Kiss me not, piss me not!!

A British couple in Dubai might face imprisonment for kissing in public. An Emirati woman sued them for the same because she was accompanied by her children when they came face to face with the perpetrators. I am sure what prompted her to go to the police was her children’s curiosity about what they saw. Ha ha ha poor kids probably were oblivious to the act of kissing living in the UAE. I guess they don’t consider it appropriate to touch and fondle the apparatus of your body meant to speak and ingest food with that of your partner; HEY WHAT’s WRONG WITH SHAKING HANDS?—they’ll probably ask. Hey!! Isn’t this the place where they have flashy cars, humungous hotels and all that money can buy and you can’t kiss in public? O HO!! I’m sorry I forgot, you can’t do so in my country either. If you’re caught kissing in public, you’ll face the bastinado. Both police forces are sensitive to the sight of touch; the moral police and the city police who think you’re soft targets to extort money—Oh please don’t call up my folks or all hell will break lose. If for some stupid, ‘unnatural’ reason, you end up kissing your girl outside and get caught, you’re doomed unless you have some money to stuff in the police-wala’s mouth. It’s perfectly alright to kill women for dowry or other pretext—of course, wedding also gives you the 007 licence—but dare you show affection in public, it’s gonna be taken a very very serious offence. The choice for us is simple right, between love/affection and hate/scorn, the latter is always more conveniently pleasing to us. I wonder why I was surprised at the Dubai news after all, the same would’ve happened in India as well and even worse treatment could’ve been metted out at the couple.

Besharam-wati

So what else? Mayawati admonished the RTE and said that the state doesn’t have money to educate so many children! Mayawati doesn’t have money? She lacks grace, decency and concern for the masses. In fact I thought that money is the only thing she and her band of brothers have. She was greeted with Rs. 5 crore (??) garland in front of some of the poorest people and that did not make her tremble with shame; she’s unconscionable. Maybe she’s scared that if people would get educated, they’d actually realize how shameless she is. This vile woman says that she doesn’t have money to educate poor children; we all know what kind of money she possesses, she should be debarred from contesting elections.

Nikah Triangle

Shoaib claims that he has never met the Ayesha, whose photo was sent to him for nuptial approval and Sania claims she knows everything. Ayesha actually turned out to be the girl who claimed to be the so called Ayesha’s elder sister! Yikes!! Oh no!! So this wasn’t the hot and sexy Ayesha (sexy name anyway) that Shoiab was dreaming of. I’ve seen fat girls who’re beautiful but this Ayesha isn’t one of them. Every time I see her on TV I feel like pulling her cheeks and saying “Aww you mischievous Vixen! Now look what you did to li’l Shoaib. Ummm! Naughty knotty”. If what Shoaib is saying is true, he’s an incredible idiot and if what Ayesha is saying is true, he’s still an incredible idiot. Ayesha says that she has people who will testify of her and Shoaib spending time alone in a hotel room.
Shoaib was dim-witted enough to take nuptial vows on the phone—arre shaadi hi to hai, to kya hua, baad mein talaaqh de doonga—and bizarre to now be saying that the same action doesn’t solemnize a marriage. How dumb is that! Correction, how shameless is that! Sania don’t waste those two legs of yours sweetheart………concentrate on tennis (heh heh heh what were you thinking). That Ayesha in picture was sexy, Sania is sexy; Shoaib you are a sexy maniac. Ah! Pardon me, who doesn’t want a beautiful bride. Shoaib you’re such a bloody paradox personified that you should be ‘punished’ with celibacy….and no non-marital sex either, you sexy maniac.
Well I’ll just put a cork on this already jaded controversy.

passing thoughts

Once bitten, keep your gun ready.

Once bitten, bite back.

Bite first and make them twice shy.

Beauti-fool day

1st April 2010
I pushed myself overboard. I returned home feeling tired but convinced myself that I could so some exercise. The weight loss regime has worked beyond my imagination and I’ve turned thinner than I would’ve liked. I am desperate to put on some weight. After all “log kya kahenge (What will people say)” syndrome affects me as much as the others. How will I explain that I’m scared of growing fat at thirty for I know it’ll be very difficult to lose the flab; I must be just-right. Who decides that? The society in which I live! My legs were limp so I started to exercise my triceps lying in bed. After four sets I fell asleep and woke up with a start, confused about my position. It took a few seconds to come to terms with reality. By then, I was more tired than before, now my hands refused to move as well. I dragged myself out of bed with a great difficulty, walked to the drawing room and fell plop on the sofa. I watched a documentary by Nilanjana Bose on honour killings in our country. I wasn’t surprised watching the interviews of Khaap Panchayat members justifying honour killings from every angle of unabashed stupidity. Of course my views would incite a similar response from the Khaap were they to find out what they are. Honour killings are also happening in the West and not surprisingly in Indian and middle-eastern immigrant families. There are just so many people in our country, so many uneducated, also so many educated but unaffected by education, also so many educated high class scoundrels, all trying to avoid the “shame” that their children might bring to them. “Values” must be taught with rigour and from an early age. ‘Educating’ children to differentiate “us” from “them” is quintessential to our society. What a shame that some iconoclasts just don’t imbibe the ‘good values’, break the shackles of ‘limited freedom’ and commit sacrilege; maybe education is actually bringing about the needful change in a few. By the way, talking about education, starting yesterday, another fundamental right has been introduced in our country. Every child from the age of 6 to 14 has the Right to Education; three cheers for The Government. Hey but what about schools where teachers do not come to teach but draw their salaries, what about the dilapidated buildings, what about the broken benches and boards. Private schools will be directed to accommodate 25% students from economically weaker section. How the school will bear the burden, that’s their own headache. But this still is a good move now let us wait and see the next, and the bigger problem being solved; implementation. Is this order going to be meet the same fate as the government school in my sector; big and grand when built, almost non functional in some time for ever and ever till the term “47-Model” brings to mind an unkempt building where the locals go for casting votes during elections. Really? Is that a school? A Model-School”? Paradoxically, for us in Chandigarh, the term “Model-School” brings to mind such buildings in tatters with a fake promise of educating children. Of course there are exceptions to this as 2 or 3 Model Schools do live up to the meaning of their name but most others do not. Let us all take hold of one main-road each on which we see kids begging and count how many children go off the streets and are shifted to schools in three months time. Talk about counting, the government has started the new census that will go on to count and fingerprint the billion strong. Now that’s one counting I could never do. So we’ll all learn to read and write but when will we learn to differentiate wrong from right? How can I cerebrate on the problems of my country when I feel that I’m neither true to myself nor know how to be. Aha! Maybe there is no problem at all; it’s just a figment of my imagination. Ignorance is bliss and it’s a Fool’s Day after all so let us celebrate by not doing anything. Sigh! Why should I anyway.

THIRTY-NOTHING

You, in many bits and pieces, lay scattered in my room. You were just the breeze that blows and ceases, as and when it pleases. I was cleaning my messy room and I found something that belongs to you. You forgot your kerchief here, I don’t remember when you left it. I think it was last year or the year before that. Sorry, I’ll just dust my shelves with it.

Three decades gone and tomorrow’s another day to live. In search of a mantra, to my own self, what do I give?

Loneliness, fatigue, silence and the weather attack me from all sides, but somehow it feels just fine.

Thirty feels strong, way more than twenty nine.

But I’m thirty and I’m nothing; what a waste of prime.

I’m a thirty nothing and I’ve been late at everything, when the match is over I’m playing first innings.

I’m thirty-nothing, I am the joke in town, I’m thirty-nothing, I feel so let down.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I don’t have a bank balance, I’m a thirty-nothing in my own secret parlance.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I have a guitar, I’m a thirty-nothing, from my goals I’m still far.

I’m a thirty nothing, I live with mom and dad, I’m a thirty-nothing, and all the girls think that that’s so sad.

I’m a thirty-nothing, but some still love me so, god knows if they will, when I am thirty four.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I think life’s unfair, I’m a thirty-nothing when I think so I lose more hair.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I drive a big bike, I’m a thirty-nothing, I dread the fuel price hike.

I’m a thirty-nothing, only seldom do I rhyme, glad to be in a world where this is not a crime.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I get dumped now and then, they say you’re thirty-nothing, what’ll you feed our children?

I’m a thirty-nothing, all my friends drive cars, I’m a thirty-nothing by the time I can buy one, mankind will shift to Mars.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I work in a lab, I’m a thirty-nothing, I’d be richer if I’d drive a cab.

I’m a thirty-nothing, everyone around me is younger, I’m a thirty-nothing striving to curb my paunch and hunger.

I’m a thirty-nothing I have a good smile, I’m a thirty-nothing, I’ve learnt to fake it once in a while.

I’m a thirty-nothing I had dreams as child, I ended up a thirty-nothing, for they thought they were too wild.

Thirty-nothing, even dad to me is rude, for I’m thirty-nothing and I’m not even shrewd.

I’m thirty-nothing I spend the evenings in my room, I’m thirty-nothing, don’t fancy being a groom.

Thirty-nothing, I hang old gifts on walls, I’m thirty-nothing my cell don’t get no calls.

I’m a thirty-nothing I walk the miles alone, I’m thirty-nothing, I like being on my own.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I was a good lover, I was doing just that till half my life got over.

I’m a thirty-nothing I’m trapped in a block of houses, when I go and stand outside, they cover up their spouses.

I’m a thirty-nothing but with sovereign views, I’m a thirty-nothing, but for many, I’m just bad news.

I’m a thirty-nothing but I must comment on world affairs, since I’m thirty-nothing, can only voice them in prayers.

I’m a thirty-nothing, climbing up a hill, I’m a thirty-nothing I just feel no thrill.

I’m a thirty-nothing I know not what’s on the other side, I’m a thirty-nothing I’ll face it with my thick hide.

I’m a thirty-nothing slowly turning into an ass, I’m a thirty-nothing, hoping This Too Shall Pass.

A love like that

If ‘The God Delusion’ discombobulated me, the Czech ‘Romeo and Juliet’ left me with a very heavy heart. Firstly I must admit that I’m not a movie guy but I enjoy most of the movies played at Cineastes.

There have been many romantic movies made on the topic of ‘romance during holocaust’ but this old movie really encompassed the human emotions of compassion, care, self-respect, love and even cruelty in a captivating manner without the use of complicated sets or even blood and gore that generally form a part of such movies. All that was to be said was done so by the dialogues and expressions that the minds of the audience decipher without necessarily registering them consciously and it is these subtle elements that can make the same storyline appealing in one movie while making another avoidable. Now the reason for the absence of complicated sets was probably the time during which the movie was made; it’s an old movie.
The movie starts at the same scene where it ends; a room with an open window and door through which a strong breeze is blowing flipping the pages of a book lying on the table. A terrorized young man comes running inside and picks the book. What happens in between kept me glued to my seat.

There is a backdrop of victim’s fear and the tormentor’s unreasonable hatred and the desperate attempts of self-preservation by those caught in between. In such a situation, out of compassion, a young man, Pavel rescues a young Jewish woman, Henka, from the jaws of death and hides her in a room that he uses to develop pictures. Henka, the daughter of a doctor who has been sent to a camp and never heard from afterwards, is confused about whether she wants to live or die. At times she resolves to leave the attic where she’s hiding. She does appreciate Pavel’s efforts to save her but at the same time is averse to the idea of living on somebody’s sympathy. Pavel, who despite being nerve-wrecked because of the announcements that those who shelter Jews will be executed alongside them, leaves no stone unturned to give Henka a happy life in his attic room. He rejects Henka’s statement that he’s an Aryan and she’s not by saying that such things were mere inventions of a few crooked minds.

Pavel is in love with Henka but she misinterprets it as his sympathy. It’s when out of sheer frustration when he finally says it aloud that he’s in love with her, does she realize that all his efforts were out love and she accepts his love. They both manage to spend some time together and hide from prying eyes despite the growing suspicion. They sit and look at the stars from the window of the room. They dream of how life is going to be like when this nightmare is over and yearn to live it. Just outside the little room of love is an atmosphere of terror where people fear for their lives and Pavel’s mother is no exception to this. When the beans get spilled, she goes up to the attic room with food and money to request to ask Henka to leave immediately because she fears for the life of her son but the sight of Henka melts her heart and she becomes double minded. Henka, who doesn’t want to bring any harm to Pavel, defends his actions and takes the blame on herself and gets ready to leave but in the chaos, others in the locality spot her just at a time when the soldiers are out raiding homes looking for hidden Jews. Henka runs out so as not to bring harm to anybody in the locality not in the least to her beloved Pavel. A bewildered Pavel runs out to stop her but she escapes from the main gate of the locality which gets locked up as soon as she exits; Pavel is left behind and cries and beats wildly at the gate to find a way out but it’s too late, there are gunshots outside; the hope is gone and the dreams are shattered. The last scene is also the first scene, like I said; an open window and a door and a strong breeze flipping the pages of a book that belonged to Henka. That is a very superficial overview of a movie with great dialogues and acting that was an absolute treat to watch (though I wish they both could’ve escaped to America or someplace and lived happily ever after).
Then the inevitable happens; I start to sob in the auditorium (Damn! Sad movies always make me cry). I kept consoling myself by saying “hey it’s just a story”. But I couldn’t help but think of the many people that must’ve actually suffered similar or far worse tragedies in the holocaust or in pogroms even in our own country. It takes so much to love and so little to kill. I wish we humans had a brain that had an inferior ability to hate and discriminate. I believe it is totally in our capacity to hate less but so many times we choose otherwise.

Shera

His name is Shera and I’d met him before once or twice when I accompanied Rekhi Uncle to his farmhouse where he’s the keeper and lives with his wife and kids. However I was oblivious to him being severely alcoholic. He’s a short, 30 something, extremely skinny guy with unkempt hair and I wonder if his liver is functional at all. He grins and laughs a lot, in this fashion: first the facial muscles around his nose contract, lifting his upper lip and then he lets out intermittant gusts of air through his vocal chords which make him sound like an old diesel engine being cranked.

Shera was in Sector 47, where I live (and so do the Rekhis, a house away), to take care of the stuff in the community centre where arrangements had been made for meals and stay of the guests for Harman's (Rekhi uncle’s son and my friend of more than 11 years) wedding. I was asked to help with the procurement of some stuff for which Shera was to accompany me on his rehra (small tricycle cart) and haul the stuff back to the destination. Suraz and I reached the place at 7pm and a very drunk Shera followed on his cart, dodging the traffic and escaping possible accidents by whiskers. The stuff was loaded on the cart and Suraz and I proceeded to some other destination redirecting Shera back to the community centre, lest he’d reach somewhere else. While the stuff was being loaded I instructed the men to dust the articles before loading them and whatever I said to them, Shera repeated in a slurred manner grinning at me and oscillating to and fro from his mean position. Only God knows how he rode that cart back. Anyway at dinner he was getting on my nerves because he was trying to be extra nice to me and kept bugging me with enquiries about my well being. He did a resonable amount of work, bringing all the food and arranging chairs, all the while swinging wildly left and right but he never dropped anything. This despite the fact that if you’d get a glimpse of him standing, you’d bet he couldn’t stay that way without falling down. That was something I appreciated a lot but he just annihilated that appreciation by approaching me with that silly grin and asking if I was alright yet another time. I steered clear of him from then on.

Then next day, I heard that he got a sound beating from Rekhi uncle for some escapade of his, again in a very drunk state. Perpetually drunk in the three odd days he was there, be it morning, afternoon or night. Shera told me of his horrific previous night at the community centre when he was all alone and mauled by mosquitoes. I wondered if the mosquitoes enjoyed the alcohol in his blood and hence had a cocktail party on his body. He told me he didn’t like being alone and swaying with joined hands he begged me to send some people over at the community centre so that he had company. I had no clue what to say in response to that request.

His outdoor services were required again and in the afternoon, Shera followed me on his cart. The place was closed and I called up the owner who asked me to come an hour and a half later. Shera was irritating me as usual with his silly questions. Since I was to go elsewhere, I told him to return at that stipulated time. It was very hot and he was perspiring heavily and with a stupid grin and a garbled manner he asked me to accompany him again. I told him it wasn’t possible and that he’d have to do it on his own but he repeated his previous sentence like he hadn’t heard what I’d just told him, though this time with pleading eyes. Suddenly I was filled with sympathy for the guy. There was a human being somewhere in that living wineskin and he knew how helpless he was trapped in this snare of alcoholism. He probably knew that only death would liberate him. My temper eased and I tried to explain it to him that he’d have to make the trip on his own. An hour and half later I checked with Rekhi uncle if he’d sent Shera to get the stuff but he told me that Shera didn’t have a phone. I went to the community centre and looked everywhere but could only see the cart; Shera had disappeared. I went looking in the kitchen and the cooks directed me outside while they laughed hysterically. As I neared the door, I saw a hand covered with flies. I was aghast to see Shera lying in a corner with flies covering his face, including lips.

“Is he dead?” I thought aloud. But then he opened his parched lips that made a few flies take off. He took a few deep breaths, smiled and then turned to one side and continued sleeping. I shook him, pulled at his hand, legs but to no avail, he was sleeping under the influence. I went inside and brought a big glass of water and poured it on his eyes, that only made the flies go away; Shera was asleep and there was nothing I could do about it. I went alone and hired a rickshaw to do Shera’s job. This rickshaw puller was a very sweet guy and was so keen on doing his job right that he didn’t bother that a part of his rickshaw broke as the stuff was being loaded. Cheerfully he hauled the stuff to the destination for which I tipped him. I thought of the contrast between the richshaw puller and Shera. Both were poor and had to do manual labor to make ends meet, the former probably worked harder but wasn't drowining himself in alcohol.

That night was the cocktail party but it was just another night for Shera. He downed a full glass of neat whiskey in a gulp that set everyone laughing. Of course he was quite drunk before he did that. Despite the sight of him, I felt more remorse for him than contempt. It’s understandable when people mock him or just ignore his presence. I feel sorry for all those who indulge in excessive drinking. There was a point of time when I too indulge in excessive drinking and even paid a price for it.

Shera’s doomed unless he’s pulled out from this quicksand. I wonder if his drunken world is more pleasant than the real world. I wonder if he perceives people as appreciating him when they’re actually making fun of him, I wonder what dreams he sees when he goes to sleep after downing a one too many (as usual), is he a star in his dreams, does he have palaces, cars, women and all that money can buy…not to forget a humungous bar with his choicest country liquor. Is that the reason he smiles when he’s asleep? Only he knows the answer. The real world’s too harsh for him.

Doggone time

16th march 10
11:30p.m.

As I typed the name of this month, I was surprised for a second that MS-WORD did not capitalize the name automatically, and then I realized that march has other meanings. Strangely in the previous line, march indeed has been underlined in green. That’s odd! It should’ve been so in the date 16th march 2010. Anyway another such example is May. May happens to appear in dismay as well, albeit not as an independent entity. Dismay is one word I’d type on my Facebook account’s “What’s on your mind” title, if I had one that is. I’m too desi for it (as people say) and prefer Orkut. I treat my Orkut account as my baby. I am very attached to it because of the time I took to write all the stuff on my profile that I kept deleting and rewriting time and again. I gained quite a bit of popularity amongst my friend circle because of it. The situation was similar back then, I was just out of a relation, though unlike now, I was spewing out the hurt in the form of words under the title “from my past relationships I’ve learnt” of my profile. I got really creative and comic satire flowed out of my finger onto the keyboard like lava. As I wrote, “friends of friends” started to visit my profile (possibly recommended by friends) and started to copy my original work onto their profile without so much as an acknowledgement or a thank you. You see, if I put up a quote on my account, I mention the writer and expect the same. So I deleted all that I’d written and put up some brilliant situational quotes by Ashleigh Brilliant, and of course I acknowledged the writer. Now you probably are thinking that I’ve become too high headed just because I got a few (ok I can’t use “few”, it’s just three) articles published in an online newspaper. It’s a good paper and the articles these guys publish make for interesting read www.heraldofindia.com. Anyway I was talking about this copying of creativity thingi. You see that’s plagiarism, that’s cheating. That’s trespassing on my property and claiming it to be yours. Cheating, I hate it. Why? Because I’ve suffered a lot because of it, that’s why. How? Well just my excuse for not getting good grades in school. Though I never cheated despite watching some of my classmates go for the kill and attain great marks. Needless to say there were others that were hones, intelligent and hardworking. I’m not claiming that that’s the only reason they all scored good marks and I was just above average but because it corrupted some of them. Some intelligent ones that is, and they still carry both the intelligence and the dishonesty with them. When kids of affluent families cheat and steal and those from a distinctly lower stratum, managing to study alongside them and just growing like wild-grass (me, me I’m talking about me yes) aren’t doing so, you must accept there’s something wrong with moral-values being taught in big families. I am talking about boys in particular. Is that how daddy earns the big money? Daddy himself doesn’t know what to teach! Girls are always better than boys in most aspects; women versus men, is a different story.

Girls, you’ll find one that’ll earn the title of girlfriend. They come and they go. It’s like a guy’s some kind of a pass through material, women come, pass through, and leave, gaining a lot of intelligence in the process. It’s all about killing time in street-play practice till the curtains of theatre a drawn after the wedlock and I must say I’ve had a lot of practice but never ever made it to the theatre. I guess I’m some kind of a professional street artist.

Street! Oh the streets of Chandigarh aren’t safe to drive a mobike anymore. Today I nearly met with an accident. I was going straight, at the roundabout this car overtook me from the right at full speed and suddenly turned left…but hey they guy couldn’t negotiate the turn fully and came to a dead stop and in a split second he was parked 90 degrees to my direction of motion and I applied the brakes full on. The bike skidded quite some distance but held ground and after an almost unending screech, I stopped parallel to him, we never touched and I didn’t fall. That was followed by a bout of foul language pouring from my mouth. Bad words I hadn’t used in years just flew like millions of pigeons rushing out a pigeon hole. Adrenalin surged through my body and I was ready to fight (I could take that guy down ;) unless he knew martial arts or something). Well he didn’t know any form of martial arts so he just chickened out. I was dumbfound at the man’s stupidity for I could’ve been seriously hurt had I not been such a good driver (oh please don’t frown). That’s how my day started. I don’t know whether it was the after effect of adrenalin or the lack of sound sleep last night but after I returned from work, which I didn’t have much anyway, I was tired to the bone.

Sleeplessness is basically caused by the ten million stray dogs that gang up and rough up loners and sexually harass bitches through the night. In the process they unwittingly also keep me awake but the crying doesn’t incite my chivalry to save a bitches/loners from the pack. Phew! Bitches just act pricey initially and concede soon but there are just so many of them that the noise is unending. I guess that’s the way dogs like it. But I really wish that dogs could talk like us and not bark, I would be so much well-rested. Go up to the bitch, grin and say “hey sweetie, smells like you’re in heat. Umm! I was wondering if we could go behind that bush and get cosy and do some doggy-stuff till the time Big Bruno’s out marking territory.” Come to think of it, what if we humans had no language and could only bark. I can’t imagine winning a girl pushing her around and barking wildly at her, baring my teeth at the same time; would that be sexy to a woman? Maybe in such a world, it would.
Anyway, I was just punching at the keys to kill time till I was a little sleepy. Yes, the dogs are still barking relentlessly. Man’s best friend my foot! You couldn’t get more efficient enemies. I swear they’re taking the life out of some weak loner there that’s shrieking and howling like crazy. Now I know what they mean when they say that “the world has gone to the dogs” and the other one that says “it’s a dog eat dog world”.

And yeah, I’m kinda sleepy now so I guess I must apologize for wasting your time. Why all this? You see there are people you run from, just because you don’t get time to yourself or because you start to feel that “hey! I’m ignoring myself and there are other people in my life that I’m paying no attention to.” Then one day, you’re all alone, you do all you want to, you read, study, sing songs till your throat is sore, play guitar till it hurts, ride your bike till you have no money left to fill fuel in it and you realize that there’s still so much time left!! Then you socialize, till meet more people that you wanna run away from. Then you meet people you like and you realize that they wanna run away from you. So you sit alone and start writing bullshit, like this post hoping someone will read the whole things and not curse you (bullshit you, even if you would).

The whole thing can be pictured as the like Brownian motion of dust particles as seen in a beam of light. There’s chaos, commotion and collisions and repulsions. And when you start to see too much of it, it’s time to switch the beam off! Good night! And what did that woman say…ummm “Tomorrow is another day”.

Yeah it’s 1:20 a.m. and they’re still barking and mauling some dog!

Convoluted labyriths of perception

Some dreams are so bad that when you gradually wake up and sense the real world isn’t that bad, you’re thankful. Somedays you wake up you sigh and say, “What the heck! Another day’s dawned, now I have to live through it!”

Living through half of today (till this minute as I punch at the keyboard) has convinced me that I’m going to mess up any work that I undertake today. There were two tubes lying in my ice-bucket and I sweeped the whole lab looking for them. I even looked into the ice bucket but couldn’t see them. I freaked out totally; I wasn’t gonna start doing the three-day experiment from scratch now.

Then I made some tea for myself, took deep breaths and told myself “I’m not dead yet, I gotta manage my stuff”. Lo and behold, as I returned to the lab and opened my ice-bucket, I saw my tubes smiling back at me. The mutant DNAs that I so lovingly made to clone into vectors. It was a big relief but my mood was still low. I don’t know why, maybe I do know but what the heck!

It’s not easy to estrange or be estranged to someone you’ve loved. But hey! I guess the reality is better than wishes and I gotta get over it. It reminds me of the Eagles’ song Get over it but that it’s not the same context. I’d lost interest in music for many a month, or so I felt till I heard a couple of songs. Two hindi songs have captured my attention like it hasn’t happened in ages: Tu jaane na (I liked it better till I hadn’t seen the video. Movie: Ajab prem ki gajab kahani…interesting name) and Hai Junoon (Movie: New York). Hai Junoon struck just the right chords in my heart and last night while listening to it, I couldn’t help but reach out for my guitar, dust it, kiss it and say “hi buddy, it’s been a long time”. My fingers (soft again from the non-playing) couldn’t take the string torture for long and are still hurting but what the heck I was playing “hai junoon” and junoon it was till my throat went sore from the high pitch singing.

Also these days, there’s a new found love for compositions of Eagles and Mr. Big. Alone, curtains drawn, feet tapping to the beats or maybe even dancing and the music filling me from my top of my baldness to the tips of my toes. After The Thrill is Gone by The Eagles and Going where the Wind blows, Twenty-five Years by Mr. Big at songs that I relate to these days.

Sigh! Just the very though of the exhilaration I feel at such times has begun to alleviate the melancholy right now. I know what I gottta do. Take a few minutes off the lab-work now, sit outside alone in the warm breeze, listen to the rustling of the leaves and watch the birds and insects and humbly accept, “what a beautiful world” (in 10-15 minutes that is).

I’m glad to be alive and to witness the myriad complexities I see in creatures, objects and people around me and in my own self.

Rescue dog? Dog rescue!

There were lice sucking blood around it as this blob of a tick had created a wound in the area. I messaged and asked Riti about what to do with it. Remove it at once, came the reply. I just didn’t have the courage. Then came messages that said, “You kept a bloody dead snake stored in your room for so many years and you can’t remove a tick? Think of how much the little soul is suffering.” That prompted me to wear my gloves and try to pull the tick off but it wouldn’t budge. Then I sacrificed one of my combs to comb out the tick but all in vain (I’m bald enough to not need combs anyway). I then found a pair of tweezers that did the job. I threw the fat tick on the floor and squished it under my shoes shouting bad words at it. Then I tweezed out the neighboring scavengers. I killed quite a few lice that night and then put the pup in his makeshift bed.


In his bed, the pup stared at me in silence and I stared back. I had never seen such a quiet pup, surely he wasn't well. I patted his head and slowly caressed him to sleep. I hardly slept at night as the slightest movement of the pup woke me up. At 4:00 a.m. I boiled water to make his cerelac feed. I’d been warned that he’d cry through the night but he was silent. He wasn’t asleep most of the time but as he lay there, we both kept looking at each other. I caught two odd hours of sleep at 5am and had the scariest of nightmares ever. I woke up with a start and was relieved to see the pup sleeping.


The morning saw Riti take up the most arduous of the tasks ever and ended up freeing the pup with most of the lice that surely numbered in thousands, and ended up being host to a dozen that escaped our operation Puppy-Coat-Storm. It took more than two hours, lots of boiling hot water (to kill the lice that were extracted from the pup), old newspaper, glass tumbler to mechanically kill the fat lice that escaped the hot water, anti lice oil and shampoo and a very patient pup that we tried our best to not make sick (in vain). It was back breaking work and there was a very real threat of the lice trading the pup for us which indeed happened.

 We did this despite knowing you should not bathe a pup until the age of three months; it was a desperate measure and it was successful. We’d made the room very hot for the pup to be comfortable using two heaters, for us, it was unbearably hot. As gentle as was possible, it was still hard on the pup that started to look very clean but very sick once he was dry. He just wanted to sleep.


When my sister came, she was enamoured by his face but observed that he looked very sick as he just wouldn’t get up and walk. She felt sorry for the pup too. She said she’d take it but would first want to take it to a vet to get a general checkup done. We went to Dr. Jatinder Singh who happened to be Harman’s friend and someone I too had shared a few drinks with in the past. His review of the pup breed quality and behaviour was good (by now he was trying to hop around and explore), only that he was physically, extremely weak. Also the doc told me that the bathing process is extremely traumatic for pups this age and that it would be quite a few hours before he’d be normal again. I couldn’t share with my sis or the vet the experience of ridding the pup of the deluge of lice, I couldn’t tell them that oiling, bathing and combing out the lice on the. I also did not tell them that some of the lice were dancing in my head as well and I scratched a little just to give an expression of feeling stupid over bathing the pup.


The pup didn’t know how to chew either since he had never been fed with solid food. The vet gave him some gooey dog food and he didn’t eat it. It was then poked into its mouth with a fingertip and slowly it understood that this was food. It didn’t know how to chew and I was spell bound to watch the pup learn how to chew as the instincts took over. I also hadn’t seen its canines, they were long and sharp and that how the vet told us that it was more than a month old. Its body temperature was checked with an anal thermometer, the pup hated the process that revealed he was not running fever. After it was done it looked at me with confused droopy eyes wondering if I was a friend to be torturing him so much. At home he relearned the process of chewing and as he did, he liked it. In fact he held my hand with his tiny fore-paws and dug into the boiled egg in it. Chiki, didi and the pup left for Herbertpur in another two hours.

Had we not bought the pup that night, its condition in broad daylight the next day, would’ve probably made us to decide otherwise. As far as lice are concerned, the pup gifted my quite a few and they mauled my legs the first and the second night. I threw my mattress in the hot sun for a day and literally poisoned my room with insecticide and locked it for a whole day but the many bites that I suffered on my legs. I guess they were bed bugs. I have 10-12 bites marks on my legs and I tell you they itch like crazy. I cannot imagine what torture that little pup was suffering carrying hundreds of them.

When I was a boy I was expected to be like a man, now that I'm a man, I'm told that I was better as a boy.

H.U.R.T. is a subset of TRUTH

I got promoted to a Senior Research Fellow yesterday. Nobody didn’t but my interview went really well.
Fighting the night before I faced a losing battle; circular reasoning doesn’t aid in reaching conclusions. I found solace in the words of “After the thrill is gone” by The Eagles.
I doubt the very concept of truth and reality. The world’s green when you wear green glasses and red when you wear red. Come to think of it, the actual colors that we see aren’t the same to other animals that perceive different wavelength of light or are compromised in color perception. My truth is not necessarily your truth. Jesus is coming, suicide bombers go to heaven, evolution was and is going on, Husain’s paintings are sacrilegious, the middle path will lead you to nirvana; truth of life for some, unimportant for others.
People are ready to live by their truths and die for them but what is the ultimate truth? Does one exist? Even science doesn’t have The Theory of Everything. How important is its pursuit. If it is really about attaining nirvana, why the mad rush? If it really is about survival of the fittest, should I annihilate my adversaries and mate with all willing women and produce as many offsprings as possible? What makes me a man? Is it all out there or is it just a figment of my imagination? The imagination that spawns in the organ we call brain; the blob that helps us sense and perceive our world, the jelly that gets trained to think in a certain way over a period of time, concocts ‘the’ truth and then directs the rest of your voluntary faculties to follow the same. It can make you live and die for it, it can make you produce life or take it, it can make you caring or indifferent. So you think you’ll go to heaven by taking a holy dip and atone for your sins. What’s sin? Is sin bad? Why? Because we know so? How do we know so? Because we have a conscience? Who developed it? God or society or is it a part of being human? If you have a definite answer, how do you have one? Is there a way to test your belief? Shall we raise two cohorts of human young ones, not teach anything humane to one and drown the other in concepts of love and humanity to finally have an answer? Do you know what the result of such a study will conclude? If you do, how do you know so? Am I sounding crazy to you? Do you want to lambast me? If yes, is it because my words are going against ‘your truth’? How do you know that your truth is the truth? Did your life teach it to you? Is someone else’s truth, not in line with yours, true or false?
I don’t know what the truth is. I don’t even know if truth is really the truth…Heck! I don’t even know if she loves me.
What is love? .... the question can only progress into the following lines … “baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more”…and heck yeah, those beats make me wanna dance. Who cares about the truth, there’s music.

More Binary Digits and hung up brain

110110 (11jan2010)
Surely, as was pointed out, the bits of today are more interesting than yesterday’s. 110110 aha!
It is cold. The cold has been playing havoc on my saneness. My sleep requirement has spiked and despite sleeping more than usual, I wake up tired and confused and remain so throughout the day. It is 9:00p.m. and I just returned from a lab snack at Amrit in Mohali. Something happened that really embarrassed me. After hogging down a massive amount of junk food and having a great time, everyone ready to board the autorick and I headed for my bike when I realized that my keys were missing. I frantically called up the others, lest one of them had accidentally taken them. They all checked but my keys weren’t with anyone. Anuj and Akesh came back to me to hunt for my keys. We looked in every nook and cranny but all in vain. It was finally decided that Akesh would go back with the others while Anuj would stay with me and look around a little more. We’d just been to two places and tracked the whole route very carefully and enquired from every shopkeeper/helper if they’d found a bunch of lost keys. By now a moderate degree of panic had set in me. Without realizing it I was frisking my pockets time and again; this action was irritating Anuj. He ordered me to stop doing so for he said that it would just increase the confusion. He suggested that I empty my pockets once and check them carefully and look elsewhere without going back to the pockets again. That was the right way to do it indeed. I emptied my front pockets and there were no keys inside. I even emptied my laptop bag to find just a laptop and power-chord inside. I again went back inside the restaurant where we ate and doubled check with them; by now those people were also feeling very sorry for me. Outside I saw two guys standing close to my bike and talking in a hushed tone, looking at me once in a while. “That’s it” I thought to myself, “I’ve got the thieves” the more I observed them, the more they seemed to be staring at my bike and glancing at me. I’d already deciphered their plan; they’d make me give up and go away tp seek help and then drive off with my bike. I thought that the only thing left to do now was to call up Ricky and ask him to drive up all the distance with my spare keys, drop Anuj back then go back home; I wasn't going to leave the bike alone. I called up Rick and he told me not to worry and that he’d head out straight away. I glared down at the two men; I was ready for a fist-fight for the first chance I'd get to extract the keys out of them. My confusion was accentuated by the situation, I just couldn’t think straight.Sometimes in hindsight, I surprise myself with how unreasonable I can get. Not that I’m feeling great right now but at least I’m sane enough to know that my thinking got skewed. This very episode has me thinking that maybe I’m mildly schizophrenic.
Then suddenly, as if under the influence of an external force, I put my hand in the back pocket and pulled the out the keys. I stood there dazed, staring at them. Anuj too was stunned and kept staring both at the keys and at me; 45 odd minutes had passed since I raised the alarm and we'd searched everywhere in the chilling cold. Anuj just sighed saying “happens!” I called up Ricky to give him the good news that he wouldn't have to take the trouble afterall. It's 9:00p.m., I' just reached home from the "event" I still feel like I’m not in my senses…the saneness is there somewhere telling me to go to sleep.

grit in the eye

100110
There’s something special about that way you’d write today’s date. It reminds me of binary digits, the 0s and 1s, the alphabets of the machine language. Anyway, another flipping and pausing through the news channels exposed more irksome events unfolding in politics. Tharoor has made headlines again by supporting the views of British MP, Lord Bhikhu Parekh who, at a lecture at the Indian Council for World Affairs (ICWA) remarked on Nehru’s foreign policies describing them as presenting India in light of moral self-righteousness. Well the media hounds have smelled the odor of controversy well and have started to cover the event even before it has unfurled. Everyone is asking the question, “Will Tharoor will get the bastinado again?” If it happens, it will be very sad because it’ll just prove that the political parties are still overtly moralistic behind their closed doors; of course there are others that are so right in the open, with the people of India supporting them for the same reason. Gandhi and Nehru were great but they were human and it is alright to reflect on their actions for their correctness; there were great things they did for our freedom, so a foreign policy that was self-righteous or moralistic is acceptable for a country that had just gained its independence and was in high spirits, dreaming of a prosperous future. In today’s light, if some actions can be considered as mistakes, they should be accepted as mistakes such that they’re not committed again. Indira Gandhi, a great leader in her own right, was no Mahatma and everyone knows that, her dictatorial actions brought infamy to our land at one point of time but that’s beside the point. The point is to analyze the past, take the good part, learn from the mistakes, and head into the future, forearmed.
There’s the flip side of the politics coin, spearheaded by people like Sanjay Dutt. Today he quit as Samajwadi Party’s General Secretary in response to Amar Singh’s resignation. His speech on the news channel irked me quite a bit. Supporting a member of your party is understandable, quitting and following him/her is understandable too; these are things we’re accustomed to in democracy but to speak like a slave is another. Following is a summary of Dutt’s words:
Amar Singh has given his life for the party. Amar Singh is like his elder brother, if Singh quit, he too “wouldn’t be able to” stay on in the SP. He said he’d go wherever Amar Singh would go (to any other political party). He went on to shamelessly proclaim that he’d do whatever Amar Singh told him to do, even if that meant ending his career in politics.
What kind of logic exists in these statements? When will politicians learn to be objective? I guess that would happen when the people of India demand them to be so. If it weren’t so disgraceful, it would be amusing. This is an elected representative of the people speaking in the most subservient manner possible. How do these people carry out such big jobs that they’ve been gifted by the people of this country? Do they have enough gray matter to do their jobs or are they still in a habit of acting under the given directions; the actor/director relation of the silver screen. They showed Dutt’s popularity on TV while he was on a political rally. He had massive security surrounding him, protecting him from the mob of fans (fanatics) jumping and shouting in a mass hysteria. They were holding banners that said “Munnabhai, dikha do apni Gandhigiri ka kamala”. It was saddening to watch it; they all went and voted for a fictional character. In fact Amar Singh’s entourage consists of other film actors, including Mr. Tiwari (a bhojpuri actor), Jaya Bacchan and Jaya Prada. Tiwari has quit already for the same reason and the two Jaya’s are expected to follow. I understand one brain and one body but one brain and five bodies just seem disproportionate.
Between Dutt and Tharoor, I’d choose Tharoor. What about you?

Life carbureted

I love the fog, I love the cold but by the end of the day it became unbearable. It was foggy throughout the day and the wind-chill on the bike was playing havoc on my fingers, toes and face despite all being covered. I got a K&N installed on the bike today. It was an ordeal but for some reason, the cold mitigated the impact; the wait didn’t feel long despite being so, it felt like I was semi-hibernating. Everything around me seemed to be moving in slow motion, with the Sun nowhere in sight and every passing hour seeming like the hour before it, I wasn’t keeping tab of time either. The owner of PERFORMANCE MOTORR SPORTS in Mohali turned out to be much older than what I’d expected from the voice on the phone. A Sikh ex-serviceman, he was one of those people on whom age doesn’t play havoc of senility. Lean and lanky, he talked like someone in his 30s though he’s probably in his 50s. My love of motorcycles started to spill out in the semi technical conversation that ensued. His name is Gurpreet and I didn’t see his surname mentioned on his business card or when he introduced himself; rather unlikely for Sikhs to do so. He told me that he first ventured into bike tweaking in college when he rebuilt a Triumph from the early 1900s. I doubt if Triumphs were manufactured in those days or maybe the 1913 that I heard was actually 1930. Anyway, his description of the overhaul was captivating, he went on to describe the Czech Jawa and how it got relegated into a Yezdi. I also learnt that “Yezd” is a province in Iran which was the inspiration for the name Yezdi, given to the bike by the Parsi owner of the company who took over Jawa. Jawa was superb, Yedzi wasn’t bad till they gradually compromised on the quality of the bike to an extent that doom was irrevocable. The guy also has a Hyosung Comet, the beautiful Korean Hulk. I’ve just seen one once and it’s a sight to behold. Gurpreet has had a very serious accident on the bike in which he broke his leg. He got banged by a truck and credits his life to the superb stability of the bike. He also has a Willy’s Jeep and Ford Icon amongst others. He told me how he got down to rebuilding the radiator and heating system for the Willy’s and I was mesmerized by the details. We then got down to discussing the Bullet and he was impressed with my (at least theoretical) knowledge on it and my GK on engines. He went to give me a diagrammatic explanation of how air circulates in an engine, something I was oblivious to. Then by the time modifications were carried out to fit the K&N-R1100 and hide it from unwanted attention, we’d talked about many things including a few personal details (ha ha and still no mention of the surname, I liked that). Time flew by and so did my bike when I rode it. I bid goodbye to my new friend and he invited me over for a chat anytime I was free. I rode to the motor-market in the cold. The exhaust and the intake were louder now, I could hear the bike breathing-in very clearly; I hadn’t before. At the motor market, my mechanic wasn’t very pleased at the amount I’d spent. His expressions said that I was crazy to have spent more than 25 times the amount that a regular air-filter comes for (100/- Vs 2600/-), while he charged me peanuts to service the bike. I hope he doesn’t start overcharging me from now, thinking I have some extra cash burning holes in my pocket. I hope he understands that it’s my hobby and passion and I cut other expenses to spend that little extra on my bike after gaining as much knowledge from every corner that can assimilate. If he doesn’t, I’ll look for another. Anyway, after many hours, the sky and the milieu still looked like the time I had left home. I went to the University to eat lunch. It was semi-deserted. The food was good as always and I ate a lot of it. With my jaws, lips and fingers numb from driving a long time in the cold, I had a difficult time, breaking the Laccha parantha, dipping it in Shahi Paneer, bringing it to my mouth, biting it and chewing; the easiest part was to swallow the bolus. It was so cold that I was finding it difficult to keep my hands out and wished for a robotic arm to put the food into my mouth while I kept my hands gloved. The sky dimmed further, not because the sun was setting, it was still 3:30pm, but because the fog became more thick. I reached my Institute and finally my lab to proceed with the experiment. After finishing it, I headed home. It was dark by then. On the way home, I stopped at the Enfield dealer and met the old bunch there, ogled at the new bike models and even spent some time to learn the art of chain tightening; I’m sure I’ll be able to do it on my own the next time. I was cold even inside the house despite wearing a warmer and a sweatshirt. I felt listless at home and didn’t wanna do anything, I didn’t wanna write, didn’t wanna watch TV, didn’t wanna be around my parents. Then I got a call from my girl to check if I was doing alright. That was very sweet of her; she’s in Delhi with her parents to meet the guy they’ve selected as her potential life partner.
K&N installation also requires carburetor re-jetting. Fuel injection’s alright, carburetor’s fun. I’ll buy a bigger pilot jet and main jet from the Royal Enfield Agency and hopefully will manage to fit them on my own. I’ve already opened the carburetor twice before and have a fair idea where the jets are located. It’s actually a very simple job that every carbureted-bike owner must know. It’s daunting at first so you must always do it twice the first time you’re at it. You must know the rules of carburetion to keep it all smooth and running. If you alter air-intake, you have to tweak carburetion. If you alter exhaust, you need to tweak carburetion. Life is but a carburetor.

Have a look!

http://www.heraldofindia.com/opinion.php?id=128

All is well

Well what the heck, Chetan Bhagat has finally called it quits. He might not have set a good example but at least this led us to talk about copyrights. It’s a right automatically conferred on the creator of a work of art, music or writing. I understand if he would’ve kept mum and not pursued it but he ‘apologized’; well bahiya if you can read between the lines, “all is definitely is well in the end” BURP!
Real life THREE IDIOTS!

Idiots on the other side

What a coincidence, I wrote about this controversy yesterday and it so happened that in the evening I was in a theatre watching the movie ‘Three idiots’ which I never thought I would. The show was literally served to me on a plate. I generally find it very difficult to sit through a Hindi movie for three odd hours and because they’re mostly based on a trite, convoluted formula, which can be generalized as the first half being funny and enjoyable, and the second grim and morose. Despite conforming to this formula to a certain vague degree, Three Idiots was thoroughly enjoyable. The acting was splendid and the story filled with situations that plague the education system of our times. It even touched upon the aspect of love in a certain admirable way, even if it went a little overboard, but then again, who am I to judge love, anything can happen because everything’s fair in love and war.
I couldn’t help but shed a tear when in the movie, Lobo commits suicide and when one of the idiots is pressurized to an extent that he attempts it. I recalled the horrors that my sister, to some degree, and some of her peers, to a much greater degree, underwent in medical school. It seems that some faculty members turn into conceited sadistic psychopaths who inflict unspeakable mental torture on the students, many a time which also manifests as an economic and mental havoc on the parents of the students. They’re hell bent to make the students bow down and conform to what they feel is right, there’s no room for creative zest, which needs to be harnessed by a kind, intelligent and benevolent teacher; it is subdued with great force and brought down to the general conforming mediocrity. That way, I feel that in India, a student of arts is better placed than a student of science since they can still play around and experiment with creativity, even though to many, it might seem counterintuitive. Parents themselves too are hell bent on goading their kids with the burden of their aspirations and pushing them, many a time, on the wrong leg. The example cited in Three Idiots was apt, “what if Lata Mangeshkar would’ve picked up the cricket bat to play cricket and Sachin Tendulkar would’ve been pushed into a career in singing?”
I have come across an army officer who could’ve been great painters (still is) but waits for his retirement to finally start painting again, there’s a doctor who could’ve been a painter/singer/writer/experimental-biologist but is treating patients without feeling any passion for her work, and there are so many others. What about teachers? Forget school, in the years I studied graduation, almost all the teachers I came acrossvwere doing their job more for earning bread for their family than out of their love for the subject, post grad was better though. This fact was very well reflected in the classes; zoology teachers didn’t know how to pronounce the names of many animals (say Gila Monster) and couldn’t recognize many animals that weren’t there in the specimen jars (thank you Discovery Channel and NGC, my knowledgebase is much wider than theirs), botany teachers told us that Ganesh-ji was the first transgenic and two of the four senior chemistry teachers behavior was inappropriate with the girls in our class, and they did so right under our noses; all this was emetic. I have no problems with anybody’s personal religious belief but caution should be exercised while conducting a science class, it would be just as abhorrent to hear a science teacher giving genetic explanation about Jesus’s ploidy. I once picked up a snake that was killed in the neighborhood and took it to the zoology class to my teacher. I had read about how to identify a poisonous snake from a non-poisonous one but failed to identify this one correctly, I wanted my teacher to fill me up on this. Her reaction surprised me; she freaked out but tried her best to hide her terror. I had to pay for these “mistakes” in the form of psychological pressures; I had made the teacher look bad. I earned a bad name amongst the faculty members; I was the scalawag. I never enjoyed their classes and at times expressed it in a subdued way; more trouble. It was immature on my part to start bunking classes, what I should’ve done was excelled in the subjects but by not doing so I just opened the door to bad times. I started to ignore studies and did something worse; I fell in love with a girl (and earned some more bad name!). I wonder if life would’ve been easier as a gay. There was love and war going on at the same time and I was taking a beating from all corners. Zoology, the first complicated word I had spelt in my life at a very young age and yearned to pursue as a career, wasn’t as interesting to me anymore.
The only channels I still watch on TV are Discovery, National Geographic and Animal Planet, I love clicking animals, love drawing them, still love going to the zoo, and I still fancy the idea of living in a jungle and studying wildlife but now I study proteins almost 10-12 hours a day in a lab. I am so thankful for it, for this too is very interesting. When the teachers of the college, from where I did bachelors, found out that I’d made it through the entrance exam to MSc (and none of their dear students had except one that got a paid 'NRI' seat), they weren’t too please (these were my teachers). Later when they found out that I’d cleared two PhD scholarship exams and even done well in GRE, the gentlemen from the chemistry department said that I probably had “contacts”; they were in absolute denial. Do I despise them? oh yes I do! In fact in all the years of education, I’ve loved PhD the most and I’m so glad that I didn’t quit after graduation.
Anyway, the movie was great. Only that they threw caution to the wind when they made that vacuum contraption; they obviously have no idea about the omnipresent dangers of the microbial world, of how quickly life-threatening infection can set in under such circumstances (that's why an operation-theatre is aseptic as opposed to a film-theatre) and the kind of training it takes to be an obstetrician who can manage a complicated delivery but despite all that, it was thoroughly entertaining. Last but not least, I loved the red Volvo SUV (I think that insignia on the grill was that of a Volvo but I’m not certain) in which they drove around in Shimla, Manali and Leh.

Khan Bhakti

Come New Year and controversies cannot be too far behind. I switched the TV on today morning and while surfing through the channels, paused at the one of the otherwise avoidable Hindi news channels. Ah! There’s the Mumbai senior police officer caught on tape, dancing at a party organized by a seasoned convict, a Don, who was let out of jail after many years. Why do policemen get to have all the fun? Had my parents sensitized me to the harsh realities of the world very early on, I would’ve worked hard from a very young age to get into either The Civil Services, The Police Services or the best of all, Politics. Of course for the latter, I’d have to change my name to something more acceptable. I mean, how popular is George Fernandes. Ah! Can’t say, maybe he just didn’t have the caliber of Manmohan Singh, the following of Vajpayee, the pedigree of a Gandhi or simply the charisma of…err…err…Mayawati (well at least for the people of her constituency)??!! There were rumors going around that she might become Prime Minister; have people lost their minds? But then I feel that without mindless people, rumors wouldn’t exist.
However I’m glad my parents didn’t do that, I can now sit in the balcony on a cold, foggy winter morning and judge the world on my keyboard while the birds sing the morning ragas and nudge me to write some more. What bliss!
Anyway, lets move on to the more interesting controversy; Aamir Khan Vs Chetan Bhagat. I appreciate them both to a certain degree but am no fan of either. In fact I used to like Khan much more than Bhagat till I saw the news today. Khan and Bhagat pitted against each other, the former calling this a publicity stunt and the latter demanding acknowledgement for the script of Khan’s blockbuster hit, “THREE IDIOTS”.
Khan was addressing a press conference and very confidently saying that this was a controversy generated by a very publicity-hungry man. The media should put a stop to all this and not let him succeed anymore than he already has.
Bhagat says that the movie is no less than 25-30% directly copied from his novel, “FIVE POINT SOMEONE”, which includes one liners, dialogues etc.
The fans on both sides are at war too, Bhagat’s claiming that the story is 80% copied from the novel and Khan’s referring to Bhagat as a publicity beggar. Sometimes I feel that it’s the high powered fans in our attics that need to be subdued first (read fanatics).
I have neither read the novel nor watched the movie but have met people that swear by both, I will therefore only focus on the claims of the controversy. Indians don’t really care about copyrights unless they’re brought to task. Unlike the west where it’s a serious offence even at the school level, plagiarism in India, is a subject of little importance everywhere from schools, colleges and even publishing houses. We therefore, are brought up to disregard it. We have a system in which the teachers would give us less marks if we form our own sentences and put in our thoughts into what we study. Verbatim reproduction of the book sentences is rewarded and creativity is nipped in the bud. So was the case till the time I completed post graduation, some five years ago. Interaction with students has revealed that the situation is no better now. Bhagat alleges that there’s not as much as a mention of his name in the acknowledgement of the movie. The script writers of the movie acknowledged on TV that the movie has been inspired from Bhagat’s book but a lot has been altered. This situation is analogous to what they call reverse engineering in IT terms, something that’s a serious copyright offense. You pick up someone else’s creation, say MS-Windows, crack it’s code and manipulate it here and there to form an operating system that you claim is your creation. Then, if you have no fear of the law, you go on to sell it as your own creation with no mention of Microsoft anywhere. I assure you, Microsoft will nail you hard enough for you to suffer some serious soft-tissue damage (read brain).
We need to educate ourselves more on Copyrights, Trademarks and Patents and I suggest that everyone who has an access to a computer and the internet, visit the website www.wipo.org and spend some time to enroll for their free coursework. It’s not very lengthy or time consuming and it will definitely add to your knowledgebase towards the contemporary world of patents and copyrights. You’re given ample time to finish the course, if you’re mildly tenacious, you shouldn’t have a problem. If that is too much for you, you can search the net for these subjects but like everything on the internet, search only websites run by authentic agencies. WIPO is an arm of the UN and therefore the contents of the website are authentic. So they never taught you in a lucid manner why cheating is bad, I guess they’re right when they say, it’s never too late to learn. Many sleeping consciences out there might even wake up; knowledge empowers.
With the movie makers accepting on TV that the story has been inspired from Bhagat’s book, not acknowledging it in the movie was an unconscionable act. It is wrong on Aamir Khan’s part to attack Bhagat saying that he’s just doing it for cheap publicity and there are laws in place to prove that. It seems like Khan, like most of us, neither has the knowledge, nor the conscience to give regard to someone else’s creativity. Some news channels are “implying” that Bhagat is doing it for money; I never heard him claim any money in any of the conferences they aired; he should. So is Khan one of those people who know how to mint money using soft targets present in the brains of the general public (who can forget Taare Zameen Pe and Rang De Basanti). Make them weep, make them cry and make them pay while you happily drive to the bank in your big SUV. I would like to think otherwise; I’ve been his admirer for the past 22 years since the release of “Qyamat se Qyamat tak” (despite finding him a little too stiff, even today, while delivering dialogues but maybe that’s his Style).

New day, new year

Last night’s New Year party at IMTECH was FUN. When I reached, the program was nearing the end of its first hour. There were titles to be given out and I wasn’t really sure if I was gonna win anything. I presumed if I’d win any, it’d probably be the “colgate smile of IMTECH”. However I didn’t, I won the title “Jack Of All Trades”. Thankfully it didn’t mention the rest of the adage “…and master of none”. After they handed down the title, the host asked me to reveal anyone of my ‘traits’, I chose to sing (I was mentally prepared for that). I sang the famous Hindi song “papa kehete hain”. I started from the second stanza, pointing to the audience I started off “baithe hain mil ke, sab yaar apne….” and the crowd cheered and started singing along from the very next line “koi engineer ka kaam karega…” and then the chorus and I stopped and did not sing the next stanza (my favorite) “mera to sapna…”. I took my prize and walked off to a cheering, whistling crowd; I was elated. Then came another call on the stage, this time I was paired with Anuj (my senior) along with two other pairs and we were asked to act like two components of the instruments we use in our regular work. I was asked to act like a centrifuge talking to a centrifuge tube (Anuj). From the others, one pair was asked to be pipette and pipette tip and the other, a spectrophotometer and a cuvette. Of course Anuj and I were the quickest to start (~5seconds from the time we were given instructions) and the best of the rest (hee haa haa haa). I started off by shouting dus hazaar, dus hazaar, dus hazaar (ten thousand, ten thousand, ten thousand) mentioning the rotation speed of the centrifuge, like a conductor shouts the destination of a long route bus. Then I shouted at anuj “kitni savaari hai bhai?” (how many passengers?) hinting to the number of tubes to be placed in the centrifuge. Anuj shouted back “battees, bhai sahib” (thirty two brother). I shouted back “chalo charah do saari jaldi jaldi” (ok load em up quickly). Then Anuj shouted “bhaiya thodi dheere chalana, cell pellet karne hai, DNA nahi.” (bro move slowly, we need to pellet cells, not DNA). I replied “fikar not” (don’t worry) and then Anuj and I held each other hands and started running in circles, implying that the centrifuge had started. The crowd howled and cheered on.
Anuj won the title of Mr. Charming and Akesh and Rajni (also from my lab), won the Mr. and Ms. Workaholic titles. So out of all the labs in IMTECH, our lab bagged the maximum prizes and we dominated the dance floor too. At 12:00 midnight we paused the dancing to cut the New Year cake and wish each other. Then there was another round of maddening dancing. Only that by 1:00 am, I had no energy left and could barely stand. It was freezing cold outside, I was drenched in sweat and I was supposed to ride back home on my motorcycle; I did. Today I spent the day hiding from the boss and sleeping anywhere I could, out of his sight. Shit! My body is totally stiff and my neck feels like a piece of brittle wood.
When I went to the toilet in the evening, Dr. Kumaran was peeing. He asked me in a hushed tone “did you get drunk last night?”
I replied “No, not really. Two pegs just get me mildly high. It wasn’t even enough to keep my warm. I had to dance for the warmth but I had a great time.”
He said “Well I did. Dr. Ganguli, I and a few others got totally whacked out last night. I got that drunk after a long time.”
I laughed and said “Oh so that’s why Dr. Ganguli looked the way he did today morning.”
“Oh yeah! Surely” he said giggling.
It’s nice to interact with these cool scientists who’ve returned very recently from the US. I hear most of them are cool for a few years till the Indian system shoves the fake pride into them and they all walk with their noses lifted high in the air. But I doubt that Dr. Kumaran and Dr. Ganguli will become like that.

U say g’bye n I say hello

Don’t question me on the title of this post…well OK I’ll still say it. There’s no particular reason, it’s just that the moment I sat down to think that I probably writing the last post of 2009, the Beetle song “You say goodbye and I say hello” started to play in my head. It’s been a long time since I’ve listened to it; I love the song. Though some might say it’s a silly song, it’s a great melody of very simple words that express the situations that I experience almost everyday. I also feel that the New Year is singing this song for me as I bid farewell to 2009 (Duh!) So what’s been the big north-east-west-south these days. Here are a few that caught me attention:
Rathore’s still being chased. New information is being revealed almost daily and today I learnt that a CBI official advised the complainants to “fight their own battle” and not rely on the state. He said that it wouldn’t take Rathore a stitch of an effort to tip things in his favor; this was truly emetic.
Tharoor, our tweety bird, is at it again. His attack on the corrective measures in the form of visa restriction is nothing but logical. They’re taking steps to restrict any two entries into India with at least a minimum of two months gap. Tharoor says that’s a silly step because the perpetrators of 26/11 never had any visas. While the visa restriction rule should also be welcome, stringent steps need to be taken to curb the way in which the terrorists actually planned their act and gave it life. If I have a heart condition and the doctor starts treating my brain, I’d call the doctor a nut case just as I call SM Krishna a nut case. Tharoor is one guy who calls shit as shit in front of everyone and gets the bastinado. Though I don’t fancy being referred to one of the cattle class, I still feel the hog-wash of ministers traveling the cheap way is…hog wash. There are bastards of bureaucrats who don’t vacate their official palatial homes when they should, don’t pay electricity bills to the tune of thousands of crores of rupees, molest women, indulge in violence and other crap. It is these people who should be brought to task and removed from the system and the rest, who have the ability to do their jobs, be allowed to travel business class. Up Tharoor, the charming iconoclast.
Well well well, look who’s landed in a sex scandal, ND Tiwari. This guy should wear the Gandhi cap on his crotch, not his head. I wish I could lay my hands on the video of this old leather bag making out, haven’t seen comedy in a long time. And hey! Look at the newspaper, he’s being welcomed in Dehradun, his hometown. Who’s welcoming him I wonder? Porn stars? No no, it’s our Hero-Worshipping Indian public. I must admit I tried to locate a pic or video of the scandal and just got to see three tiny pics. Ha ha ha ha I fell off the chair laughing. Had I not known this was ND Tiwari’s scandal photos, I might have mistaken them to be of a daughter kissing her father’s dead body on the cheek (well there was just Tiwari’s head and neck and some portion of the girls face in it). I mean come one, there’s Tiwari lying phut like a dead duck and…ah! Like I always say, it would be heart-wrenching was it not so gut-wrenching. I must not make fun of an old man like this, who knows I too might want to do the same at that old an age. I mean come on, if my legs are hanging in the grave, I am the Governor of a state, I have children who’re settled and married with kids and testosterone is still nudging me and Viagra is still available eh!! Heh heh heh heh!! And don’t need to do the sweaty job when you can just lie dead and let things be done to you than vice versa…I mean come on, the guy’s governor not a laborer…heh heh heh heh! (hey Paul McCartney’s shouting “we’re gonna have some tonight” in my PC speakers…what a situational song)
I recall the editorial in The Tribune I read a week or so ago that cerebrated on the issue of legalizing prostitution. Well the Dutch and some Aussies are paying legally for pleasures. It mentioned that studies have revealed that the advantages, the Aussies thought, were going to follow the legalization never followed. Illegal flesh and drug trade still flourished, mafia never budged and the condom enforcement was shrugged off by people who wanted more skin contact. Of course the repercussions are quite thinkable, more young minds growing up thinking that it’s all too normal (fought with your wife? well there’s always the brothel around the corner), more STD cases (Soon there’ll be a need to “celebrate” instead of “observe” World AIDS day…happy happy…one more festival). I know the names of at least three people who would love to back the legalization of prostitution in India: SPS Rathore, John Fernandes and our very own ND Tiwari. Of course Rathore might even want wish to legalize pedophilia. I mean c’mon, then they would just pay (the tax payer’s money) to buy some pleasure. In fact that’s what NDT did.
Down with these people, down also with morons that welcomed Tiwari…Tharoor should be allowed to travel in business class, I mean come on man.
Last but not the least, there’s China! Always in the Indian NEWS, like a hungry mad wolf, glaring down at my land, howling every now and then to remind me of it’s ominous presence and sending shivers down my spine. Tell me something, with people like NDT, JF and SPSR amongst the people running the show, do you think China has anything to worry about…it’d keep sending shivers down my spine for I know my guns are empty and so does the wolf.

HAPPY NEW YEAR SUCKERS!

Whisk-me

Of course it doesn’t take much alcohol anymore to get him drunk, I guess his liver’s sad from all the years of torture, unable to detoxify his blood alcohol the way it once used to. A year or two ago dad got a LFT (Liver Function Test) done. It revealed that his liver was perfect, so I guess it was a thumbs-up signal for him to go on. No he’s not an alcoholic otherwise, only on two occasions: Christmas time and Easter. I guess dad took the mention of wine here and there in the bible too seriously. “Water into wine” now I know why he loves Jesus. I drink socially; only that my society likes to drink more than the amount I personally approve of. At times friends are too pushy, this has been happening of late. I’m developing a small amount of repulsion towards alcohol. There’s just one think I’ve grown more tired of than ‘coke and whiskey’…Diet-coke and whiskey.

Diet coke I hate you but I’ll still consume you; you’re like a beautiful but dumb wife…err actually vice versa would be more appropriate here.
Lastly I apologize to my father for turning him into the subject of my jokes. No offence daddy, I love you (please don’t throw me out of the house if you ever read this) and I even love a little alcohol once in a while.

By the way, it's been in the news that alcohol, in whatever small amount, has NOT proved to be of any therapeutic use, as has been the belief till date. Like all such studies, it has been specified that the study holds good for Indian population. The following is an article from THE TRIBUNE:
A Tribune Exclusive
Alcohol good for heart? Not really
Aditi Tandon
Tribune News Service


First-ever study in India dispels alcohol myths
No evidence to suggest alcohol is good for the Indian heart
Avoid sudden and excess drinking
Drinks need to be taken with full meals

New Delhi, December 27
Who says moderate drinking of alcohol helps the heart? The first ever study conducted in India, not yet published, now claims that there is no evidence to suggest the firmly held popular belief that a drink or two protects the heart.

Dr KS Reddy, the Prime Minister’s personal physician who now heads the Public Health Foundation of India (PHFI), told The Tribune that earlier studies in the West claimed that moderate intake of alcohol protected the heart by enhancing insulin sensitivity and elevating high-density lipoprotein (HDL) cholesterol, which helps cardiovascular health.

But the claim has failed the Indian test, with the first-ever study on the subject in India showing that alcohol, irrespective of the quantity in which it is consumed, is always harmful and never protective at all. In fact, Indians drinking alcohol have been found to be at two to three fold higher risk of heart disease than non-drinkers.

Led by Dr Reddy, who recently oversaw Prime Minister Manmohan Singh’s heart bypass surgery at AIIMS, the study was conducted on employees engaged in 10 major industries across India and their family members.

“We have now shown in the Indian context that alcohol does not exhibit gains to cardiovascular health. Indians who drink face three fold higher risk of heart disease. The belief that moderate drinking helps the heart is not true for Indians,” Dr Reddy told The Tribune while pointing out that doubts are being voiced in the West too about the alleged protective properties of alcohol.

In 2007, the American Diabetic Association had claimed, “In individuals with diabetes, light to moderate alcohol intake (1 or 2 drinks per day; 15 to 30 ml alcohol) is associated with a decreased risk of cardiovascular disease…”

But Dr Reddy’s study, initiated when he was still at AIIMS, looked at people in India with evidence of heart disease. “We found that people with heart disease were more likely to be drinking in the past,” said Dr Reddy, who looked at population from industries ranging from machine tools in Pune and cycles in Ludhiana to the tea estates in Assam.

“Many etymological studies in the West have shown that alcohol is good for the heart. This has something to do with the high fat intake in the food of westerners. While fat is known to increase the tendency towards blood clotting, alcohol is known to reduce the same. But we wanted to study a population where fat intake is not very high, like in India. We concluded that alcohol intake among Indians tended to fuel more electrical excitability of the heart which in turn led to fatal events like heart attacks besides de-stablilising diabetes control,” Dr Reddy said.

Indians also have a tendency to drink at festivals and over weekends. Warning that the ‘Holiday Heart Syndrome’ was extremely pronounced in India, Dr Reddy added, “Sudden and excess drinking must be avoided. Whenever people drink, they should take care to drink with full meal to delay the absorption of alcohol.”

The trend was confirmed by Dr Balbir Singh, chairman, cardiology, Medicity: “We are seeing more patients these days. It may have a relation to binge drinking over festivals. We can, however, say that the incidence of heart attacks is 20 per cent higher in winter.”

Acceptance

I want to come to terms with death. It’s the biggest truth yet we’re never taught how to deal with it. We have to take our lessons first hand. Why do people get hysterical when their loved ones die? Talk about parents, we all know that they’re gonna go and we’re gonna go too. Daljit uncle’s daughter was hysterical; she kept shaking the dead body and urging the father that was once in there to come back. So is there a soul after all? Does it leave the body when a person dies or do we just cease to exist when we die, no soul nothing, total termination? Without a system of belief backing me up, I’m confused about it. Had I followed religion, I would’ve believed that there was no end, there’d be eternity. To me the idea seems fanciful. What will I do for eternity? Will I float around like a cloud of air forever in a beautiful place called heaven or will I burn in hell? Without a body sensing it, will I feel the heat of hell? Will it hurt me if someone would whip me? If in all probability it won’t, how would it matter if I’d be in hell? I’d still be doing nothing much for eternity. What can eternity feel like if these thirty years of my life already feel like eternity? Would the pleasantness of heaven mean anything to me either? I talk about a couch being heavenly, a bike being heavenly, a sight being heavenly only because I have my five senses in place. I know that they’re connected to the brain that makes me respond to stimuli. Without all this, the senses and the brain, how would it matter to me if I’m being lovingly caressed or being punched, smelling the fresh air or putrid stench, watching the stunning milieu or a ghastly one, tasting a cake or dung, listening to music or cacophony whether for two minutes or for eternity. I remember the time I was 6 or 7 and that seems to be two millions years ago already…what is eternity? The other extreme though more logical, sounds sad; final termination, I will cease to exist. I do not wish to deliberate too much on it. Of late, I’m just possessed at the thought of training myself to accept death as a normal part life (or end to life). Something that’s never talked about till it happens. Of course a statement from dad like, “hey son, these are the papers of the house and I’m keeping them there. You know where to find them in case I die today” would sound ridiculous. But I just want to come to terms with the fact that my parents will die someday and very possibly not together. What will the other parent go through in such an event? How will I react? Will I be like Daljit uncle’s daughter, shaking the dead body shouting, “wake up dad, you can’t go away” or will I be quiet, sad and accepting of the fact that he’s gone for good? Heaven or hell, at least for my near and dear ones, I will cease to exist as a person when I die. The man/woman will go, the memories and works will live on. Anyway, no matter how much I prepare myself, I’d never know what it feels like till it actually happens.

I remember the time my dad was waiting to be operated upon. He was on a stretcher and I was sitting next to him on a small stool. I thought they’d take him in soon but it was a 12 hour wait. When I felt the energy sap out from me, I put my head down next to his and held his cold hand. I couldn’t help but think that he might die. I couldn’t hold back the tears so took deep breaths and just let them flow. I thought he was unconscious, he was almost so. I felt sorry for him. I couldn’t imagine being in his place, having a foot run over by a bus. It was mangled beyond recognition. When they opened the bandages for preliminary examination, I couldn’t believe I was looking at a foot; I couldn’t see sole, I couldn’t see toes, just mangled flesh. They assessed the situation and re-bandaged his foot. Then they sent him for operation which was carried out 12 hours from the time he was sent. Here I was sitting next to my dad, the guy I’ve disliked most of my life, the guy who roughed me up almost everyday when I was young, the guy who I feel is unreasonable many a time…here I was shivering at the thought of losing him. I wept quietly. He reached out with his other hand and placed it on my head. That was the time, I wanted to hug him and howl my heart out. I wish I had the power to make him alright. I wished I was the doctor and would take him into the OT that very second and make him alright, I wished I was a magician, I wished I was God and would touch his foot and make it as it was before it came under the bus. I felt helpless, I felt angry, I wanted to lash out at everyone around me. Then I saw guy covered in a bloody white sheet, he was shivering. He was taken into the OT a few hours before my dad. The next day when my dad was in the recovery room, that boy was shifted next to him. He was staring blankly at the ceiling. He was a thirteen year old Nepali boy. He was traveling without ticket in a train and on realizing he was about to get caught, he jumped out of the moving train. He was lying there with two stumps that were once legs; amputated knee below. The world is real, it was real for me, it was real for that boy, what was to happen had happened, we’d just have to accept it and make the best of it; we didn’t have a choice. The Emergency Room is hellish in its own right only that this hell had angels tending to bodies damned by accidents. There’s no one scolding you for being reckless, for not being careful despite knowing the dangers, they’re just out to save you. For me, that makes this world better than any Heaven.

For reasons that I will one day cease to exist for the people who know me, I must do constructive work, something that’s gonna make at least someone happy.

Control yaar

John Fernandez, in the Indian context, the name seems to have come out of a 70s Hindi movie of some nondescript alcoholic servant/taxi driver, who’d sell his soul for another bottle of whiskey. The caricature of such a Christian characters is often depicted with a small bottle of alcohol in his coat, talking in a slurred Hindi, English mixed language. Oh! We Christians with Christian names have never had it easy in here. Since I was a kid, my peer used to wonder and often ask me about what food I eat at home and presume that my dad would be a drunkard with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and rosary in the other. I was considered a motley clown with the skin of a black man, the name of a white man and the life of a…they didn’t really know, just thought it would be different from theirs. Different it was but out of helplessness more than out of religion. Anyway, let’s get back to John Fernandez, this one’s no poor Jesse Samuel; he’s a high profile politician from South Goa. I saw his interview on TV in which he was giving clarifications on the accusation of him having raped a 25 years old Russian girl. His speech was slurred and he fumbled as words rushed out of his mouth like bullets out of a misfiring machine gun. Thank you John Fernandez, now they’ll presume that I’m a sex addict too, crouching to ambush my next victim heh heh heh!! Ah but politicians are loyal to no religion but to each other. You see the brotherhood between politicians, Mr. Shantaram Naik and Mr. Digambar Kamat came out in your support. They way they defended you by counter-attacking the victim saying that she shouldn’t’ve been out late in the night with men, can be aptly interpreted as following:
“When we see beautiful women at night, the normal faculties of our brain cease to function and our bodies are taken over by testosterone. We turn into robots that have been programmed to do only one thing, have intercourse. We are least bothered if the woman is uninterested or even repelled, she has already sealed her fate by being in our vicinity. All women should understand that.”
These are politicians speaking? These are the people we’ve chosen to run our country/parts of it. Now I see why there’s opposition to increasing the number of women MPs, these men would find it difficult to work in the parliament. They might molest somebody in there too.
In our modern city of Chandigarh too, a ride in the local bus any working day would reveal the extent to which school/college going boys, middle aged and old men go to “touch” and “feel” young girls (many of them school-going). It’s gut-wrenching more than heart-wrenching. I’ve been a mute spectator like the hundreds like me that see but are maimed. Who do you go to? The police? They’re the biggest reprobates of them all. How do you fight alone against a group of 10 guys that have ganged up to trouble women? I wish I had a gun but then two wrongs wouldn’t make a right. The popular belief amongst these men is that if you can’t express it the way they do, you’re impotent. They say “it nudges us so we indulge.” Well? Does it mean that I have teeth so I must bite? I have nails to I must claw? I was never taught to be decent so I can’t be. Duh! I also don’t have a brain so don’t expect me to think!! I guess that’s fair enough.
So I keep walking through the dirt and disorder in my room till I trip over the grimy shoes myself. Till it happens to my sister or my partner, I, like a decent Indian man sitting in the bus, not wanting to get into trouble, should put the headphones on, whistle and look out of the window and ignore the events occurring a foot from me in every direction. It’s kinda difficult but I manage, if only with a raised blood pressure. By the way, John Fernandes is obsconding, please check out his photo on the net and be on a lookout. Let’s catch him wherever he is.

THERE HE IS!!

The hound just spotted him, the chase is on.
Rathore's on his feet. The unconscionable smile he wore, after being gifted six months and one thousand rupees, will wear off soon.
The hounds comprising the public, the media and now even the politicians (heh heh heh!! Always game for cheap publicity eh?) are after the maneater. Will he find his mates on the way and chase the hounds back or will he succumb?
Let's see what how the chase ends.
WE'RE WATCHING!

Thirty

Shit!!
Today I turned thirty.
When I was twelve and my sister eighteen, I used to wonder if I'd ever grow up to be eighteen. Puh! Silly of me to think so.
Today just happened to be one of the busiest days. It was self induced!
I planned a ton, only because I was superstitious enought to think that today success was ready to kiss my forehead in all my ventures. Silly of me! I screwed up half the work I started. Ah success did kiss my forehead in the other half after kickin my butt. Now I'm sitting writing this post in totally jinxed state of mind. The timer is about to go off; it's time to inactivate ligation.
The work's unending. I'm glad I can take the bull by the horns now, even if I get gored once in a while :)

Uncivil Servant

There are three things that lead to success in Civil Services: Hard work, hard work and more hard work. The competition is intense. You have to be very knowlegeable, resonably intelligent and totally prepared. If all works out for you, you finally face the interview and if you're selected for any one of the services (IAS, IPS and IFS), you are considered "creme" stuff :)
You work that hard to earn that title of a "civil servant". Of course these days you can't trust servants so much, they commit all kinds of wrong doings. Let's pick the case of one such civil servant. The ex-Haryana DGP, S.P.S Rathore.

Now let's check out what this civil-servant is guilty of?

Nineteen years ago in 1990, when he was serving, he molested Ruchika, a thirteen year old girl!
Wait there's more! he got her suspended from CLTA (Chandigarh Lawn Tennis Association), got her expelled from school, got eleven cases slapped against her brother, got her father to sell off his property in Panchkula and got five cases filed against the victim herself.
The girl committed suicide three years later.

With a "massive: fine one thousand rupees and a "rigorous imprisonment" of six months, the CBI thinks it has done justice.

Who was his his attorney? His own wife, Mrs. Rathore. A formidable team of a lawyer and an IPS officer against the (now older) friend of a dead 13 year old, the competition seems unevenly matched. The Smile on Mrs. Rathore's face (as seen in the local newspaper)proudly displayed the satisfaction she received after her victory over a few pounds of flesh that were burnt in 1993. The flesh, her client, life-partner and possibly father of her children touched everywhere, the hands that should've been locked for good in manacles. To think that there's any conscience residing in Mrs. Rathore would be definitely a wrong conception.
Six months and a thousand bucks (that's like USD 20) is a good enough punishment, so feels the CBI special magistrate, J. S. Sidhu.

CBI loses nothing but the common man's trust (huh! Yeah! like they're bothered)
Rathore's win.
Ruchika loses, but what more can you lose than life.
Another muddy shoe in our room that we'll toss aside.

Keep yourself in Ruchika's shoes for a while and think of all that happened, put yourself in her families shoes, put yourself in her friend's shoes. With people like John Fernandes and S.P.S. Rathore running the show, no one is safe.

Please follow the link
http://www.tribuneindia.com/2009/20091222/main2.htm

Ody-Mel of a ar-schol

Don’t Rebel
Delay’s trivial
Idea Novel
Cast a Spell
This will sell
Patents Revel

Distant Travel
Green grass Dazzle
Destination Final?
Who can tell!

Author in a journal
Egos swell
dreams a Nobel
Life’s a Spiral
Locked in a cell

Look he’s again
stuck in a shell
Ring the bell
Myths Dispel
Do plan big,
execute it well

I look, I don’t see

12/12/09

I read somewhere that we look at various objects around us but many of them don’t necessarily register in our brains. A simple exercise to prove this was given: leave your room right now without looking around at anything and then start to describe your room in detail. Write about every wall and whatever hangs/leans on it, each and every table shelf and the stuff on it. Take your time and when you feel that you’ve done the job to the best of your abilities, return to your room and tally the list with the facts. It is said that most people will, more often than not, be quite surprised if not downright shocked at many things that are either wrong or missing from their list. So we look but don’t see, there might be clutter everywhere but after sometime, the brain stops to register it (ha! It needs to do other stuff not waste resources in what you choose to ignore time and again). So we live on in the clutter, things might get really grimy till we start to notice them. This generally happens when the dirt/clutter starts to create hindrance, say your shoes and slippers are lying scattered on the floor and you trip over them a few times and finally take notice and put them in order, or some may just chose to throw them in some corner. The table might be dirty but not till you sit down to work on it and feel that it’s difficult to do so because of the clutter, will you finally tidy it up. Your vehicle might be dirty but you wouldn’t take notice till one evening you come out of the house all dressed up to realize that you wouldn’t wanna be seen in that dirty cocoon on wheels. It’s either relative to something better (your dirty car at the parking next to a same clean and gleaming model next to it) or the hindrances in daily work (tripping over shoes) that make you see the disorder.
Disorder, anarchy, demagoguery, dirt, mockery of the parliament, filth, hatred, defalcations, bribery, sycophancy, injustice, murder, inequality, discrimination; when will the billion trip over these grimy sneakers in unison to see it all. I look at these everywhere, I chose not to see.

Follow up on Dawkin's Documentary

The audience was fired up after the show; religion, as shown in the documentary, is definitely a problem in the west. I really think such a documentary shouldn't be mass aired, and if it is, it should definitely have a followup in the form of an Indian context. It seemed the sudience found Dawkins to be too agreeable. What people forget is that if Richard Dawkins were to make such a documentary in the Indian Context, he'd probably die in the process, out of an outrage induced high blood pressure.

There were some things that you just couldn't deny in the documentary but it seemed extreme. I think Richard Dawkins should relax; I'm sure his parents did not indoctrinate him about Evolution, but he seems to one it's strongest proponents. Let people believe in what they want to, that's the benefit of living in a secular democracy. If evolution is not taught at school, it wouldn't debilitate people, it'll always be free for people to read and believe in. In fact G.J. Mendel, the father of genetics was actually a monk. That didn't stop him from laying the foundations of genetics in a scientific manner. Besides, it's not like all these schools, Hospitals and Shelters built by various religions around the world are harming people, in fact they're contributing in a positive way to mankind. So religion definitely cannot be the root of all evil. Having said that it cannot be denied either that all religions of the world seem to be getting more and more orthodox, rigid and offensive. Richard Dawkin's point was an extreme too.

When the collar is high and the neck stiff, it's difficult to peep inside.