*Thoughts.....

Why did the chicken cross the road?

2009-06-26T00:28:00.000-07:00

News Clippings:

Suicide attack on Taj MaHOLE.
Chennai:
A suicide bomber used a car bomb to launch an attack on one of the world's oldest and well preserved pot hole. Taj MaHOLE is an UNESCO world heritage site dating back to Pallava dynasty. There are inscription on Tanjore temple that hint at people of Thirumailai (Now Mylapore) submitting a petition to the then ruler Pallava the 666th to initiate the work on road construction and repair. However the petition was discarded as per the governance policies(now a code of conduct for any TN government agency). The inscription alludes to what could have been a man hole sized pothole on the ground. Over the year, through several dynasties & colonial / post colonial rule, the monument has grown to the size of 2500 color tv sets (Unit of measurement for current ruling dynasty - MKs).
In the late 90s the MKs forced the UNESCO to grant the site a World heritage tag following a series of self immolation by the party workers.
The motive of the attack remains unknown and government suspects the hands of LeT aka Pakistan in collaboration with opposition party. Meanwhile at the other end of this hole, Obama has condemned the attack saying "who ever carried out this attack is an ***hole". No one knows what lies at the bottom of the pothole some say Osama is hiding there. The mystery remains.

Surveillance cameras for monitoring city traffic.

Chennai:
The traffic cops have added another ammunition to their "maamool" arsenal - Surveillance cameras. The cameras have been fitted in remote places and hidden from public view. "The objective is not to scare ppl or deter crime, it is to let those happen and let the collection agencies take on from there on.. oops.. have i revealed a bit too much?" asks the inspector general traffic police.
"Awesome.. see see we can take pics at night .. night vision" said the CM who unveiled the first working piece, which also happens to be the 100th piece to be unveiled. "Look at the pic, its exactly how it appears to naked eye.. crystal clear" said a constable whoz stationed next to high traffic junction - Tasmac.
Couple of concerned citizens said '.. we think.. may be.. we donno ..not so sure ... but the number plate .. is not visible.. isnt it?".. "velinaatu sadhi" is apparently a reason for this. Yet the cops claim that it is not an issue as they still used such pic to nail down offenders and have collected about 3 lakhs in penalty!!
The ultimate weapon in cracking down "crack / narcotic trade", humping down street prostitutes, and blowing off illicit romance on street is here. In fact, videos of couples on street, uploaded onto website is fetching an alternate income for the state.

Its official - 1 paisa coins withdrawn from circulation

Chennai 2009:
The traffic police have finally stopped accepting 1 paisa coins as "Penalty". Unofficial confirmation arrived yesterday from an offender. "i was returning home when i jumped a signal. I was stopped by the cop who demanded that i pay the fine. All i had was a 20 Rs note in my pocket, which I handed over. But the observant officer heard a lil jingle in my pocket. So i had to hand the 2 Re coin. I don’t have words to describe the brilliance of the cop for what he said immediately "kannna..... orey kai la oosai varaadhu.. orey coin la satham varaadhu" (One coin alone cant make the sound) Brillaint .. then i handed over the 1 paise coin i was hoping to add to my numismatic / antique collection. He took that too and said "we still take it till midnight. Only from tomorrow will we stop accepting 1 paisa coins. 5 paisa coins will still hold good"
Today the official confirmation is expected to coincide with the launch of 10 re coins. RBI uses’ traffic cop's non acceptance' as official trigger to announce withdrawal of a coin from circulation, though the minting was stopped was back in the 60s.

Ambush warfare tactics originated on Chennai streets

Chennai:
The recent disclosures by the captured terrorist has pressed ASI to unearth what is perhaps one of the most startling discoveries of this decade. In his statement the terrorist had said "we learnt the ambush tactics from traffic cops on Chennai streets".
ASI then studied the tactics used by our friendly neighborhood cops to find out that they are never at the spot where one might expect them to be; at the junction. Instead they are perfectly camouflaged among the customers of briyani shop around the corner, where they usually have a running account. Once an offender passes close by, cops pounce on them faster than a cheetah would ! With a six sigma precision they turn off your bike and take the key in a flash. How they manage to all these within a blink of the eye, despite their signature belly remains beyond the realm of science.
Seems like this has been happening even before automobile was invented !!, which only deepens the mystery. Harvard, which wrote a case on dubbawallas of Mumbai plans to write a case on our friendly cops too.

The Banana trick

2008-04-08T08:55:00.000-07:00

I type this as I sip my coffee… nice & exhilarating. But for some reason I want to say that I drink coffee because it is healthy. Oops… nutritious… no damn it for wellness… no not wellness… lifestyle. I lie muddled with my inability to classify what kinds drink coffee is. What is the big difference between those you may ask. If you do, then you supposedly are not even as educated as the C segment customer group according to expert’s opinion. The C segment of the market, as against any numbers that you may crunch with your marketing research, is apparently well verse with the nuances that underlay diminutive distinctions between the above mentioned adjective!
Now I take a look at what I was drinking. Nescafe Relax! Essentially the name suggests it is under the life style category. However, the product sub-grouping comes under Nescafe “Wellness” theme. And the theme tag line says “Choose a Healthy option – Nescafe Wellness”. It contains anti-oxidants for health benefits… http://www.philstar.com/archives.php?&aid=2008020669&type=2&
I am laughing out here. If this was to be done as a term project in my college… the product will get a failing grade. Catering to segment A & B, they apparently don’t even know the difference between the adjective which the C segment is conversant with. This is either a marketing anomaly, never ever witnessed in the history of man kind or is a simple farce.
The product how ever is doing well. Can any one explain why? The industry is supposedly damn too dynamic. What was 100% bang on target marketing strategy on Nov 2007 is a complete failure by February 2008. Incredible isn’t it? Back then in Nov probably the customers were illiterate and didn’t perceive any difference what so ever, but suddenly someone taught them all English!; within a span of 3 months… Revolutionary!
The emerging trends in marketing strategy… is to sit together as a group, decide on a brilliant idea or rather just an idea. And then follow this sequence. I call this the “banana trick”. For no reason obviously.
1. Pricing strategy: Fix a price. Bid for it… take a pick… draw straws… ask the competitors :P… we don’t cares a damn about demand curve and price elasticity? Such things are blasphemous.
2. Product: mix and match something… for example, if hot dog is the favorite of many a people… a blub should glow atop your head... eureka… chicken hot dog flavored condom.!! “take a dig” wow tag line done too.. The same justification holds; most preferred flavor, most people feel hungry after the act… come on dudes, if you can visualize a product so shitty, you can definitely come up with shittier arguments to support it. Did I hear someone shout product testing??! What the! We don’t do such things here… instead we conduct an FGD and ask people to imagine flavor!! It like imagining a new color. Humanly, psychologically, biologically.. or however one may put it…“impossible”…. I know, but what the hell, you get the grades.
3. Promotion: any thing will do, as long as you fix 10% of a fake, cooked up revenue figure. Why 10%? it’s the finger rule… I mean the thumb rule.
4. Place: How about a pipeline??! Like the gas, a coffee pipeline. If you want, you can project it as a blue ocean strategy. Come on… we like creative minds here, anything sells as long as you can just put some fake figures along with it.
5. There was a 5th P.. I forgot.. it isn’t exposing itself! Let us forget it for the time being.
So.. yeah that pretty much it. You are now officially a marketing expert. Celebrate!! I shall get back to more blue oceans ideas… curd flavored coffee…. Hmm… sherbet flavored coffee… …. ….. ….

Let Me Go

2007-12-23T12:29:00.000-08:00

Me was carved uncouth but its no fault of mine,
No way near those action figures yet I seldom did whine,
Not to be picked from oblivion- the original cosmic design
But she did, polished me fine, attached a simple lovely twine

Please let me go, please let me go, here is not where me belong
Its the oblivion, unknown, unheard, unseen and beyond

Scary was this new retention, a shackled daunting detention
Me is tugged under the spotlight and into unwanted attention
Forced to dance to mob’s mirth and my master’s intention
Petrified with fear, me could curtail tear, all in a staged pretention

Please let me go, please let me go, here is not where me belong
Its the oblivion, unknown, unheard, unseen and beyond

A new “leash” of life? Oh no, oh no, me made a fool of myself
Seeing me strapped and stripped of my pride, strangers amuse themself
Show got over and I was set aside, its over its over me thought
Wanted to crawl away from the site and return never not

Please let me go, please let me go, here is not where me belong
Its the oblivion, unknown, unheard, unseen and beyond

But here it goes again, still to be stripped threadbare until nothing left
No more, no more please, in your deft hands, this is a soul theft
It is fate now, it will stop never not matter how much I cry, how much I try
Me hung myself on this string, such irony, me fails and fails again to die

Please let me go, please let me go, here is not where me belong
Its the oblivion, unknown, unheard, unseen and beyond

To say it or not to !

2007-07-17T12:32:00.000-07:00

If anyone understands this.. please leave a comment on what u understood ... Thanks :)

These words, had they been my last ones spelt

In your arms, while my final moments melt,

Will hold ineffable emotions that a pounding heart pelt;

A final daring stand against time, to cry all that it ever felt.

A fragment of heaven, figment of my dreamy visions

Perfect, with it, all my imagination’s imperfections

You, exemplify everything in your slender cherubic radiance

divine grace, goddess’ arrogance, all in one aesthetic alliance

No such bliss, such as this, merely to watch thee from afar

So chaste an angel you are, even my adulation might leave on you a scar

Marry contrary emotions into an insanely recurring blend

The result is what I sense every second, until each other we befriend

To make you laugh and to watch you smile make merry my living

Life is short, I owe you a lot, yet I won’t get enough of this giving

Me is a cipher, not witty to spell even the first word of those three

But here is my call and I spill it all, submit the truth humbly to thee.

On Maslow's Pyramid and Mosquitoes.

2007-05-02T06:10:00.000-07:00

Sweltering summer is here and so are the mosquitoes and the erratic power cuts. I was alone on a Sunday evening and I though I would not go far to have dinner. I went to the friendly neighborhood dosa shop (I love this place for their sambar). It was around closing time and ironically it was spruced up to perfection. Not coincidentally a new young guy had been put to work.
He was lanky, dark, and strong enough to hold his own structure from collapsing inwards. He wore a short, some how held in position by a black thread. His hair was long, soiled by sweat that dangled in front of his face proudly depicting the money he had saved on haircuts. He might barely be 17.
It started raining and at the sight of the first drizzle the authorities promptly switched the power off. Lightning gave a disco hall ambience to the rickety shop. I then thought I heard a thunder, but it turned out to be Yamaha Rx 100. It was a modified one, whose owner is convinced that silencer is no more than a dead weight on the vehicle. Three people scurried inside, 2 boys and a girl, straight from some disco or pub. The girl wore a see through top, gaudy and shimmering. She made the hall bright as her dress reflected a million candle flames on to the wall; a perfectly 8 shaped disco ball. One of the guys could well be a bouncer. He resembled a bull without horns, that managed to squeeze itself into a ‘iron maiden’ t-shirt. The third one was someone I could not avoid noticing.
He was lanky, dark and strong enough to hold his own structure from collapsing inwards. He wore a short, some how stayed below position – a low hip jean denim short. His hair was long, soiled by set wet hair gel; it dangles in front of his face proudly exhibiting the amount of money he spent on it!!!
“Are you sure CCD is not open” asked the girl. He voice was sweet I thought as they sat on the first of the three tables. “we may get fully wet” said the bouncer. “Oh shit da macha! Do you think it is F**ing water proof da?” ask out hero whilst he pulled out an ipod shuffle and gold flake small cigarette pack out of his pocket. Ha! Caught him. His language n attire doesn’t corroborate well with his brand of cigarettes. I could read his background with his brand loyalty. If I were to take a guess, he must have been the traditional back bencher in school who unwillingly managed a Bcom or BA degree. All three of them work for BPO. It was needless for me to eavesdrop as they were audible
The air got saturated with attitude, talks on ash-abhi’s wedding, day trading, youth’s burden to edify the nation, bigotry and some girl named Amritha who apparently is too conservative to go out with our hero. There were millions of complaints on the state of affairs, which I am very sure had nothing to do with them. The meaningful conversation was frequently interrupted by the girl who kept complaining about the mosquitoes. I couldn’t comprehend how complaining could help the situation. She also repeatedly raised concern on food hygiene. All her concerns received reassurance from our hero. “Macha.. I recently been to iron –maiden concert da macha.. awesome macha crowduu.. girls were super and lotta people potted (he means doped).. you should listen to this band for the ‘base’ gat da.. better than metallica. I know the difference.. I am a player myself’. The other two we awe stuck as he spewed his fake stories along side the smoke. May be the bull’s brain was disproportionate to his physic and the girl was anyways coming all over him.
During this drama, his clone came to me to take last order “anna, closing avvudhu” said he, scratching the bottom of the bucket to pour the last drops of sambhar. There were 3 candles in all, one each on the counter, my table and on our hero’s. The then took one dosa for himself, and sat on the third table. Either he was afraid to share table with me or wanted to get a better view into the girl’s completely revealed back, I thought. But he was more engrossed in his food. He relished ever piece of his hard earned labor. The owner called him in between slapped him once for having sat for dinner early and sent him back. It is then that I noticed his left hand was dysfunctional. But it doesn’t seem to bother him. May be he is used to it. I dint pity him because I thought he disliked it. He returned to the nook, continued eating as if nothing ever happened. t. Every piece was relished, savored as if that was his last meal ever in his life. He didn’t look at the girl; he didn’t need a candle; he wasn’t observing anyone; he wasn’t crapping about musical talents. The mosquitoes didn’t bother him; he just ate and; satisfied with the most basic needs, simply happy and contented.
It had taken me 10 – 12 minutes to finish one single dosa. Half the time I sat cursing my boss and worrying about a hike that never was. I thought my whole life went into a tail spin if this were to continue. Impending doom worried me. The remaining time I was watching the drama and observing people. But the one thing I didn’t do was I didn’t do what I came there for. I dint enjoy my sambhar.
The drama was still continuing as I was preparing to leave. They still were cribbing about Amritha, freedom, society and what not. They essentially were unhappy only because they didn’t have anything to be unhappy about. From what they had been and what they are now, BPO has brought an enormous unimaginable change. They have just been blessed more than what they had dreamt for. And now, they have essentially lost an identity which they are trying to create.
Shouldn’t they be thankful to fortunes? Shouldn’t I be doing the same? More the fulfilled needs, more the cribbing? Is it right to compare myself with the waiter at dosa shop and persuade myself to be happy? Will it lead to happiness or stagnation? But if always look up Maslow’s Pyramid, when will I ever get satisfied at all?
It took me back to simple question. Can happiness and growth co exist? What is happiness? The more I introspected the more I got confused. I realized Maslow’s pyramid is more a representation of happiness (leaving the 5th level) than needs. The more fundamental your needs are the happier you are. But the needs in them selves are an inverted pyramid. Such is human greed. After the 5 basic needs the security needs are some 10 in number and the number increases upwards to make an inverted pyramid. Satisfaction is such a myth. One just looses it as it one gets closer to ones goal. This is an age old wisdom that resurrects it self time and again, which is worth noticing one in a while to grade ourselves, to express gratitude to have what we have been given, and that your happiness had nothing to do with materialistic needs. My German colleague once told me, that he is intrigued by a Billion Indians subtly teaching the world on how to be happy without money. Quite true.
“Good thought” I told myself as another mosquito bit me to shake me off. So which level am I to sit and think about this? An unsatisfied L4 person may be, just like you who had patience to read this.

I Wonder - II

2007-04-20T01:49:00.000-07:00

How to have a grand wedding:
1. Become a cine star or be born as a son to a cine star (who endorses every possible thing on this planet)
2. Secretly fall in love with a Miss world (all miss worlds eventually becomes actresses as per Indian culture) who herself has had a couple of controversial hook ups.
3.Make sure you spawn a gossip about your romance and then pretend innocent.
4. When the ‘worthless’ media (I know, a redundant adjective) questions you, you say “hmm” “no” “nothing like it” “we are just friends” “may be” “yeah we are good on screen. I take that as compliment...” “I don’t subscribe to speculations” etc, thus occupy the front page of every damn newspaper for a period of 3-4 months.
5. Go on a pilgrimage with you family and those of your lover’s and make sure you appear on all the other pages as well. (If you use your acumen, you can strike a deal with the paparazzi)
6.Suddenly avow that the marriage is fixed (This is a relief; we know its going to be off the news in a few months time)
7. Get the politicians, swamijis, flim faternity and fans to bless you. (They don’t bless you in person, these bloody people too call for press conferences.. what crap?)
8. Get your astrologer a 1 hr slot on TV to tell the public about the nuptial – natal details. (Is this the need of our nation? Great. How blessed are we people!!). You get paid too by attending ‘Rendezvous with Simi Garewal’ ‘Coffee with Karan’ and all possible talk shows. (Don’t worry we people will watch anything.. why else do you think we were born?)
9. Sell the royalty to cover your wedding preparations. (Enough and more money to cover your next 10 generations living expense)
10. Never leave the media to cover anything else, may it be news paper or TV or FM or even the local pamphlet.

After having done all these .. have guts to call it a “Low profile.. Simple.. ceremony”

In the offing..
1.Appear as a family … endorse products as a family.. FMCG n electronic goods should do
2.Go to a honeymoon.. say it’s a secret location and let the media follow.
3.Raise a son.. n let him start all over from the point one (We will make him a star too.. what else would my children be born for?)

I feel the telemarketing group is needlessly blamed for ruining one’s time. But we the “busy” guys should start looking at the brighter side.
1. 90% of the time it’s a GIRL who calls. Except this no girl ever calls us. 2. Their voices are sweet n their names are cute. So in our imagination they are always beautiful.3. We have half succeeded in impressing the lady even before the start of the conversation. Coz she knows that we own a credit card to start with.4. They make the ideal pass time relationship. We pick the call once, have fun and hang up other times. Yet no one is hurt. No tags attached
5. They call us up to give us money. Gals only take money, never give.
6. They are available 24/7 to hear your grievances. Usually no girl ever listens to our jokes leave alone grievances.
7. There is never a lack of choice. There are a million of them out there to choose from.

We the people of Tamil Nadu are great people with impeccable lineage. We uphold an unassailable culture based on virtue (but we are afraid Hindi can ruin us). We do moral policing to preserve our culture (but we watch Shakila movies on pirated CDs.) All our political parties stem from one single atheist party (but we build temples for actresses and do ‘paal abhiskeham’ for our hero’s cut out whilst our family can die starving). The best part though is that the word corruption doesn’t even exist in our lexicon. In the 1960s political parties gave us rs 10 -15 to vote for them. That was bribery, so we opposed it. Now in 2006 politicians give us color TV, 2 acre land per family and all this from Government treasury. How wonderful! Its all legal now. Hence, no corruption. We don’t want primary schools, we don’t need hospitals.. give us color TV for our kids shall grow watching mega serials.

1G4T. (read as originality)

2007-01-29T03:47:00.000-08:00

Shitty title, I know. I choose it coz I am to depict something similar in today’s cinema. Specifically Tamil cinema, generalized on basis of the majority, leaving out the exceptional few. To start with, I would like to define a tamil movie. It’s a movie which is produced by a banner with its office at Chennai, directed a director from mainland Tamilnadu, starred by a hero who boasts of a blood is supposedly impregnated with “tamil mannu”, and a heroine imported from neighboring states or from Mumbai and the music scored by sons of erstwhile big shot music directors and has a English title like RED (acronym for revolution education and development) etc.
Each one of these is an action flick as well as romance and has a full length comedy track that has nothing to do with the movie’s non existing main stream story. It has 5 songs in all, at those situations which least warrant a song. 3 of them will be short on the streets of Eastern Europe. Usually it’s a fast number where the hero wears a lungi slightly revealing his pattapati trouser, and irrespective of the ambient temperature the bulky heroin will be scantly clad. The dance steps are stolen from the traditionally “in-front-of-the-corpse” dance. Next time u see one such a song, observe the onlookers expression. They will carry a confused look on their faces, whether or not to throw the coins at then. Some wonder if the dancers are beggars, some wonder if thatz a dance or simply 2 people experiences fits. What a way to market Indian taste for art.
Then there is one soporific song. That is when the supposed twist in the story gets over. Surprisingly one can guess the end and the twist right at the second scene. Wonderful direction I should say. All such twists are sad somehow.
The last number is mandatory an item number; pole dance performed by vamps with absolutely crappy lyrics. One simple wonders the though process of the lyricist. A woman is compared with internet virus, code bug, and bottle of illicit liquor, coconut from Polaachi town, beetle leaves from Tanjore district, mango / mangoes or oral (an instrument used to beat rice).
Lyrics are the most comic / tragic part of the whole movie. For the fast number, which is targeted at the youth, carries words like, cappuccino coffee-a Sophia, internet, ipod, virus, website, .com, playboy, Bill Clinton, Osama bin Laden etc. To write one such a song, they randomly choose some words like this and then fill the remaining space with tamil words. On the whole, the message to the society here is, “I don’t know poetry nor do I know what these words mean. I am just an idiot who tries to impart some implied lewd innuendos through these senseless statements. Yet I did get felicitated with titles like King of poets, Savior of Tamil etc.”
Then comes the dialogues tailored to the suit the hero worshipers. Yeah we worship all sorts of heroes; we steal money from our family (which btw is starving) to pour 100 liters of milk for the 40 feet huge cut out for the hero; we have built temples for heroin and masturbate imagining them later and towards the end of her career, which she becomes a political leader we call her our mother and all this for art’s sake!! We worship the hero coz they dare to say anything the rhymes. A cinema is made by first choosing a hero, then listing down what all he can blabber that would rhyme (it’s an advantage if it borders political intentions). And then bring in a heroin for duet’s sake and a villain for getting beaten and some men here n there. Even if he craps, we fans will whistle, if he pees on us we think we attain Moksha. Yeah we are ardent fans and we are proud of it. Our hero acts in all kinds of moies which are remade and have proven its worth in other languages (worth = box office collection), our hero act as police officer in all his movies, our hero always plays a role of a beggar who turns into a multimillionaire coz some gal told something to him, our hero has been playing the role of a college student for the last 50 years, he has danced with an old actress, her daughter and her daughter’s daughter and we wish him all the potency into the next generation as well.
Then comes the music. We shamelessly pick the BGMs from Hollywood movies. Our movie trailers themselves will have the track stolen (not even remade) from Matrix Revolution, Gladiator and Terminator Judgment day. Neither do we have the capacity nor a music sense. The music directors themselves sing some songs which will put donkeys to shame. We the people don’t even realize that the same tracks has appeared in more than 6 movies now, coz we were busy ogling at the evanescent heroin cleavage clip in the trailer. We steal from pop albums directly and we think we are robin-hoods. We steal and give it to the masses and the masses have no sense of creativity and don’t criticize us. 99% of our population doesn’t know what a cappuccino is, 50% doesn’t know what internet is, but they sit and listen to our crap when we compare the females to these things. Aren’t they simply wonderful?
All this we do, without an iota of social responsibility. We pander to the masses, we sell shit coz that is all that we produce and give the viewers. In effect we are burglars, who steal through the clichéd route. A movie requires nothing original, its all the same just the mixture is revisited, we have nothing to do with originality, expect for the titles we give to ourselves without the least bit of shame. :)

Why it is not worth doing for someone

2006-12-02T11:43:00.000-08:00

It is one of the toughest jobs to organize something for people which they themselves are not interested in. I am talking about things like annual day party or general welfare parties etc. for one reason; your effort never gets acknowledged. People have this mentality to sit back and relax and criticize the events put up for their entertainment, while not contributing anything worthwhile. It’s a general human trait. The most worthless of people are the most widely available. They participate in nothing; majorly because they are good for nothing. They have the least of talent in any spheres. The are exemptions in god’s creation. Neither do they know about themselves, nor do they know what to appreciate in others. The occupy seats in plenty. They hog in ways that can put a pig to shame. And they are proud of that. Yet the reality is that they are the audience that stuffs are made for. They are the people the worthy few try to please. Such displeasure.
When there are cultural scheduled for 2 hours, they can’t bear to sit through half an hour and would want the bar to be opened within next 5 minutes. They need the food counter to be perennially open for them. To please these people, the one with the talent have to slog for months together. The talented few come up with ideas and prepare for a month, They in turn end up performing at empty seats.
It happened real recently. With the bar opened far ahead of schedule, the performers had to perform to an apathetic crowd. I was pretty pissed out at such an attitude and was having a conversation with god after that (such conversations are possibly only after enormous amount of alcohol intake)
Me: y do we need to struggle for something as worthless as this?
God: nothing in this world is futile. An artist is my incarnation on earth, for he alone shall create. He alone is a part of me for he can bring upon this world, a living and ever lasting entity.
Me: but what is the purpose? Especially when forced to entertain the wild lot of drunken barbarians?
God: a true artist derives his pleasure form the creation itself. It is in no way related to the way it is perceived or accepted by the worthless mob. The sole purpose of me creating the mob is to give a distinguished spot for an artist. It is how great you are. A mob is a mob and it remains a mob, eternally attempting to pull more into to being a mob. There are only a very few who can break this temptation for mediocrity. Your very distinction is your reward.
Me: But it is so painful to have failed in an attempt to please others. The only thing they are interested in is on something that can aid tomorrows bowel, or a something like alcohol that can be blamed for their innate stupidity or a flesh filled night.
God: that is what they are. You cannot spot six differences between them and a stray dog character- wise. But you as a creator should not identify the success of your effort by the amount of applause. The reward is from within you. You know the worth of what you do. You alone know the commensurate effort. You alone have the capacity to judge, for you are the gifted one. Flock to the one who can enhance your skill. Treasure the one who rewards you with its worth. Create for the sake of creation. Work for the sake or art and art alone. That is your bliss and that way you are blessed. And the bliss is in understanding the same and never any other time. Encourage others while they put forth their best. Spend time in appreciating diligent effort and be right with your compliments. That is the fundamental character that distinguishes you from libidinous beast. Create not for the unworthy lot. Create for yourself. Your performances shall be a tribute to me, a token of gratitude to its fullest. Spread this word that applause shall no longer determine the worth of a performance. It is your duty to do so.
Me: it has been a mini gita on karma yoga. I shall have no more questions and take it as my duty to let know those indignant artists that applause is no measure of success. It is worth less to please the worthless. The simplest and the most regarding part of art is to get the art done. Art justifies its own existence.

I Wonder - (I)

2006-11-20T06:52:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the use of a technology belittles its own purpose. For example- a birthday reminder. What is the message conveyed here? “Closest pal, it is a waste of memory to remember your birthday. So you fill this automated B’day card sender for yourself and it will henceforth wish you good luck even after you die. And don’t forget to treat that as a genuine wish from me” Now that is a true eternal wish from the heart you see. How sweet..

My nephew once asked me to define God. “God is the one who stands above us. He is the all knowing, who guides us through life, giving us advice on what is good and what is not.. He is omnipresent, who is present everywhere around you… where ever you see. Hez like a grandfather full of wisdom who was born a long time back and who has no end.” Said I. and my nephew immediately responded “I have seen god on tv.. hez there everywhere anytime.. telling us about soo mannny good things to buy..” .. he was referring to Amitab Bacchan. Now I need a different definition for God. Can you help me?

It is amazing how the human emotions work. Especially in retrospect, they seem crazy. When we look back and relive the moments we thought were life or death situations, the seriousness we had attached to those events which turned out to be nothing in true sense, we tend to laugh. And when whenever we think of some really good times we have had, we eventually become sad that they are over. In a sense emotions in retrospect elicit the direct opposite effect. Amazing!

“The females attract the males with a scent secreted by her hormones. The males naturally get attracted by that scent and gets drawn towards her subconsciously.” Courtesy – Nat Geo “Dogs in the wild”. But what if the dogs know that the female is faking the scent? For that we should study the homo sapiens. Despite their reduced olfactory senses and the fullest knowledge that the scent is faked, the sexes get attracted towards one another. ..interesting. The point here is that the person could afford to buy one. Nothing more than that.

Worth nearly Rs. 4000 crores, the spurious drug industry is a health hazard says the government. But I feel that there is something more serious than that. It is the doctor’s handwriting. No one can spot six differences between a dying man’s ECG report and a doctor’s prescription. Assuming that the doctor isn’t a quack himself, the chances of one’s survival is totally dependent on the coding and decoding process that happens at the doctor’s and the pharmacist. People hope that the doctors have steady hand during a surgery, while the doctors can’t even hold a pen steadily and write something even remotely resembling the alphabets. Now I understand what “Trust In God” means.

Howwzaatt.....

2006-10-16T05:00:00.000-07:00

Recently I was nominated as Cricket in-charge at my company may be because of my experience as a sport secretary at my college and performance at inter-corporate matches!!! At that juncture I was asked to speak a few words on how I felt. I started off with a few words and later came to realized how important the game as a part of my life was. The talked spilled over half an hour and amazingly it became the most interactive monologue!! So I thought I can share some here.
Cricket is not just a game. It’s a passion, especially of the lower middle class kids. I was one when I was a kid. The streets were the playgrounds because there weren’t any real playgrounds at Triplicane, Chennai. The streets there are extremely narrow and infested with the cows, callously chewing on posters.
For many reasons, Galli cricket is undervalued and forgotten in time. The hardships faced while playing the game on street needs to be acknowledged.

Firstly, the paucity of pitch. The roads usually are narrow and so a pitch across the breadth of the road is too small. Hence we have to play at cross roads, so that the diagonal of the intersection becomes the length of the pitch. Here again, to catch the pitch, one has to rush back to the spot, without even changing one’s school uniform (obviously mother gets furious later.. for the stealthy escape I stage). Yet being first at spot without having enough playing members cannot guarantee that you wont kicked out by rival groups (The back street boys).
There are specific criteria for choosing such pitches (which anyway are scarce)

1 Should have a lamp post or telephone post so that a great game can be played with keeper in position
2 Traffic at the junction should be as less as possible (traffic includes stray dogs, cattle and old ladies)
3 The houses in the area should not have way too old people who cannot tolerate the noise level of the game. These old people have a wired way of chasing us away. For the first few times, the just come out and shout. Then threaten to deposit a complaint against us, with out parents first and then with the corporation of the city (if not police) later. Finally when all those fail, they just stand outside. Wait there in ambush to be hit by the ball and then they take it and never give back. Thanks to mega serials the situation is changing slightly.
4 Only in rare occasions are stumps available and we play axially. In this case the possibility of breaking glass windows increases four folds. One breakage and the pitch can’t be occupied for another 2 months or so.

Not just the infrastructure that is a short coming. The equipments themselves are. The economic condition debars us from buying a tennis ball (aka cover ball). More often that not, it is a rubber ball or a plastic ball to play with. Which one to use, depends on the pitch and the houses nearby and its occupants. Even though one ball costs 3-5 rupees, the loss is detrimental as we couldn’t afford much. If you lose it, you cant home for the fear of interrogated and punished later. And for another month, you never get a new one.
Bats too are a costly affair. Mostly it would be a birthday present. The trend changed later with ‘boost’ and ‘Maltova’ offering free bats with their 1kg jars. A typical middle class mentality mandates that a new bat can seldom be drawn out from its polyethylene scabbard, unless the cover naturally exposes the wood. Only after such offers could the runner hope to have a bat, else the runner always carries a stick. Such bats are called ‘maavu’ bat since they crumble to powder soon after and the first part to be broken is the handle which gets loosened after the very first use.
Stumps are out of question. So the lamp posts or else a pile of side walk stones or an aesthetically sketched graffiti is the stump.
The game itself comes with its own restriction and rules over and above the aforementioned stipulations.

1..The teams shall be decided as per the acumen of the senior most guys in the gang. You have no say in which team you want to play. You are much like a techie who gets no say.

2.. The chap who brings the bat, always gets to open the innings and never sits out anytime, never scolded for dropping catches and never criticized for taking a single on the last ball of the over. (Does this guy remind you of your boss’s favorite subordinate?)
3.There is always a hero in every team, mostly the senior most who decide on marking the boundaries, who has the final verdict in case of discrepancies, who claims to know all the rules in cricket and has an unquestionable authority to screw you. (you are right… he is the boss)

4. The pre-requisites to play in such team are to be the ball boy for n number of games, come in as a substitute fielder when ever wanted and get out voluntarily when signaled to. (probation period)

The greatest achievement of galli cricket, apart from the management lessons is the customization of cricket rules.

1 Hitting the ball beyond a specified boundary or onto balcony etc is declared OUT.
2 One can appeal against the pace of the ball by simply saying “fast”
3 Bowler can appeal against the batsman ‘covering the stumps’. At least 1.5 stumps should be visible.
4 At the runner’s end, baseball rules apply for getting someone run out. The rule is called “current”. One doesn’t need to collect the ball and hit the stumps, Instead just stand on the stones (runner end stumps) and collect the ball.
5 Depending on the no of players available, both the teams may be forced to field together (major source of trouble once the batting team member drops a catch or miss fields)
6 The ‘wall catch’, ‘one pitch catch’ and ‘one pitch one hand’ catches.
7 There also is a provision for “additail” (Hurt –retired). It’s a concept of socialism among kids. If one had been batting for too long then he “additails” and the next guy in line goes in. It is also used as a means for substitution.
8 “baby overs” (overs with 3 balls)
9 “last man gage” (last wicket can play alone. Partner not necessary)
10 If the teams are not even, the odd guy becomes a “joker” (joker bats and fields for both the teams but cannot bowl.) It is every ones dream to be a joker. Ludicrous but true.

Though it is these guyz who make the street lively all through the evening, they are also the most hated in their neighborhood. But ironically these passionate kids take pride in representing their street in inter-street bet matches. They are the most patriotic ones on the street, they are the most passionate people and sometimes it is on the streets where u can spot a Wasim Akram’s of the future.
By that time, few of my audience had already made a trip through their memory “lanes”. It was a trip back to childhood where cricket was the purpose of life. There was a lull after I finished. The gaze on their faces suggested that some of them were reunited with their long lost love. So was I as I looked down on my feet, upon which the tar roads had made multiple marks. A wound so pleasurable to posses for a life time.

Alone

2006-09-26T11:10:00.000-07:00

I ran till the end of line and am unable to proceed
I run away from mine and from my own breed
On what I have run though there is no trace
Neither on wet sand nor on time nor on space

Dragging self on sand, hauling this corporal mass
It's so lonely, when unknown to oneself, an internal fracas
Futile attempt to escape from myself, for I saw
In other's eyes, a reflection of mine and with it my flaws

Tainted with unwelcome birth, it didn't bring much mirth
It's not my fault I guess yet I am attached with little worth
Had yearned for hearts to talk to mine but had shut mine
On the otherwise few, a binding mistake, now I whine

Whilst the sun sets and darkness waits to take me to destination
I hear only the echoes of my own thoughts, no other inspiration.
Whilst the sand beneath feet slips, to my shock I bend forth to see
Deafened to my tears and plea, my own shadow has abandoned me,

So.... coming to the point...

2006-09-16T12:57:00.000-07:00

I was at this really serene place; the abode of tranquility as one might call it. I had locked he world out, slammed the door on it. Now it was me alone. It’s a place one doesn’t have much to do but does the essential, one where shit fills the thought and pot. I was musing as usual, when it struck me that most great thoughts have been conceived on this ceramic throne. It is there, I got this idea to pen the following.

Every conversation, useless or otherwise, has this as an essential part of itself. It is an essence of unsolicited introduction. More often than not it is the most interesting part of the whole narration. It is the most sought part of the narration.

It portrays the vivid imagination, a direct indicator of creativity. It is every movie director’s, musician’s, poet’s most difficult task. Every time Rajnikanth makes an appearance on the screen, the success of the movie itself is grasped at this instant. The correctness at this step is essential for image building.

It’s a great concept, and every entertainer’s forte. It creates the mood, for later sustenance. It promotes the image, creates the brand and sustains the suspense.

The concept is handled by every person presenting other concepts and creating interest among viewers. My boss at work handled it extremely well when he was to share with us his experiences and the work he was doing. Our suppliers did that while presenting their core competencies. But it is not just a management mantra but has more with communications.

Last time I received a forecast from an astrologer, the whole prediction was nothing more than this. It is something that fills your talk while narrating a friend’s escapade to another.

Though it sustains the suspense, it is a double edged knife. For those who don’t know how to use it, it could be detrimental. It might leave the listener irritated. The suspense thus created itself can hinder the remaining conversation. It is an art and only a few appreciate it. It is also like a medicine, to be consumed well within limits.

The point here is that, I didn’t spell the concept because I have already taken you through it. I have made you experience it already without mentioning it anywhere. If you still feel I have not yet come to the point, means that I have made my point already. You could be a bit irritated now but I was just giving a ‘build up’ about a ‘build up’. :P

Amma

2006-08-21T14:51:00.000-07:00

Naan mozhindhitta mudhal mozhi amma yendradhu
Naan yaedha ip piraviyin payan un padham thoduvadhu

Karuvil yenai kaaththu udhirathil yennai saerthu
Karuththil yenai niraithu, eraivadivaanaai, nee yen thaai

Eeeraindhu maadhangal eendradharkku munbum
Eravathi moondru aandugal ulathil thaangiya nirkum

Uanken kadan theerka muyandittane thoorthittnane
Yen iyalaamai ninaithen mai vidhirthitane

Yen seivane yen imsai poruthu aalvaay, nin sei naan
Saivadhariyaadhu ikkanam vizhineer vadikirane

Malarinum melliya karam kondu en siram thottu
matravai marandidu Maganaay irundheyangu yendraai

Thozhudhne nin padam thozhudhu yaenginane
Uyir yenai neengum varai yen uyirunai thaanguvane

Malarinum manam konda nin siram thaangiyay
Yedhaiyum naan maravane thaaye nee yendrum irundhidu yenbane.

Sense - Independence

2006-08-15T17:01:00.000-07:00

It was 1998 and I was a class 10 student then, while my India celebrated its 50 years of independence. I thought the timing of the 50th year could not have been more appropriate. It has been 9 years since, almost a decade, but somehow the I-day instills the same amount of spirit in me; something that makes me happier than done by Diwali or other festivals. Pretty interesting since I don’t consider myself patriotic to a maudlin extent.

Then what does I-day mean to me? Just like million other fellow country men, woke up to the view the I-day special programs on TV. To start with, the vernacular channels enabled me view a slew of charted programs for the day. The first being some songs on the nation, well before anybody would be awake to view; interestingly as a part of non-prime time category, (no sponsors). From 9’o clock and onwards till 9 at night, every program is backed by a billion sponsors. I am not too cynical but the fact is that every channel managed to rope in upcoming actress; to instill patriotism with their experiences as an item number in their count-ably few movies? Then came the interview with the production units of the upcoming films, clichéd to the unimaginable extent, followed by the Super star’s movie for the nth time. Each channel competed in broadcasting the latest movie. They were all quite entertaining, with their sneek-peek into the celebrity life, behind the scene clips etc. But in retrospect, I donot suppose that I was even reminded of the fact that it is I-day today. It wasn’t even the program’s motive I presume. What it reveals is the inability of the vernacular channels to sell the concept of patriotism, though patriotism is the second most widely used formula in movies, next only to ‘romance’.

It is really upsetting to see such inability so blatantly revealed. Why are these channels eternally unable to create public opinion? (Except, when the political leader of its affiliated party puts forth his view on some junk topic). Did they even make an attempt to produce a quality program to reflect, leave alone creating, the mood of the public? Aren’t they simply divesting their responsibility of creating or focusing public opinion? When they can cover every single celebrate stage show, cant they atleast summarize the PM’s address to our nation into an half an hour show? Is it just about money? But last time an eminent celebrity died, they covered the whole episode for 2 days without a single commercial break!!!

To save the nations skin, the news channels did create documentaries, interviewed soldiers at Siachein, reported on martyr etc. Some provided insights on how the concept of patriotism was handled in advertising and branding. But soon after these, they called upon Amithab Bachan to share his notions on Independence. The program was titled “Beyond Bacchan’ and the caption being “sexy at sixty”. Were they trying to validate that Amitabh was indeed born in the pre-independence era and hence his relevance to the I- day? One particular channel even stormed the parliament and asked its inmates to differentiate between rashtriya geeth and rashtriya gana. Not surprisingly almost everyone blabbered, with the political grace to the answer. May be the Netas would have answered with 100% precision, had they been asked about Madhuri Dixit’s hip size. The youth is no better off either. My friend, who can list down all the 50 US states, doesn’t know the number of states in India, partly because he wasn’t consulted while the 3 new states were created. There was one other channel that aptly centered the idea of patriotism on cricket. Each player took turns to say “I play for India”, in their mother tongue. A really appreciable concept, because I have seen many people feel patriotic only when there is a cricket match being held. Yet I would not be surprised to find its tomorrow’s newspaper publication carrying a model wearing a tri-color bikini, illustrating an article on “independence and empowered women”. The same news paper reported on, “by whom, how and where Britney Spears got pregnant”, while it failed to report on the sudden rise in female feticide in Rajasthan. Pathetic.

Though a great job was done by the news groups, the programs lacked the fervor. The lack of spirit was evident. Gone are the days when Doordharshan’s programs on history of independence, interviews with freedom fighter, the movies “Gandhi”, “Sardar” etc were watched by everyone. We no longer get to view the “spirit of unity concerts” that was relayed every Sunday. “Mile sur mera thumhara” now is merely a successful campaign designed by Mr. Pandey, the creative director at O&M advertising agency.

Why did I bring in the details? The reason is that patriotism requires patronizing. Like any marketing technique aimed at retaining brand loyalty. Patriotism never dies, but lurks inside. It needs reassurance, constant kindling just like any brand needs to be treated. It is not as ridiculous as it sounds; the US does this. Compare the speeches given by their president and those down by our Netas. Just count the number of times they spell ‘America’, and the vehemence with which he spells. Look at Israel for the same. The flaw lies in the promotion (4ps of marketing). “Rendezvous with Simi Gariwaal” for the week had its promos flashed but the special documentaries on the soldiers had none. Create more ad campaigns in line with ‘Mile sur’. Just as we sell the ‘Incredible India’ to promote global tourism in India, promote the same campaign within the country. Exploit the wave created by movies like Rang De Basanthi etc for promote general awareness. Increase the participation of common man in the celebrations. Devote a small section in the magazines and newspaper to report the good news about India, its people and its progress.

Though much is said on the part that lacks, it has to be clearly understood that the average Indian citizen’s patriotism is no way deplorable. People forward several mails on the glories of India, the way the nation stood at the face of July 26th Mumbai floods, president Kalam’s and Narayan Moorthy’s speeches. Yet the only concern is that the rise of patriotism is even driven and sporadic.

It is not wrong to voice our spirit more often, it is not wrong to flaunt the spirit, it is not wrong to make an effort to sustain the sense of unity and freedom every minute and every second. It is indeed required to promote, publicize and eventually feel proud of ourselves. We have a long history of freedom struggle, every bit of which needs to be remembered. We have lost so many lives to gain freedom and are still losing many at our frontiers, each of which requires tribute to be paid. We have varied and vibrant cultures, the nuances and interdependencies of which sustain unity has to be understood. To verily understand what Independence means, once in a while at least, history has to be relived. Not even one of these concerns can be addressed by celebrities sharing their experiences or by screening a new film. Let us make some sense out of what we do and why we do it. It is high time the government and media take note of this and make it a point to pursue the promotion of patriotism, like a true patriot would or at least act more responsibly.

Lust Reigns

2006-06-28T04:30:00.000-07:00

The search for opaque white
Friction on flesh, delight… deft sleight
Just hold tight and let it ignite
The skin in sight; a poetry He indite
Dim light… just candle bright… overexcite
Uptight at drill site… tonight is just right
Resist my weight as knight unleash its might
Stage fright invite new height… when in unite
Slight bite… burn bright a routine re-recite
Time flies through the fight, with spite
Wax burst in vigil light at bomb site impolite

It is that which pours from within,
Unbound and savage is the lusty sin
A call to ‘Home’ inside… from my inside
Had a stride with her who aint no my bride
Yearned to enter wide, guide, divide, glide, slide
Collide, provide, reside and subside with pride
On outside…decide to hide… Coz I eyed,
Defied taboo and tried the thing that was denied
Forbidden hanker spreads like canker
sex devours sense… gust of lust… reason rots into dust

Hard to refrain… an attempt in vain… cocaine in vein
Too arcane to explain, impossible to abstain
Reason for birth is to drain the seed … leave the stain
How inane … it is mundane and so profane
To sex binds the chain… bane… poisoned pain
I strain to break free and gain… but lust reign
Remain, retain and sustain… celibacy hard to attain
Slowly it creeps to the heaven inches deep
Steep ecstasy… eyes weep their way to sleep

Desparate Measures!!

2006-04-20T07:07:00.000-07:00

The following is an original letter, typed, printed, signed, sealed and handed over to a my firend's girl friend.

Viswa
Consultant,
DaimlerChrysler Research and Technology India
137, Infantry Road
Bangalore 560001

19th July 2005

Dear Ms S.R,

(Sub: A cry for help)

This is to bring to your notice, the acute torture me and my friends are being subjected to. The source of this nuisance is none other than our beloved Mr S K G. Unlike the way he was during the previous eight years that I have had spent with him, his sense of humor has taken a sudden twist and has plummeted to deplorable low. Probably the kind girls may be regaled with. “Unthaangable” is the only word to describe it aptly. To make things worse, it is also extremely contagious, crippling the otherwise good conversations.

Beyond this, there are the usual stuff like ‘OTMP’ and the signature incessant laughter. His laughter has given our house owner an impression that we bring some girls home. More often than not, in your absence, he tends to display total insanity like “praanding.. kadichivechifying” etc.

Hence I and my friends plead you to hold him with you as long as possible. Do not give him free time. Engage him with household grocery buying, garbage dumping activities. For Christ’s sake, please help us. Please prevent our physical, financial damage and mental torture. Unkakku puniyama poogum.

Thanking you

One of the victims

Viswa

PS: following are the names of other victims and their collective cry for mercy. Hope this helps you understand the gravity of the situation.

Disclaimer: Due to the constraints on time and distance, a sub group of the affected lot has raised this petition. The number is subjected to increase in due course.

We hereby agree to the contents stated in the letter and expect your fullest cooperation.

Ramanathan Krishnan

Shemeer Babu

Anush Santhanam

Prasanna S.P

Mukund Narayan.

Collins

Why I Cry - Cryptic tears

2006-04-20T06:03:00.000-07:00

Born into bondage and by carnal lust,
On this earth I sojourn, and die I must.
Forced to live life for its own sake
A conscript in human form; a cosmic mistake.

For the worst form of life, the so called human
Know not the meaning of life, in large and common.
Neither brute nor divine, they have no position defined
All essentially savage they feign cultured and refined.

Born into bondage and by carnal lust,
On this earth I sojourn, and die I must.

They coined terms while attempting apotheosis
Love sacrifice and kindness; meek mortality aspiring divine bliss
They can’t define them; their purpose is to belie the only emotion
-selfishness, a fact these fools fear to accept and always shun

Born into bondage and by carnal lust,
On this earth I sojourn, and die I must.

They created god yet cope to believe the otherwise
Ironically, to appease god, they kill more, than any deadly device
They feign moral, virtuous and principled to acquire holy shape
Once debunked, “only human” secures lowly brazen escape.

Born into bondage and by carnal lust,
On this earth I sojourn, and die I must.

Money they invented and seek, sex the crave and lust they reek
Laws of the society they call it, as they cruelly exploit the weak
They kill animals n make stuffed toy, rainforest they did destroy
They plague this planet, infect it, aimlessly multiply and enjoy

Born into bondage and by carnal lust,
On this earth I sojourn, and die I must.

Of all forms created, humans are the worst
All but pots of sperms, perennially prepared to burst
Deluded minds burdening itself with eluding virtue
To reproduce more such pots, only this they do for true

Born into bondage and by carnal lust,
On this earth I sojourn, and die I must.

Even dogs personify fidelity and the dolphins portray intelligence
Yet he mocks at them as lower life, while he himself is of no salience
There is no purpose in life; I don’t want to be among them as another one
Helpless hence I cry in womb unheard only until I am …..

Born into bondage and by carnal lust,
On this earth I sojourn, and die I must.

Bachelor Blues

2006-04-05T03:27:00.000-07:00

The empty bottle rolled on the ground not fully drained though. There was no cheer, no clamoring, no boisterous mirth or merriment, neither were there any metal songs enqueued in the winamp nor any head banging. A lone bottle sapped of its strength with little life left. That is more or less what his life has become. Inebriated post consumption of the enormous quantity of alcohol he finally felt the kick. Reclined, into shapeless ease, concentrating on the oblivion and the deep peaceful silence, the everyday ritual of going to sleep culminated but in vain. His trenchant eyes started staring inwards, into the lucid memory.
For about half an hour he lay there, seeing things in duality. He fears not the feeling that he might fall on the ceiling and wasn’t clinging on to the bed. Thoughts passed rushed through the empty space faster than time. Was thinking of some heydays but wasn’t unhappy now. It is just that uninterrupted peace of the boredom has taken over revelry and happiness.
As he cruised back onto the remnants of the long lost celebrations, Sunny walked in.
“Hi da. You alone? Where are the others?” asked he with a voice of disappointment. Disappointed he should be because only a presence of the whole gang would justify the cutting short of his date with this girl friend.
“They both said they would be here in another ten minutes. But that was roughly two hours back”
“Oh” said Sunny with a perfectly sketch-able look of repentance.
“You needn’t have hurried. May be you should have stayed out with your girl friend a little longer.”
“No. it is ok. I will give you company.” As he said that his eyes were already in recollecting–the–date-mode. The tone wasn’t indifferent but all the kinesis asserted so.
“Nothing much” said Viswa with the same formal indifference as the question itself.
“How long have they been out? I have hardly seen Maddy after; So much for his ‘meeting the friends’ trip to our place. What has he got for us from the US?”
“Chiva’s Regal.”
“You drank it alone? You should have waited for them right?”
“he is not going to come tonight. I know it. Know him too well to believe that he would come. Anyways, I drank the perennial reserve that I have at home. Haven’t touched the gift”
“I didn’t know the difference”
“Teetotalers are forgiven”
“Is he with her?”
“Ofcourse, the purpose of his visit.”
“Don’t say that”
“Why shouldn’t I? It is a fact. And I am ready to take it. And I am always hopeful of the fall out of the main theme. I do get to see him as he would stay here over the weekend.”
“Isn’t that enough? Like he is going to be here anyways.”
“I didn’t ask for much. I am just realizing that the purpose for his trip is not to see us. I don’t know why he avoids spelling out the obvious. May be he is not convinced of his notion to be morally correct himself. May be he feels the need to give us more importance, which means he is currently not giving us the best he can. I am not blaming him though.”
“That is true. Priorities. Remember, we were four while at college, and then became 3 after M.iyer got a girl friend. Now were are only two, the last standing babas…”
said Sunny with a known air of shamelessness. And as his cell phone rang it was more than obvious that he was going to excuse himself for another hour. It was as evident as the full moon on a cloudless night, cold yet something to cheer for. Sunny is characterized by eloping midway during the conversation.
Meanwhile that last statement from Sunny irritated Viswa. It was not just an ironical and sarcastic statement but was the heights of brazen hypocrisy aimed to annoy and have fun by irritating. As inappropriate and audacious as an accused testifying aloud at court, that he is deaf and dumb, with an unwarranted big laugh to follow.
But the statement was traditional. The count of four had been associated to the gang right from their first year at college. As laid in by the procedural portrayal of a deep friendship in any novel or movie; they had lived it. But as every year passed, the count reduced by one and the end of the fourth year. And the statement used to be refined with the exact count post every change. All the three but Viswa had succumbed to cupid’s arrow. Things changed; a transformation so intangibly slow yet irrevocably steady like a cancer that made the friendship quite tenuous. It is no longer the heart that holds the bond, but the mind. The tie requires a conscious effort in order to be held together, hence is the tension and uneasiness. All the four know this, realize this and hence it becomes more obvious and vicious.
Now that Maddy was back from US for the break it was planned that they all meet up. The plan was still on with some schedule slippage. If Maddy and M.iyer choose to remain with their girls, then it would fail. Viswa was more than convinced that it would fail, just like the previous five plans did.
Sunny was still on phone, may be bearing the burden of salvaging the otherwise sinking telecom company. Essentially he remained mute. The reason could either be docile attention or a decree from the otherside. He would try to play the role of jester desperately trying to please a phlegmatic king, with culled in poor jokes, really horrible ones studied over the internet, inappropriately fitted, yet he managed to succeed in regaling her over the least expected instances. The talk would protract for hours, many a times it is only the battery that plays the villain role. But why fear when there is friend near by, who has no one to call him over the phone. One the kit is switched, the conversation continues, with a gratuitous mention of gratitude, teasing the friend, some begging, pleading, apologizing and finally forgetting everything about and around him.
After she said she wanted to sleep, Sunny sang the usual horrible lullaby, probably considered romantic or something and she could wait not to hang up.
“Yeah so where were we?” asked Sunny as if he had excused himself just about sec or so.
“I was just wondering what you talk about so much”
“Nothing much. She tells me what she did the whole day, and so did I. You know today she…”
“Everyday? And that takes an hour and a half?” interrupted Viswa. He wasn’t interested in knowing what she had done all day.
“Yeah it starts with that, then some old topics crop up, like the way she hit me outside Indi Joe’s, she scolds me for something, then we fight over something and then patch up. It is some much fun”. As he said it, he was already reliving and enjoying the experience.
“oh” said Viswa detached as if he had not asked the question at the first place. But he was bewildered by the response, as this is not what a sane human being with some sense of dignity will stand. He knew, any further probing might either reveal that Sunny is a psycho or that Viswa might at no point of time be able to comprehend what his friends have become.
Just then Maddy n M.iyer barged in. There was some respite now, some joy, some heartfelt enquiries and comments typical of a reunion. Viswa had been waiting for this and M.iyer couldn’t wait to open the bottle. Over the discussion it was evident that there had been quite a few happenings that hadn’t been shared. Viswa happened to mention it as an observation.
“Probably we should start mailing in or chatting more often” suggested Maddy
“I think I buzz you many a times but before I do that, I am made to wonder if you are busy chatting with your girl”, Viswa again went on stating a fact but there was a bit of concern this time.
“I don’t get much time while I am at the lab. Sometimes I manage to get hold of her and if I do, then I always tell you, don’t I?”
“Yes ‘always’. Every time I managed to gather so guts and buzz you I find you busy”
The last time and perhaps the only time Maddy had mailed was asking Viswa to carry present to Maddy’s girl friend, as a part a meticulous plan to make it reach her on her birthday.
“But I buzz u always, don’t I Viswa?” said Sunny, with a sense of goodness
“oh dear you do, but as I remember you telling me, you do that to keep some chat windows open, in such a way that neither your parents nor your sister will be able to make out that it is only your girl that you are chatting with. How cheap can you get?”
Sunny was laughing, perhaps thinking that he was super intelligent species to have used a technique like that. M.iyer was surfing the channels; typical of him to jump from one thing to another which he like doing the best, indifferent to what others are doing around him. His presence can be felt only when he stretches his glass for a refill.
“not just that, I infact asked you to move close to my house, it was such a nice gesture of mine. But Viswa, you and your roommates didn’t.” said he in jest. Nobody knew why he wanted to burden himself with the task to enliven the conversation while he was pathetic at it. But Viswa chose not to talk back, for he knew the generous invite, was infact a way to get rid of roommates while Sunny brought his girl friend home.
“I think we can choose not to talk about this topic. It is kind of unsuitable for a reunion” Viswa realized aloud, looking into the glass of whisky, swirling it lazily thereby creating a whirlpool in the whisky.
The topic changed; mostly nostalgic. Now that was a reunion. They laughed; they chewed over cherished memories, mentally travel back in time and stayed in it for 2 hrs till they emptied the drink. And then the dreaded talk about the future came; about the career and then ensconcing in life. The trio indulgent with frenzy to discuss the problems they are likely to face in getting married to their present girl friends. One talked about horoscope and how the cosmos stood to conspire against him. Other one elaborated the factual odds against him with numbers, probability theory and stochastic forecasting. The third one said his parents were quite ok, but he had to get an MBA degree and earn more than his girl’s sister. Viswa was passive and tried to understand the conversation but couldn’t. He had not believed in horoscope’s foreboding and there was a flaw in the usage of that stochastic forecasting. While they were amusing themselves with the uncertainties they pretended to be fighting, he just realized how rare a get together this was. At that point of time he wanted to forgive them all. He knew he was reduced to a portal of old memories occasionally visited by the trio only when they wanted to; a readily available handyman and company occasionally commissioned by the trio whenever they wanted to. The future together was quite bleak, without a conscious effort it might cease to exit. The trio wouldn’t put any effort he thought to himself. He did not understand what made them loose interest in an old company. Cricket matches are still on for discussion; so are the cinema vamps. Why don’t they ever fulfill their side of friendship? Why do they expect people to think that their love for their girls justifies their not being a proper friend in need? Why have they failed to recognize that even their friend wants a part of their time too? He could not conjure a reason more appropriate to suit his state of helplessness and hence anger, that guys are bewitched, and so it was up to him to tolerate the changes and some insults disguised as friendship. He despised the girls verily, totally and frequently. But he liked them too because the three couples were really strong and true. It was the inevitable design of time that would create a rift quite soon, but why now he thought. Perhaps he is being too possessive or impractical or dependant. What ever it was, he deiced to hold on to the friendship as long as he can. In a flash he was back to reality, sitting besides the three who had just crept into the arm of sleep, still rolling and yawning. He tidied the place and squeezed his way between them and lay supine. The scenario is something he will not understand, the logic may not convince him but he has to live with it, whether he chose to or not.

Prodigal Son

2006-03-02T08:28:00.000-08:00

How are u my son? asked the rugged voice
In caringly slow pace fraught with grace.
What can I say; in my head are all these noise
As it stands my life is an inexplicable maze.

From miles beyond, asked he the disturbing query
What happened to the ISB results?
Now my eyes are scarlet red and ablaze fiery
Cause the reply will make him upset

I had failed him yet again, a perpetual sin
The first time this is not
I tell him again, a repeated phrase akin
Admitted into the institute I was not.

The abominable lull filled the call
Scolding me he is not
His reserved silence says it all
Give me the gun, I deserve a shot.

How can I say, I am so sorry
With tears rolling down my eye
How can I say, I failed u again daddy
For upon his dreams I brought down the broken sky

How can I say I won’t do it again
Since it is now so hackneyed
How can I say with such so pain
All my effort spent on these, nothing ever paid

How can I say that his dream is all I live for
The purpose of my life till the corporeal decay and beyond
Now that I have turned all those sour
All his expectations and hope, I have pawned

The call count shows the silence was just in jiffy
But my thoughts felt it as eons
The future now seems so iffy
This failure is just another one bygone

I pity you my poor father
Your realized dream count is none
Hope not anything any further
For destiny delivered you a prodigal son

Remote Access

2006-02-21T06:11:00.000-08:00

It is a revelation of some sort. Even while executing the most mundane tasks that we do, the process of thinking lingers behind the background. Else we would have achieved nirvana with ease.
It struck me like a lightning suddenly while I was surfing the channels on my television set. I wasn’t sure of what struck me as I continued to surf. I was threading through the sequence of lucid thoughts when I realized that it was about the channel surfing!! It is ritualistic procedure to surf channels, which is occasionally hampered by low battery. Else the freedom of choice lies just in front of ones eyes; a choice that is just a click away and that which can be exercised anywhere within range, at any reclined position, or even reflected at appropriate angle.

But this time, suddenly I was tempted to follow the flow of thoughts while I actually surfed. Firstly the Nomadic Surfing; there is this uncertainty about what one wants to be entertained with. From among cartoons to actions cuts to scantly clad fashion porn, one don’t know what the mood of the moment is. Hence one surfs to stumble upon something wroth viewing as dictated by the moment. I do recollect having surfed across the hundred available channels over and over again, with occasional sojourn in quest of solace. This is the commonest of all cases. This gypsy freedom is so alluring that we stick to surfing over some other program of choice.

The second one, I call the Pop Corn Surfing. As one might have guessed, it happens during the commercial brakes. While one is bewitched by some twenty minute programmed protracted into an hour long episode, nothing can be more irritating than the equally long commercial brake. The feeble human mind tends to believe that it can locate some other small program elsewhere within the commercial break’s span. On the contrary, one would manage to find only commercials in every other channel as well. Yet unlike the nomadic surfing, this is definitive and time bound but usually unproductive.

The third is the Hybrid surfing. This surfing needs some planning and strategy in order to be executed successfully. While one indulges in the Pop corn surfing, one might stumble across another program worthy of watching. More often than not, this is the source of hybrid surfing, which is about managing to watch two or more programs simultaneously. The ideal example would be watching 2 movies on some special occasions, both of which will be stretched by over 75% one can manage to watch both of them simultaneously by planning it properly. This is preferred surfing technique and pretty productive too. The effectiveness depends on the planning done.

The fourth is the Stealth Surfing. The target customers are the teens. You guessed it right. It is all about reflex action. The possibility of this kind of surfing depends on the orientation of the TV with respect to the intruder. This surfing is also seasonal, I mean heightened on Saturday nights and also channel specific. Unlike the other types of surfing, this is a situational and forced surfing where in the viewer is actually reluctant to surf. Yet to mask or justify the sudden absence of screen display, then viewer might jump to 2 or more channels till the intrusion ceases.

The fifth one is called the Anticipation surfing. This occurs while surfer is interested only in the small portion of the program viewed. Say for example a cricket match highlights. While watching the highlights, the viewer might switch to otherwise Pop corn surfing and might want to come back to the highlights in order to get the glimpse of the fall of wicket or a six. Unlike Pop corn surfing, anticipatory surfing requires the program to have been viewed once already. This kind of surfing overrides the lesson of experience that it is virtually impossible to jump back to the previous channel at the right time. Sometimes during the course of surfing, the anticipated moment might be completely forgotten.

The sixth one is called the Curious surfing. This surfing is frequent between a selected set of channels. For example, the surfing among the news channels on the wake of flash news. The surfing is furious and engrossing but limited to few set of channels showing the same footages over and over again. But the viewer is hopeful of spotting something extra to satiate his curiosity. But this surfing is not all together futile, one might get an information may be a few seconds in advance. Unlike the other surfing methods, which are used as time pass, this one about the useful utilization of time. Hence the viewers tend to club a few channels together based on linguistic or program specific basis.

The seventh one is called the Blurred Surfing. This happens when only the reception is not proper. That is, the viewer tries to locate some channel that is received or displayed properly. Unlike the other surfing techniques, this one arises due to a loss of choice and is forced. The occurrence of his surfing is pretty rare.

After having discussed all this, now I appreciate the wonder called Remote. The very design of the channel swap, jump, and quick access buttons. It is an aesthetically designed engineering marvel aimed to please me. So I shall go back to use it. But the next time I surf, I am not sure if I will forget these categories or if I am going to classify them everytime I surf. Pobably i need t owait and see.

Dial 100.

2006-02-03T05:28:00.000-08:00

I had lost my mobile, ironically, inside the secure ATM premises, where you can expect only those people having a bank account (which means money) to frequent. My mobile was a prototype. Almost an antique I should say. The only yet sufficient feature on it was that I could use it for making calls. I had never realized that it was good enough to be stolen! Yet somebody took it. As a concerned citizen I should report the loss to the police to avoid possible misuse of the SIM and hence I went to the police station to file F.I.R.
To reach the police station I had to cross dark desolated stretches, ideal location to mug somebody. May be they choose this location not without alternate intention. And as a practice, I had dragged my buddy Ram along. I approached a sole constable guarding the gate and tried to explain things in Kannada. His questions then were in Tamil. How did he find out? Probably because he is a police man, said I to self. After listening to the story he asked me to wait. Meanwhile my Ram was talking over his mobile.
The entire place appeared to be a makeshift station, which Ram confirmed later. It had a rickety table on the outside, with lots of objects placed inside carry bags. The constable seemed to be guarding them. On the inside were a typist and a few normal middle aged men with protruding corpus belly. But I tell you, in this belly issue, no body in the world can match TN police. The walls were white unlike the usual brick red. Almost near the entrance was a board with the picture of rouges pasted to it. To my dismay I found my almost identical twin there. While I was musing over how this place failed to qualify as a police station under conservative Indian movie norms, a sub inspector accosted me and asked me why I was here. “I lost my mobile” said I. “Did her take it” asked he pointing to Ram. Ram got stunned as he saw the SI pointing at him. He halted his conversation over the phone abruptly and rushed closer. ‘Look at me. I am petrified with fear’ was written all over his face. “He is a friend of mine” said I. We both were asked to wait for a little while longer, in the most arrogant, churlish and indifferent manner humanly possible. The entire place reeked a stale odor. I wished to presume it as gun powder for the obsolete model of rifle they held. 1847 I may presume.
The mirth, remiss and indifference suddenly vanished as the inspector came along. Behind him were two girls. “Case” I whispered into Ram’s ears. “May be they are here for complaining” said he. That can’t be. I am Sherlock Holmes in mufti. I could read things off the girls faces and the way the constables looked at them. They were looked down upon and were looked ‘into’ simultaneously. After 5 minutes we heard some noise. The ‘Some noise’, which we used to associate our chief warden with. Yes. A really tight slap. “Did you hear that?” I asked Ram. “ye…yes.ss” said Ram, helplessly griped by fear and aphasia. Yet he was pretending to be normal, which by itself was abnormal. I feared he would faint as we saw the 2 girls being brought outside and were whipped with canes.
Now Ram’s mind switched to pessimistic mode. “They are beating girls with canes!! What if they beat us too, for loosing the cell at the first place? My family had never been to a police station” asked Ram, while the chill on his spine had made him numb to all his senses. After the last slap in the series, the girls were ordered to run, and so they ran into the dark freedom. “We should have gotten their numbers” said I to Ram is a vain attempt to create levity. But his senses weren’t working, he was pondering over all possible means that could get us slapped too. He felt like a castaway traveler trying to make friends with cannibals.
My attempt to ease his tension was cut short as the whole police pack gathered outside its den, obeying the drill orders from its localized supremo. A 20 min drill at 930 at night. It was so wired and grasping that I failed to realize that we were there for 40 minutes now. Post the drill session was the inspector’s harangue. Good that it was in Kannada. Had Ram been able to make out what was said, he might have had a cardiac arrest.
After the routine ceremony ended, I let them remember my existence. They took me inside. I was hoping that I wasn’t taken to that dark room with a single 40 watts bulb flashing heat onto the culprits head. Well I wasn’t. Once I a table, I narrated the story for the nth time. And I tried to write down the complaint. Repri course at bits failed me then. What was the format? What is the tense to be used? I was tensed. But some how managed to limn a lot. Having read till point, you would have figured out how much I would have written about nothing. They then asked me to get a photocopy. It is 1030 dude, where would I find a ‘xerox’ store open? I did manage to, after trotting a kilometer and a half. Ram opted to stay behind under the safe promises of the store; safer than a police station? Ironically he chose to. I submitted the letter to them. They didn’t care to read it. They stamped a seal onto it n gave it back. “Are the formalities complete?” I asked. The expressionless face affixed to the huge head swayed a bit. Did he say it is over, or did he say it isn’t? My curios face received blank reply or probably no reply at all. I stepped few steps backwards, hoping that he would stop me if it wasn’t over. But he didn’t. it was time to flee. I thanked the gate keeper, I mean the constable who didn’t mind listening to me. I fled the scene. It was all obvious by the way my complaint was handled. I am not going to get my cell back. But at least the formality was done.

Nizhal

2006-02-02T05:47:00.000-08:00
Avalai yen nizhal yendru sonnal athu migaiyAgAthu,
nAn oli nOkungkAl pin nindral, yennai irul sUlnthathum kan marainthAl

Sixth Finger - A dedication to the fraternity of Bitsian Smokers

2006-01-28T07:38:00.000-08:00
"Now wasn’t that like Maddy? Had u missed that one, here it goes again”. R, in a swift flick of his fist transferred the matchbox from one had to another; so fast that it is hardly visible and lo! Within a jiffy a matchstick burns. V watched it in amazement, for he knew not a matchstick had held in that hand at the first place. Before the smile of achievement, which had suffused R’s face vanished, R lit the CIGERETTE he held in his mouth. “Now wasn’t that like Minnale Maddy? Mech na oru fire vaenum”. That explained the innumerable burnt out matchsticks at R’s room. He had been practicing. V was now curious to try the trick. Much to his surprise and R’s shock, the very first attempt was successful. “It is hard to be consistent at it” says R. How can it be that V can get it right so easily while R had to practice a lot? Ok.. but the second and third attempts were successful too. That is it; R couldn’t stand it any more. “Enough don’t waste the sticks” said R as he wrested the matchbox from V’s hands and walked away.
‘Man that was koool trick’ thought V. On an aimless stroll across P’s room, v saw him trying to conquer ‘Rajni style’. “hey superstar” said V. “as if you could have done any better” was P’s repartee. “hmm, you are obsolete, come let me show u maddy style”. Wow, fourth consecutive success. And so he lit the ‘energy stick’ that P had held. “Mech na oru fire vaenum”. WHY did V do that? He had strongly objected smoking. As a matter of fact he didn’t elect Mr P.C rao for the post of N.V secretary for K.G mess just because Rao was a smoker. V used to wonder as to how people could fail to possess a little bit of self restraint? He had advised P several times to quit smoking. But now he lit a cig for him!!! Things were changing.
Within a span of 2 weeks, the style was perverse. Everybody had tried their hands at it. C from Ram bhawan was so successful that he was now the lord of the “rings” too. Hence the large female fans of his. The single slogan “Mech na oru fire vaenum” had spawned several smokers at Krishna bhawan. No no, it didn’t have anything to do with Thermodynamics; Maddy had said that in movie Minnale. Among V’s friend circle, SR, SB, M, P and R have taken to smoking. At the same time V had managed to more invent more tricks. He needs only one hand to do the same trick and he is ambidextrous as well. “Tricks are not the challenge. The real challenge for a man is to smoke. You aint proving nothing with those vain tricks” said P and SR. “How dare you insult me, bring it on, get me a cig” said V. Oops, what has he done. What could he have done? They had questioned his masculinity. A cavalier remark off the tongue. But there is not going back now. V went to his room flipped a coin hoping to make God speak on this forbidden trial. The coin showed him green side! So began the story. The first puff wasn’t followed by a cough. The smoke had comfortable done a tour-de- lung and had chosen the mouth to exit. “Dude.. you didn’t cough, you didn’t hold it in your mouth but took it in and didn’t let it out through your nose either. You are a born smoker” said SR. V was flattered. By the ‘compliment’?? “I have proved myself for the sake of it ok? But don’t bring this thing near me henceforth” said V and ran to his room to limn the achievement into his journal.
Pretty soon, V’s fame has spread among the smoking circles. He had to perform times where able men gathered. Wait, V wasn’t trying to enter your fraternity but the fraternity had acknowledged him as a member. As the situation demanded, the classification of smoking as bad shifted a bit. It wasn’t wrong at trying. As long as V does not start pursuing it as a habit, he is still morally spotless.
But that too was to change. The smoke was all over the campus. Batch 2k had already possessed the largest number of smokers, many of whom had started out to prove their masculinity or to taster for once and once alone. But now each of them has become a master of certain trick. Dum is now a common word. Both the word and the thing it represented filled everyone’s conversation and breathe. It was there everywhere every time. While in deep thought, while alone at night, in a boisterous gathering, over the numerous night-outs, during last minute ‘ghoting’, distress, despair, tension, anger, stress, rest and at hostel rooms, bogs, lawns, sky, behind IC, institute terrace, C’not, inside 2214, ANC, GYM- G.
V had succumbed to the habit. The dum was his preferred partner always all the time. Cold winter and stress over a night out were V’s preferred excuses. He even managed to coin a new word, “Koltheit”, meaning ‘light it’, which later came to be commonly used among his “Dum partners”. What he derived out of it he doesn’t know. May be he is sending out a signal that he can be against set norms? That he is macho? That he is a thinker and the dum would be among his identities? Nicotine in his blood stream he believes to be an analgesic. After all it is not all that bad coz he made a lot of friends in the esteemed fraternity. He wouldn’t have gotten to know this many nice guys otherwise. Nice guys!!? A total reversal of stands over a span of 2 years. Yet he held the highest regard for those who stood strong against the smoke. He can even measure time and distance with dum. The railway station from his office he proudly says is 2 Dums away. Isn’t that a feat?
After the 4 year trail of ash & having invested a staggering Rs 18000 to expedite his peaceful settlement at the grave, V looks back shocked at his patronage to ITC simply through Wills navy cut, which costs only Rs 2.5. Chief warden had earlier caught him for smoking inside campus. V had already prepared himself for the likely retribution and hence said “My father knows that I smoke and he had asked me not to tell my mom”. Perplexed by this kind of unexpected audacious lie from an inveterate psenti-semite smoker, Chief Warden washed his hands off V. It has been a year since his parents came to know about it, or he confessed rather. Now he has actually gotten more discretion to pursue than to quit. After all parents know him for the habits he pursued, why fear now? Yet the pressing necessity to quit hasn’t risen! How can that be? V has promised his parent s that he would quit. But smarty hasn’t specified the time. Of course had been saying that he would could if his parents asked him to. But 22 years old dude has rights to choose right? Why not consult his wife instead thought he. If incase he was to get married in another 8 years from now. Till then? Obviously, have fun is the motto. Some non smokers called it procrastination. V contented the contextual definition of procrastination.
How can he quit? How can he do that when he has joined orkut Navy cut and Cancer Inc. communities? He still hasn’t decided on what to choose between life and cigarette. But what is life without dum? Boy it is a tricky question. In a dark room, under confined solitude, he thinks, ponders over the pros and cons of quitting, but not without his ally of thought, the DUM itself. The ring of smoke raised splendidly through the still air, taking with it, its share of his life span. His conscience laughs at the irony. “This guy is a reprobate. Only time can bring across a chance, even its potency in this regard remains dubious.”

The politics of terrorism

2006-01-24T03:30:00.000-08:00

Global terrorism assumes the headlines of every daily sporadically. Asserting its existence through the unscrupulous attack on the WTC, it has manifested itself round the globe. Though the ‘global’ tag to terrorism itself is debatable, for they aim only at American allies and the anti-Islam communities in general, India nevertheless has its share of threat to tackle.
But unlike anywhere else, the reaction to terrorism in India has been really disappointing. While the entire world expressed its solidarity with the US during the 9/11 attacks, the same kind of attacks on Indian soil give rise to myriad and mixed, if not contradicting emotions. Thanks to our so called infallible democracy and the factional politics. Segmenting the society to aggrandize votes and breaching India’s secular ideology has been the modus operandi of Indian political parties.
The attack on Ayodhya is an apposite example to elucidate this revelation. The Indian political structure is so precarious perched on the religious prejudice, that even the slightest provocation of any form would foment a nation wide distraught among the people. The rapacious politicians fritter not a second to instigate a nation wide decry. Haplessly, the strident decry would not condemn the terrorists, but would be guised and guided at rankling the existing government.
The entire nation falls into a state of anarchy and chaos all too soon. For days after such attacks the government appears meek and at the mercy of the fickle minded coalition. Headlines everywhere, urgent meetings get convened and the denouement; yesterday’s friends who have become today’s foes slaughter the government for its apathy and remiss. All the while they are the part of the government, but never took responsibility. Support from outside is what they call it as. The media finds this as lucrative fallout; the epicures find this a hot topic for discussion at their favorite restaurants and tea stalls; slew of political parties witness the exodus of renowned apostates, ironically mutually among parties, which give an onlooker a feel of exchange program supporting synergy; the rabid followers of political parties rise to new heights by being on hunger strikes between their regular meals, stall traffic on roads and in extreme cases resort to self immolation for reasons unknown to themselves; canards insinuating at a renewed aerial attacks on BSE begets the plummeting of stock prices to record low; the regular static obese police pieces get positioned at cramped markets to add to the crowd; the slew of omnipotent gods are guarded by mortals against attacks by mortals; the eminent educational institutions pick this topic for group discussions and essay writing competitions; the topic remains a hot until a new hook up between Bollywood stars come to light or till Sachin injures his elbow, which ever happens first. Meanwhile paramilitary force and the forensic scientists examine the crime scene only to reinstate the already established facts; then a group of unemployed debauched youth would assume a terrifying name for themselves and claim to have caused the attack and get caught only to find that they eventually get complete a life term in prison even before the case reaches its third hearing; the CBI, after a span of four five year plans would promulgate a report fraught with authentic information on the nexus of eminent politicians with the accused. But sadly the prime accused and the politician would die a natural death by the time the first copy of the charge sheet gets printed. It is only during the first year anniversary that the topic would come up and live for a day. By that time the Bollywood would come up with a movie portraying a poignant love story, where in a couple of NRIs (the hero and heroine) get separated by the blast. The next time one would get reminded about such a national crisis is after 50 years in the “this day that year” column in a newspaper.
What else do the terrorists want? We provide them with such internal support. One small RDX blast will resonate in parliament, stock market, Siachin glacier, railway stations, bus terminals, cinema theatres, RSS meet; VHP beat and at each and every street where the opposition holds a rally. Any blast anywhere in India, even if a household gas cylinder burst the initial suspicions have the potential to rattle the high seats at New Delhi. Why don’t we people think? Why do the majority get manipulated by the maneuvering few at the top? Why are we too hasty in blaming each other? Why don’t we empathize with the dead? Why don’t we condemn such deed? Why don’t we let our cry sound in unison in order to achieve some common good? Why are we oblivious of our duty to express solidarity as a state as a whole? When will such a situation change at all? What is that each individual is supposed to do, thus changing the system as a whole? Probably thinking is the means and thinking is the solution.

The third leg

2006-01-23T09:17:00.000-08:00

The phone rang at 2 in the afternoon, and I happened to pick it inadvertently without having snapped out of my siesta. It was a call from my friends from Bangalore and I jabber through the span of the call yet managed to get the instructions clear; to collect a caliper form Prithesh’s place and take it along with me to Bangalore, since Collins had had a foot injury. It took me an average Indian masala movie’s time to collect the caliper because I needed to drive through the whole of Chennai city and back. That wasn’t a big problem. A little stretch for a friend, that is all. But I hadn’t foreseen the things to follow.
I was all set to leave for Bangalore. As a usual practice, I was to use the local sub-urban trains to commute to Chennai central. But unlike the previous trips, this time I have an extra item to carry; the caliper. A lean, coffee colored, light weight aluminum reinforced rod, with a conveniently protruding grip and an aesthetically pleasing curve on to the top with a strap that wraps around the forearm; Or simply, the thing in the Arjun’s movie Karna. Things were normal expect for the caliper never blended with my pompous strut. Once on the road, I was immediately a cynosure. Almost everybody’s eyes were riveted upon the caliper. The first question that might have flashed in their minds is “what is thing?” followed by “why is this guy carrying it when he can walk properly?” The answers to these questions are left to their assumptions. All this is evident from the way they stare the stick. Initially they keenly observe the rod, heedless of the fact that the guy carrying the caliper is watching you watching it. Once the object under examination is recognized, the next observation is on the fellow who is carrying it. And the third part left for assumption is the inappropriate manner in which it is held, that too by a normal guy. I never walked across a single soul, who missed any of these expressions in that order. Once I was at the railway platform, I stood waiting right under the board which read ‘first class’. Standing beside me was an average Indian malcontent. “Too much rushuu.. these days.. whaaat is the government up to? Why cant they increase frequency. For normal people only big problem.. then how big problem for old people and other people??”. Though I wished he had spoken in Tamil, what disturbed me more was his reference to “other people” and followed by the look at my caliper. I wanted to ask him what made him assume that I am partially lame. But I dint. I just smiled away his presumptions. Then there was this inquisitive infant that tugged at the caliper from behind. This man next to me was prompt in frightening the child away by shouting in a his grumpy voice “hey hey.. hmm.. anna vizhunthuduvaaru”. The frightened child ran to its parents not before if fell twice and hurt its teeth. No longer could I tolerate my “savior”, but just before I uttered a word, he walked a bit closer with a smile of contempt suffusing across his face. Now I could smell the illicit liquor he had drunk.
God saved me as the train came in soon. I boarded the compartment, went and stood at the cross-sectional opposite door. The person who was complaining about the rush, pulled out a rag from under his shirt, spread it on the floor and lay supine while singing an old moral song from MGR’s movie. The compartments had been partitioned into ladies and the first class category. Apart from the regular glances, the aunties also exhibited sympathy and empathy. Thanks to mega serials, which had thrown some lights on the trauma the disabled undergo in public. Besides the very response they showed, I would argue, was conditioned by such serials, for a “kudumbap penn” that they were, they better pretend possessing sympathy. I wouldn’t have guessed it if not for a few poor actors there in. How do the heroes in the movie, who pretend blind, always get good looking girls to help them cross the road I wonder? The only two girls had examined me completely and had tagged me “ineligible bachelor”. The men were natural. They never pretended; they simply were indifferent. Only a few who cared, dared to ask me how to adjust the length of the rod for which I could answer. I am a mechanical engineer you see. After all, tool of use is for boys to muse. There was this rather eligible kind of bachelor, who had held his seat for quite sometime now, offered his seat to me. I am sure that he must have been in a quandary, to choose between the comfortable seat and gratifying good deed, because he relinquished his seat only after a long time, long enough for the internal debate to be settled. He was the only person to whom I told that I was perfectly normal and was carrying the stick for my friend. He then repented the generous offered he made, much to be attributed to his assumptions, because there were other passengers willing to play musical chair, to whom he had lost his seat. I had grown some kind of morbid liking towards this newly acquired attention, despite it being negative in intent.
I detrained at the destination, walked a few yards into the subway. There I found a slew of beggars, most of them crippled by polio I presume. I suddenly felt uneasy. Why was I feeling good about the attention? Why were those people paying me such attention, while they were indifferent to these genuinely crippled mendicants? What were they looking at; the aesthetically designed caliper alone? What feeling could they have had while they ogled at me, sympathy or mere curiosity? Was I by any means responsible for the attention I got, though I am sure I never feigned being injured leave alone being partially lame? Too many questions and too little a time to assimilate. To be honest I still don’t have the answer to these questions. Never the less, at that moment I realized that it is not enough to have not pretended. It is my responsibility to let others know that I am normal, they happen to look at me. This is not a kind of attention to get when even imagining me at the beggar’s position is dreadful. To atone for my sin, I paid them all two rupees each. Then I managed to attach the caliper to my shoulder bag in such a manner that it is easily understood as a static luggage than an instrument at use. That was the only thing I could do. The rest of my journey, I tried to answer the questions that intrigued me but in vain. I only hope I get a better picture soon.