it with a judicial accountability bill. I rest my case.

The gentleman whose example has been taken in this post is mostly from the middle class. The poor are too busy making their 30 rupees per day to worry about these things. The rich aren't bothered to find out how their agent obtains their driving license. As long as he delivers it to them, they are happy. So how then does this young, middle class voter, bubbling with enthusiasm to be a part of the change and redress his grievances against systemic corruption that he encounters everywhere, from getting his birth certificate made to getting a cremation done and a death certificate obtained?

He waits for an Anna Hazare to come along. He doesn't even bother to find out the merits and demerits of the proposed bill, but plunges headlong at anything that helps him channel his anger against the corrupt politicians he so loathes. The majority of people at the rallies today don't even know what the Jan Lokpal bill does or how it proposes to root out corruption. They have lost faith in the politicians to such a grave extent that they go by the saying "An enemy of my enemy is my friend."

My Vegetarian Roots

2011-08-01T18:45:00.018+05:30

It has always been the hallmark of human civilisation to care for those who are less capable, less fortunate and less powerful. The word 'humane' stands testimony to that fact. A humanitarian is one who partakes in, and shares the burden of those around him. As we become more and more civilised, this fact is always reinforced in stronger terms.

Coloured people, who have endured white supremacy for ages are now respected for who they are, so much so that doing or saying anything that would remotely hint otherwise is seen as taboo. Women, having been treated as the weaker sex through the centuries, are now recognised to be equal to men and the number of instances where they are being oppressed is steadily reducing world over, more so in the developed world. People who were historically seen to be handicapped, invalid and retarded are now being seen as differently abled and special people. The champions of these causes have always been held as examples for humankind to emulate.

The reason for change in this direction is the ever increasing ability to choose, that has resulted as a consequence of our progress. The desperate thief, who in his need cannot afford to be compassionate to those who he steals from, doesn't have a choice. But on progressing as a race, our choices have ever been on the increase. Earlier, we all had to roam about, foraging, hunting and living off the land. Today, the choices we have on both, making a living and consuming for living, are unlimited in their variety.

Which brings me to vegetarianism. Very frequently have the people around me put forth the question as to why I do not consume meat, so much so that they sympathise with my having to forgo the often pleasurable experiences that accompany its consumption. I never had a clear answer to that question. I somehow managed to shrug it off by saying that it was an inherent tendency.

It is not that I've never tasted meat. I've consumed enough of it in the days of early childhood. I can even vaguely remember what it tastes like. However, even as a little child, I had been shocked to learn about how silk was extracted by boiling silkworm cocoons and had told my parents categorically that I was never going to be wearing any silk all my life. One morning, when I was probably in Std 5, I attended a birthday party where I decided not to eat the cake that was on offer for its containing egg, even though I have always been very fond of cake. This was the beginning of my life as a vegetarian. On introspection, it becomes amply clear that this choice is based on an inclination towards non violence, followed by the development of a rationale that reinforces this inclination. Also, I've been born in a race, I'm proud to say, is known for having advocated vegetarianism centuries ahead of anywhere else world over. In this aspect, I deem that we are an advanced race indeed.

I'm not one of those who is for strongly enforcing vegetarianism (at times this is done even violently), for such an act would defeat the entire purpose of being vegetarian. Unlike plants, we cannot produce our own food and have to rely on the consumption of other forms of life for our living. But unlike carnivores, who cannot but eat meat, we have the power to choose what we eat. I just choose to do it in a manner as to cause a lesser amount of pain to things around me.

"What pain?," one might ask. "Animals are slaughtered with one flourish of the knife so that they don't feel pain at all."

Well, have you really thought about the conditions in which they are bred and subsequently slaughtered for your pleasure? Do we not see how chickens are cooped up in poultry farms, so much so that their coops lend to us the phrase? Don't we see them being transported, strung up mercilessly by their leg, upside down and slung across scooter seats? A lamb being led to slaughter. Butchered mercilessly. Dead meat. The phrases that turn to animal slaughter for expressing savagery are endless. Even the word massacre has its roots in butchery. These words arise from western civilisation which is only just exploring vegetarianism.

There is another school of thought that holds, very naively I must say, that if we all became vegetarians, this world would be flooded with animals and that we'd all starve to death because we'd run out of plant based food. The amount of grain and feed that goes into making meat is mind boggling. Animals could live off pastures and not consume any grain, but the lack of pastoral land and the difficulties associated with adopting that approach are formidable. It takes 16 kilos of grain to produce 1 kilo of meat. It takes nearly 1000 times the amount of water to produce one Kg of meat as opposed to wheat. Between May 2000 and August 2006, Brazil lost nearly 150, sq km of forest, an area larger than Greece, 70% of this going to cultivate soya beans to be fed to a burgeoning pig cultivation market in China. There are many more staggering facts that one can discover with a very simple search string online. In effect, the production of meat is proving so wasteful that a day might come where we are all forced to turn vegetarian. A love for nature goes very much hand in hand with vegetarianism.

But these are just facts to silence ill informed critics. The essence of vegetarianism, for me, stems out of the inherent disposition to live and let live, that has guided human civilisation ever since man ventured outside of his cave. As I question my stand, it only becomes clearer to me that it is one that I will always adopt. The variety offered by vegetarian food, seen better in India than anywhere else, is abundant. Though one can point out that it can only increase when you include meat, I'm wholly satisfied with what it has on offer, for a lifetime's worth.

A few truths about the Jan Lokpal

2011-07-03T20:43:00.015+05:30

In all this squabble over whether the Jan Lokpal is a panacea to a corruption ridden nation or a looming apocalypse, I thought I'd do some actual research before having anything more to say.

I'd posted in support of the movement here, without saying too much about the bill itself.

Yesterday, I attended a public question and answer session with Justice Santosh Hegde organised by The Hindu. Justice Santosh Hegde, whose track record on fighting corruption speaks for itself, has served as a lawyer, the Advocate General for Karnataka, the Additional Solicitor General and a Supreme Court Judge. He was instrumental in preparing the Jan Lokpal draft. He came across as an incisive and knowledgeable stalwart in the practice of the law.

Today, I spent half my Sunday reading the bill in its entirety and also looked up some of the other acts that it often referred to. The bill can be found here.

Why the bill is required would be obvious to everyone but the completely oblivious. Anyway, just to present a taste of how our country is run, here is something you might want to chew on.

India has over 1456 Billion USD stashed away as black money in Swiss banks. This was according to a declaration made by the Swiss government. Here's the dubious top five list.

1. India—– $1,456 billion 2. Russia —-$ 470 billion 3. UK ——-$390 billion 4.Ukraine – –$100 billion 5. China —–$ 96 billion

The Indian total is far greater than the sum of the other four countries. But hold on. Figures as large as those don't make sense without some perspective. $1,456 billion translates to Rs 65,520 billion. The order of magnitude here is 13. 6.5 raised to the 13th power of 10. This happens to exceed the entire revenue budgetary requirement for the year 2010-11 by 5 times. And this is just the Swiss black money issue.

The four other countries have promptly transferred this wealth back to their shores. Our government is still consulting its lawyers.

I'll look at only those parts of the draft that have come under rather heavy criticism.

1. The Rogue Pal charge

Under the apprehension that the Lokpal could turn renegade, a few critics have bestowed upon it astronomical powers akin to those who run parallel governments.

The Jan Lokpal cannot mete out punishment, contrary to popular belief. It is merely an investigative body and can at the most submit its findings to a special court, whose judgement can be challenged in a High court or the Supreme court of the country. Hence, the Lokpal is answerable to these courts with regard to all its actions during the prosecution.

Article 29.7 states

"Appeal against the orders of Lokpal shall lie in High Court of appropriate jurisdiction, which shall decide the matter within two months of filing of the appeal."

Now let's turn our attention to Section 17.2

"Nothing in this Act shall be construed as authorising the Lokpal to investigate any action which is taken by or with the approval of the Presiding Officer of either House of Parliament."

which categorically strips the Lokpal of investigating any executive action whose approval is sought from the leaders of the parliament houses.

The Lokpal has been bestowed with police powers in only specific sections of the Criminal Procedure Code and the Prevention of Corruption Act. This power is granted to any wing of vigilance that functions in the country including the CBI and the CVC.

2. Its far reaching judicial powers

Article 10.2 highlights the judicial powers of the Lokpal.

"For the purpose of any such investigation (including the preliminary inquiry) the Lokpal shall have all the powers of a civil court while trying a suit under the Code of Civil Procedure, 1908 , in respect of the following matters, namely:-

(a) Summoning and enforcing the attendance of any person and examining him on oath;
(b) Requiring the discovery and production of any document;
(c) Receiving evidence on affidavits;
(d) Requisitioning any public record or copy thereof from any court or office ;
(e) Issuing commissions for the examination of witnesses or documents ;
(f) ordering payment of compensatory cost in respect of a false or vexatious claim or defence;
(g) ordering cost for causing delay;
(h) Such other matters as may be prescribed."

Simply put, the Lokpal has the right to examine any evidence or subject the accused to questioning in the event of an investigation. Clearly, the points above do not exceed those that are required for any investigative agency to function. Anyone who claims that the Lokpal has far reaching judicial powers is just as far from the truth.

3. The dubious and arbitrary selection committee

Well, the proposed selection panel consists of

a. The Chairpersons of both Houses of Parliament

b. Two senior most judges of Supreme Court

c. Two senior most Chief Justices of High Courts.

d. All Nobel Laureates of Indian Origin

e. Chairperson of National Human Rights Commission

f. Last two Magsaysay Award winners of Indian origin

g. Comptroller and Auditor General of India

h. Chief Election Commissioner

i. Bharat Ratna Award winners

j. After the first set of selection process, the outgoing members and Chairperson of Lokpal.

Where the senior-most judge of Supreme Court shall act as the Chairperson of the selection committee.

Here,

a. represents the political faction. b. and c. comprise of the higher judiciary. e., g. and h. represent the bureaucracy and civil society representation is present at the other posts. This keeps a healthy balance in place where people from all walks of life participate.

Why are some people against representation from civil society? Aren't 12 members of the Rajya Sabha nominated from the same civil society?

The only thing that escapes my logic here is the inclusion of Nobel Prize and Bharat Ratna awardees. These awards are not given particularly for social service. But I'm sure that these details will be ironed out in a detailed draft.

The selection isn't as "ad-hoc" as the critics thought.

Here is the Government's proposed selection committee:

1. Prime Minister

2. Speaker of the Rajya Sabha

3. Leader of the Opposition

4. One Judge

5. One nominee of the Prime Minister

This selection committee can easily undermine any anti corruption bill in its very inception.

4. Unelected people have no say in how this country is run.

Yes. They don't. But neither does the Lokpal. They are merely an investigative organisation. If they shouldn't exist, neither should the CBI, CVC, CAG, Election Commission or the President of India. (Remember Abdul Kalam for instance? He was from civil society)

5. The Prime Minister shouldn't fall within the Lokpal's ambit..

.. for a host of reasons ranging from regional instability to the sale of defence secrets to foreign powers, they say. The Indian Penal code, drafted in 1860 by Lord Macaulay, and continued by the Indian government ever since we became a Republic, holds any government official including the Prime minister answerable to the laws stated there in. Why should we now make an exception? The same argument holds for judges in the higher judiciary.

This aside, the Lokpal has made provision for the PM to be excluded from the law in section 18.6 and 18.9.

18.6

" If during the course of investigation or enquiry into a complaint, Lokpal feels that continuance of a public servant in that position could adversely affect the course of investigations or enquiry or that the said person is likely to impact evidence or witnesses, the Lokpal may issue appropriate orders including transfer of that public servant from that position or his suspension.

Provided that such orders shall not be passed against the Prime Minister."

This is obviously framed keeping in mind that dismissal of the Prime Minister cannot be made easily by the Lokpal.

18.9

"Where after investigation into a complaint, the Lokpal is satisfied that the complaint involving an allegation against the public servant, other than the Ministers, Members of Parliament and judges, is substantiated and that the public servant concerned should not continue to hold the post held by him, the Lokpal shall pass orders to that effect. In case of public servant being a Minister or a Member of Parliament, Lokpal shall make such recommendation to the President, who shall decide either to accept such recommendation or reject it within a month of its receipt.

Provided that the provisions of this section shall not apply to the Prime Minister."

The clauses above are built for preventing bureaucrats and government officials from tampering with evidence against them from their position of power. 18.9 exempts all ministers and judges from its ambit and submits that decision to the president. Strangely, the media doesn't highlight these points to us. I doubt if the media has read the original draft at all!

Prime ministers have died in office without issue of prior notice in the past. Governments have fallen in no confidence motions several times. Interim prime ministers and acting prime ministers have stepped in without there being any threat to the regional stability of our diverse country.

And why must our national secrets be divulged to the Lokpal in any case? They are an investigative agency, and not the Indian equivalent of the ISI. These are just issues that are built to divert people's attention and dilute their support.

The investigative bodies today and the Prevention of Corruption Act are framed such that they fall under the ruling government's thumb completely and are hence not adequate in today's degenerate times. We can't blame the leaders of yesterday for making these policies as they, in their wildest imagination, couldn't have envisioned the evils that haunt the Indian Government today. That is why this movement is required in the first place. 1.76 Lakh Crores has 12 significant zeros.

I've gathered from the interaction with Justice Santosh Hegde the moment when he lost complete trust in the legislature. To quote his exact words in an interview to Tehelka,

"We expect our leaders to do their jobs, but I for one lost trust when on 23 December 2008, the Parliament passed 17 Bills in 12 minutes, without any discussion whatsoever. It included amendments to an anti-corruption law. Three sections of the Prevention of Corruption Act were removed, and only civil society prevented the Bill from going to the Rajya Sabha. After this, how can they say it’s my prerogative, stay away?"

How's that for an eye opener? Do we expect these minds to engage corruption at any level?

In light of the times we live in, the need for a strong ombudsman can never be stated enough. I was pleased to read today that in the all party meeting, most parties seem to be in agreement with this. The majority has also voiced its support for the inclusion of the PM under the Lokpal. However, their words are only token promises, as is my happiness ephemeral on seeing them.

This is why the movement needs our support. This is why Kapil Sibal shows up every night trying to denigrate this bill to its very foundations, because it threatens the solid foundation of corruption that they've spent generations laying and earthquake proofing by passing 17 bills in 12 minutes. And all those skeptics and apocalypse prophets trying to join him in his allegations are misinformed armchair professors at the least and dangerous agents of the government at the most.

Everyday, the TV is blaring with the same mundane debates where politicians, both from the Government and the opposition, engage in mudslinging. The media is out there to compete with tele-serials for ratings rather than give the nation the information it needs.

We must do whatever we can to see this bill passed. We can't afford to lose having come so far.

World 10K Bangalore

2011-06-13T19:21:00.012+05:30

All the hype and hoopla that surrounded the street marathon named, "TCS World 10-K, Bangalore" seems to have come and gone already by the time I type this out. I'll put my thoughts on virtual paper before they vanish into the oblivious recesses of my memory.

Firstly, the name itself is a piece of work. It somehow reminds me of the saying, "World famous in Bangalore."

The registration procedure involved filling a form on-line that would have passport applications pale in comparison to its length. After wrestling with several pages, one has to deal with the agony of server malfunctions and Captcha stubbornness until your lucky stars finally see you through.

Prior to the run, we were to pick up our running numbers and goody bags from the National Games Village in Koramangala. The organisers had strategically located in the middle of an exhibition that sold expensive merchandise tweaked a little to be passed off as sporty. They deliberately placed the counters quite deep inside this customer-trapping maze with its twists, turns and pretty sales girls.

The powers had hired a bunch of Bengaluru youngsters to deal with the registration. It seemed to me that they were instructed to reply in English no matter what. After repeated attempts at trying to enquire in Kannada, I settled for broken English replies.

The face to face registration process, contrary to its on-line prelude, was extremely well organised. We got out to receive our "goody bags" less than 10 minutes after our entering the auditorium.

The term "goody bag" is placed in quotes for a reason. I'd expected at least a use and throw T-shirt. Instead I was met with the following items. I've tried to put them in the ascending order of their awesomeness.

1. Volini pain relief cream sachets (Very logical)

2. Quaker Oats Porridge mix (This truly was No 2)

3. Revitalate Protein ( "PDCAAS Score of 1.0" it says)

3. Tetley Tea Satchet (Tied for 3rd position)

5. Sugar Free Gold (Its all downhill from here folks!)

6. Hippo Round Round Cheese Munchies (To maintain the Calorie Balance)

7. Itchmosol Anti Itch Cream ( An itch in time saves nine seconds)

8. GoodKnight Mosquito Repellant ( With moisturising protein pearls)

9. Gatsby Water Gloss hair gel (Heading the list of male targeted cosmetics)

10. EverYuth Menz Oxy Active Face Wash

11. EverYuth Menz Face Scrub (Extra Skin Care for Men) *Flinches*

12. Polycrol Xpress Relief Antacid

13. Revital Senior (Whoa!)

14. Revital Women (As if No 13 wasn't bad enough)

15. A bag full of Piramal Healthcare medicines

16. VLCC Fairness Facewash for Men (Racists! The worst product by a mile, 10km rather)

They probably expected a predominantly male population with the average age of 65 to participate. Moreover, after they have the fairer sex eating off their hands, these cosmetic honchos are after our virility. I rest my case.

Anyway, the run happened on the morning of last Sunday. The relevant enthusiastic junta skipped their Sunday morning slumber to turn up at the Kanteerava stadium in hordes. I thought that the crowd was managed pretty decently.

But that illusion only lasted until it was time to start. When that hour was nigh, the seemingly civilised, docile folks of Bangalore unleashed the beasts within. All manners of acrobatics were employed in scaling the chain link fences that separated them from the start line and before you knew it, the whole stadium's inhabitants flooded the running track. Open defiance of baffled security guards ensued. There was also the friendly pat administered with police lathis on unsuspecting, well endowed bottoms whose owners had overestimated their ability to scale chain link fences in the spur of that exciting moment.

The aforementioned flood burst out of the gates of the Kanteerava stadium, like a river in spate, after the start whistle was blown. Unfortunately, the track seemed to narrow into a bottleneck during the first hundred metres or so and most of us were left standing behind the inching horde, the clock ticking mercilessly away.

This traffic jam of human bodies continued to affect spirited runners. There was no clear running path for two whole kilometres owing to walkers, standers and other undesirables. It is a frustrating sight where people who register to run 10 whole kilometres start walking after a mere 100 metres or so, just outside the stadium.

Two kilometres saw the horde diffuse away and the roads open up for people to run at their desired pace. Frequent water points with tiny bottles were present at regular intervals. However, they had dustbins right beside the serving table. It was beyond the organisers' fertile imagination to think that some people might want to continue running with bottles in their hands. Hence, there were no dustbins to be seen till the next water point was at hand. The most irritating sight, however, was that of some people who defiantly chucked their finished water bottles far away, giving themselves the arrogant air of superior beings wholly indifferent to the lesser folks who have to clean up later.

On the brighter side, there were a couple of percussion crews drumming up support for the runners passing by. There were some people on the streets who selflessly cheered the runners on. Having thought that the country sorely lacked the ability to encourage anything to do with the appreciation of true sport, I was not as disappointed as I thought I'd be.

The running itself progresses through various degrees of panting. It starts of with normal nasal breathing and progresses to panting with increasing frequency until it hits a saturation rate. This state of equilibrium took about 4 km to reach and stayed with me for the rest of the race. After about 7 km, the body falls into such a wonderful rhythm that it seems to be able to run in that pace forever while your mind screams out, "Bring it on!"

Somewhere around the 7 km mark, while passing alongside the Chinnaswamy stadium, I happened to run past this yellow shirted guy with shades who quite resembled Rahul Bose. Any doubts that the instinct threw up as to his true identity was mercilessly crushed by the rationale which reasoned that Rahul Bose was much fitter than I was and he'd never give me the opportunity to outrun him. I'd half-a-mind to scream out "Rahul Bose lookalike" at the man in question, but nothing of that sort happened.

Running through the Cubbon Park and Vidhana Soudha on this cloudy morning whose weather was all but perfect for the activity, one couldn't help but think how beautiful Bangalore really is without its bustling traffic. Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn't seen it in the proper light. This image, however, was continuously dented by each of the plastic bottles that some uncouth being threw away to litter the beautiful lawns of Cubbon Park. So much for it having been The World Environment Day.

Finally, it was 1 km to the finish. I had vaguely remembered that the finish line was inside the Kantaeerava Stadium's running track. I pushed on in the final kilometre and was surprised to see quite a few people sprinting past me even before the stadium's entrance was in sight. The road then turned into the stadium. Surprise! Staring at me, hidden from view by the turn, was the finish line. I was only around 10 m away and was aghast as I'd stored some energy for the final sprint. I finished the race in 51 mins and 44 seconds, feeling a little foolish that I didn't sprint the last part. The people in charge could've done well to give us boards that announced, "200m left" and, "100m left" etc. instead of this sudden termination.

The aftermath saw me navigate through a small line and pick up a few refreshments along with a neat little medal that was given to everyone that finished. I then roamed around, seeking Chinmaya who'd come along with me on that glorious morning. On reuniting, we proceeded to rest and kill time for a while, criticising the lack of drinking water after the finish line. When I decided that it was time to go, I asked him if he'd collected his medal. On his claiming absolute ignorance in the matter, I showed him my medal. It turns out that the aforementioned small line had swelled to a huge size by now. After finishing the race in about an hour, I ended up waiting for another so that he could collect his black painted trinket. The passage of this hour was made easier by finding some old friends leading me to bask in the petty glory of knowing a significant number of people in this random sample of Bangalore's fitness frenzied.

On returning home, I was met with a family that had had glued its eyes to the television diligently in hopes of sighting the spirited youngster of their household. Instead, they were given a huge dose of this film actor called Rahul and his foreign reporter friend. I casually asked if this Rahul happened to wear a yellow shirt to which my mother replied in the affirmative. The memory of having seen a freaky haired foreigner for whom Rahul Bose's lookalike had seemed to be waiting for, put to rest a lot of unanswered questions.

I'd initially thought that I'd be able to pull the feat off in forty five minutes. I'd planned to give the event one week's training until I managed to sleep through every morning in the hopes of starting the next, until the big day dawned. Next time, I'll look to train and keep my three quarters of an hour hopes up while keeping goody bag content hopes down.

Thick Forests, Thin Air Part 2

2011-05-29T13:33:00.010+05:30

Part 1 can be found here: http://pomusing.blogspot.com/2011/05/expedition-sar-pass-13800-ft-4200-m.html

A Note on Signal Catching:

On the mountains, the golden rule is that the simpler your phone, the more adept it is at "catching" signal. This practice of catching signal is an art in itself. It involves seeking out those specific areas where the mountains have chosen not to get in the way of the transmitting tower. But that is just step one. Once such a spot has been found or shown to you by the locals, you've to hold your phone in the same place without moving an inch, lest you let a mountain disturb this surgical operation. So we found a bunch of people huddled closely near these choice spots trying desperately to catch signal. By the looks of it, a movie on the Zen of Signal Catching might be catching on somewhere.

And we also found all the cheap phones winning the battle hands down! All the 1100s were having a field day at the "cost" of the hapless E5s, HTCs and the Galaxies whose owners felt like throwing the overpriced gizmos down the cliff. The soap boxes also had batteries that lasted through the trek while the big guns were all juiced out in one session of signal catching. So on a trek, a 1100 = win!

Day 6: To Nagaru

The morning exercise on Day 2 was more strenuous than the trek to Nagaru. No sooner than we started, we found ourselves at lunch point, waiting for everyone to gather and kill time till the afternoon was spent, on a precarious ledge with barely enough space to seat our bums. To make matters worse, the lunch point happened to be a signal catching hotspot.

On reaching lunch point, we all went through the customary sipping tea slowly and gobbling Maggi fast routine. We then switched to signal catch and tried to let our near and dear know that we're still alive. One man, who'd just said hello and heard the same thing in response before his call was cut, was satisfied that his family at least knew he existed somewhere. We didn't want to ruin it for Mr silver lining by pointing out to him that it might as well have been an echo or feedback.

Further killing of time was getting harder and we resorted to Hannibal's phone with its mix of music that was fairly well known to all of us. We hit the end of the playlist and had even started playing Bhaja Govindam. Finally, gloomy clouds approaching gave us the necessary leverage to egg everyone ahead. We finally inched our way to the Nagaru camp.

Nagaru was supposed to be one hell of a camp. The doomsday prophet at Base Camp had warned us of gales with wind speed hitting the hundreds frequently. The fine weather, however, made it looked benign and as an ideal location for snowball fights. Chinmaya and Pom made the most of their first encounter with snow, much to the annoyance of... you guessed it! Dadhies.

Nagaru Top

Day 7: Through the top and to Biskerithatch

After a rather sleepless night in the thin mountain air, rattled by hailstorm and sharp winds (both of the natural and the man made kind), we woke up at 3 AM to set off early. We were saved from trekking in pitch darkness thanks to ample moonlight and the ability of ice to reflect this light well enough. We trudged through ice led by Sherpa guides specially summoned up for this day's trek. The rush of adrenalin through our bodies made us forget for a few moments all the niggles and catches that would otherwise have been a big deal.

Just after day break, we reached the summit. The normal routine of how humans do abnormal things when they achieve such feats was played out with people running around in exhilaration. Sadly, routine makes for boring reporting.

After the cold cut short the lives of various overused camera batteries, they were vigourously rubbed between the palms of desperate camera persons to warm them into a few more snaps.

Through Sar Pass

The next phase of the trek involved sliding down rather steep faces of ice. This was sheer fun except for the part where ice gets into every bit of clothing (I really mean every bit!). The sliding was usually followed by some dance routines enacted to get this ice off your body. Yet, some people silently let the ice melt away inside and chose to preserve their dignity.

One of them huge slide downs

After a series of slide downs, we reached lunch point. Hannibal, who'd stolidly endured melting ice inside him, really wanted to get a move on and secured permission for us to go on without having to wait for the rest of the group. On going a little further, it was a little unclear as to what the route was. Pom wanted to desperately get a move on. The others, looking at further sliding action below, were a little more hesitant. Heedless, Pom pushed on. He was followed, much to everyone's surprise by Supreeth who slid down after. The rest stood back, watching these two go away, making wisecracks at the expense of their hapless fates.

After a while, a 70 year old man from the group who much resembles Osho looked at these bunch of youngsters lounging away while waiting for the guide. He then stated, "I don't know about you guys but I'm going on." Thus needled, the young guns kick-started their engines and finally got to camp Biskeri.

Biskerithatch might as well carry the sobriquet The dhobighat of Himachal for the display of clothes the trekkers arranged on its lush lawns. Sliding on one's arse down steep slopes of melting snow is a wetting affair indeed!

The fiery argument between Hannibal and Pom surely deserves mention here. Its seriousness was such that it would have easily passed off as a glorious debate which was to decide the fate of two races locked in a feud for thousands of years. Both sides brought in a lot of colourful history, debated pros and cons, and gave up ground of their own in pursuit of strategic leverage. This entirely commendable, marvellous exercise was to decide whose version of the card game "bluff" was better, surely a matter that warrants at least this amount of seriousness if not more.

"My bluff is the real deal"

Day 8: Bandakthatch

Rumoured to be just as much the Switzerland of India as Khajjiar and Dalhousie are, Bandakthatch was a camp sitting on a sprawling lawn replete with breathtaking sights, patrolling Egyptian vultures and mule loads of mule dung. "How better to use this place than play lagori?",

suggested the camp leader. When no one bothered about it, he personally went to every tent and goaded people out into the lawn.

For the uninitiated, lagori has one team trying to pass a rubber ball and get the other team out by throwing it at them. The only catch in Bandakthatch (rhymes if you say it right) is that you've to dodge the generously laid out manure too or learn to like cutting cakes, as Hannibal refers to the act.

As if this wasn't complicated enough, the game, played with several variations across the country, sparked off debates every round it was played. Soup time ended lagori, coming to the rescue of Pom's hapless team which managed to lose every match that was played.

The lawns of Bandakthatch

How Koti cried Wolf

Nightfall brought with it pitch darkness and a need for Koti to step out into the woods. After availing of the woods' facilities, he came into the tent, all excited. He claimed he'd seen a fox or a wolf prowling about the lawn at which the dogs were continuously barking. Pom rushed out of the tent in sheer anticipation. On reaching the lawn, he looked eagerly out of the camp, where rumours were spreading faster than the winds atop Nagaru. A few seconds there and he started reasoning that wolves would never make it to that spot and that foxes were too timid to venture into a camp and linger on boldly. We wonder where his incisive reason was when he rushed outside previously. The mystery of the shining eyes in the dark, however, remains unsolved to this day. Skeptics claim it must merely have been a rival dog, but if they are to be believed, the world would be a very boring place without its ghosts, Yetis and Extra Terrestrial abductions.

Day 9: Back to filthy human surrounds

Every trek, especially the ones which put us in complete isolation of habitations for prolonged periods involve this shock period where we are reunited with the filth that we're actually products of. The whole experience screams "Your vacation is over! Time to get back to you crappy lives, buster!" And no city screams those lines better than the national capital itself.

In our case, the trek ended at a dusty, grimy dam construction site. We then got back to Kasol, spent two days in its forgiving, hippie pace before we made our way to Delhi. Just before parting with the mountains, we happened to try our hand at rafting on the Beas and Parvati that happen to run through their laps. That didn't live up to expectation thanks to the Ulsoor Lake like odour that emanated from the rivers. The expert in our boat didn't help our cause either, taking us through particularly tame parts of the river and avoiding many an exciting rapid while constantly reminding us of how much he hated Indians.

All in all, it was this tremendous experience that offered enjoyment, thrill and goodness in Himalayan proportions.

Thick Forests, Thin Air Part 1

2011-05-25T18:29:00.018+05:30

The Expedition: Sar Pass, 13,800 Ft (4,200 m) starting from the hippie town of Kasol and coming full circle, organised by the YHAI.

The Characters:

1. Chinmaya

Crazy about photography and can do marvels with his four year old obsolete camera which is on the verge of giving up. But this boy's talent lies in turning anything you say to imply something dirty

Codename: Pervy

2. Hannibal

Logical genius par excellence. Is also known as the 13th day Adventist given his legendary ability to contradict nature when it beckons to him each morning.

Codename: Dopist

3. Anirudh

Fun loving dude known for his uncanny abilities to unleash torrents of profanities fiercer than Siberian blizzards when irked. Doesn't bow down to anyone save one character. Frequently chants Waddup! in characteristic falsetto.

Codename: Dhadies (Thadis in Palakkad parlance)

4. Supreeth

The only dude with the capacity to bring Dadies to his knees. His greatest asset is his ability to establish contacts even in uninhabited reaches of the Atacama desert. At any given time, you'll see him reclined in an Ananthashayanam pose in the most favourable spot around.

Codename: Five star

5. Shankz

shankar_cool_s as his id dictates is quite the cool dude and more importantly, the owner of the famed 20X zoom camera. He prefers to swearing in foreign tongues so as to get away with it even in front of unsuspecting mothers and awe-struck children.

Codename: Shaitze

6. KoTI

Everybody knows who's KoTI. Spelled thus for his unswerving loyalty to TI going as far as to defend Texan IQs. Has the ability to unhinge Dhadies' toxic tongue more often than there are seconds in a minute. Also known for his not having taken offence in 11 years.

Codename: Gotakeashower

7. Yours Truly

Bird crazy rambler who pissed Dhadies off by deleting some of his pics to make way for birds (of the feathered kind of course). Quite the nature boy considering he never missed his 5:30 body alarms. Doesn't take tips from Hannibal with this regard.

Codename: Pom

Day1: Reporting to Base Camp

The crew reached Kasol, the base camp, on the afternoon of the 11th of May and chilled out for the day. Everybody save Pom was aghast at the sweet Poha that welcomed us there and immediately deemed base camp food uneatable. Other than the field director's doomsday prophesies, the day passed rather uneventfully.

The night did not! It started with all of us chewing our nails, sweating and promptly disowning Koti for his nearly profane joke during "culture-time". Only when it ended, cleaner than we'd expected, did we all release nervous squeals of laughter and looked at each other in sheer relief.

During the early hours of the 12th, Shankz felt something against his body. Suspecting his tent neighbour Pom, he was surprised until he figured out that the culprit was something little, fuzzy and had proceeded to lick him awake. He then endeavoured to rid the tent of its uninvited canine guest when he was accused of animal cruelty by Koti. On observing its affinity to Chinmaya's chappal, Pom threw one of the pair outside the tent and promptly closed it once the pup charged after it. He then slept well, proud of himself for having outsmarted a creature whose undeveloped brain was the size of a walnut.

Ze Base Camp

Day 2: Rock Climbing, Rapelling and the Sneaking out for dinner

Next morning, it dawned upon everyone in the tent that Chinmaya's chappal, which was used to bait the little pup, was missing. The walnut sized had had its revenge!

The rude 5:30 AM awakening, done by opening up our tent so that cold shivers shake us awake, was followed by morning exercise. In spite of the gruelling nature of the above mentioned activity, the base camp food did not taste palatable, leading us to discredit the age old saying, "A hungry man has no bad bread" and leading us to append "except at the base camp." It also made us determined to sneak out that night for dinner, the stringent 7 O' clock curfew notwithstanding.

The said sneaking out did happen after a session of rock climbing and rappelling. It also helped us give culture-time a well deserved miss and gave us a wonderful dinner in return. Expecting some action on returning, we were pleasantly surprised to figure out that YHAI had given up on reforming us already.

Rappel down

Day 3: To Grahan Village

53 pairs of legs used to much pampering in mostly urban areas were getting a gruelling reality check as we trudged our way to Grahan village. The bunch of us were quickly ahead of the pack, but kept pushing on under the assumption that some people were ahead of us. Koti fell behind owing to his obsession of clicking every leaf on every tree that we passed by. We reached the next camp way before time to meet a Gujarati uncle and his son, also part of our trek, displaying apprehension with regard to entering the next camp for the fear of scoldings. We cockily brushed his suggestion aside and swaggered in only to the chagrin of a bloodshot eyed uncle who felt very bad that we didn't trek with the rest of the laggards. At a later date, we found out the reason for the bloodshotedness. Hic!

Our discovery of Maggi stalls at these altitudes added refreshing variety to the camp food offered. We were also delighted that Maggi was to be our constant companion throughout the trek leading us to blow up more than 1.5 grand on Maggi and tea alone!

The discovery of the wisdom in the Arabian way of eating off the same plate saved us a lot of washing duty through the trek, starting from here. We also cherished the Christian custom of drinking off the same cups, leading us to unwittingly launch a secular movement of sorts.

Cricket Grahan style where a sixer = Match Abandoned

Koti's query:

After trekking through barely navigable routes for five hours, we were met with Koti asking us if Grahan village had a bus route. He claimed that his question was justified by the presence of one on Mt Washington.

Day 4: The padhyatra to Padri

The trek to Padri emphasised the term "painfully slow," something that would haunt us for the rest of the trek. We couldn't make it ahead even if we wanted to, owing to our dependency on the guide's knowledge of routes through the forest.

We encountered tilled patches of land fenced off by thorns and fallen trees in the jungle and learnt later that they were actually weed farms. Waddup!

La Lune from Padri

Day 5: Rathapani

The trek to Rathapani would've been normal if not for Pom spotting this neat walking stick, all by itself, on a seemingly treacherous slope. Given his tendency to foolishly defy authority, Pom coolly went off the normal path in an attempt to salvage the prized stick. On finding it, he proceeded to chuck it onto the normal path and make his way back. This attempt, however, resulted in it landing short and sliding down further along the slope. Chinmaya claimed that the stick was lost for everybody now. This irked Pom enough to go back further down the slope to recover his prize and slip a few feet in the attempt. This caught the attention of all the trekkers that were making their way to the slope, and for everyone who missed it, Supreeth offered exaggerated running commentary. Pom, already adrenalin pumped, started screaming back at Supreeth to shut his trap in an embarrassing display which is quite comic in hindsight.

It was not so much for the possession of the stick as it gave Pom an excuse to do something crazy that this act was attempted. The stick was later donated to a fellow trekker looking for one at the camp site.

Camp Rathapani

Photo credits go to Chinmaya and Dadhies.

The next part of this post will detail how Sar Pass was passed through and later happenings.

For more pics of the trek, especially the birdlife, see

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.174480839274608.43203.100001380800740&l=df227072f3

For all the Jan Lokpal doubting Thomases

2011-04-09T22:31:00.008+05:30

There have been many views on how much good this movement to initiate the revamp of the Lokpal bill has done and many counter arguments exist that question the legitimacy of this movement while prophesying the creation of a group of all powerful, legitimate vigilantes. Let us look at what the critics have had to say.

1 Do Anna Hazare/Shanti Bhushan represent the civil society? Who made them the representatives?

Let us remember that we're not dealing with low down, selfish people with vested interests like KCR, who are making these demands. These are people who've spent the better halves of their lives selflessly serving people. We aren't talking about Karunanidhi and his half-a-day air conditioned fast. We're talking about Anna Hazare, Kiran Bedi and Arvind Khejriwal.

As far as civil society is concerned, it is obvious that no one in civil society has a problem with the ends that the Jan Lokpal bill is achieving. Its ends are undoubtedly to do much needed and much approved good to the people. I agree that there isn't a legally binding mechanism that makes them the representatives of the masses. But this protest is very much under the ambit of the spirit of the law which rises much above the written words that try to convey it. Objectively speaking, people may point fingers. But sadly, the world is extremely subjective in its approach.

There is also the fact that the affair of politics in our country has become so sullied that corrupt elements have crept in and conquered, preying on the ignorance and poverty in the country which is extremely prevalent. A free colour TV for every vote, votes for cash and various other false promises constitute a huge bulk of the parliament's votes today. This is a protest by people who aren't, at least, remotely as ignorant. It strives to see that these practices are rooted out, for the benefit of the poor and the ignorant. So essentially, they have their say.

Anyway, democracy still has its say. This is merely a plea for drafting a bill. The passing of the bill through the houses of the parliament will give it the fiat of the people of this country. The act of recommending what is to be implemented is well within the purview of the citizens of a democracy.

2. This sets a very bad precedent in a democracy where a person merely has to go on a hunger strike to bring the government to its knees.

Well essentially, its not just merely a person fasting. The success of these movements depends on who's skipping his meals. Nobody cared for KCR's sham fast. We're as close to Telangana as we were to before he started. While I deeply regard Irom Sharmila, who's not had a morsel of food for 11 years now, I'd like to bring to attention that merely threatening to fast doesn't move mountains.

Besides, every measure possible was adopted before resorting to fast unto death. It's just that the "elected representatives" were apathetic enough to completely ignore everything until it came to a Gandhian fasting for 5 days.

3. The people of this country will get demoralised if this fails.

Yeah. That's probably true. So let's not attempt to do anything while the country gets systematically looted and systemically conquered. Let us also not attempt any significant achievement in our lives. The possibility of failure is a far greater price than success itself.

4. The bill will give the Lokpal unquestioned and complete authority

There are seemingly learned people who've posted snippets from the proposed Lokpal bill and have interpreted it as one that grants dictatorial power to the Lokpal. I'm not very well versed in the language of the framing of laws and cannot evaluate how relevant these arguments are. When it comes to this matter though, I'd rather trust people who've spent their lifetime serving humankind than a few armchair political scientists who prophesy doomsday on their blogs.

Either way, I'm sure that the final draft is yet to be arrived at and that the drafting process must right a few wrongs that might have crept in. It is only fair to judge the merits of these arguments after the completion of that process. All we are saying is give these a chance.

The middle class, especially the thinking middle class has always been living in the established paradigm that the system is impossible to change and that anything done in that direction is merely a waste of time, akin to "throwing rocks at slush" as one such has described. It is obvious that it will continue to live in this paradigm and that it will fiercely defend its point of view to stay there.

Sure, this bill has its share of shortcomings, like any other bill. However, I deem that this movement is much worthier than sitting on our asses and watching the country get looted. Everyone who takes part will get sensitized against corruption. Once that happens, it is less likely that they'll resort to corrupt means themselves. It's just a means to changing society as a whole. It is symbolic of the good that we've always wished to see.

As for me, I'm crossing over from the side of cynics who believe that nothing can ever change and throwing my bags in. After all, a great soul once proclaimed "Be the change that you wish to see in the world."

Crash Course

2011-03-05T08:47:00.008+05:30

This happened about 2 months ago.

Our family, along with a couple of family friends, was returning from ISKCON. We'd taken off our footwear before entering the temple and had left it in the car. We entered the car and I took the wheel. I usually drive with footwear on, but on this day I decided to go barefoot.

Soon after we started, we noticed a strikingly pungent odour in the car. While wondering what the source of this odour was, we opened the car windows to let in some fresh air, but to no avail. Malodourous air continued to trouble us.

The car was moving on the traffic choked west of chord road where the metro barricades stifle traffic worse than we were! At the same time, people inside the car started speculating about the cause of this stench. It was agreed up on that the most probable cause was someone's footwear. Driving as I was without footwear, my dad tugged at the sandals that lay by my feet to examine them. So conscious and insecure was I of whether it was my footwear that was causing this problem, I got distracted and took my eyes off the road. The vehicle must've been doing 20-25 kmph. I got alerted by a voice in the backseat. I lifted my eyes to see a Canter truck right in front of me. I pressed hard on the brakes, or thought I did, for my feet, usually inside footwear while driving, hadn't compensated for their absence. My feet slipped down without applying the brakes. However, the impact did.

*CRASH*

It wasn't a dangerous impact seeing as how traffic was so slow. It was devastating, nonetheless. The canter's rear was at such a height that it directly impacted the delicate innards of the car, just under the bonnet which deformed like crumpling paper before my eyes.

The impact cost us around forty two thousand rupees after insurance coverage.

While returning from the service center, we noticed that foul smell was still in the air. It must've been some industry in that area causing the air pollution. This still doesn't explain how there was foul odour inside the car as soon as we started. At a later date, it was discovered that the latter was caused by a problem in the A/C unit.

Obviously, the accident was entirely my fault for having forgotten the primary duty of a driver - never lose the road. However, let us look at the remarkable turn of events that led to this accident.

1. I decide to drive without footwear.

2. A problem with the A/C unit decides to prop up right then, stinks up the air inside.

3. I've worn the same sandals I wore to work.

4. The polluting factory stinks up the air outside.

5. My dad decides to inspect the nature of my sandals. As a result, he too has taken his eyes off the road.

If any of these things hadn't happened that day, that accident might have been avoided. Anyway, now it feels like I just paid forty two thousand rupees on a 2 second course that screams out loud what I'd dismissed as so redundant a platitude - Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel.

A tribute to the poet

2011-01-17T18:55:00.004+05:30

The last hour or so has been filled with bursts of pure emotion, has presented startling revelations and has instilled deep admiration of creativity so sublime that it produces the most humbling effect of how far one is from any semblance of greatness.

I happened to finish Tagore's Farewell My Friend while on the bus ride back home.

It started off as a classy rendition, replete with metaphors and such figures of speech as strike that unique combination of being startlingly relevant to their context while not compromising on the beauty that they were invoked to deliver. The story flowed easily enough. The poet appealed to me, giving me samples of how to say exactly what one means, while at the same time, appealing to one most artistically. He seemed to me, reimposed on that image we're all led to have of him through our text books and our elders, a wise bearded teacher whose calm appearance is steeped in knowledge.

As the stone rolled on, it began to gather quite a bit of moss. The book got heavier and gradually became a little harder to read. While the paragraphs proceeded as beautifully and artistically, they seemed to have acquired a cryptic nature. The poet ventured to the very extremes of creative expression. However, while enhancing the poetic nature of these sentences, they seemed to lack the relevance that they earlier possessed. He now represented that which almost every genius has ventured into - eccentricity. He now assumed a mysticism that is frequently synonymous with one of an appearance so outré.

One is reminded of a jigsaw puzzle consisting of many pieces, pretty themselves, but separated from the whole. The preceding paragraphs had presented to me those pieces, leaving me unsure as to whether the writing was too hard for me or if it was in the poet's nature to leave his readers minds murky as when one does when he steps into a crystal clear pond that is bottomed in alluvium.

The conductor continues waving his baton, to the inexperienced eye quite the same as before. However, the music seems to change as surely as a mathematician, having tackled a demoralising deadlock, hurries to the end of his proof as if it were child's play. The pieces of the puzzle came together to reveal the grand scheme that this grand old man had in his enlightened mind all along, the precision and the murkiness, all its participants. The story moves on quicker than ever but at the same time, one's mind wages a battle with his own hungry curiosity to slow down and grasp the sheer magnificence of what has his emotions strung up like a puppet. The purest of feeling surged through my nerves and would've gotten the better of me if it were not for the crowded bus. The book ended fast, slowed down with the pleading of a lover who begs to change the mind of one who is determined to leave him forever.

The emotions, tragic and deep though, do not compromise the author's ability to teach, the lessons of a nature so pure that they leave the very soul stirred. In their manner, so harsh and heated, one is reminded of the divine blacksmith Hephastus, whose striking blows have made creations so legendary. When you step back to look at his masterpiece, the poet's eye twinkles with the mischief he has wrought on you, like Lord Krishna's, while his mind reflects the knowledge of the all knowing.

Farewell My Friend is one of the best books I'll ever read.

The original version of Farewell My Friend was actually written in Bengali as Shesher Kabita (The last poem). The version I read was translated by Krishna Kripalani, quite skillfully at that. If a translated version can be so inspiring, one is staggered at the thought of how good the original must be.

Women measure; Men pleasure

2011-01-11T18:49:00.005+05:30

A friend at work asked in passing as to why it was that women were judged mostly on their looks while men were given a more well rounded dealing.

In the course of time, it so happened, unfortunately, that men enjoyed a more celebrated status in human society. It was evolution's course that the alpha-male took over the tribe.

Hence, the best of males could fend for themselves and women, to them, merely turned into objects of selfish pleasure. They looked not for anything that would surpass the pleasure of their gluttonous senses.

Women, on the other hand, were dependent on their men for survival. Hence they went for a more complete package, one that started off as the strongest in the tribe, and has evolved into one that has the best standing in human society today - viz. money, power, fame etc. Iconoclasts quite frequently went unwed. It would also be of merit to note that bestselling authors quite frequently invoke these instincts to milk the feminine crowd off romantic novels with uncaring alpha-males.

In summing up, the selfishness of man and the subsequent vanity of women has dealt them a rather unidirectional judgement, while the dependence of women, and their generosity resultant, has given men a more holistic faring.

In today's times, when women are lifting the heavy thumbs that men have had on their lives for centuries, sweating it out, in the process, with men alike, I surely hope our standards of judgement shift favourably too.

I, for one, am more generous.

The last month or so, bird-wise

2011-01-02T12:33:00.015+05:30

I've had a ball. Loads of lifers were put.

(L for lifers)

Veli Lake

Darter, Grey Heron, Purple Heron (L), Black Naped Oriole (Unsure)

The darters were everywhere and looked quite majestic drying off their wings in the crucifix position.

We lived amongst those buildings hiding in the back

Pulicat Lake

Pied Kingfisher, Painted Stork, Lesser Flamingo (L), Paddyfield Pipit, White Browed Bulbul (L), Grey Heron, Brown Headed Gull (L), River Tern, Loten's Sunbird ( Fleeting Glimpse), Spot Billed Pelican

Pulicat Lake is a paradise around this time of the year. There are tons of Painted Storks, Flamingos and Spot Billed Pelicans that feed on its waters.

The whole lake is one shallow marsh with pockets like this

Nellapattu Bird Sanctuary

Openbill Stork, Spotbilled Pelican, Night Heron (L), Shoveller (L),

Located about 10 km from Pulicat Lake, This place is rather thrown off, but opens a portal into a massive breeding ground for Spot Billed Pelicans, Blackhead Ibis and Openbill Storks. The sheer magnitude and density of this Sanctuary dwarfs anything else I've seen. Thousands of birds come here for the breeding season in the winter. We couldn't spend enough time here to do justice the beauty and the bounty that this place offers.

Those are all birds you see

It's been a nice month or so.

More pics here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=26164&id=100001380800740&l=b0576817a7

Photo Credits: Chinmaya D

Warranty Void!

2010-12-25T23:58:00.011+05:30

In this world of cut throat business, where an act of kindness is, more often than not, "outside company policy," this incident stands out.

I bought a pair of Sennheiser CX 180 noise cancellation earphones about a year back which I fell in love with. Every note that was to be heard was heard. Every bit of noise you didn't want it blocked. It also came with 2 years of warranty.

These very earphones bailed out on me during my official trip to Kerala. It so happens that I was thrown in with a bunch of people who found my music as alien as I found theirs annoying. In line with the noisy practices of our country, the junta was of the opinion that loudness = or > quality.

After a harrowing month, I returned to Golccha Electronics, the shop on SP Road from where the said earphones were purchased. The owner promptly asked me to take it to the Sennheiser service centre which he said was opposite to Garuda mall.

So, I rode to Garuda Mall.

I didn't find it.

So, I stopped by at Garuda Mall on the way back from work.

I couldn't find it.

It was then that I called him and asked about it's location. He said it was over an ICICI bank which was "very opposite" to Garuda Mall. On enquiry, I found that the nearest ICICI bank was "very beside" Bangalore Central and that it didn't have any thing worthy of being called a service centre above.

On calling again, he told me to get to his shop, which I did that night.

He started with apologies for making me run around so much. Apparently, the Sennheiser service centre which was due opening on the 20th of December had been postponed without his knowledge.

He then asked for the cardboard case that came with the phones so that warranty could be claimed. I, with a rather knowing air, proclaimed that no one preserves those boxes and that the bill which has "WARRANTY" written on it should be sufficient. He then pointed out that this very bill has, in fine print, "Warranty void without cardboard box."

He however told me that he'd take care of it. He handed me a warranty claimant slip. Then, he hesitated and went inside his shop. On return, presumably after a call, he confirmed with me of my inability to produce the box. He proceeded to ask me to show him the slip he'd handed me. On its production, he immediately tore it up.

"No warranty without box, Sir."

And before I could recover from the shock of this dramatic refusal, he asked me how I'd like a new pair. Since I was too dazed to respond, he asked me again, to which I replied that I wouldn't mind. Off his shelf he picked a brand new pair of the same earphones and put it in my hand.

"My customers come first. I'll fight with those people."

"At least this time, please keep the cardboard box safely. "

He'd staged the whole thing very well. It had a profound effect on me. I thanked him profusely in words and gestures. I then left the shop feeling very good about Golccha Electronics and for myself.

Lessons learnt:

1. Retain the damn cardboard box.

2. Only Rajendra saheb's Golccha Electronics, people.

Now playing: Think of me with kindness - Gentle Giant (quite a co-incidence eh?!)

PS: He trusted me to an extent as to not look at the defective earphones at all.

The Economics of Art

2010-10-12T22:19:00.011+05:30

The trip to Hampi from college was extremely special and harboured many cherished memories. One such memory is that of an evening outside the Virupaksha temple there. Come evening, the temple, bedecked with lights and thronged by devotees, assumes a festive look. As outside any famous temple, there was a multitude of peddlers selling snacks, trinkets and other memorabilia. We stopped at one selling little statuettes and other pieces of artistically moulded metal. While picking up our purchases, the usual dose of bargaining that accompanies any purchase in such places ensued.

On the conclusion of our buying there, I remember arguing it out with a friend of mine, Balaji, on how it was ok to bargain for something being sold, even if it is art. On the one hand, mundane arguments of how bargaining keeps a leash on overcharging went on, and on the other, it was held that while one cannot place a price on art in the first place, bargaining is downright sordid. The the result was one where each member stubbornly stuck to his own.

The business of making documentaries on India and screened herein has hit it big in recent times. And quite a few of these have seemingly good looking women hosts, who are Indian more often than not and strike you as being particularly dumb in matters Indian. On one such documentary, an Indian anchor with a British accent was touring Orissa. It then went on to show an old man painstakingly painting thin, closely spaced lines on a small wooden toy with deft strokes of a brush. This got me thinking as to how much effort goes into making every small toy that is present in the heap of toys lying outside temples to be sold to customers.

The toys, by lying in these heaps, have their value severely undermined. Let us compare them to paintings that a "great artist" like M F Hussain doles out. Just because of the setting, one is valued at least a million times better than the other. I admit that my knowledge on contemporary painting isn't equal to one who can speak so disparagingly of Hussain. But I'm sure that the ratio I've put forth is still absurd, even when looked into by an MF Hussain Fan Club founder. The same goes for performing arts. Writers seem to have it a little easier than the rest of the artistic fraternity.

A true work of art touches you so deep that it evokes an almost primitive feeling which cannot be described, for descriptions are, by nature, man-made. It is this that puts a true artist on a pedestal that raises him beyond the scope of other things man-made, such as those of Economics. In the days of yore, there were kings who recognised this valued position of art, rising beyond economic worth. This is why art flourished in those days, patronised by the Kings, to give us masterpieces like Hampi and brilliant performing arts like Bharatanatyam and Carnatic Music. Today, Economics rules us all, and it doesn't take too kindly to art, although nowadays, it is coming to be seen as an art in itself.

Which brings me back to bargaining. My father once encountered a farmer who was selling a bunch of freshly picked lady's finger. He gave the latter how much ever was quoted and brought home the bounty. On finding out my father had paid the farmer slightly more than the market price, my mother called him naive and I seemed to think she was right. My father held that he couldn't refuse to give to a man whatever he asked, for something grown of his own hands. Horticulture, by virtue of its closeness to nature, started off as an art until the machinations of modern machinery have uprooted these links. Today, I am wholly sympathetic with my father and concede to Balaji in that I will never again bargain for a work of art.

The Dog's Day?

2010-10-08T18:27:00.007+05:30

07-10-2010, Thursday

It so happens that I've to travel quite a lot to get to my new workplace. Located far away as my home is, there is a choice between a shorter route riddled with construction barriers and a longer, more unfettered route. As saving those few minutes I deemed quite important, I chose the longer route, and on one such circuitous trip, I was inspired to write thus.

The unoccupied mind tends to get on one's nerves, and because of restrictions imposed by the employer, I'm forbidden to bring along electronic devices of appeal, which leaves me either reading, or looking at the city en passant with contemplative eyes. The depth of this contemplation depends upon my state of mind, which is inclined to receive some inspirational tweaks on reading something well written. On this occasion, the proverbial food for thought turned out to be a Navtej Sarna short story.

On its conclusion, I was on the contemplative city gazing routine when I noticed a limping stray dog, and at least from his point of view, his mate, smaller, but able. The protagonist in question was on three legs as his fourth had been amputated half way.

His girl didn't share his eagerness and would've none of his attempts to set the ball rolling, coaxing on, from behind her. Firm bursts of barking were put forth to this end. However, they lacked a degree of bitterness that would've been present if she didn't approve of him at all. An interested onlooker to this ensuing drama was another dog, quite able and on all fours, silently watching these events unfold.

"Why was she playing hard ball?"

"Is it because he was a cripple?"

"Is it because she isn't ready yet? Or does the presence of the onlooker hold any bearing on her decision?"

"Was she merely playing hard to get before eager submission?"

The pleading, pitiable look on the dog seemed to ask these questions, just as I ask them now. However, the bus pulled away from the traffic signal and I never quite figured out whether it was the dog's day.

For once, I was a little sad when the bus pulled away from a signal. It is usually the case that my mind continually eggs the bus on, seeing as how traffic moves slower than a sleep-walking snail in unplanned, construction ridden, and as a result, gridlocked Bangalore. On switching buses at the Majestic bus station, a pen, paper and a well suspended, comfortable Volvo bus seat at my disposal, I'm inspired to pen down my thoughts before the will to do so evaporates. The frequently interrupting Bangalore traffic signals at hand are my allies now. I think I'm going to like this new job.

The Eternal Dilemma (Part2)

2010-09-24T15:38:00.005+05:30

Let us look at society today. There are very clearly, blue collar and white collar jobs. While us white collar folks have five day weeks, desks , A/C, paid vacation, and any other perk that we fancy for ourselves, there are some labourers who are paid wages on a daily basis. And more often than not, in a country where labour is exploited, like ours, they are paid for an entire day less than what we make in half an hour.

And then there are employee benefits, retirement schemes, promotions, and so much scope for betterment still. The other side shows us jobs which are mostly handed out by flimsy contracts under cut throat contractors. These jobs are mind numbingly repetitive. They are bound to it for the rest of their lives until they

1. Are killed by an accident on the job
2. Die/Retire due to some occupational disease
3. Are phased out, fired and forsaken when they can be replaced by machines.

The ideal society is supposed to provide equal opportunity for every individual to pursue his dreams. The staggering contrast between that and reality is depressing.

This is seen first hand in a place where manual labour is found in plenty, like process plants. I used to attend classes for half a day in an A/C environment, the other half with Google Reader and Facebook and managed to make more than a thousand a day. I looked into the slip of a labourer who toils all day under the unforgiving Vizag sun and saw 154Rs/day.

So are we better than them because we are more educated? Or is it because we have the systems and the nonchalance to thoroughly exploit them?

The Eternal Dilemma (Part 1)

2010-09-03T12:01:00.010+05:30

While reading Thomas Friedman's The World is Flat, I was struck by this thought.

Everyone knows that globalisation is good for the world and is here to stay. Let me focus on one aspect of globalisation that has contributed to its emergence- sourcing labour/ services from where they are cheapest. This is a continuosly increasing trend and this is what has seen so many Indians land good jobs from across the oceans and at the BPOs.

This will mean that given a wage, somebody who can give you maximum output will be employed. There is a catch here. Has anybody looked into what kind of people that gives rise to?

Enter the concept of "hard working" individuals. On the one hand, we are always told all round development is paramount for a good life and on the other, we are told to slave away till we are bathed in sweat at the lowest wages possible. These two worlds are at a constant conflict. To be successful in this scenario amounts to working like typical Indian or Chinese people- work atleast 10 hours a day, 6 days a week. All your life should revolve around work and the occasional social function. These functions are supposed to be where you "unwind". The idea is to meet as many people as possible who are slaving away at their jobs and discuss which firm is the best to slave for etc. Let me remind you that these people have almost no hobbies, are terrible public speakers and have unidirectional ambitions- to excel at their jobs.

Have you noticed the particular dearth of good public speakers from India? Where is there intelligent humour here? Where are our creative pursuits appreciated? Instead anyone pursuing a career in art or aesthetics is thoroughly snubbed. At the same time, we lack knowledge of the world around because we don't travel all that much. We tend to look at people through judgemental eyes and are percieved as narrow minded and disagreeable. At the same time, our rich cultural heritage is taking a beating. How many people realise the value of our monuments, our history and our festivals?

This kind of orientation is happening as early as possible in an Indian's life what with IIT classes from Std 6 and the like. Is this the essence of life? Slaving away till you retire and spend the rest of your life plagued with senility, eternally devoid of any interesting activity?

Nobody can criticise globalisation and hold it solely responsible for these dreary consequences. However, now that our country has moved on from harbouring an image of the poor country where people starve and cows are well fed, we need to rethink on these lines. India and China, which have a similar orientation towards developing career driven citizens, are the leaders of "development" in today's world. What defines development is highly debatable here.

Damn!

2010-08-20T21:47:00.001+05:30

The hit counter starts from zero. Where was it when blogging was a fad?

Peepli Peep

2010-08-15T18:39:00.006+05:30

Aamir Khan productions and all, so I went and watched Peepli [live] today.

It was fresh. I've never seen a Hindi movie stick to simplicity as it has. There is only as much sensation for it to just about distinguish itself from what happens in a village everyday. But yes. For the ability to fully appreciate this one, one has to understand the countryside dialect used.

Nevertheless, the essence of the movie is conveyed even to people who know average Hindi.

The movie deals with the struggle that rural India continues to grind through. While trying this edgy theme, the producers have decided to keep the tone light, perhaps to not attract the kind of criticism Adiga's White Tiger or Lapierre's City of Joy have. But that was definitely a compromise. In some places, the humour is a tad misplaced. Where the movie could have scored on emotional points and hit a deep string with the audience, this route was chosen. The background score is sprinkled very appropriately with Indian Ocean tracks.

The ever sensationalising media gets what it deserves: A spanking of a lifetime. The movie also scores from an artistic point of view. It is heartening to see Bollywood finally venturing outside its zone of comfort. Besides, any movie where one hasn't to sit through song and dance sequences is most welcome.

Looking back

2010-08-11T13:29:00.003+05:30

As soon as I selected the cloud label view, I realised how many useless labels I had. While cleaning this up, I also noticed how much cleaner my writing has gotten through the years. At the same time, I also realise that this process is more like swimming on an infinite upward helix. We are miles from where we have started and have miles to go from where we stand. The important thing is to keep moving higher.

And yes. I am thankful for people in society who'll make sure blogging never goes out of style.

Could I borrow your phone?

2010-08-10T13:16:00.006+05:30

This happened on my journey to Secunderabad about a month ago. I was travelling there to report to Coromandel for whom I work now. In the train, around an hour and half from Bangalore, this stranger asks me for my phone. He says he needs to phone his brother to come to Hindupur to pick him up. I give him my phone, telling him that I've low balance and hence, he should keep his call short. He then starts talking on the phone. He goes on and on in some language I don't know (Urdu I think). He gradually starts moving away, pausing for a little while in the cubicle next to mine, and then the next. I keep up with him while keeping a careful eye on my luggage as I was travelling alone. I had with me my laptop and all my academic documents. I slowly started suspecting that this man is part of a bigger gang where one person distracts the owner while others make away with his luggage.

The said phone borrower goes on and on in that tongue of his and is in no mood to give me my phone back. By now I start asking for my phone back to which he replied, "Don't worry, your phone is not in danger" in Hindi. He even pauses to buy a couple samosas in the middle of his call. He then moves to the door and stands there phone in hand, still jabbering away. He even puts the phone near my ear momentarily to reassure me, though I didn't hear any voice on the other side. By now, I thought that he was some sort of a lunatic rather than a member of an organised gang of thieves.

The train rolled into Hindupur and the platform started whizzing past us. All of a sudden, he jumped right out of the coach, samosa and all, in the direction opposite to the train's motion. Naturally, he lost his balance and fell on the platform. I could see my phone bounce on the platform and fall into the tracks. I thought all was lost for my phone. I waited for the train to slow further while keeping an eye on him. He had stood up and continued standing in the place where he had just fallen off, staring at me with a confused look, dazed. Now that the train was slow enough, I jumped off, but made the same directional mistake he did, in my excitement. I quickly recovered from the fall and moved towards him. When he saw that I was approaching fast, he tried to make a run for it. I caught him on the platform and screamed away for help. I could sense a faint odour of alcohol on him. People got intrigued and the TTE came up and took charge. While the TTE was leading him to the police station, I excused myself and started looking for my phone along the tracks. There it was, batteries, phone and battery cover lying separately. Somebody went down and fetched it. We then handed him over to the railway police.

Looking back, it was an eye opener on how easily my phone could have been stolen. The idea was good, but its execution was horrible. A cleverer or more experienced thief would have had no troubles. They have always said that trains are unsafe. Incidents like this tell me why. Also, poverty can drive people to such desperation for my phone, on resale won't be worth more than a thousand or two. But for me, the exhilaration that this whole incident produced is what I'll remember it for.

PS: The phone still works fine. Hail Nokia!

Another pick

2010-06-05T22:29:00.001+05:30

The previous one was a touch too narcissistic.

Thursday, the 4th of March

2010-03-05T00:09:00.002+05:30

Back home after quite a while,
news of the world around,
refreshing bath,
four hours of unbridled reader perusal,
discovery of a major scale harmonica,
tasty lunch, good spinach,
interesting game of chess,
delicious nap,
football at dusk,
refreshing bath,
running errands with dad,
dinner with frozen dessert,
interesting chess game,
more internet access,
some reading,
a day well spent.

Samarkand

2010-01-15T19:27:00.009+05:30

The Persian warrrior sat to dine,
allergic this one, to meat.
The cave's aroma, Oh so fine!
Their fare most lavish, he sat down to eat.
Hardened sticks of bread
with cheese of camel's milk,
the first of his lavish spread,
The cheese, the best of its ilk.

He signaled to the robed groom
who at his beckon brought preparation
of the tastiest Paneer and mushroom
soaked and stuffed to perfection
sampled with sauces five,
curd, coriander, dates, spice, hing.
His taste buds sprang alive
like a gurgling mountain spring.

Then came bread spun on finger,
thinnest as Dacca Muslin kerchief.
The lady's finger did linger
long after its titillation brief.
Basmati rice, spiced and curried,
fuel did meet eager flame.
Outside the cave, stormy dunes hurried,
In his toothed cave, the story, the same.

To soothe the storm, to rest the fire,
Kulfi of Hindu Kush and camel's milk indeed.
A meal fine as is dire desert quag mire,
finer than fine is Arabian steed.
He washed his hands in water perfumed,
for a moment, in silence stunned
he lay. To prayer his palms assumed.
Allah be praised! He was back in Samarkand.

A shot in the arm

2010-01-13T08:17:00.018+05:30

No, not the relieving shot in the arm in the sense that it is used, but quite literally. Anyway, about that idiom, the first time I read it, I was slightly bemused for it didn't make sense for someone to have gotten shot in the arm to feel better. They could have picked better anyway for even if the long term results are good, picturing an injection as a sign of assistance doesn't work very much.

Coming back to the point, this is to write about what happened to me today morning. I am located close to a godforsaken place called Bangalore University which pulls our country's already entrenched higher education system further down. It is but a mere excuse for handing out a degree.

My father and I frequent upon their running track for our dose of morning exercise. Also, students training to becoming physical training instructors of tomorrow, train there today. It so happened that I'd cycled there today and while my dad proceeded to run on the track, I endeavoured to go around it(outside of it) in circles on my cycle. One such physical training trainee stopped me half way, came around, and without saying a word proceed to rap me on the shoulder. I was completely taken aback. He then proceeded to tell me, outraged at my having brought the bike to the running track, to get off the bike, likening himself to a cop of sorts( Yeah, the bad kind). I proceeded, still dazed and confused, to call him an idiot. Then, a mob of trainees formed around and one of them chucked my cycle away like it were trash to be discarded. Luckily, one sensible trainee and my calm as ever father were around to see that I didn't get beat up.

I wasn't defiling their track. Even if it was a transgression, I am not some creature you can't communicate with, which would understand only blows. I shudder to think of all the children at the disposal of these uncouth barbarians tomorrow. They take it that they are rejects in every walk of life and enrol at the worst course in the worst university around as a last ditch. This is how we treat sportsmen and athleticism in our country. These are the values on which they are bred.

However, I learnt a valuable lesson. Never should one be confrontational in the face of a battle he has not a chance of winning. And besides, when somebody shouts out in barbaric anger, its much better to yield than to resist. Weathers the storm does the grass stalk that yields and not the deep rooted tree that resists.

Indian Noise

2010-01-10T19:54:00.015+05:30

Well, not just noise in the unwanted sound sense, but anything that would impose your existence unpleasantly on the rest of human kind.

There is no respect for the nose, eyes or the ears in our country. Our cities are eyesores filled with horns, screams and people who play cheap music on mobile phones, the latest being a rather recent affliction. They also reek of every stench in the stench spectrum.

I guess that is why we Indians have such an objectionable reputation outside our country. Here, it's OK to spit out of your window, honk even at traffic signals, puke outside buses, throw anything everywhere and still be part of the majority. Try going to Australia and you get beat up. What's more? You raise an ugly Indian stereotype. The mere sight of an Indian abroad can bring to light these tendencies and invoke hatred enough to want to burn us alive.

Don't take it standing down if someone abuses your sense organs. Demand their right to peaceful existence. Our greatest weakness is Indian chauvinism and complacency. But our greatest strength seems to be screaming foul when our harassed hosts retaliate.

Hail Mary's Island

2010-01-09T15:23:00.011+05:30

Wednesday saw some of our wingers head to St Mary's Island.

The driver to Udupi was insane, so much so that he stands out even in the insanity that is associated with his race in these parts. He nearly ran over a stupid, deaf cyclist. The latter had an embarrassed smile that seemed to be directed gloatingly at the devil who almost took him away but missed.

The port reeked of fish most foul. One cannot help wondering how an animal that seemingly bathes all its life can smell so bad. Lucky birds. Easy pickings.

The Island is located near a ship building unit. Even as established as the fact gets, the next time I see a ship, only one thing shall be on my mind.

Man, she's a big one!

The ferry that takes you there plays loud music which incites certain primitive instincts among Dravidians everywhere (Wow, am I racist already?) . The result: Poriki dance, much to the amusement of two forgein tourists. That boat ride was a crash course on that which Bollywood pukes for you to give as wide a berth as possible.

The island itself was very beautiful. Something about water all around us arouses some connection so pure that we hold locations such as clean beaches, islands and river beds very dear. Perhaps the Aquatic Ape Hypothesis holds some water after all.

The island is mainly known for hexagonal panels formed naturally on its rocks, like the giant's causeway. These are pretty intriguing.

Wish we had a better pic of this

Red wattled lapwings, a white bellied sea eagle, a bird that looked like a gull billed tern and a frenzied crowd of kites happened. Also saw a sea urchin that had washed ashore.

Cooool!

An hour was decided by the boatman for how long we are to spend there. Wasn't enough. We could only see only half of the island, even at a slightly rushed pace.

The ride back was crowded and kept reminding us that our escape from the crowded mainland was drawing to a close. These dreary reminders manifested in the form of the assortment of people in the boat back, the horrible music and dancing along with the gradually strengthening smell of rotten fish from the shore.

The trip ended with a rather economically priced meal at Udupi. This feature seems to be becoming a norm on my island trips.

Customary beautiful pic at the end

Photo credits: Srik's cam and whosoever clicked these pics.

Nuremberg was too harsh?

2009-12-28T22:29:00.006+05:30

1) I post about a few inconveniences online

2) I use a little dramatic language as is akin to human nature

3) I say, "down with Farenheit, give me the perfectly logical Celcius scale instead"

4) I am branded a Nazi.

Perhaps Nuremberg was too harsh....

To rid the disease...

2009-12-17T22:21:00.006+05:30

As humans, we are only akin to responding in two ways; comply or rebel.

It has been hardwired into our systems for some reason. Perhaps it was something evolutionary, for it meant well to comply with someone you percieved was doing good for you. And in the halcyon days, if you can call them that, of our ancient ancestors, it wasn't a difficult choice. If your tribe is hungry, hunt the mammoth. Blizzard outside? Hide within the hunted mammoth's ribs. Leaders were the ones who could propose these obvious solutions. Genes that felt otherwise were destroyed.

This has led to remarkable actions that have radically changed the face of our race and the face of the planet. It was this instinct that made the Nazis comply when authoritatively ordered to do so. You don't think so? Read about the Milgram Experiments.

When in doubt, there is room for the other instinct, rebellion, to kick in without the threat of extinction. This is what happens when we are still unsure as to whether we should warm the earth or not.

This is what happens when I install software and am imposed to accept a bunch of other stuff that I scarce use. Itunes? Quick time tags along. Windows? IE is now my burden. Yahoo messenger? Here is Yahoo toolbar for good measure. If that isn't enough, it displays the temperature of Delhi in Farenheit! This transgression was enough to inspire this post. Trying to make us Indians learn to accept Farenheit as temperature reference is sacrilage!

I shall now endeavour to rid my browser of this affliction. Here's to rebellion. Here's to rid the disease...

Driftwood

2009-12-16T08:03:00.003+05:30

I wrote this in a pensive mood some evening a few months back...

He walked alone through the road along the wooded reaches at the crack of dawn. Alone was good for there were no limits that his mind knew nor his walk would know, that presence of another would most certainly serve to normalize, constrain and make mundane. The hour was that of transition; from a world of uncertain chirping of the delightful six-legged creatures that have fascinated him ever since he laid his sense upon them to the more certain calls of the early birds. Thus unbound by the limits of purpose and another mind or body’s demands, he wandered on, both physically and mentally, wherever he was sent, not much unlike a dry leaf on the surface of a gentle spring.

This was that state where rationality broke down and his mind refused to comply by the guidelines of its being every other time otherwise. This was a time when nothing could have chosen what he cared for. Most things that would otherwise seem so significant to him, was detached and so far away that he transformed into an altogether different creature. Anything mattered but nought to him; not the lofty dreams that he had, nor the little liberties that define us. Now was a time when his mind was so far removed that no force, human or otherwise could bend its state of emotional isolation. He wasn’t happy for how kind life had been, neither was he sad for its harsher realities. The beauty of his surroundings mattered to him only as much as it would have to the wayside rocks that he passed along.

Why is it that we pursue something just for the thrill of the ride? Unto what end is achievement, pain, happiness, misery, pride, anger, lust, envy or sorrow? How much does it matter whether our demeanour would placate the expectations of them who surround us? How much does it matter whether it placates our own, if by doing so, we are merely making way for the arousal of certain ephemeral, visceral emotions that are brought about by the action of naturally emitted chemicals? How much lesser still it matters, if these chemicals are pushed through by consuming more chemicals? Our emotions are but reactions between baking soda and acetic acid of differing strengths, spurting and gurgling whenever they confront each other and merely as significant. Now isn’t that a neat experiment? Make a rudimentary mountain of clumped lumps of mud and poke a hole on the top so as to fill it with baking soda and add to it the vinegar in your hand. A reddish hue might just about qualify to remind you of a volcano. Cheer its occurrence heartily while repeating it till the ingredients are spent, or you are.

Then what be the purpose of such existence? If there be no higher being, it has no meaning. If there is something of that sort, we are merely its experiments, serving to glorify our deeds and emotions, clawing the dirt around us to ground us more firmly, consuming, producing, purifying and polluting things that we deem so worthy, pumping ourselves with pleasure, both physically and mentally only to be irrevocably transformed into insignificant dust only to source his amusement. Of course, the significance of such amusement can be questioned as well leading us to reach an irreversible loop. What are we but mere parasites of that which surround us; which in turn are the same. However, that doesn’t change the nature of our discussion, nor does it make us more relevant.

He then joined the stream that ran beside his path, unshaken, unstirred yet much happier than the happiest man in spite of the absence of joy, because he knew not any sorrow. He was the master of his emotions. He did not submit to the will of another being in any way whatsoever. He did not see the need to care or concern himself with any other. He refused to depend upon anything for survival. His life refused to be imprisoned in the prison that it had just discovered around itself.

He floated on, dead, not much unlike a dry leaf on the surface of a gentle spring.

Letter to the Superintendent

2009-11-18T10:18:00.006+05:30

I finally did something more direct with regard to my venting my anger on the despicable way in which NIT-K hostels have treated us over the last four years, the least of not is how we've to struggle posting these things with the snail pace photon modems we have. Oh yes. I missed the red underlines telling me where I had made my spelling errors, which is a pretty bad sign of things to come, especially for the next generation.

Trek Post

2009-07-09T22:03:00.016+05:30

Around 2 months ago, I had been on a trek to the Sharavathi valley with a few friends residing in to my Bangalore whereabouts. This is a post to capture the precious residue of what I have failed to note down all these days.

The said trip happened by bus from here. It reached a place called Sagara early in the morning (around 7 or so). Thanks to my friend Karthik who had already been to Sagara, we had no problem finding a good guide or a decent place to freshen up. This was at a public toilet which was faraway from to public eye to the extent to which it could comfortably squash its stereotype.

We then proceeded to a catchment area of a dam built in times bygone. This place was called Linganamakki. The dam was reportedly built by Vishweshwaraya during British times. However, it is no longer operational, leaving only a landscape which has been rendered so far off from its natural shape that it appears surreal.

The ominous deluge

We trekked for about an hour to reach the catchment area. It was like nothing I've seen before. It wasn't the most beautiful place I've seen; but if I had to choose unearthly too, this was it. Sadly though, it wasn't too full of life save the small fish in the water. The absence of even mollusks in the crystal clear, fresh water was conspicuous; not to mention the bird life and the insect life. We had to reach an island quite faraway (a little more than a kilometer or so) to setup camp. Our guide had arranged for tents, supplies and a cook that we were to need for the overnight stay there.

The grand jeté plus writhing tentacles!

While most of the lot decided to use coracles for the crossing, a few of us decided to swim the distance. Life jackets were necessary for both the enduring task as well as to stick by regulations. Nevertheless, it was a memorable swim for it was quite long and not the easiest thing to achieve (especially for one of us who hadn't swum an inch before!). The evening saw us all take to the watery abode that now surrounded us. Even people who couldn't swim otherwise could manage to with those hefty jackets around them.

The island was something like a plateau, which was crowned with lush green vegetation. I guess these are the parts of the valley that were spared and managed to retain their greenery. The water that surrounded us were filled with dead trees rising above the watery surface; the unexpected deluge having done them in more than a century ago. On a moon lit night, I can envision this to be the unanimous birthplace of eerie tree spirits and powerful swamp monsters; not those disgusting ones that are plantlike, but the kind that can get their job done.

Nevertheless, beautiful

The next morning saw us head out into the water yet again. Here is where I learnt a valuable lesson or two in coracle rowing and control. These were tar patched wooden frameworks. Earlier, I managed to get branded irreversibly right where I rested my butt on one of them unwittingly. On our return, we left late that morning to cross the island from a passage through the now abandoned dam. This was a trek of around 4-5 hours with a break in the middle for lunch. It was made mostly trudging through a leafy, shady thoroughfare through the jungle where we spotted a huge brown stick insect. We then proceeded to reach the dam where innumerable river terns were doing the rounds right above our heads. On realising that the dam-route was closed, we had to detour to a few more hours of trekking through forested landscape to reach a road which took us back to Sagara. Nothing noteworthy was spotted save these critters and a flock of cormorants.

This was followed by a very economically priced meal at Sagara and a return home from an unforgettable trip.

Spelling beeswax

2009-07-01T09:21:00.008+05:30

Everybody knows of the spelling bee.

If you ask me, the spelling bee is over the top 'humbug'( he he). I shall explain myself.

Now what good is it to me that I know the spellings of words that 99% of the people I associate with would not have heard of? To make matters worse, this has to be mastered as a kid, when one's playful tendencies at their peak. I know that some of those who go on with their over-aesthetic mindsets and "the world is bourgeois" attitude actually enjoy it. But think of those children who are forced into it when all they want to do is frolic or better still, invest all of their hard pressed childhood into something worthwhile like learning music. While I advocate good grammatical sense and spelling in any form of writing, I think the line must be drawn far before it marks those on the belly of the spelling bee. What's more? The huge cash prize and televised episodes only make matters worse.

Its other less famous counterparts are held in subjects like Geography and Math. At least children there are pressured to learn something more worthwhile.

Our country again tops the world's list of pushing children to the brink of their sanity; seven winners in the last decade, while on the other extreme, Indians are falling prey to horrible T9 spelling habits with cheap text messaging! While commending the winners on having realised a rather futile way to exploit their gifted acumen, I really pity those who have been pushed too hard into trying to.

The oh so genteel judge with the annoying mistake bell: Can you spell disquietude?

Nervous contestant with thick rimmed glasses: Could you... Could you use that in in a sentence?

Pretentious judge: I hope your parents pushing you so far as to cause you so much disquietude, does not spell your doom.

LiTTlE consideration and related fanaticism

2009-06-03T08:38:00.009+05:30

Well, this is a post which is inspired by Sheki's like Gullu's. This one is also along the same lines. I have used my comment on the former's blog as a skeleton for the same.

My opinion of Tamilians, while being one myself is one of a somewhat more polarised people. They wanted Tamil declared as the national language merely because it was older. They refuse to treat with dignity, guests to their state. (This is slightly different from the MNS where in Mumbai, so many outsiders have encroached that there is no space for setting a pin on a pin cushion!). All their parties have "Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam" attached to their names, which means parties working for the Dravidian race's upliftment. This itself talks of their regional outlook and lookout.They are also a state known for their regional fanaticism

Karnataka is fast picking up. However, it is because Kannada today, is facing stiff competition from its own cosmopolitan nature. The Kannada people have been so accommodating of outsiders in the first place that this is the result. I bow down to them for having been so accommodating while acknowledging the rich cultural contributions of Karnataka to the country through the ages. Sadly, there is a Vattal Nagaraj to try and undo all this glory with his charcoal smirching of Kannada faces.

As for the LTTE, they are an unscrupulous race that bring shame even to the most undignified of Tamil people. However, Tamil politicians, to cash in on the linguistic fanaticism, went to great extents, sympathising with the LTTE. A few insights.

Vaiko: Tamil Nadu would witness a bloodbath even if the slightest harm befell Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam leader V. Prabakaran.

Jayalalithaa: To get a separate Ealem, vote for the AIADMK.

Karunanidhi: Prabhakaran is not a terrorist, but LTTE is a terrorist organisation. (What!!!?)

All this in spite of the group having had the audacity to assassinate our prime minister.
The latest even went to the extent of an audacious breakfast to lunch “hunger strike".

We would have been much better if he’d fasted to death or been in times when these idiots were locked up for making statements like this under POTA or any other godforsaken act.

Karunanidhi's indefinite fast!

That is not all. We have Tamilians protesting as far away as England. Guess the recession has left them in the want of some work. I only hope they are put out of their misery soon.

In light of recent news and developments, it is mighty clear that the home ministry in India has secretly funded this war and finally put an end to this atrocious organisation that has been smearing shame on the faces of Tamilians everywhere.

At what price?

2009-05-05T09:37:00.004+05:30

My submission to virtuvian this year went thus...

We humans posses an ingrained attachment to things natural. This explains the existence of so many forces that persuade us to work for its well being. Of course, the degree to which this attachment exists in every human is quite different as people are themselves. But I am sure any human being can relate to the subtle leap of joy that bursts across one when something untamed and natural is seen, say a hare prancing around the campus or the sight of a wild flower around. This is something that sets the college apart from the mundane surroundings of the city. Nothing however magnificent or industrious, when man-made, can bring in us the same feeling a little mammal can by the virtue of its mere existence. The vicinity of a beautiful beach, relatively unspoilt by the human forces at hand, compliments the campus’ natural charm. A lesser known spot that will fit into the category mentioned above is the seasonal lake which is a result of an underground dam at the other end of the campus. Hidden away by the acres of wooded reaches that surround it, locations like these give the campus an ambience of a rugged rainforest in brief stretches, more so when it pours like the herald of the great flood.

Here is where I let you into my tribute to the hockey field. The field happens to be one of many which have been swallowed by the Mega hostel block in its wake. In the summer months, it was a sight of much playful commotion. During the rainy season, and particularly the rainy nights was when the field did rise to moments of enigmatic glory. Its surface almost entirely swamped, it stood, a watery nursery for many things wild and nightly. The creaking of the frogs with a number of other uncategorised sounds that emanated from here made it a scene to remember forever. In spite of its size, the field transformed into an untamed sanctuary on rainy nights; like a portal into a faraway jungle spilling out contents of its destination. While coming to terms with its existence, there is a feeling of regret that the new hostel block has inevitably consumed locations like this one whose presence I hardly valued until it was wiped away completely, like most things subtly dear.

Yet another spot which the hostel block has consumed is a monsoon pond that was beside the hockey field. This pond invariably overflowed and merged with the hockey field during rainy nights but existed right through the monsoon season. The road that runs beside the eighth block bridged this pond. Small as it was, the pond was complete with fish, reptiles, birds, pondweed and a shady end which was rendered thus by a tree spreading its arms benevolently upon it. Standing on that bridge with the pond on either side was a ticket away from the frivolous worries that humanity ever serves to impose on one. Perched kingfishers mounted above, ever on the vigil were a regular sight here. The sight of a snake slithering elegantly along its surface until distance stole it away from me to the arms of the tree’s shaded recess serves as it most fitting reminder. I miss the seasonal pond.

The rainy season here brings out the best in the campus; more so because it is the first impression made on the clean slates of our minds. The hours of twilight are when mother earth dons her most fancy garments; the light bright enough to showcase her beauty, and yet dark enough to hide that of her which we have served to make less desirable. The rainy season is one of ever longer twilights. The rain washes her clean of everything that human forces have served to besmirch with their untidy ways during its absence. It's rapturous thunder, and imposing rain drumming rhythmically on the earth is a welcome break from sounds of human noises violating the serene calm of the other seasons. When nature does choose to sing, she does so more beautifully than anyone else. The summer serves as a harsh reminder of what the earth will result in without rains to serve its respite. Pitifully, we are making summers harsher and longer than ever.

While cherishing the scenes I have written about among many others experienced, I regret to see their disappearance forever, and the fact that students from years to come shall never see the college in quite the light that I have. I realise that humans have created this campus; I am no hypocrite. But I regret the price being paid for its sustenance while questioning how much of it we really are sustaining. Having witnessed many greener campuses in similar locations, I only hope for a move in the direction of creating more such scenes rather than of their destruction.

Journey most cherished

2009-01-12T17:01:00.002+05:30

This happened to be my submission for the yearbook last year. On reading it today after a very long time, it seems to me that what is written could be rather vague if read quickly by anyone else but its author. Anyway, let me see what opinions (if any) this post rakes up.

"It was a time when we were let into our world to be, for the next four years. All of us had joined NITK Surathkal, a reputed engineering college, with mixed feelings of satisfaction and regret. The ratios of these feelings however varied in every individual, while inspiring some to give the JEE another attempt. We all shared the enthusiasm that is the traditional sign of fledglings here, before it is hampered forever by repetition and modern electronic gadgets. Thus initiated was a journey most cherished and one that will be remembered by all of us forever.

My first year in college was filled with most nostalgic moments, which I would attribute primarily to the absence of work, a computer and other vices at hand. Places like the canteens, the beach and even Mangalore seemed much closer then. The excitement that accompanied the discovery of so many things, and a whole new way of life, helped to etch memories that much more deep. The joy of getting to the inter branch football finals, the sorrow of missing a penalty against the invincible final years. The joy of returning home for a week sometimes, and ironically missing the college midweek! A year it was, filled with long walks with the bunch, long nights of plain carefree discussion and discovering how wonderful life can be when there are five hundred people who can be a part of your happiness and difficulties. Though a few infernal machines started haunting the hostels by second semester, there were still the games of 28 (a card game) a night before our end semester exams. A revelation it was, the whole year, that most memorable are those times, closer to nature and farther from technological machines. (Fancy an engineer saying this!)

A time it was, when evenings were spent at the beach monitoring the progress of a torrential rain storm that is characteristic of the monsoon months here, step by step, as it inched over the horizon. The blue water changed colours, growing fiercer, clouds painted the sea with their ominous shadows. Everything took place so slowly, that it evaded the eye, ever on the lookout for sudden changes, yet happened so fast that it approached and enveloped us, taking us all aback. All this was witnessed with the sturdy shelter of the defiant lighthouse building. Land now turned into the canvas, painted by the wind with swift stokes of water curtains, as the torrential rain drenched us. All the while, innumerable pictures were taken with mobile phone cameras, hoping innocently that these moments could somehow be captured.

And the summer months brought forth the tranquil beauty of the sunset over the western coast. The sun eluding us, refusing to sink while we watched it continuously, yet disappearing a great deal if we dared to take our eyes off , all the while paving way for the emperor of the night to arise and rule. Majestically, did he display his prowess, shrouding the land and the water with silvery white light. A spectacle so brilliant that the most miserable and unfortunate creature upon this world shall find his life justified only to have senses to experience this masterpiece, to hear the mighty ocean rumble, smell the salty air, and be lost in this unparalleled bliss."

True Independence

2008-12-04T08:27:00.010+05:30

Yeah, everybody is talking about it. Whenever I switch to the news it has essentially been the same catchphrase - "enough is enough!" (One realises that in three days, the news persons have not had anything else important enough to mention. So it dawns upon one that their normal reporting is so pointless!) Enough is enough? I'll tell you what there is enough of in this country - Hypocrisy!

Everything that we commemorate in the name of national pride, and hold high (except the national flag, song and emblem) are but shams. Why even the national anthem makes little sense to me. 'Thou art the ruler of the minds of the people.... ". It is often reported that the anthem was sung to mark the arrival of king George V, which it definitely wasn't (in the words of the great poet himself). However, it is not Jana Gana Mana that echoed in the hearts of people when they fought to free the country from enslavement. It was our dear national song that was adopted by the great martyrs to honour mother India. Vande Mataram should become our national anthem.

In addition, celebration of Independence in this country is hardly justified. When our great forefathers envisioned independent India, it was not one of mere self governance. They were against the British rule because it did not tender the interests of the Indian populace at large. How then have the politicians of today done justice to that pure vision? They have abused and ravaged the nation to the worst possible depths, making her diseased to the bone with the pestilence of dishonesty.What we have done is replaced corrupt British officials with locals who are even worse. Our Independence is the highest form of glorified and latent racism that I have heard of.

And coming back to the bomb blasts, the Pakistani government, having nurtured terrorism to such an extent, is as helpless about routing its proliferation as the mumbaikars are of the underworld in their city. The mafia has done enough and more damage to the city of Mumbai to have cried and protested like this a thousand times over. The people seem mute to these unscrupulous criminals in our own soil. Why? Because here, like the politicians of Pakistan, they are as much a part of the system. Now there is hardly a difference between a terrorist and the underworld - both of them exploit the poor to loot our nation. And at the helm, the underworld and the terrorists are closely knit, which becomes very evident when you think of Dawood's connections.

And finally, the root cause for all this remains to be the common man, who is ranting and wailing with card boards screaming, topped off with lipstick and make-up! In a state where the citizens are honest themselves, there can be nothing that can shake their status. I am reminded of times like the Salt Satyagraha, where the British were absolutely helpless in the face of righteous struggle. The non-cooperation movement went to such an extent as to reform the British, who saw that there can't be anything achieved out of fighting a force so righteous. So think twice before you bribe the next cop on the road. Stand up for your rights at the RTO and get your licence without subscribing to bribe. Realise that the root of all evil is deep within the common man; within those people who are protesting its very existence on national television so that people who have nothing better to broadcast can make a pretty penny out of the glorious display.

True Independence shall that day be achieved, as described by the great poet himself in Gitanjali, -

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

I continuously look forward to that dawn which shall see this vision being realised.

Vande Mataram.

Uncertain Advisors

2008-11-28T11:27:00.007+05:30

What we read has always influenced our perception about things around us to a great degree. Of course, am talking about stuff that appears in sources more reliable than, say, TOI (if there is a disagreement, you have my sympathies). Cutting to the chase, a lot of advice and 'scientific findings' that we encounter in newspapers and magazines are extremely primitive. My advice is not to take their's too seriously.

How often has it been seen that these 'masters of good living' contradict their own findings weeks later? Any research that they undertake is, more often than not, either too personal or too complex. When they research personal issues, the results depend largely on their subjects' mannerisms. When they try to investigate issues like the ones concerning the working of the brain, say, they slip into complex domains. The brain remains to be very mystical and elusive. I am often struck by how much more we know about distant galaxies light years away, than of that which is why we know these things. Also, another interesting thought - The human brain is the only entity in our known existence to know of its own existence. Simply put, nothing in this world ( or any other that we know of) knows that it exists, save the human brain.

So, when it comes to brain usage, development, capacity and what not, your judgement can suit you the best. Be open to ideas like GTD (Getting things done.. something that Srik lives by), but keep in mind to restrict their influence only to the degree to which they can come to your aid. If any of these are overdone, the results could be detrimental to the development of your own personality.

Very Rudimentary Haiku

2008-09-13T00:06:00.002+05:30

thankfully exist
font and format to hold
haiku like this one

The Enigmatic Man

2008-09-12T19:15:00.010+05:30

For those of you seeking a wacky superhero or anything of the like, am sorry to have raised your expectations, for this is a very serious and heartfelt post for the one human being I have had my greatest respect for. This post is a few more lines on The Mahatma.

To me, Gandhiji is one the most enigmatic personalities to have ever been born. Even with a superficial knowledge of his life, one can see that Gandhiji had evolved to become the Mahatma that we know him to be today from very ordinary beginnings. He wasn't a child prodigy who attained a more elevated state of thinking instantly by merely sitting under a tree or by the means of divine messages and such. His road to elevation is one of observation, experimentation and learning through personal experiences. I would like to bring to notice one of his more celebrated, yet lesser recollected achievements, popularly known as the miracle of Kolkata.

Post independence partition saw two major states affected by the worst human misdoings. One being Punjab and the other, Bengal. Lord Mountbatten stationed 55,000 armed soldiers in Punjab while pleading with Gandhi to control Bengal, single handed. We all know the result of what happened in Punjab, while Bengal's result was the miracle.

"What is interesting and important is the manner in which this miracle was performed. He did not go around the streets of Kolkata, he hardly met anyone or made speeches. He accomplished what he wanted by his mere presence and his prayer meetings. And what accomplishments these were! When he arrived in Kolkata, he was greeted by a howling, jeering, cursing mob. In 24 hours’ time, the ‘goondas’ had sheathed their daggers and both communities joined together for the flag-hoisting ceremonies. In a week’s time, attendance at the prayer meetings had jumped to 100,000 people: “lining roof tops, hanging from windows, clustered on balconies”. Within two weeks, there were almost a million. When, on August 31, the peace was broken by the action of some goondas, he did not tour Kolkata trying to implore people not to join in the bloodbath. Instead, he went on a fast, saying, “I am searching deep within myself. In that, silence helps.” Within three days, several gangs of goondas came to Gandhi’s Beliaghata residence and voluntarily surrendered what amounted to a huge pile of grenades, automatic rifles, pistols, knives and other deadly weaponry. It seems obvious to me that the contact he had established with the people of Kolkata, in particular the goondas, was of an intimate and internal, not of a superficial and external, kind." - TS Ananthu

It pains me greatly that such a person receives not the respect he truly deserves, which is not quantifiable by any material means what so ever. Instead, I see a generation with a considerable mass actually accusing Gandhiji of various adulterous acts with grounds as firm as the surface of the thinnest oils, and live in a country ruled by unscrupulous money makers using his name as means for power and wealth.

I have nothing much else to add. The quote speaks for itself. I would be very happy to send my source to anyone who wishes to know.

I'll end with this well known quote by Einstein that encapsules the Enigma that was Gandhi. It seems remarkable to me as to how prophetic Einstein was when he said this.

"Generations to come, it may be, will scarcely believe that such a one, as this, ever in flesh and blood walked upon this earth. "- Albert Einstein

Em Won Decryptified

2008-07-06T23:37:00.005+05:30

Ok, here is the elaborate funda post that I had promised earlier. My apologies to you if some of these seem too elaborate. I am not taking any chances. (Read making an idiot's guide)

The title is obvious... Initially I had thought of naming it 'me now' and hinting at reversing the words to make them more meaningful.

I find Dadhies' sideburns to be his first feature that comes to mind. And his name was supposed to be evolved from his imitation of a teacher who kept saying 'that is', which is what i used to clue. Datta's clue needs no explaination.

2nd paragraph is dedicated to the three of us who used to engage in games ranging from pictionary to listing out dota stuff to solving Hindu crosswords through class hours, with special mention of Sky's and Appu's. The clues read 'a run' for Arun and 'a four' for Achar.. a-char.

Ah! The third paragraph eluded most minds. This goes out to Hari and Koti who have dominated 2 semesters now with pointers very close to as many years in a decade.
Hari also means 'to tear up' in kannada and koti means crore.

Nerd bench time! Poor Baggy got dragged in. He got what was coming though. Bindu's clue is based on this once, when she misheard Arun saying 'Datta is a wannabe' as 'datta wants a baby', which created a lot of uproar in the njs-tam gang wing and also led to some imbalanced stories as to the aftermath. For the 'tenth avatar' clue think Dashavataram. (Not that lame airbender) Incase you aren't familiar with that sort of knowledge, it is supposed to be kalki, which can as well be spelt kulki on the same lines as bulky. Baggy pants are loose pants.

The fifth paragraph is dedicated to Jiggar, Sriram(The guitarists) and Harsha(The Chess Club member).
As for the last words part, Jiggar much rescembles arguably the most famous barrister of the world and father of a nation during his younger days (Think about it.. He does!). His gujrathi inheritance is icing on the cake. Mahatma Gandhi's last words were 'Hey Ram' which is crudely (poetically also) approximated to Sriram. And anyone who has ever seen Harsha has never seen him without his smile. I congratulate his parents for being one of the most apt namers of children.

Yeah.. Thats the jolly bunch.

Em Won Cryptified

2008-07-01T22:19:00.006+05:30

Hidden within are distinguished members of M1 2006, 11 bangies and 2 locos to count them all. Fundae will be posted when the author discerns the time ripe.

You'll find this twosome to its hind,
mostly at nap, escaping the grind.
The first of em with burns charecteristic.
That is, his name, his language simplistic.
The second, alas, disappears with evening's glow,
the easiest to rescue when stranded in white snow.

Come forth to see the succeeding pack of three,
most fervently praying that class were free.
Mostly heads down engadged by game,
without an ounce of disciplined shame.
If you guessed them well, they are surely
a run, a four and your's very truly.

Drift down to the bench of the studious two,
most scholarly of the bunch make up who
in turns alternate, semester's to dominate
the class' scores with how many in a decade.
Their names in the local tongue translates
to tear up a crore. Blessed be their fate.

Step down further and you shall see,
another set of musketeers three.
But these unlike the ones above,
books and notebooks surely love.
One rumoured to want with the dark lord a baby,
loose pants, avatar tenth, the other two maybe.

To the end, to the right, another trio thrives,
either deep asleep or filled with jives.
Gods of guitar and god of chess,
sum up the trio, more or less.
One's name the other's last words to his brothers,
as for the chessmaster, always happier than others.

Road Nirvana

2008-06-26T22:31:00.011+05:30

The first thing that hits me when I get back to the good old city is the tremendous increase in traffic density. To keep the above said statement from becoming literal are a few measures that every indian should take. ( Can be broadened to encompass other parts of the world as well)
"Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?" -- George Carlin

It is absolutely essential to keep a clear mind while driving, especially if you like to drive fast, to make sure that maniac on a yamaha doesn't take up the form of the divine being who also shares the same name.
Unpainted humps hiding in the dark can break a lot more than just you speed. The city's roads can surprise you with a pothhole under the least expected circumstances in perfect accordance with Murphy's law.
To dogde and survive the many encounters bad traffic can throw up, one should develop an elevated state of mind while driving, which I term road nirvana. Whilst in this state, one neither experiences joy, nor sorrow while on the road. Joy on the road is dangerous in the city as loss of joy is the cause of sorrow. So when you can never possibly derive joy while driving, there is no sorrow in its absence as well. No longer do your shake your fist at the guy honking behind you. No longer do you swear at the slowpoke in front, but try to seek the path of least resistance to cut through the road, in perfect harmony.
Hoping to stay safe on the road.
Road Nirvana! May its tribe increase. ( 'Chin mudra held' ( Yes, this is a tribute to another blog if you are wondering))

"The Little Barbershop of Horrors"

2008-06-25T09:00:00.011+05:30

The title of this peom is a tribute to the Itchy and Scratchy episode that Bart and Lisa come up with in the episode "The Front."

Blissfully asleep, peacefully adream,
interrupted by an infernal scream.
"My son shall not sport ragamuffin hair!"
Exclaims my dad as his are rare.
Ambling on to the barber shop yonder,
reluctant as I was, I began to ponder,
alteast that pack will be easier to bath,
what scared me was the barber's wrath!
Seats you on his swivelling chair,
sprays his stuff on your darling hair,
combs them and makes them stay,
to make you look like you were gay.
As he proceeds, he surely quips,
"Rarer have become, to me, your trips?"
I thought with a smile of the slightest trace,
"The answer is staring right at your face."
Snip snap snip! Gone is your mane,
lionface to plucked chicken's base you wane.
Dettol washed wounds, burning red,
scars from a battle between razor and head.

Some consolation its the local shop,
and not beauty saloon who at a hat's drop,
will demand what I have spent all my life,
on keeping with my barber, this necessary strife.

English Textbooks

2008-06-23T07:50:00.004+05:30

Through the years of schooling, I have always loved my english text books. I have distinct memories of lessons that were a part of my text books, as far back as second standard.

After 10th, I encountered text books published by the Karnataka PU board. I agree that the pictures, which looked like a black and white xerox of something had been copied and scanned some 10 times to produce dirty black smudges which can never further be deteriorated, weren't great. But the lessons were very well chosen. They made good reading material even if they didn't meet "high english standards" and weren't swamped with gobbledigooks. I don't care if the language is simple as long as it can convey meaning. Here I quoute a poem which I remembered reading after seeing my cousin's textbook.

An incident in the modern civil rights movement, which shocked America in 1963, was the bombing of a church in Birmingham Alabama killing 4 little girls. This poem was inspired by this incident.

BALLAD OF BIRMINGHAM

"Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?"

"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren't good for a little child."

"But, mother, I won't be alone.
Other children will go with me,
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our country free."

"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For I fear those guns will fire.
But you may go to church instead
And sing in the children's choir."

She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair,
And bathed rose petal sweet,
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,
And white shoes on her feet.

The mother smiled to know that her child
Was in the sacred place,
But that smile was the last smile
To come upon her face.

For when she heard the explosion,
Her eyes grew wet and wild.
She raced through the streets of Birmingham
Calling for her child.

She clawed through bits of glass and brick,
Then lifted out a shoe.
"O, here's the shoe my baby wore,
But, baby, where are you?"

- Dudley Randall

It talks of how the little girl's mother didn't want to risk her child marching the streets in agitation, but sing in church choir, safe in the arms of god. The tragedy lies in how the latter ended up resulting in what the mother feared the worst.

I found this to be a touching poem which is short and very well written. So, to hell with popular opinion. If there is something about pre university syllbus that is worth remembering, it is definitely the english text books.

Nature's children

2008-06-16T22:36:00.002+05:30

Well,

Sweet vacations are here. Many jobless friends are in front of comps with an internet connection they are not ashamed of having, the immediate effect being super updated blogs. Then there are those few kind enough to mention my blog on one of theirs. Seeing mine perpetually at the bottom of every one of those, here goes nothing.

There is also the broken promise on that last post.

There is this theory I would like to propound. The most cherished of our nostalgic memories are always those that are closest to nature. By nature, I don't imply wild jungles or discovery documentaries, but those aspects of our lives which invariably bring us closer to the way nature had meant creatures to be. Before I get more vague and deter you away, let me illustrate.

We are more prone to indulge in reminiscence of past times that we indulge in with minimal technology. Whether it be a trip to the beach, where we got held up due to a rainstorm, or spending time, gathering together and playing cards - stuff that we do without computers and the like. More distinct and nostalgic are my memories of first semester, spent in the hostels without the intrusion of electronic devices, which now consume most of our time. A full day without power during the fourth semester was very hard to get by as a result of our marriage to computers. But thinking back, there is always the feeling that I spent my first semester better.

Ever wondered why it is more thrilling to watch a game at a stadium rather where you can just about make out what is happening, without close up camera replays rather than a television? Why the most advanced acoustics can never simulate the atmosphere of a live concert?

The following semesters of college will be dedicated to more exploration, generation of memories than ever before and retying lost bonds with nature. I really miss those days spent downstairs, climbing every tree in the apartment, turning a blind eye to anyone who threatened to complain to my father, who happened to teach me how to!

I would really appreciate your take on this. I want to find out how people feel about this.

Laundry!

2008-02-18T14:46:00.000+05:30

Finally decided to join the millions who blog.

Funny that of all the things that exist, it had to be an afternoon's session of laundry to get me started. The seventh hostel block here at NIT-K makes for one of the most complete disaster tolerance courses in one's life, more so, our wing in particular.

Firstly, my stand on laundry. I love my white t-shirts and really like them to stay that way. This matters to me enough to distrust the local dhobi or any other human force around. The same goes for the surathkal dhobi. Is it worth packing your dirty clothes, lugging them to surathkal in a bus, walking up to the dhobi, waiting for a whole lot of time only to repeat the same process in reverse order to get clothes done? Not to mention, facing the agony of unsatifsfactory service, all of the above notwithstanding. Its not about the money at all, but the fifty rupees saved in the process can be used more pleasurably, looking at the fringe benefits.

Now back to the seventh hostel block, the water supply, teasing and most elusive is every washerdude's worst foe. There is this story about clothes soaked for a week and the ordeal that followed. I'll leave that for another post.

The satisfaction derived out of that fresh white fabric hugging your skin after a refreshing bath makes all that washing, wringing, drying and ironing(in some cases) worth it all.

Will blog again soon