Amnesia of the soul

Leafy green, don't be so mean

2010-10-17T06:40:00.000-07:00

Drops dropping down you, Leafy green

Rain drops they are naive and clean.

They didn’t wash away your color or sheen

Did they polish and make you clean?

In your face, I gaze and preen

Try finding mine as clear and clean.

Rustle in my ears, long it has been

Tell me the secret, don’t be so mean!

Time would come when rain would give in

Leaving behind your boughs and the luster green

Slipping down those stems you too would begin

You too would wonder what could have been

If some spell could keep you evergreen

Green forever, not losing your sheen

Then I would drown you leafy green

In search of your color, in search of your sheen.

Kiss

2010-09-03T11:20:00.000-07:00

And she lolled on my shoulders, the whorls brushing against my ears, tickling me in an eerie manner. I tried to nudge and adjust slightly without disturbing her sleep; moments of respite then again the situation would get to me. Half an hour had passed like that and the bus was still sailing through, halting occasionally near the roadside food joints. I had not taken my dinner; maybe the food on platters or the ambience around left me feeling anorexic.

The bus halted again, I checked my watch it was about 1:30 A.M now. The shimmering yellow glow outside and the aroma of simmering lentils outdid me this time. My stomach churned, pang of hunger, I fathomed. Then an irritation in my throat, I moved my face towards the window and let out a cough, a bit louder than anticipated; I felt abashed and moved to check if her sleep had been disturbed. Maybe, that was my first glance at her face in the 3 hours journey that we had already completed snuggled to each other. When she came in, I had been too engrossed in my novel to move my eyes elsewhere. Not even moved by the rustles and clinks of her ornamented scarf. But now I was caught spellbound. Hunger, itch, thirst- nothing could stir my hypnotized soul. The bus started with a jolt, the moonbeams seemed to dance on those placid eyes eluding the sculpted lashes. On her face it performed a chasse, now on those chubby cheeks, then on that cute little nose which gave me a feeling that it just was about to sneeze. Then the rays would poke the chin and move to the glitters and embroideries of the scarf. I smiled to myself like an admirer of a mime show. Now I wanted the journey never to end, more precisely I wished never to unburden my shoulder.

Another halt and another jerk interrupted the show, I blinked, 2.30 A.M and still insomniac, the hunger too had attenuated but curiosity never ceased. What was hidden beneath those bud like structures in reddish hue, I still had no clue. Those lips seldom moved, even when they did, they never parted but rolled over each other. Her eyes too were equally cryptic, like an ancient treasure hitherto unexplored, protected by lids and girded by fine brows which furrowed each time the wind touched her face. I wanted to cover them, shield them from the passing wind, absurdly starting to hate the wrinkles as if they were creasing my own face. Subtle breeze landed a strand of hair on the eye lids, hint of waves again in the sea of tranquility; I considered putting the curls back to place but dreaded waking her up. I tried to blow them away instead, but they would always return back to caress her visage, like a former lover. For the third time I blew air through my mouth, by now it had turned into a competition between my breath and that strand. A fourth, a fifth, then I gave up and sighed in defeat. One look at the furrows and I was tempted again, “Something new”, I thought this time. She was inches away from me, resting on my shoulders; I could easily pick that part up with a mere gesture of my face. I took my face closer to her, the curl still resting firm; I picked the bundle with my lips and accidentally touched her eyes in this process. A feeling like never before, my virgin lips had touched feather, it felt. I tried curbing the temptation, but a voice inside pushed me to do it again. This time more conscious and confident I moved again, a sudden bump with a creaky noise did the rest, I fell on her face, my lips partly on her upper-lip and partly on her nose. I saw the eyelids open now, the bluish iris tilted towards me leaving me befuddled and bedazzled at the same time.

“Will she slap me? Or shriek in horror?”

“Sorry it braked suddenly, I could not hold back”, I tried my best to cover the mess.

“No, I must say sorry. I don’t even know when I fell on your shoulders. Must have been an arduous journey for you,” she apologized with the same set of lips and eyelids which I had kissed just moments ago and they looked seriously embarrassed.

We saw the other passengers rush forward jostling each other in quest of their destination. “Damn, Time to depart!”

“No, it’s perfectly alright. No big deal”, I murmured.

By then, she had started removing her luggage from the bunk above. An air of fragrance I felt, as if freshly plucked jasmine had covered my face but it was only her arms which hovered over me. I kept smiling foolishly in a puerile fashion.

“Goodbye”- her last words as I walked out of the bus. Years later, I still wish if silence had been the lingua franca.

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The Broken fountainhead

2010-07-04T03:32:00.000-07:00

I wondered why the noose had been tied so tight… it was aching by then.
“Can’t they let me die in peace?”- The voice inside me murmured.

They say- standing on the scaffold, you don’t argue with the hangman and I better toed the line. It came as a pleasant surprise, when they asked me my last wish; I contemplated requesting them to loosen the noose but resisted. Instead I told them not to bow their head or blink their eyes when I leave this shore enroute to hell. Could there be a better fitting place for a man who plundered souls, destroyed generations and butchered chickens and kids alike? I closed my eyes and mumbled my last prayers- for all the remnants of those I killed, for all the souls like me who led in delusion and finally for the little boy – I last gunned down.

For most part of the courtroom episode, I stood head bowed down, like an errant schoolboy. Charges were hurled and curses turned to froth, yet I stood stone-faced. I had taken no lawyer, thus leaving it up to me to fend the criticisms. Witnesses came and pointed fingers, there were at least a hundred of them; some I recognized were my former accomplices, there were assortment of charges labeled- from treason to murders to rapes-some true, some fragrant lies- yet they passed on with not a single word exchanged. Occasionally, when I put my eyes up, I could see only hatred and loathing for me- their tears burnt my soul like acid rain, their glares conveyed vengeance. Deserted by those I befriended and shunned by those I worshipped, I could sense the blindfolded figure by my side squint under the fold, her scale lopsided with the burden of my sins- the whole hall seemed an allegory of hell. After a month had passed, the judge finally asked me, “Do you have anything to say in your defense?” Somehow clearing the lump in my throat, I whispered, “Mercy” thrice in the same susurration, in a bid to make it audible through my voiceless-ness. The public prosecutor countered, “Mercy and pity for a heartless sadist?” “Sympathy for a misanthrope who relishes laying cadavers”- he jibed. The repartee garnered a round of applause from the crowd; and the hall soon dissolved into unbearable chaos, prompting the judge to bang his hammer numerous times in vain; they were calmed at last, by the lawyer’s raised hand. Mr. Qureshi, the prosecutor was in his mid thirties, touted as the next big thing, he was a master of ripostes. A black coat without frill, kempt hair parted from side- he seemed to justify every inch of the name and fame. I found his wrath against me was more personal, as I was rumored to have murdered his sister, but having never kept lists of my victims- I could not disagree. Thus my own guilt never allowed me to look into his eyes. After he had finished, I gathered some courage to clarify- “mercy and pity- not for me but for all those who are duped into this pogrom year after year- in the name of caste, religion, peace and God; for all those who were made to believe mass killing opened the doors to heaven”. With a hint of emotion in my otherwise stony face, I garbled- “They were born ‘flesh and limbs’ just like you; those kids too deserved pens not guns. They shot first blood, before you could figure out the color red”. Just then, the judge reminded me to respect the decorum of the court and stated, “If that is all you have to say, I would proceed with my decision”. Moving his eyes off me, he proclaimed- “On basis of evidences and witnesses it has been established that the culprit is a perpetrator of all the heinous crimes charged against him, thus under section 302 of Indian penal code…….To be hanged till death” – with this he broke the fountainhead by a single stroke on the piece of paper.

People embraced each other and hailed the verdict, later I learnt some thought even death sentence was leniency for me and I should rather be pelted in open boulevards. In my last few days, I met neither my wife nor mother- the only survivors of my family, not as if they cared anymore.

That day, I could have easily fled away after the fireworks abated, if not for that one incident. Iqbal shook me twice before being parried away by Shawar, but I was too inebriated to move or even bat eyelid. I stood there for a few minutes and then fell on my knees, held him up close to me for one last time and kissed his eyes as I put them to rest. He drooped on my shoulders as he always did while asleep. The same eyes that glittered every time I returned home after months delay. The same nose which sneezed then rubbed my kurta; the same anxious ears which demanded lullabies, each night I would be by his side. The same head I would move my hands over before leaving; and the same hands which would never let go of me. Nothing had changed, not even the glossy pink lips- but why aren’t they parting to call ‘Baba’ again? Why doesn’t he cling on to me as I hold him on? Did he really know which gun fired the bullet that perforated his impeccant heart? I knew, even if he did not that the arms where he found solace had betrayed him today, the man who ought to be his savior had turned his destructor.

It was an ambush which I masterminded. Our leader had thrust the responsibility on me and I cherished this fact like a pious patriot. We had attacked the military base, where ill-equipped soldiers resembled sitting ducks as we blew them one after another. We had almost won the battle, just then I saw the brown pajamas toddling forward and then dozing down. Asif had noticed me behind the shrubs and was running forth to jump into my lap. One amongst his many complaints, when I used to return home would be- his inability to blow away all the terrorists at a go ala Sunny Deol, his favorite movie-star. He wanted to see the real action and treasured ambition of joining the army, because as told to him- his father was a gallant soldier of the Indian army. While, in my academy, they taught me anarchism, religious jingoism, battlefield stratagem, guerilla warfare, etc. but one thing they missed out was time travel. Could I get my Asif back today? Could I return the bullet back to the barrel?

Suddenly I felt a stir; I opened my eyes and saw the AK-47 slipping out of my grip. Then to my astonishment, I saw the same gleaming face, this time the lips moved and uttered,
“Baba give me the gun, I need to shoot the mosquitoes.” I snatched the gun and threw it away and vowed never to pick it up again. I could sense Allah had given me a second chance, a fortuitous escape from the dreaded aftermath. The next morning I landed up in jail, my shelter for the coming years. Asif knows his soldier dad is on a mission ala Sunny Deol and he still brags about it. It seems ‘The broken fountainhead’ has finally been mended.

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Illiteracy – An Inheritance

2010-05-31T11:31:00.000-07:00

Ramu stood beside his blue trolley which he called ‘chaat’ stall. He often placed it in front of parked cars in the ‘No Parking’ area annoying the intruders, as they honked vehemently for more space. Oblivious in such bedlam he hummed bhojpuri tunes in soliloquy. His customers came in all shapes and sizes- the poor child laborer to fill his vacuum, the rich out for their austere drives and the giggling couples celebrating new found romance. Ramu welcomed all with smile and served them all in similar platters, irrespective of their status or status quo. The platters were all made of folded papers, papers of varieties from magazine covers to newspapers to company catalogues and inadvertently he even popped out quondam exam answer sheets and question papers from time to time. But the irony was that they all meant the same to him- rip, serve and throw away. Raju his younger son often accompanied him and sat on the stool nearby, dad didn’t mind, just in case more patrons stepped in, sonny boy might be of help; after all this was where his future lay and faster he picks up the traits better it augured for him. Usually the craving for bhelpuri, panipuri and chaat remained limited, thus Raju could spend his day doing what he liked most- flying ‘paper’ planes and mirthfully anticipating them to touch the clouds, which they never did. He wished the planes had real wings and sometimes even fantasized the same for him, but wings he was told were bonafide properties of the privileged classes. The paper darts often swung into the nearby playground, where cherubs of pompous begetters picked them up, they found them majestic creations with multiple usage- one could read out ‘A for apple’ and then blow the same alfresco. Yet the inventor of this peculiar gizmo was no mechanical genius, nor was there any chance of this happening in distant future. The fact that Raju dropped out of school while still in primary class, never bothered his parents. More so because, the only school they could afford had no teaching staff and so classes were never conducted. Ramu grew up in the same way and still could feed 5 bellies a roti each, so what’s the fuss about literacy?

Though the characters here are all imaginary, yet their existence is omnipresent in our society. The kitty parties shed glycerin tears for child laborers and from behind the curtains, surfaces a kid with a tray full of chocolate chips and a teapot (keeping in mind alcohol abstainers). Similarly while Mantriji goes haranguing about child literacy schemes, the likes of Chhotus and Rajus queue up backstage for after-cleaning. There have been several debates over revamping educational structure. Different schemes like introducing mid-day meals in an attempt to lure the poor kids have flattered to deceive, the lackadaisical attitude of the impoverished seems an enigma to the government. While, mid day meal can stuff starved bellies for the time being, it does not satisfy the necessities of the whole household in the longer run. When a rich kid struts around in fancy tricycles, the tiny shoulders of the poorer bears the burden of cement sacks, when the former cheers for their fav IPL franchisee sitting in comfy couches, BPL quota is all the latter has to savor and treasure. Back home, we ideate our domestic helps as domesticated animals; an imaginary barter system exists, tantamount to the one between cow and man, where you feed the cow to extract milk. We never encourage them to think beyond our confined barricades lest they too start dreaming of greener pastures.

The stigma is rather a heritage, which comes down from generations- a servant’s son/ daughter should grow as a servant, a rickshaw-puller’s son should follow suit and the tale continues. While education for all is the motto of UNESCO, we forget the underlying fact that- ‘all’ covers adult as well as child education, whether you are 8 or 80 education is your birth right. The root to illiteracy resides in the attitude of adults and thus instead of going from bottom to top, here some planning has to be done widdershins, turning the hour clock upside down. Thus, the need to educate the parents is as much important as it is to educate the kids.

“No one is born a slave, they are clad later”.

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Chakde! again

2010-05-19T02:44:00.000-07:00

Lullabies, there are of many kinds but till they serve the basic purpose, notwithstanding their genre they are all the same. I preferred stories to songs, and the old lady, my grandmother, had crest full of them. Wise and wily she was, she lulled us to sleep before finishing any of her tales and thus the crest needed no refilling. But not anymore, I decided, “today you will have to finish the whole tale”. Grandma admitted, she knew none and it was the treacherous art of exaggerating, which duped us in everyday. I whined and pestered, “tell me a tale you know, or else I won’t sleep”, the wrinkles in her pallid visage were clearly visible by now, it was a challenge to her position as the virtuoso story teller of our house. She decided to deal with something she knew, bitter yet universal, sordid yet gluing, trite yet significant.

Here she started:

“They preached and believed in the fabled tale; women were made for household chores- nursing the kids, feeding the olds, sweeping the fence and that was her life. In the 1500 sq. ft. house she roamed only half of it, her day started from the bedroom moved on to the kitchen and ended again from where it started. She was not allowed to move on to the drawing room, not allowed to meet the strangers, lest she lost her sanctity. Yet she never complained, this was how it was meant to be, an emancipated slavery inherited from generations bygone, they were bound to suffer; Cursed as kids, beleaguered in adolescence and abandoned when no shine were left- her life was tantamount to that of the goat tied by the post, which knew it was meant for oblation but still exuded an enigmatic masochism”.

I cut her short, “but teacher says times are changing, now even girls go out and walk the same pavements as the boys do, even in our school there are so many girls, they never look like they have gone through these. Moreover look at mom, she too is a girl and dadi, you are forgetting “Chakde! India”, the movie we saw together during my last summer vacation; then you looked ecstatic, cheering as the ladies with sticks chased the ball. Not just the stick game, I have seen them participate in cricket too, there are so many girls dancing each time the ball hits the stumps or is hit out of the stadium. You know what? You are saying all this because you always loved didi more than me, just like my class teacher who never cared if Natasha giggled while she taught, but made me kneel down even if I wronged a single spelling”.

Dadi smiled, put her finger on my lips then moved them through my hair, “I love you both the same way; you two mean the same to me. I am acclimatizing you with the milieu that you would grow to be a part of. Life has been such for eves since they were begotten and the atrocities never cease to end. Getting to your explanations, let me tell you, the stick game you are referring to is Hockey, our national sport just like cricket is for England. My dear child you were talking about cheerleaders who dance frivolously to peppy tunes, do you know that we have a women’s cricket team of our own?”

I was startled by the last two revelations at least, I never knew that hockey and not cricket was our national game, let alone that, I never knew the former was a game at all. Did she just say Women’s cricket? How come I never heard of it?

But I am not alone, even the sports administrators in our country are oblivious to any happenings other than men’s cricket. Their ignorance was evident when just a few days before the T20 world cup; Sudha Shah, the longstanding coach of the Women’s cricket team was sacked for reason unknown. To add more salt to the bruise, they appointed Mr. K.V.P. Rao, an unheard commodity with no coaching experience, as the coach of the team for the World Cup, that too just 10 days before the meet. Rao as per sources is a former Bihar and East zone player with no international experience; do we need a scientist to conclude that it was a clear case of nepotism? “While in men’s cricket, coaches are given 2-3 years to assimilate with the team, why women are treated as such?” An unnamed supporter argued. She went on- even if they had to make a change, why not recruit a woman, at least it facilitates easy gelling. While, the men’s team with all hoopla and adulation get kicked out of all major tournaments, their counterparts have shown immense solidarity in adverse circumstances and are keeping their winning streak alive but in hushed silence. Now take a look at the unseen.

World Cup	Asia Cup	ICC World T20
1973: did not participate 1978: 4th place 1982: 4th place 1988: did not participate 1993: 4th place 1997: Semi Finals 2000: Semi Finals 2005: Runners up 2009: 3rd place	2004: Winners 2005: Winners 2006: Winners 2008: Winners	2009: Semi-Finalists 2010:Semi Finalists

These stats might be impressive, yet stats never were good story tellers and often fabricated tales like Grandma did. Here it forgot to tell us that it was only in 2006 that BCCI, the richest cricket body, took women’s cricket into its fold.

It is not cricket alone, remember P.T. Usha? The other name for running in India, often regarded the best athlete the country has ever produced- a staggering 101 international medals speak volumes about her stature. Could you believe, even she was reduced to tears when Sports Authority of India (SAI) came up with shabby accommodations for her, a year or so ago when she was in Bhopal attending the National Open Athletics meet. A tearful Usha conceded, “If I get this type of treatment, you can imagine what other athletes get”. While we talk of encouraging kids to take up sports seriously, which parents would dream of a similar future for their child? One might argue that Sania Mirza got due support, but it was only because she was a tennis player and in her we saw our own copy of the Maria Sharapovas and Anna Kournikovas, and as fate had it she flattered only to deceive. This brings us to another issue, is sports all about glamour? Are we into an age where a sportsman needs P.R consultants and make-up artists to garner sporting accolades? While the paparazzi swoon over Dhoni’s hair and glare, nobody notices the dimples in coy Mithali Raj’s face. Maybe, that’s a boon rather than bane; maybe this is what has kept them going. They might have been out of the World T20 by now, but not without a fight in the field and not with a fight in some pub. Another semi-final berth and a track record where they accepted nothing less than a 4^th place finish certainly is not enough to awaken the administrators from their stupor- Have they become immune to Chakde syrup? Or do we need a sequel?

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Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar- God's own

2010-05-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

“Beneath the helmet, under that unruly curly hair, inside the cranium, there is something we don’t know, something beyond scientific measure. Something that allows him to soar, to roam a territory of sport that, forget us, even those who are gifted enough to play alongside him cannot even fathom. When he goes out to bat, people switch on their television sets and switch off their lives.” – BBC sports

Tying the left pad first followed by a peculiar movement of thighs, a diminutive man with curly hair walks flailing a heavy weapon which has something encrypted in blood- MRF it says. Not so high above on his forehead, tinkles the tri-colored flag, as if a souvenir from the thousand battles won. We call the warrior, Sachin Tendulkar, and the battlefield in not only cricket. Over the years a lot has changed, advent of T20, power play, young legs, flashy hitting and even Sachin’s bat and body( after numerous surgeries), still the impact remains the same. He is more than a cricketer, every gait of whose is awaited with bated breath and every chuckle brings thousand smiles to aggrieved faces. He is analgesia to the repeated wounds, solace for the terrorized souls, fuel for the patriotic hearts, and lot more.

Peter Roebuck, a celebrated sports writer shared an incident which somewhat demonstrates the meaning of the play card often seen numerous times over these 20 odd years, which read, “Sachin is India and India is Sachin”.

Roebuck remembers, “On a train from Shimla to Delhi, there was a halt in one of the stations. The train stopped by for few minutes as usual. Sachin was nearing century, batting on 98. The passengers, railway officials, everyone on the train waited for Sachin to complete the century. This Genius can stop time in India!!”

There is another story, though from a mite, not as mighty as the sports writer. The day was 23rd May, 1999; match – India v/s Kenya (World cup) at Bristol- A kid, who understood very less of cricket apart from the fact that it was played by Sachin, had burnt his thigh and was wailing in pain. Such was the condition of his charred thigh that he could afford nothing more than a pair of underpants for cover. The maestro had returned halfway from the world cup due to his father’s death, only to resurface for this match and the rest of the series. Such is his commitment, that even his life’s biggest turmoil could not flutter his love for the game. The kid needed something to cheer him up, lot of people tried different things, from movies to surprise gifts nothing worked. In came the master, looking a little shabby and grief stricken, but once he lifted his sledge hammer it was mourning of a different kind, and the mourners were the Kenyan bowlers, run by run he escalated and catapulted India to win. With each run, widened the child’s smile and by the end it turned into elation, watching the God in sublime touch.

Here, the child was I and this was just one such incident among many where Sachin acted as soother.

When they say Sachin is a religion I disagree because he is more than that. The only thing that binds all Indians after the national flag is an emblem called, ‘Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar’. You might have a hundred idols and thousands of interests other than cricket, but nothing comes close to watching Sachin play. The rise of Sachin and his transcending horizons is written down in the folklores and quoted with bardic precision, this is because Sachin’s story is a dream every middle class guy dreams at some point of time. The surreal rise of the younger son of a middle class professor, Ramesh Tendulkar, is etched in the memory of all Indians. These things happen only in movies and even if a poor man touches fame in real, he is lost in transition amidst the hoopla and grandiose. His story could have been that of another Vinod Kambli, the same childhood friend touted as better than Sachin and Lara, why not? He started in a fashion which made them believe so: back to back double hundreds in test cricket coupled with two more centuries, all in just seven tests. But sword of Damocles fell on Kambli, sooner rather than later, this was inevitable, success is not everyone’s cup of tea and Vinod learnt it the tough way. Dropped from the test team at just 24 years of age and several sporadic peeps into the one-day team did not do him any good. But it was Kambli’s arrogance and Sachin’s modesty that made the difference, as they say, talent can be done without but hard work cannot. Till, today Sachin is known to practice more than the youngest faces do, thus each run made is a result of ocean of sweat bequeathed.

On this note, another incident comes into mind, Suresh Shastri, a former first class cricketer- turned- umpire narrates, “ We missed out a train to Jaipur for a club match and he was the only one who insisted we should not return home, which meant we had to travel unreserved in the next available train. We reached very early on the morning of the match. When the rest slept, this young lad was knocking (his bat) in his room, mentally turning himself for the match. I realized that day, this boy was something special”

Often questions are asked, like had Sachin not been a cricketer what would he have been?

The answer is nothing. What else do you expect a school dropout to do? A high school drop-out, walking heads and shoulders above the scholastics, and deservingly so after contributing to the nation that a very few can brag about. The dawn of Sachin, brought a fresh change in the air, he had a repertoire of unmatched stroke play, elegant yet brutal coupled with subtle variations. Exquisite cover-drives, personalized straight drives, cunning pedal sweeps, he has them all. While, Rahul Dravid remains Mr. Technique and Brian Lara remains the style king; Sachin had a very simple approach to the game, an open book yet chapters untold. The mystery to Sachin’s success is that there is no mystery at all.

A contemporary colt from Achrekar stable Naresh Churi recalls, “Once I saw Sachin hitting in the air and asked the coach, ‘You told us to keep the ball along the ground but Sachin is doing the opposite.’ Achrekar sir told me, ‘When he hits, he not only middles the ball but he clears the ground. Plus he doesn’t get out when he lifts the ball.’ I appreciated the logic and I knew then that Sachin was special.”

In an otherwise almost cleanest image in World cricket (if a few unproven incidents are left away), the only thing detractors pointed out was that Sachin never won matches. But the tag match winner itself is a perplex combo, match-winner in common places means a person who wins matches, irrespective of whether the runs were scored in the1st innings or 2nd innings, the runs need to come in a winning cause. By the matter of fact, Sachin Tendulkar is placed 10th in all time lists of highest numbers of runs scored in a winning cause and his average of 65.43 is the 12th best ever in the history of Test Cricket. Statistics are even brighter in the shorter format (ODI) where out of Sachin’s 46 centuries, 30 (12 batting in second innings) have been in winning cause, sealing all the doubts about his temperament. But being Sachin Tendulkar comes with its own price; the fans never know what there expectations are, even after he scored a 200 in a recently concluded one-day international, a friend of mine brushed it aside saying it was a one-off thing. But undeterred by such cynics, the soprano goes on crooning batting ballads. As Wasim Akram, once delphically stated that India will understand the value of Sachin only when he will no more be around in the cricketing field. But hope that time never comes and the amaranth called, Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar never fades.

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The first interview I took

2010-05-09T02:24:00.000-07:00

‘Shishu Sarothi’ is a centre for rehabilitation & training of multiple disabilities, situated opposite of Ramakrishna Mission, Guwahati,Assam. In recognition of its achievements, Shishu Sarothi received the National Award for Best Institution from the President of India in 2004, and also State Award for Best Community Service from the Chief Minister of Assam in 2007. Here are some excerpts from my interview with the augustly, Mr. Arman Ali, Executive Director of the organization.

VP: Sir, when and how did this noble venture start?

AA: First of all please don’t attach words such as noble; we are just doing our duty of being a part of the society. The organization was started in 1987 by a few like minded people. It was a humble beginning with a rented house, only two kids and a single trained professional.

VP: Kindly, enlighten us on your functioning.

AA: We run training programmes, approved by Rehabilitation Council of India, Govt. of India (RCI), with the aim to create a pool of trained rehabilitation professionals in the region. During the year 2007-08, our Human Resources Department has trained over 5000 teachers, special educators, doctors and other professionals. A Day Care Centre for Special education (CSE) is run for Guwahati based children to provide child specific programmes through all-round educational and therapeutic inputs. At present our Centre for Special Education is providing education and therapeutical inputs to over 100 children with disabilities through a regular curriculum. Our Diagnostic Clinic and Outdoor Service Department (OSD) is attended by children from all over the North East region, whereby we screen children and provide Home Management Programmes, Early Intervention, Counseling and Demonstration of Physiotherapy. Every year, our Outdoor Service Department provides these services to over 600 children, including infants, from all over the North East. Our Disability Law Unit advocates the rights of persons with disabilities through litigation, policy change & sensitization programmes. It provides legal assistance & information to people from all over the Northeast region. A one year Vocational Training for Disabled Youths is conducted whereby 10 youths with cross disability are trained in catering and other hotel service business. We have a tie up with the Institute of Hotel Management. Govt. of India.

VP: We would like to know more about your growth over the period of time.

AA: As I told before, it was a humble beginning, we got land from the government and as time passed we grew in size, man-power and reach. At first, we worked in a single room, now we provide outdoor services which include physiotherapy sessions. Presently, we are able to support other such organizations in community level.

VP: In our society, people with disabilities are seceded from the rest and always looked down upon- what is your say on this?

AA: There is a stigma attached to disability. I believe poverty leads to disability and vice-versa. Take for instance if a mother does not get proper care during pregnancy, she produces off-springs with various disorders. There is a myth that goes- a disabled child is a curse for the sins committed in past life, the believer in this fallacy seclude the disabled child from the rest of their family. But thankfully, things are changing for good.

VP: How do you rate your performance so far in moving towards the goal you had set up?

AA: We have miles to go, presently we are able to cater to a very negligible part of the disabled population but we will surely progress through dedicated efforts.

VP: What are your future goals?

AA: We want to be a one-stop knowledge centre for the people with disabilities and help them attain equal rights in the society

VP: The deterrent factors, if any that you faced in this noble cause?

AA: Everyday is a fight as both resources and manpower are limited. Another thing we need to cope with is breaking the barriers of mind, which can be done only by spreading more awareness.

VP: How has been the Government support?

AA: Not much to talk about here. Only 2 of our projects are supported by the Government which in no way is enough.

VP: Tele-serials and movies have been highlighting various forms of mental and physical disabilities, since a long time. What is your take on that?

AA: Reel and real life are two completely different things, the way disabled characters are portrayed in reel life- equipped with all the necessities and blessed with social acceptances; the reality is quite contrasting, and everyone is not fateful enough to enjoy such support. Though, I appreciate the positive energy that they create, it certainly helps as they have mass impact.

VP: As you are aware, in today’s generation lots of people are eager to contribute towards the society- could you suggest any ways through which we can play our part in your mission.

AA: By garnering resources – both monetary and non-monetary. You can actively participate as volunteers and help us pave the path for their better future.

VP: Any special message you want to share?

AA: It is high time the disabled people are recognized as equals and considered as part of our mainstream society.

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A walk in the realms of gold

2010-05-09T02:19:00.000-07:00

The more you try to catch it, the more it slips away. This city seems to have been sculpted with sands, nothing artificial and no adulteration involved. The ‘Golden city’, Jaisalmer, sits firmly on the lap of the ‘Thar Desert’, one of the last states to sign a treaty with the British; it takes you on a journey to the illustrious past of medieval India. The city was founded by Deoraj, prince of the illustrious Bhatti Rajput clan. Jaisalmer was positioned strategically and was a halting point along a traditional trade route traversed by the camel caravans of Indian and Asian merchants. The route linked India to Central Asia, Egypt, Arabia, Persia (now Iran), Africa and the West.
The economy of the city is basically driven by tourism, as tourists from all around the world flock the desert land during October-February. Though direct connectivity is still a problem, as Jaisalmer is still considered more remote than its greater cousins- Jaipur and Jodhpur; but taking a route by train just to slip away from the bedlam of city rats will not be a bad bargain. Jaisalmer is well-connected by train and is about 570 kms from Jaipur. A good network of roads join Jaisalmer with Jodhpur (308 kms) and many other destinations in and around Rajasthan. Moreover, the railway station is a unique masterpiece maintained by the Government, the architecture and cleanliness might well surprise you, if you are a regular train traveler.
Stay in the city is not a cause of concern, unlike the hassles you need to go through in other chic locales; this down to earth place is amazingly well accommodated for all. From the rich to the middle classes, everyone can find an encampment out here. The free conveyance to their hotels straight from the station is provided by some hoteliers, one amongst such is the Apollo guest house, perfectly located at minutes distance from the fort. The guest house like many others has been elegantly built using the local sandstone and features the traditional carving, latticework and inlay typical of the surrounding Haveli’s.
The peak time for tourists, as the locals say is between October to February; though the desert festival in the last week of January to first of Feb is something not to be missed out. As deserts are famous for their camels, Jaisalmer is known for its camel safari in ‘sam dunes’, which is about 42 kilometers away from the city. You can have your stay in desert camps, equipped with all necessities and enjoy the dances and folk songs of the local gypsies. If you are a music aficionado or connoisseur of Indian culture, this is something not to be missed out. The beauty does not end in dunes; it only contributes to a mystical beginning. As deserts were bound to have an element of capriciousness and darkness attached, 18 km drive from the city takes you to an uninhibited village, ‘Kuldhara’. It is said that, Kuldhara, once a prosperous settlement for the Paliwal Brahmins, all its residents of that of 83 nearby villages vanished suddenly one night in 1825, having lived there since 1291. In all likelihood they set up base somewhere beyond Jodhpur but no one has ever been sure. It is said they even left a curse on the villages, bringing death and suffering to anyone who tried to live in these villages. All said and assumed, it is a must see, for the sake of well built houses spread across a large area with no sight of a humanlike critter. Another such wonder is the Tanot temple situated 180 km away from Jaisalmer, near the Indo-Pak border. It is said that during the Indo-Pakistani War of 1971, Pakistani Army dropped several bombs targeting the temple but none of the bombs could fall on the temple and large no. of the bombs in the vicinity of the temple did not explode. After the war the temple management was handed over to Border Security Force of India. This pilgrimage is well maintained by the BSF jawans now. The temple has a museum which has collections of the unexploded bombs dropped by Pakistan.
Getting back to the city itself, Jaisalmer has 1 fort and 3 Havelis from the bygone era, namely, Jaisalmer fort, Nathmal Ji Ki Haveli, Patwon Ki Haveli and Salim Ji Ki haveli.
Jaisalmer fort is sand-dune like monolithic structure founded by Raja Rawal Jaisal, 6th from the Bhatti descendants. It is the second oldest fort in Rajasthan lying tall over all other monuments. Actually two hundred and fifty feet tall and reinforced by imposing crenellated sandstone wall 30 feet high; it has 99 bastions, 92 of which were built between 1633 and 1647. Wells within the fort still provide a regular source of water. Even in present times, you will find that nearly a quarter of the old city’s population resides within the fort. It is also known as ‘Sonar Quila’ (golden fort) after the famous Satyajit Ray movie of the same name and is a celebrated symbol of architectural fusion between Rajputs and Islamic rules of different eras.
The Nathmal Ji ki haveli was commissioned to serve as the residence of Diwan Mohata Nathmal, the then Prime Minister of Jaisalmer. Maharawal Beri Sal commissioned the construction of this Haveli. The architects of this haveli were Hathi and Lulu who happened to be brothers. There is a very interesting story regarding its construction. It is said that the two brothers started building different facets of haveli simultaneously. In those days there were no such instruments, which could keep a track on continuity and thus when this building came up finally it had irregular shape. The entrance is guarded by remarkable replica of two life-size elephants, and the engraved in the walls are pictures of horses, cattle, cars, fans, etc. The monument is open for sightseeing till 5 pm.
Moving on, the Patwon ki Haveli is another distinct piece of architecture. Constructed by the Patwas in early 1800s, it actually is a cluster of 5 different Havelis. It is said that the Patwas were traders and money-lenders and being extremely rich they could afford such extravagance. This is the largest Haveli in Jaisalmer and stands in a narrow lane. The whole building is made yellow sandstone, the main gateway of the Patwon Ji ki Haveli is in brown color.
The third and the last is Salim Ji ki Haveli, built on the remains of an older haveli built in the late 17th century. The new building was built in the year 1815 and was occupied by the Mehta family of Jaisalmer. The roof has been constructed in the form of Peacock. The haveli is situated beside the hills near the Jaisalmer Fort. People claim that Salim Singh made two additional floors in order to make it as high as the fort but the Maharaja did not take this attempt in good spirit and accordingly the two extra floors were broken down. The haveli consists of as many as 38 balconies and they all have distinct designs for themselves. The front facet of the haveli resembles ship stern and thus this haveli is also sometimes referred as Jahazmahal.
For a foodie, Jaisalmer happens to be a churner. ‘Kadi Pakora’ (flour dumplings cooked in yoghurt), ker sangri (desert beans and capers), bhanon aloo (potatoes stuffed with mint paste and simmered in gravy) – are veggie delights while, murgh-e-subz (boneless strips of chicken stir-fried with shredded vegetables) makes for a meaty ending. The best thing about the food there is its Indian essence as reflected in use of desi ghee in each of their dishes.
Traveling without shopping makes no sense, for your kitty full of souvenirs you can peep in at Sadar Bazar, Sonaron ka Bass, Manak Chowk, Pansari bazar, Gandhi Darshan, Seema gram, Rajsthani Govt. shop and Khadi Gramuddyog Emporium. Jaisalmer, like the rest of Rajasthan is famous for its handicrafts- mirror bags, carpets, rugs, blankets, etc all have ethnicity intact. Not to forget, the famous Rajasthani attire crafted with finesse, whether it is dupatta, ghagra choli, men’s embroidered jackets or footwears.
To conclude, if you are a fan of the desert folklores and want to enjoy the real beauty and hospitality of Rajasthan, then this is Rajasthan for you plattered in a golden dish.

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Indo-Pak Relations: An Ode to Odyssey

2010-04-05T12:09:00.000-07:00

They fought for a dream long cherished

Fleeting euphoria and then it perished

Alien limbs torn them asunder

Bliss sojourned, educing plunder

Cut to pieces in the name of peace

Oh! Lord, days bygone I miss

When kites flew in complete harmony

In blest air sans sanctimony.

When mellifluous wind told tales of love

To heralds serene, whom we called dove.

When being together was reason enough

Adamant enough we were to bow.

The tales and days, buried in sepulture unknown

Relics wait to be wiped up anon.

Since joy we behold, in the legend untold

Oblivious of the era when souls were sold

War we cry, arms we hold

Duped by power and blinded by gold

Hatred we bear, in manifold

Leaving the bereaved in anomic cold

Sanguine we fly in the crimson sky

Tears drop and dry, we never feel shy

Floras, faunas and the old wind passing by

Either they deceive or else all lie.

There was a time, we called them ally

But that was before we bade good-bye

On14^th Aug, 1947, a new part was carved out of India. Pakistan, it was called. 63 years! It has been a long and tedious journey since then. But has anything changed?

The partition lines could never change our languages, customs, skin color or for that matter, the color of blood and tears shed every now and then.

The August of 1947 was significant for many reasons: Independence- an achievement after centuries of toiling; Success of the two nation theory- separate political empire for two most ambitious leaders; Death of Gandhism before Gandhi died in the subsequent year.

Independence had been the dream of a united Bharat, but no one ever calculated such price. Unperturbed by the atrocities and the upheavals of time, the fire to attain freedom, kept burning in patriotic hearts, as the torch was passed from generation to generation. Tipu Sultan, Rani Laxmibai, Khan Abdul Gaffar Khan, Subhash Chandra Bose- juxtapose them, can you find out who contributed the most? Irrespective of class, creed, sex and religion, they bequeathed their lives for the generations to come. Dream, they dreamt of an independent and united India- not of 3 separate independent nations. Recriminations will go on forever as this is the thing we master in. Point your fingers at- Jinnah for conspiring and conceptualizing a two nation theory, Nehru for being over ambitious and selfish to the core, Gandhi for letting the matter get out of control, Mountbatten for putting the last nail in the coffin by dividing sentiments. Maybe they all were responsible but had reasons to justify their deeds; what was our reason for falling prey? Why did we kill our own people? How could sane individuals butcher infants? The reasons are all gone with the dead and as they say- the dead should rest in peace and we in pieces.

Everyday, we listen to a chorus of people demanding war, flesh and blood- like starved cannibals. Some say, the whole Pakistan should be blown away, others advocate cutting the Indians into pieces. The coveted title of terrorist state dances from Indian head to Pakistani and ultimately settles nowhere. We witness macabre bloodbath in the name of religion, where innocents are beheaded in open streets with chants of “Ram” and “Allah”.

We practice such barbarism, because we can afford to; independence, to us was served on golden platters and fed with silver spoons. Never having to jump into sea, gives you the license to visualize sharks and goldfishes, alike.

Partition, as I am told, was never a seamless process, certainly not for the hearts that were torn apart. Imagine, tomorrow you are asked to leave your homeland and find solace across the border, because you do not conform to the religious credo of your land anymore. Millions of our population was lost in transition, women raped and children butchered- but all in morality and in search of a sacred state. 9 million Hindus and 6 million Muslims are told to have crossed over, exchanging patriotism by bestowing cadavers in oblation to their respective religious deities. Trains were burnt to dust and passengers mutilated; in the process of cross-over some died of famishment and thirst while others were stomped to death. These were the same jingoistic masses, who not so long ago shouted, ‘Jai Hind’ and ‘Vande Mataram’ from their rooftops, defiant to kneel-down before their brutish oppressors. So, how these brothers-in-arms turned bete` noire` within a few sleepless nights, remains a mystery unsolved. But this incident, for the first time in centuries highlighted India (united) as a fragile state, and the politicians continue to feed on our gullible sentiments till now. A blast in Lahore is accompanied by battue in Gujarat and legacy is carried on till Assam, Karachi, etc. Then, in a regular fit of amnesia we call for peace process emanating a ray of hope through pellucid hearts, but all in deception of the subterranean motive to stretch more gaps.

There is no ocean separating us, no air traffic rules for the migratory birds and no restricted limit on the wind passing by. But then, these are all natural wonders obscure of humanly wisdoms. A 15 year old boy Nasir Sultan crossed the line for his craving to meet the Bollywood star Shahrukh Khan and ended up 2 months in prison. The officials claim he was lucky enough to get quick exit. About 40 years ago, Lakhanpal, another teenager crossed over in quest of meeting Amitabh Bachhan and spent 16 years behind bars, for which was maybe a heinous crime. The youngest such inmate was the not even 8-year-old Asif Khan, who could not tell his village’s name when he was caught near Wagah in July 2002. He was kept in confinement for four years. There have been 11 such kids in the past seven years in Faridkot jail alone. While, hardcore terrorists strut around without much hindrance and split fire everywhere, these kids suffer for their innocence. When a kite is blown away to the other part of the border, do we take offence?

Splicing up is not even a distant dream, but we can at least live and let live in harmony exorcising the ghosts from the paradise lost. Kashmir War, 1947; followed by wars of 1965, 1971 and lastly; the Kargil war, 1999- lives and properties were destroyed to immeasurable limits, but still we long for more blood. The alibi provided in support by the asinine masses is that, the soldiers lay their lives in war and we should respect the martyrs by keeping the war process going. Can they ever fathom what their bereaved families have lost? We throw them into battlefields, just for the sake of satisfying the political egos. Otherwise, is Kashmir a diamond harbor that nobody wants to let go of?

Will the peace prevail even if the Kashmir and allied disputes are solved?
Mull over it, it is the need of the hour.

Courtesy: Viewspaper

Oh! Woe-man: A Tale of Reservation

2010-04-05T11:59:00.000-07:00

Killed before parting with the placenta

Cuss, I meant to them

Raped before I could shriek

Toy, I resembled to them

Married before I could spell it

Burden, I was for them

Squelched before I batted eyelids

Slave, they bought for them

Burned alive as widow

Did I ever exist for them?

Such plaintive has been the tale, such have been the atrocities meted out to the souls, who are the progenitors of human civilization. Ever since, Eve tasted the forbidden fruit and was thrown out of Eden, there have been numerous instances where eves were ostracized from the society with no fault of theirs. We breathe in the same land, where the country is called ‘Mother land’, comparing it to our mothers. Once, a person bathes in ‘Mother Ganges’, he is said to follow a life sans sins. But the crack behind the veneer is split wide open even in the sacred, ‘Ramayana’ where Sita had to jump into fire to convince her husband that she was still as pure. Similar was the fate of Draupadi in ‘The Mahabharata’, who was traded in a gamble. We rank among the top of female infanticide’s list, the repercussion of which can be seen in our lop-sided male to female ratio (one of the worst in South East Asia). Generations have come and gone, but nothing has changed for our girls. Confined under the customary veils, with hopes in their maudlin eyes, they peep out from behind the closed corridors, anticipating a fresh air of analgesia or a horse ridden messiah from a lullaby-land. But just as life was never a fairytale, the hopes sink with the twilight and the aurora remains a forlorn illusion. Flip through the pages of a newspaper, they come with a plethora of sadistic tales reflecting the dominance of the fairer sex. A father rapes his daughter, in-laws burn bride for dowry, women sold in sex racket, an infant girl raped to death – these and plenty more, but still not enough to educe a single droplet of tear from our frivolous eyes.

But was it meant to be like this? Going by the constitution, we are secular country- equal rights for all. Rani Laxmibai, Lata Mangeshkar, Kiran Bedi, Sarojini Naidu, Indira Gandhi, Bachendri Pal, Kalpana Chawla- they are all Indians negating the perception that women never contributed towards the nation’s growth. But still they remain neglected and seceded like old furniture; whether it is the case of ‘right to education’ or ‘right to participation in political affairs’, they have always been pushed back. So it was no surprise, a kerfuffle broke out inside Rajya Sabha when the bill was introduced. The barbarism reached a new low when marshals needed to intervene into the proceedings, and 7 M.P’s were suspended. This melodrama was preceded with other installments of such histrionics due to which the R.S session got delayed on numerous occasions. But ultimately the bill was passed by consensus, and the country caught a glimpse of Cain and Abel bonhomie between Congress and BJP, otherwise staunch anathemas. It has been a long 14 years, since the bill was first proposed by the Deve Gowda government; after such epic ordeal, it came as a relief to many when the bill ultimately got passed in Rajya Sabha, though the Lok Sabha war still awaits and future still looks as gloomy. Now let us look into the oppositions to the bill and the reason why they squeal- the Yadav troika share opinions distingue, they are asking for separate reservations for Dalit women, Muslim women and women of other minorities, the non-fulfillment of which according to them will be injustice. Although word women in plurality absorbs every woman, irrespective of caste, creed and religion; ramification is an inherent part of our society. If you sit back and mull over, what the English left for us when they parted, three words would serve as memoirs- ‘sorry’, ‘thank you’ and ‘the policy of divide and rule’. The third is a tried and tested formula among politicos which never goes wrong – ignite a matchstick and the whole bush catches fire. Spell the words- Babri Masjid or Ram Mandir, Hindutva or Jihad, ‘minority’ or ‘backward classes’, ‘Marathi manoos’ or ‘North Indians’- blow the trumpet and unity falls like nine pins. Reservation in any form is not an answer and arguably propagates further divide, but when it comes to women – Do they not deservethe pride of a place after years of fruitless wait? The people who are vocal against women reservation, have they ever done anything for the upliftment of their mothers and sisters back home? While, the female to male ratio in Lalu and Sharad Yadav’s Bihar as per 2001 census survey is 919/1000 in comparison to 934/1000 in 1981 survey; Mulayam’s U.P has a more dismal 898/1000 though a tad up from formerly 835/1000. The figures mentioned include Dalits, Muslims and women from all other minorities, therefore casting helluva doubt over their intentions. Sharad Yadav even went on to say, “only ‘parkati’ women will benefit from the bill”, the sobriquet, bigots attach to middle and upper middle-class women. The bandwagon has been joined by ‘Shiv Sena’, an old hand in divisive politics and the list goes increasing with every passing day, making Lok Sabha a mountainesque task for the apostles. Though the bill remains a dream cherished, the recent judgment allowing permanent commission to women in Indian armed forces raises a toast for the hour.

Let us give our mothers their due, let us join hands and pave path for a new India. Let us make ‘herstory’ or history, whichever is preferable.

Courtesy: Viewspaper

Foreign Universities Bill: India Toddling Forward

2010-04-02T10:52:00.000-07:00

School textbooks taught us, education is our birthright and should be made available to anybody and everybody irrespective of social status. But does this really happen?

According to education department, while, 96 % of the population enrolls in primary school, 40 % of them drop out before getting to the age of 10, while just over a third of our high school students get a graduate degree.

According to the 2009 survey, India’s literacy rate was 76.9% for men and 54.5% for women, though a sign of great disparity but there are more reasons to rue. In our country literacy is defined by a person’s ability to write and read with understanding in a particular language. So a class 2 drop out is on equal terms with a graduate, going by the credo; hence providing a vague statistical manifestation of literacy levels. The start itself was a delayed one and the progress is a replica of that; it was only in 1978, when the National Adult Educational Programme was launched, that it was realized- poverty and illiteracy are interlinked. The NAEP included special programmes for women, backward classes and hill tribes and aimed at attaining complete literacy within 5 years in the age group 15-35, though overly optimistic and was never achieved, still a start it was. There have been numerous efforts since then like, National literacy scheme (1988), Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan (2001), Mid-day meal scheme (1995), etc. in making education accessible to all. But though some of the programmes have attained partial success, all were concerned about primary education. Nobody felt the need of catering higher education at affordable rates to poor kids; albeit the fact that only higher education determines your value in the employment market and the lack of it produces large scale unemployment.

Another acute issue deserving immediate attention is brain drain. According to reports, Indian students going abroad for higher studies cost India foreign exchange of $ 10 billion every year, while $2 billion a year is lost every year due to emigration of Indian computer engineers (esp. software) to United States. Whether it is in search of higher salaries or better education people still venture off-shores in sheaf, gussied up under the bric-a-brac of the world being a ‘global village’. Hindsight into the number of foreign students migrating to India reveals the real story, where barring a handful of poorer African countries and nations like Tibet, Nepal, Bangladesh, Ukraine, etc. very few people come to study here. When it is said that the new American educational policy is being framed keeping India in mind, only 4 of our institutes find mention in the top 200 universities of the world. The IITs rank 57^th in the list of world’s top 200 universities, while the IIMs have been ranked 68^th and JNU comes 183^rd on the list published by the Times Higher Education Supplement. This is largely due to the non-uniformity of education served in our country; whilst not many students end up cracking the entrances of the ‘crème de la crème’ rest are either left as squatters in ‘hinterland-India’ or are lured by chichi bivouacs abroad. Although inability to knock though the entrance tests should not be mistaken for dearth of talent, as a student in India has to deal with several other hindrances like- nepotism, corruption and of course reservation system. Reservation itself is sub-divided into – religion based, gender based, caste based, management quota, state of domiciles, etc. which provides a raw deal to many deserving candidates. No one has forgotten the picture of a female medical student braving water canons in protest of reservation system and students putting themselves to fire have become a clichéd sight.

Though of recent, the country has seen a glimpse of the new dawn, if not Elysium: The uniform grading system; scrapping class ten exams; Right to Education Bill- ensuring free and compulsory education to all kids between 6-14 years of age and also making education a fundamental right; and of course much hyped the recent Foreign Educational Institution (Regulation of Entry and Operation) Bill, 2010. The foreign educational institution bill allows foreign universities to set up their own campuses in India and grant degrees on their own. It is a boon for all the students who aspired to study abroad but had to scrap their dreams due to financial problems. Moreover, the HRD minister Kapil Sibal, has made it clear that reservation system will not be applicable in these varsities, thus paving way for healthy merit based competition. But there are concerns amongst different parts of the society and they too have valid reasons. Although the bill says quota laws will not be applicable, trading of seats cannot be ruled out. In our county, where even primary school admissions are subject to donations and the premier institutes sell seats openly, such speculations should not be written off. The second problem pointed out by the prognosticators is the probability of top faculties of our illustrious institutions, like IIT’s and IIM’s exchanging loyalties in greed for better pay by the foreign cousins. The Indian varsities are bound to suffer amidst tough competition, but isn’t it the right time to gamble? After all, competitions always get the best out of bests. The prospect of Imperial College, Duke College, Schulich School of Business, Georgia tech, etc. coming to India seems lucrative from a student’s point of view and thus also prevents brain drain. But one area still seeking attention is the higher education for the poorer populace, and the need to distinguish poor from lower castes and minorities. A hill tribe or a scheduled caste person does not necessarily dwell in a poor household; and in contrary a higher caste person or religious majority is not always endowed with floral garlands and diamond jewels.

So, for the time being ‘foreign universities bill’ is a welcome step, but the steps should be scrutinized closely.

Courtesy: Viewspaper

Social Gaming: We are Hooked

2010-04-02T10:13:00.000-07:00

“I will be out of station for a few days”, she informed grimly. “Who will look after my cattle, sheep and crops? Who feeds my fishes in my absence?” she demanded.
‘She’ here is no concerned farmer or fisher-woman; she is a dear friend of mine speaking apropos her facebook applications. ‘Facebook’ as you know, is not a family collage of passport sized faces. It is in fact, the current rage in social networking, hip and de rigueur; if you do not have and account there, you are too boho for survival in today’s world. Gone are the days when networking was limited to kitty parties and decorated soiree, tap your keys and there you are – the uncrowned prince of virtual world.

As I woke up- splashed water on my face, belched some out, I saw flood in front of my eyes, flood it was of another kind. Notifications swept away virgin sleep from my dizzy eyes, everyone needed help- help! Help! They shrieked. Some had hatched eggs as I was preparing for breakfast. Chintu (to his disgust) discovered Sharma uncle was his ‘lover of the day’. Ayesha broke up with Amir, because he flashed as her enemy of the day and accordingly changed her relationship status to ‘its complicated’. Akshay begged me to join his mafia and in a few clicks I became a don, donning the killer gloves and waging wars against my facebook friends-turned-mafia nemeses at the snap of fingers. ‘Shyla found a lost White Kitty on their farm’, It said. Oh no! I had to rescue her by adoption, but discovered someone had already drenched himself in this Holy Grail.
‘Mr. X has commented on a photo of you’, I rushed to check out and found I was only one of many nominal representatives in a montage featuring varied breed of canines.

Complicated, this world is- just like Ayesha’s status, but this is the milieu we breathe in and ‘net friends’ are the people we spend more time with , than we do with our real life buddies and relatives. Though, social networking websites like- Orkut, Facebook, Bebo, My space, etc- with its pros and cons have become inseparable part of our daily lives; it has given rise to a new epidemic called, social gaming. While, there are social gaming websites like – Secondlife, Entropia Universe, IMVU, There, Zapak etc. completely designed for that purpose; the need of the hour, it seems is integrating your applications with social networking websites. Take the case of gaming giant Electronic Arts who have realized it in time and jumped into the social networking bandwagon- by bringing the much anticipated Dante’s inferno and the renowned Need for speed Nitro on Facebook.

It is ironical how heaps of money is invested in the Console gaming industry and millions are employed on making the games more realistic, yet a strategy game with 2D graphics eats up a large share of the gaming populace. If statistics are to be believed, Farmville has 72.9 million monthly active users, making it by far the most popular game on Facebook. The closest has less than half the number of monthly actives — Café World, at 32.2 million. Put another way, FarmVille is played by more than 20 percent of Facebook’s 350 million users every single month. A survey showed Facebook is the most popular destination for online games, with 83% of the online gamers saying they have played games there. Twenty-eight percent have purchased in-game currency with real-world money. The average gamer has played six social games, and more than 50% of gamers started playing a game because a friend recommended it or because they saw a friend playing it in a news feed or other social stream. In the spring of 2007, an Austin, Texas, company called Show Initiative put on the first Virtual Worlds conference, an event that saw dozens of companies flock to New York to talk about how marketing could work in these nascent digital environments. Second Life, There, Entropia Universe, and others working on 3D immersive worlds were the stars. Now, a few years down the line the situation has changed dramatically, so much that, the name- ‘Virtual Worlds conference’ had to be changed to ‘Engage! Expo’ and 3D gaming sites find their place in the rummages of past. With regard to the name change Chris Sherman, the lead organizer of the events says, “It broadens the scope of our business. The major media companies aren’t just looking at virtual worlds. They’re looking at iPhone apps [and] social games.”
This indicates a fresh air of change, which is bound to bring lot more innovations in the gaming industry in years to come.
So social gaming hookers don’t be afraid, you are not alone, there are hoards of your kind swaggering the streets of virtual land.
Courtesy: Viewspaper

Indian premium league

2010-04-02T10:03:00.000-07:00

It all started as a game, game of cricket it was. First over, 3 runs conceded, none off the bat. Second over goes for a staggering eighteen runs, the crowd goes roaring, belly dancers shake their bellies – ominous of the era to come. Brendan McCullum’s blitzkrieg 158 off 73 balls with 10 fours and 13 sixes put a lid on all the doubters.

Way back in 1977, when Kerry Packer initiated the Pajama cricket- flashy jerseys, white balls, floodlights radiating- it ignited a furor in the cricketing world. In a meeting with the ACB in 1976, Packer was famously quoted having said: “There is a little bit of whore in all of us, gentleman. What is your price?” The profanity of the statement met with brick bats from the erstwhile, cricketing fraternity. Some, 22 years later, when players were openly bought and sold in the Indian Premier League market, few had the gumption to voice against. The reason may be that BCCI packed more punches than individual Packer did, or the fact that the practice of trading players was not the first of its kind -being a regular exercise in football world. Within 2 years of its birth, IPL was valued at $ 2.01 billion and still expected to increase by 50 percent. The league is now the 5th largest sporting brand in the world, just below FIFA and above Wimbledon & F1. Ipso facto it is established that ‘IPL’ is a behemoth amongst the money-looms.

For the 3rd season, Sony Entertainment Television expects Rs. 700 crores from advertising revenues alone. One can only mull over the monetary megalith this event is. Lalit Modi is said to have raked in almost Rs. 330 crores by selling theatre-screening rights of the tournament to Entertainment Direct, which in turn has partnered with the UFO movies to screen the matches in HD quality in 800 screens across the country. While, semi-finals and final is to be screened in 3D- a first for any sporting event.

Stats never state a phenomenon, but certainly provide hindsight. There are mixed reactions across different sectors around the country. The entertainment industry for instance, suffered most with Gross Rating Points (GRPs) dipping downwards for Daily soap honchos, the movie industry too caught up with the IPL paranoia – shying away from big releases. The whole endemic called claustrophobia, spread like swine-flu, no one was willing to move from couches and remote controls were left virgin.

On the other hand, the tourism industry got a major boost with the influx of people from around the globe, let alone the migration of Indian denizens. The pang was felt when IPL-2 had to be moved off-shores due to security concerns. In a newspaper report from New Delhi, the tourism industry termed the IPL walk-out as a ‘national shame’.

“It is a shame for the country… As far as tourism is concerned… yes, it would have been beneficial had it been held in the country, considering the sector is facing the heat of the downturn,” ATC chairman and head of STIC travel group Subhash Goel was quoted saying.

The afore-mentioned statements were made profound when Jacob Zuma, the South African President thanked IPL by saying, “The month-long IPL has revived the country’s economy. It has boosted the South African economy by 1 billion rand with the number of hotel rooms booked and the number of flights that were added. It has given a fillip to South African tourism. The IPL was a great advertisement for next month’s Confederations Cup and the 2010 FIFA World Cup. We will be happy to organize it again if the need arises in the future,” Zuma said in his speech at the IPL’s closing ceremony.

President’s speech made it apparent that IPL was a hit in South Africa too and now if Modi is to be believed, he is eyeing U.S.A as the next gold mine to be excavated.

On the advertising front, the ZooZoo campaign created by O&M for Vodafone left its impact on viewers. According to Kumar Subramaniam, Executive Brand Director on Vodafone at O&M, “Zoozoos are adorable creatures who were meant to surprise viewers in each of the IPL matches. There was a new story everyday from them and this kept interest in the brand alive and managed to engage viewers for the five weeks of IPL-2.”

Relatively unknown education brands such as the Punjab-based Lovely Professional University and computer hardware and networking institute, Jetking Infotrain Ltd used the platform to strengthen their brands.

IPL’s progenitor, the nouveau riche Lalit Modi has avowed, “The target is to beat the NFL, which is at USD 4.5 billion”. Going by trends, the cake is at licking distance.
Courtesy- Viewspaper

Cupid’s twisted arrow

2010-02-20T14:04:00.001-08:00

This is part 4........... click for part 3 here

My confiscated soul survived on dole. I could neither utter worldly shibboleth, nor was I any poet’s muse. Neither was my name sculpted on buses and bus stops, nor could I find mention in the epitaphs of love on shabby walls of historical monuments. By that time, I was quite sure if lady luck ever smiles, the moment would be her laughing at my naïve, smiling picture in newspaper obituary.

A well wisher of mine, informed that my spurious existence was imputed to the fact that ‘I’, the fallen hero had never fallen for anybody.

Mind you, this fall is of another kind. Well distinguished from your fall from bed, chair, stair case, Niagara Falls, its Bengali edible variant and even the falls that is not true.

Thence, I stepped up in a show of solemnity and decided; either I have a crush or sacrifice my pineapple crush. It happened one unpleasant summer day; stuck in a cacophonous traffic jam, I saw her, a fat bespectacled vixen. My eyes and one of hers met and were transfixed, because her other eye directed towards another passer-by. The perplexity of her eyes kept both, me and my compatriot in a state of ambiguity. That was until the lights turned green and the gorgon sped away along with her diagonally opposite eyes. The speed-o-meter of my life halted at zero.

But again, the stupid cupid mis-struck, this time at a chichi party.

The same kind, where the board outside mentions, “My dog and its look-alike not allowed.”

Picture this! A sloaney drunken babe, amuck in delirium came up to me and opened her odorous mouth, “Adonis, What are you doing tonight?”

By virtue, drunkards don’t or can’t distinguish between ‘Hunk and junk’.

I replied politely with all my intellect intact, “I will get back home and go to sleep, as usual.” Feeling insulted by the profanity of my statement, she spilled the liquor residue on my face. Thenceforth, I never bowed down before the Cupid’s bow.

aman loves asha

2010-02-16T00:50:00.001-08:00

aman (ind) loves ASHA(pak)

Once, they were happily married, walking hand-in-hand, through the sands of Multan and Jaisalmer, and honeymooning in undivided Kashmir. Their kids could be seen effervescently running around the gullies of Chandni Chowk and Lahore. Come, Eid, Diwali, Lohri - they could be seen embracing each other. Their mellifluous romance per se, attracted certain envious relatives and ‘merci a`’ them, here we lie in tatters.

Now, after 63 years of incessant infightings and recriminations, the long lorn

Souls see a hope of re-splicing. The ‘Cause celebre` is “Aman ki Asha”, peace initiative by TOI, India and Jang Group, Pakistan. While, the majority of the populace is still skeptical about the proposed bonhomie; is it really possible for us to make them run around trees, again crooning the love ballad?

That too:

· When there are mass revolts amongst the hate preachers.

· When each of our neighbors is a terrorist for us.

Ever since the mutilation, there have been several wars and several contrived peace processes, but they all succumbed.

Reasons:

· The over-flowing animosity amongst the gullible denizens.

· Manipulation by the ubiquitous vote-seekers.

· Lack of cross-border communication.

The third point has somewhat diminished, with the advent of social networking. The neighbors whom we once considered our bete` noire` and sadistic in character, have come alive as our long lost body parts.

The saying- “We look the same, we eat the same food, drink the same water, dress the same way, speak the same lingo, breathe the same air, drop the same tears, shed blood of the same color and are at more geographical proximity to each other than we are to U.K and U.S” has become more profound. The Indians and Pakistanis residing abroad have always been the best of buddies and have tales to tell about each other’s hospitality. Why is it so that we need distances to bridge the gap? Why is it so culpable a crime to toe the border that one has to spend his whole life behind bars? While, rapists and murderers in both the countries, swagger around in fancy chariot, spitting at our judiciaries.

We come across so many youths in both the countries calling for war as the only solution. I feel pity for their ignorance and ashamed being audience to such frivolities. War has never been a solution, as Mahatma Gandhi once said- “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind”. Do we understand how much and many we lose, each time the “sword of Damocles” falls on us? The time is ripe, the clarion has been blown, and it is up to us how we perceive it- ‘Memento mori’ or ‘Cupid’s call’.

The question remains unanswered- ‘Will Aman and Asha ever meet?’

Kya hai iss dharti ki khubsoorati?

Yeh Pahad,Yeh samander,Yeh ragistaan, ,Yeh Chand,Yeh sar Sabz Shadab Maidaan,Yeh Khaait,Yeh phool

Kya hai Iss Dharti main Basne Wale Logon Ki Khubsoorati?

Yeh rang O Roop,Yeh Geeton Ki Jhankar,Yeh Meethi Boli,Yeh Ragon main Daudne Wala KhOOn,Yeh AsnooN, Yeh Andekhi Khushyan

Kya Hai kitaabon KI KHubsooraati?

YEh Quraan, YEh Geeta, YEh Bible

Kya Hai inn Kitabon Khubsooarat PaaiGham?

Yeh Insaaniyat, Yeh insaaf, Yeh Aman o Sukoon

Kisi Bhi rang Main dekh Lo

Har rang Main ik hi Baat kehta hai

Iss Amber ko Saja Lo Aman Se

- Zeena Seemi, Pakistan

P.S- This is an assortment of Indo-Pak sentiments; ‘My article’ and ‘Zeena’s poem’ are just the ingredients.

Tryst with livelihood

2010-02-14T08:30:00.001-08:00

Today, the ‘hands that swung the cradle and taught me to walk’ put a sack full of miseries on my back; leading me to a modernized gaol, called ‘School’. I cried as they walked away and tears kept rolling down incessantly, till the bell rang. The paradigm continued as days kept passing. I found there were several other inmates, known as schoolmates, who were subjected to the same atrocities for ‘Juvenile delinquency’. The over-fed, bespectacled teacher scowled at us, while the pretty dimpled one pampered.

I won’t reveal, once I peed in my shorts and in penance, was subjected to stand on the roofless veranda drying the wet part and wetting the dry. The sorbent Sun looked bemused, as if inquiring, “What was meant to be sucked?”

Amidst, the ‘Bedlam’, I spent my days in reveries and painted them with smorgasbord of colors- I dreamt of being a pirate, a policeman, a superhero, a bus driver, movie star and so on; owning palatial homes and chain of luxurious vehicles, airplanes and ships.

That too, when my paper boat always sank and paper plane never took a flight.

To my astonishment, coupled with Mom’s and Dad’s, I stood first in my class that year; elated Dad bought me a remote controlled toy car. (It was a replica of my condition that succeeded). But this joy was momentary, as in the subsequent year I came- 2^{nd ,} degrading to 3^rd in the next and finally disintegrating from the rat race. The car giving ceremony was replaced my chant-like cacophonous scolding, followed by legato of chastises. My report cards were ‘national shame’ and I became a traitor to my ‘Home Sweet Home’. All of a sudden, my begetters turned anomalies and ‘Lampooning’ and ‘juxtaposing’ became ceremonial. I often wept, hiding behind my pillow, trying to hold a brave public image. Though, my parents always made up with cuddles and largesse, they never understood each passing day, was an enervating experience. I started to hide away from the streetlights and public gathering gave acute bouts of paranoia. The nocturnal darkness prevailed over my debilitating life and the color palette of the dream canvas, got emptier by the day. My moribund soul fought for survival but ultimately succumbed and my individuality was wiped away.

continued from part 2
1st part

Telephonic Triumph

2010-02-14T08:20:00.000-08:00

Since, the Adam-Eve days, the word 'girl', has been celebrated for its perplexity. No body knew what they wanted, what were the thoughts behind the veil of the glossy locks and why they retracted from their stances faster than snap of fingers. Still, being hailed as the most majestic creation of God, they are the most sought after. I don't blame, 'we' boys; who are taught to run after anything that is inaccessible.

As I was preparing for my Valentines Day nap (which every forlorn soul religiously practices), the phone bell rang; an unknown number flashed on the LCD.
Hesitantly, I picked up the call; my rude awakening was greeted with a mellifluous tone.
My interlocutor proceeded, “Hello! Debojit, I am calling from institute ‘X’, you have been short listed for interview, scheduled on 15th this month. Please, come over to Hotel ‘Y’ at 5:00 pm.”
I let the melody continue without an interlude. After all, which guy on this earth would dare to interrupt a girl's cuckooing? Which musician would alter the rhythm of his obra maestra.

As she reached a pit-stop, I willy-nilly replied, “Thank you for calling Ma’am but I am not interested”, I kept down the receiver and exulted in glory. Ironically, by summarizing and bit hyperbolizing, “She asked me out for a date in a hotel room”
I reckon, an auditorium, can be called an over-stretched room.

Voila! I won over oddities. Here I stand head held high amongst the phalanx of my kind. How many of us could have rejected a girl’s proposal? Finally, Mars triumphs over Venus. Isn’t it reason enough to celebrate?

‘I’ attain mobility

2010-02-09T02:09:00.003-08:00

Continued from- the day 'I'came to life

Growth was rather a seamless transition from one diaper to another- pink, blue, yellow and name it, I made my presence felt everywhere. I fed on Mama’s milk. Solid food was a strict No-No and my toothless aggression, prevented defiance. Relatives became, relatively familiar, albeit annoyance was inherent. They taught me a new code of conduct- Whenever, a symphony conductor (read: relative) uttered shhh! I was meant to Pee, irrelevant of time, place and other such civic entanglements. Every move of mine attracted rhapsody of praises and I became an overnight celeb.

Somewhere, I was skeptical about my naked image contributing to the rise.

My mom, dad and allied forces arranged a ‘Soiree’ celebrating my first bite on solid food. Followed by pronouncing of teeth-shattering archaic names, by one of which I was ought to be known.

I wondered if similar parties would follow, the first time I booze or light a fag.

To the amazement or amusement of all, I started to crawl. The obnoxious relatives began to throw balls, teddies and the ilk, expecting me to fetch them. Poor me became source of entertainment for the recession hit dog lovers. I sneaked surreptitiously to clandestine locales, where I could shit sans public glare. But my freedom of excretion was cut short. The masses caught hold of me and tucked my arse in a pot-shaped vessel, boastfully called ‘potty’. The claque gazed in front as I conducted fortissimo excreting Chef d’ oeuvre.

Intermittently, I started to babble in staccato. Almost every comment of mine was misconstrued and manipulated to self admiration. It happened one day, irritated by the clichéd stand-up comedy of ‘dadaji’ (grandfather), I called out duh! - Immediately mistaken for ‘da’ of dadaji. Similarly, I wanted to say “‘thou’ stop pestering”, I was cut short and Thou became ‘tau’ (paternal uncle).

Next, on the card was the ultimate test of humanhood. Mom and dad alternatively held my fingers and tried to make walk.

‘Which I presumed, was a gesture, prodding me to move my lazy arse.’

I fell down occasionally (okay! Okay! Regularly) but eventually started to walk and then run. A move which was later repented by my parents, seeing our ‘Home sweet Home’ lie in disarray.

Discoveries, explorations and revelations

2010-02-06T09:01:00.001-08:00

G.K books in our schools contained anecdotal evidences, that certain thingummies were discovered by certain mortals. Every page, flipped though increased the curiosity and every question met with a lame reply, “Mug whatever is written in your textbooks”. Mugging was the only route to getting good marks.

But, the inquisitive soul was not to surrender.

Gradually, as I grew up, I fathomed the hidden facts.

Columbus discovered America while, enroute to India.

I figured out, the ancestors of Dubya, convinced him to skip the Indian trip.

Hein Tsang was the first Chinese in India.

Now, even a layman can tell, who brought us the first bowl of chowmein. Which we later contaminated using volatile substances, ranging from cumin seeds, turmeric to even mango pickle and the experimentation continues.

The contamination of the ‘Edenic dish’ was a denting blow to Chinese sentiments and we suffer, ever since.

Followed by, Vasco da Gama, the first European in India.

Someone forgot to tell you - He was the main reason why Goan beaches flourish with white beauties. Thus, in a way, it can be vaguely concluded that Vasco contributed to the ‘bikini revolution’.

Albert Einstein developed a theory about the relationship of mass and energy.

Formulae: E=MC2.

The only thing I could say about the formulae is that, I sympathize with ‘E’. I hope the Indians can well decipher, why.

Sir, Issac Newton invented laws of motion.

First Law: "An object in motion will stay in motion and an object at rest will stay at rest unless acted upon by an external force"

The Indian politicos noted it down instantly and continue to maneuver our emotions to achieve their personal goals. Thus, we mannequins are always on the move.

Second Law: "Force equals mass times acceleration" or "F = ma."

Then, I reminisced the moments when ‘Maa’ used to slap me with sudden accelerated movements of her arms and the ‘Force’ was cheek-reddening.

Third Law: "To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction."

Gandhijii, incidentally was the first to contradict the theory, when he said, “When a person slaps you on one cheek, lend another cheek of yours and say- it’s my pleasure”.

And the inventions, discoveries and explorations continue, till date.

But the shrewdest of them all, discovered,

“The Discovery Channel”.

The day i came to life

2010-02-04T07:29:00.000-08:00

As I dwelled in the cul-de-sac, perpetual darkness prevailed. Often frightened, I looked for an ‘Exit’; that too was locked. I tried to kick that open, but to no avail.

In the hour of midnight, when the Sun was busy preening itself in front of the mirror, and the Moon was preoccupied, flirting with the stars. I finally attained independence (at least that is what I thought) after 9 months in confinement, without any fault of mine.

I could sue them the under juvenile laws, but had a change of heart.

Already jaded, with freedom fighting and suffused with sticky substances, I knocked out of the womb. While, the audiences waited with bated breath, to my embarrassment, I was pulled out naked. The masses cheered, admiring my unscathed body. Then started a series of physical harassment and semi-rapes. The homophobic doctor was the first, followed by the nurse, who spanked my bums twice.

I winked at her, nobody noticed.

Next, I was introduced to a gentleman (my dad-to-be), who was celebrating his juvenilia. (Later, I found out, he was one of the two main culprits and I was the repercussion of the crime).

The nurse avowed, “Congratulations! It’s a boy, 7 kilos”

“You bitch! Aren’t you the same person, who had a one-moment-fling with me, just a moment ago?”

**Lesson learnt: Beauty is bound to be treasonous. **

‘7 kilos’ at that age meant over-weight.

The word, ‘It’ reduced me to a caricatured version of broiler chicken.

The worst part of the day was yet to come. The relatively unknown, relatives were conspiring a formal ‘orgy’. I wanted to vamoose, but was still paralyzed.

Draupadi at least had a long lasting and highly stretchable Saree, but I was openly accessible.

The molestation continued throughout the night and I lost my virginity, the very first day I stepped out.
Continuation- 'I' attain mobility

Free to PEE!

2010-01-31T05:36:00.000-08:00

This picture might be of trifling importance to neo-suburban random eyes. But the inscription, apparently stresses its importance.

We live in an era, where everything comes with an inflated price tag. At times, when the prices of pulses set your pulse rates high and prices of cereals rise more dramatically than K-serial plots. When each 'kiss' burns a hole in your pocket, and each 'hug' comes as an electric shock. It came to me as a soothing relief, that this 'sanctum sanctorum' of excretion charges nothing. That too on an unlimited tariff plan. A hidden message flashed into my mind, "No uploading and downloading charges, although speed might diminish, gradually in the course of peeing”. I stood in front of it, in salutation of the monument, until some chirping birdies, passing by, remarked, " dekh banda toilet ka photo le raha hai"(look, this guy is clicking pictures of the loo). I wanted to retaliate, but realized, it would go to deaf ears, as we all are hideously mortified of the fact that, we excrete what we ‘gulp and pour’ in. But wasn't it a rule that, 'Whatever comes in has to go out'?

In India, national brotherhood crosses boundaries and we exchange everything- languages, religions, clothes, and of course ‘excreta’. In fact, it goes beyond that, excretion is a 'ceremonial manifestation of equality' among all living beings, residing legally or illegally in our country- dogs, cats, horses, cows, etc and of course, we ‘Homo-sapiens’. Majority of our populace excretes in open. The pungent, aroma of excreted bonhomie, fills your nose, every time you pass through a public place- railway stations, footpaths and even religious places, included. The gala event, starts early morning, even before ‘Sun’, registers its attendance. All the performers, irrespective of - caste, creed, and sex, line up for the concert, showing their obverse parts; some moaning and pushing for more, some ‘cock a hoop’ about their blissful achievement.
If, the Agricultural supremacy of India is still an enigma, then this should serve as a ‘How-To’ guide.

Sorry, for ending this abruptly. Time please! I need to run to the loo.
pubished on LOC - Pee for free!

Who flew over kuku's nest?

2010-01-28T08:40:00.000-08:00

In the middle of an age, where everyone finds space exploration enticing, and dreams about holidaying on moon. I thought about paying tribute to our unseen and over-hyped neighbors, called U.F.O(unidentified funny objects), and here it goes.

Image via Wikipedia

Ever wondered? If we are not the only lively creatures, if there are actually many others hovering over us; sometimes peeping at us, sometimes bitching about us, crying with us, praying for us and laughing at us; but all in anonymity.

Ever wondered? Someone up there might be annoyed and sleep-deprived, due to continuous snorts of ‘kuku ji’. Someone might be getting regular bouts of sneezes, whenever ‘Pammi ji’ adds tadka to her dal. Which kuku relishes on- "ek parantha aur lana ji". Ever felt pity for the strangers above? Who cover their noses and run for lives, whenever, some earthling farts down here (for the ignoramuses- fart is the word describing the internal combustion caused due to excessive consumption of inflammatory matters, the resultant of which is often used as a potent weapon for mass killing). Ever sympathized with the forlorn soul? Which has been degraded to a laughing stock in its fraternity, for boarding a flying ‘saucer’ (Are you talking about the same saucer from which dadaji sips tea, making perverse noises?)

Or ever felt jealous, when they whistle, every time the sexilicious Mallika Sherawat surfaces out of blue water in her hot bikini? Ever pictured someone, some moons away getting aphrodisiacal watching Megan Fox, exhibit her newly acquired lingerie?

So, the next time, some bearded wise man, covered with ecclesiastical robes tells you- “Sab upar wale pe chhod do”, do care to warn the critters above- “Bhaiya or behnji, main chhod raha hu aap catch kar loge?”.

Sorry for wasting your not so precious time with this gormless garbage. But life is all about reverie and splashing them with oddly contrasting colors; keep the stains alive, “kyunki daag ache hai na?”

LOC Article - Who Flew Over the Kuku's Nest?

Pack - age deal !

2010-01-21T08:21:00.000-08:00

Come on what are you waiting for? Run! Grab it, before someone else does.

From srk to krk(oops! typing mistake) , sallu to lalu(oops! again) everyone wants it. No, I'm not talking about money honey; the bones (muscles) of contention here are the elusive muscle blocks in your abdominal area. There was a buzz recently, that Sanju Baba was getting a toned 10 packs for a new movie! I wondered, where he would have fitted them, but thankfully that did not happen and I gorged happily on my junk diet for some days. Sanju Baba resurfaced in Blue (a movie, believe me!) though, and it was hard to distinguish between the whales and him.

Yep! Hard to believe for the generation gone past, but they are passé anyways. I have had my trysts with the crunches and jogs and every other thing that wrecks havoc on your bay window but to no avail. I lost my kilos, resembled a starved Zimbabwean(bit of head banging in govt. pillars would have landed me with BPL allowances) but thanks to my googly woogly lower abs and over generous- fast food starved friends, am still in the waiting list. Browsing through the pages of my mind, I reminisce an incident, some spooky mornings ago (I hate waking up early), I met an umm... uncle (he owns a fast food joint- yum! oops- argh!!)- He saw me after 1-2 years and 10-15 kilos. Gaping at me, he started intoning beautiful! Wonderful! I stopped-by flabbergasted.

There were 2 reasons for being dumbfounded-
1. I don't have a physique, even worth WOOing the supporting caste of a porno.
2. Gay rights were made legal just a few morrows ago.

But Mr. ‘Pot-bellied connoisseur of ripped stuffs’ was not here to stop; he asked me, "What are you planning to do next?"
I enthusiastically replied, "I am going for the entrances for pg in adv and journo",
"No! No!" He protested, "Do you intend to get packs? Means 6 packs?" Damn! Had kicking the arses of your guests of honor been a custom, I would have relished it (but alas!). Dejected me, gulped the acrid ignominy and accepted being a perennial under-achiever when it comes to petrified bellies. I replied, with a lump in my throat, “No, I am ok with it, I tried though”, maybe trying to console me, he advised (unwanted for), “Don’t go for it, you would be regretting when you grow older, look at srk, he looks older than his age” (as if SRK was a kid, one hand holding the strings of his chaddi and the other busy protecting his prized, half-sucked lollypop).

Well, this is all about packing up and unclionics (Don’t open your fat dictionary, there is no such word ever spoken or written in the history of Mother Earth).

published on LOC - Pack - age deal!

swollen minds and poignant hearts

2010-01-07T00:28:00.000-08:00

Heart and mind..hmm... they were never Tweedledee-Tweedledum, but still co-exist in the same human body in a quarrelsome live-in relationship. The unlikely couple, are even more unlikely to 'walk down the aisle' in distant future of human civilization. These two have always been at loggerheads but still never separate-testimony to their eternal love(or greed for survival).

My Mind, had it not been for anatomy's sake, it would have been a banker, it calculates and re-calculates every step, to mathematical limits.

" Love and all those emotional shits...arghhh!!! heard about them? they stink, just like your old pair of socks or your never washed, no way sacrosanct pair of undergarments(puke). That damn heart, deviates people from their realistic goals and entices them to entangle into emotional(yuck!) bonding. The word 'pragmatism' is absent from it's dictionary, or even if that exists, who cares, you need eyes for that anyways. I am intelligent, i am self-dependent, i have a clear vision of the present and future, then why the hell on this earth(or should i say in the human body) have i been confined, in this milieu, accompanying this filthy rascal?"

It's bete' noire' , My Heart, has always been the root cause of all evil, all the atrocities ever inflicted on innocent or not so innocent human critters. It is tender, foolish and gullible, makes you daydream, without thinking about the consequences.

" I give you reason to laugh, reason to cry, often irritate you by making you think over silly matters. I find solace in the ringing of church bells, waste your your time loving people, sometimes to no avail. Often criticized for being feeble; making those fat, salty drops of transparent liquid incessantly flow down your chubby cheeks. Yes, i do all this and i still don't regret, i never refrain from repeating the same mistakes. The more intelligent and highly ostentatious counterpart of mine, residing up in the tree-house in your noggin would despise me forever, but who cares? there was nothing hunky dory about our relationship, ever. Keep dreaming, the day you put a lid on that, you would cease to grow."

Speaks My Soul, "Amidst this unending melee, who suffers? neither that blood soused sentimental muggins; nor that braggadocio, who hails himself to be carrying the lineage of enlightened 'Buddha' . I am one who suffers the most, right from the day i step into this bivouac, i bear the brunt of being an audience to the never-ending recriminations and fight for supremacy. While, these chauvinists, fight over petty issues, i am the person who takes the wounds. I wish, i pray- To be left alone, flying and breathing fresh air, sans humanly lusts and desires. Yes, i dream of being a Bedouin - Yes, i long to attend your obsequies and accept it unabashedly, after all i go through during your life-time. I neither lose my innocence nor do i ever get contaminated, no matter, the amount of ruins you heap on me, i never lose my sanctity. But still if you make me choose one amongst the two. I would pick that bloody moron over the pundit, and yes, i love it's foolishness, it still brings that soothing smile. Even in the most turbulent times, i am amazed to see that the 'idiotic heart' still finds some silly ways to console me. I willy-nilly agree, it is still my best friend in this humanly abode(irritatingly so)."

Till then, keep living (heart)ily (does not refer to low calorie diet!).

published on LOC- Swollen Minds and Poignant Hearts

voyeurism nationalised

2009-12-25T12:52:00.000-08:00

No No! i didn't mean to promote those *peep* stuffs, when i titled this post. But how else could you describe the 'cause celebre'? Atleast a *peep* like me can't.

After all this censoring, lets move on to the uncensored part(dirty minds! if u thought m gonna feed you...buzz off!). Well, if SRK said he wants to be the biggest pornstar(oops! forgot the peep, sorry), shekhar suman could get his packs at this age(didn't mention six- coz i couldn't manage a single till date- how alas!), why can't more older people compete? After all, age hardly matters. The living example is our respected Governor, ~~Mr. ND Tiwari~~.

Dard-e fiasco dard-e fiasco- Grandpa could be found humming this tune, when the fiasco unfolded and he became an overnight *peep*star. Santa had the perfect gift for the insatiable voyeuristic eyes and Mr. Tiwari, could easily claim to justify his move or rather moves, by blaming it on recession(how else could you be captivated by a porno of an 86 year old, pot-bellied, grey haired grandpa?). Instead, poor Grandpa, to save his blushes, rubbed the incident off saying it was all fabricated(please, don't try to figure out which part was)and an official supported him citing, "he is a public figure" as the reason(like obviously! his figure was well revealed in front of public eyes - hence, public fig.). Now the leading ladies were described somewhat like this- All three women were naked(close your eyes), one at his legs and the others on his upper half(like we were noobs). One of the women is said to be seven months pregnant(oh no! we missed out on the earlier episodes), another just 18 years old(did she address him as grandpa?). Any guesses where the orgy took place? (oops! orgy peep peep peep) yes none other than the picturesque Rajbhawan.

Amidst all the hue and cry, i plead the people to restore some sort of sanity and preserve some mercy for our dishonorable Governor, after all he exhibited the bravado of taking on three women at this age, which is something to be lauded. In fact, why not make him endorse chavanprakash(instead of amitabh) or revital(instead of yuvi) or viagra( did i say that?). There is another option, a more socially feasible one, why not make him endorse condoms- the tag-line could be somewhat like- 'bachho se dada tak sabki pasand'.

All my readers(if they exist), whenever and wherever you get the link please pass it over to me or if things turn the other way round, am always at your service.

*****oh!*peep* when will this recession end?*****

kasablanca II- kasab spills more ketchup

2009-12-18T02:10:00.000-08:00

Spilling blood, plotting debacle.

Confused statements, seeking miracle.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/videoshow/5351077.cms

Our unputdownable hero, from its prequel by the same name, makes his comeback, a la Arnold Schwarzenegger, Terminator -but did he say as ta la vista, the last time? - Sorry, our hero has the knack of surprising people from nowhere.

If Ramu thought he was the undisputed king in making sequels of flops, i am usurping him from his throne. I have even bunked my classes today to pen this- which proves my supremacy in stupidity. Okay, enough of self admiration, this is not about me but our antagonist turned protagonist Mr. Ajmal Amir Kasab (dhan tanaaa!)

Now the twist to the otherwise plain and simple story, our protagonist retracted from his earlier statement and claims that his earlier confessions were made under pressure ( oh! God when he ordered biryani, it should have been that, now go face the wrath). He even went on to say - "Ah! AK 47 ... ummm never heard that name , what thingummy is that?"( yeah! he always thought it was a cotton candy, he was holding). He is unsure of his origin too, "Faridkot...ummm.. Indian one or Pakistan.. dunno". Damn! in the next part he would be asking questions like- who am I? (the remedy would be to hit him again on the head). He proceeds- " I came here to get a break in bollywood" ( i am sure he didn't mean breaking Taj window panes, when he said that) , I bet even ramu, with all his bravado, would not dare to cast him . "The police took me into custody ,well 3 days before 26/11" Ummm... wait again he retracts " Now i think, i was encapsulated 20 days before" ( maybe again, the internal pressure acted again - yuck! rush to the loo) Well, is he thinking it is April 1st? ( show him the calendar,dude!) Or it has something to do with RAAZ PICHLE JANAM KA?( these reality-show overdose, i tell ya!).

It has been over a year, we have been taking shits from this guy. We keep creating melodrama in the name of fair trial, and how come an Indian lawyer is defending him? where has he suppressed his dignity?
Charged with murder of 166 persons and participating in the conspiracy, if a person deserves a fair trial, then a murderer suspected of committing just one murder should go on to win 'BHARAT RATNA' and their rapist counterparts should be given a 'PARAM VIR CHAKRA' each in this country. I never intended to propagate violence through my blog posts- but in this case, the culprit along with his lawyer should be stoned to death,the former is a blood sucking parasite, the latter is even worse, being a traitor. I never agreed with the shiv sainik's school of thought, but in this case they are right.

A criminal against whom,

610 witnesses have been presented.
Who was captured by the cctv camera, on that very day, in that very place, flaunting his newly acquired GIZMO(AK47)

If he deserves a fair trial, then who does not?

my country- an unsolved enigma

2009-12-12T07:08:00.000-08:00

Here i come again... today is another inauspicious day in Indian History( no i'm not talking about Sa-re-Ga-ma-pa's 1000th episode... mom don't kill me!!). This article could rather be described as a note of thank giving directed towards our Netas, who achieved the not so unachievable again.

Kudos!! you have again cut a piece out of my country's heart and it's still bleeding. The appalling fact is that they find their 'joie de vivre' , while my country lies in tatters. Not to blame them though, they had exchanged their shame and dignity for the elusive political golden boots, the time they stepped into the arena.

Well enough of whining, while everyone around has ear buds attached. Let's get to the point - Telangana has been carved out of Andhra pradesh. After 11 days of Bhookh hartal by Mr. K. chandrashekar Rao( popularly known as KCR... wonder why they always prefer abbreviations) The benevolent government has bowed down and allowed him the piece of cake - apologies!! I mean another state out of my country(though cake and country seem to be synonymous in Indian political dictionary nowadays). Holy shit!! had Sonia Gandhi been my mom, i would have resorted to a similar stunt for hiking pocket money(well now cut the crap!!). Mr. Rao has demanded Hyderabad to be its capital, and the child(don't go by his age) Is not willing to share it with Andhra pradesh(i second him, i have full rights over the cherry on top, DON'T I?). To add to misdemeanor , the other siblings are already complaining,"Mother India you are being partial"( remember the quondam V.I.P frenchie ad? it went- Mujhse badhkar usmein hai kya!).

Let's peep into the present scenario:

On Friday, the Gorkha community, ethnic Nepalis, called for an indefinite strike in West Bengal state demanding a "Gorkhaland" to safeguard their heritage. (shaabzi!! jaagte raho).

Activists in Bundelkhand quickly followed suit, threatening a 180-mile march to highlight their demands for their region. This is one of India's most backward areas, straddling the northern state of Uttar Pradesh and the central state of Madhya Pradesh.(May be they want to safeguard their backwardness).

In Maharashtra, the western state that includes the business hub Mumbai, advocates demonstrated Friday for a new state for Vidarbha, another impoverished area.(why not a state comprising of all the slums? )

Rayalaseema state out of Andhra Pradesh as well as a proposed division into Upper and Lower Andhra Pradesh.(No bhookh hartal again please! I'm fed up of the cliched stuff).

Adding to these, the buzz is that Mayawati, the U.P chief minister has demanded 3 new states(Hold back Maya! going by your size, you should cut down on calorie engorged cakes).
The estranged seven sisters of Northeast always have their own demands, Bodoland and whatever land that human feet can step on.

We boast of unity in diversity and keep diversifying our nation so much, that the essence of unity is lost. The political bigwigs dig out more states , to realize their dream of resting at the pillion of power. The terrorists do this, keeping with their credo of terror -to- stardom. What is our reason of falling prey? Why do we engage in these regular bouts of bloodshed?
I feel sorry to say that, the only time our national brotherhood comes into light, is when we are pushed against the wall(example: the Kargil war, 26/11 Mumbai carnage,etc.).

Sorry, for acting like a question bank again.

Hoping you could crack the puzzle, this is my list for today

Can you look into the eyes of a newborn child and find out whether he is a Bengali? Marathi? Punjabi? or Muslim? Hindu? Sikh? christian?

When you shed the blood in the name of religion, caste, creed,etc. Can you differentiate between the droplets of blood lying on the ground?

Is this what our forefathers had envisaged when they chose martyrdom over slavery to secure our future?

I pity on all of you, who cannot distinguish between slavery and freedom.

Warning: STOP RAPING MY COUNTRY

Religiously confused

2009-12-06T03:35:00.000-08:00

wait wait wait... before you chop my head off ... this is my move in self defense

NOTICE OF DISCLAIMER : This article or blog post of mine is not intended to promote religious blasphemy nor do i intend to hurt any religious feelings. I have come of age from being an atheist turned agnostic turned believer. This satirical piece is rather aimed at bringing to light my own confusions regarding religion and I humbly accept the title of "dumbhead" being bestowed upon me.

Well guys join me en route to 'flashback' (India wins the world cup,1983), hey come back!! so much of time travel was not required, i was not even born then(and people call me dumb).

Circa 2009 A.D, some 2 weeks ago from this date: My mom and dad went to an astrologer,well not just any one of those, they say he got(or bought) the Mother Teressa Award!!( don't ask me stupid questions like how? or why? coz even i don't know). Enters the 'prognosticator' , a middle aged ( well that what he was when i saw him some 8-10 years ago), dark-complexioned, pint sized gentleman. I remember our last meeting, the aftermath of which was I being subjected to a convict's life in my own house. I was not expecting any paradigm shift , the same old story that could relate to any human like creature, who has been subjected to astrological torture.
Don't believe it? read it: Well let me first introduce our 9 planets( yes our, coz they are not the same which you had come across in your school books)

Ravi or Sun- yes sun is a planet. damn all the sciences!
Chandra(Moon) - is also a planet. science sucks big time really!
rest of the caste- budh, vrihaspati,shukr, shani, rahu and ketu( earth was not even nominated)

So shani(Saturn) is the antagonist in every astro-story, astrology preaches shani hatred. In my case, Shani in the cunning fella, who was always plotting and planning against me. Vrihaspati was a good guy , he would have enlightened me , if it was not for shani. Well one day shani went to rahu's place and manipulated Vrihaspati against me(i wonder what the latter was doing there? maybe that was a kind of get together or they united to go on a boozing spree). Surprisingly, this is a story that like my mom and dad every other victim also believe. Now, the prognosticator as prescribed 2 pujas( one of which has been completed, i would get to that)= 1k each and a gemstone which costs a whopping 28 k, the consequences of not abiding by his prescription is quite disturbing , i might succumb to an accidental death or my mom's life is at risk(well played dude!).

Now comes the day of real confusion, the day of 'navagraha puja' . I entered the temple of nine planets( yes, if mortals like Amitabh and Rajnikanth can have temples after them, it should not come as a surprise), well the planets looked all the same, the face i was familiar with was shani (being one of our prominent Gods) but shockingly all the other eight looked like him, with different body colors( even Gods have resorted to racism, i guess the human effect). special mention should be made of rahu and ketu , the former had only head and no body! and the latter's condition was even more critical, he had a body with no head. I figured out how they made it to the elite list(even a dumb like me could guess it), Arey Baba! the handicapped quota.
well the pandit starts chanting his mantras and calls for me to join, as usual, i was being prodded by mom to get up and move to the hot-seat. He gave me petals of flowers and asked me to follow what he was humming. I pretended to do that folding my hands and kept one eye at the person near me, who incidentally managed to throw out every mantra ever known to human kind( i figured out some of them resembled the kind you hear in a horror soap or K- serial shaadi).
He repeated vishnu so many times, it must have pissed off even Lord Vishnu( seeing so many missed calls on his cellphone screen) then with a gesture, peculiar to pandits, he stretched his hand and said 'Dakshina', i obliged handing out the thousand bucks, but he asked for one rupee more(as if God demanded chocolate candy). Well now it was over, the last ritual demanded us to do a Ring a Ring 'o roses around the whole set of Gods. The rules of the game were: it is 9 lap race , where in every pit stop, you had to ring the bell situated above. okay, get set go, the 1st lap, i tried to ring the bell but my damn height or poorly tied rope( it was too long for comfort) contributed to my downfall. To save my blushes i smiled at the non-participators (or audiences here) but no one smiled back, i could make out it was unwanted for and i was reduced to being an obnoxious weed(how mortifying!). Once, i was leading the race, but due to my unwanted act i fell behind coming last( oh! mummy when will i be able come first).
Now that the 1st level is over and the next two await me ( next shani puja and the gemstone) i could feed myself with some 'prasad'. What are you looking for? get your plates too.

Could you enlighten me ?

Here are my questions:

Whom do we pay when we donate at the mandir in the name of worshipping?
Why can't we just pray in the temples? Why do we need to pay?
Why do we back off when a roadside beggar asks for just pennies to feed his empty stomach?
Isn't Humanity a religion enough? Which God asked to discriminate on the basic of religion?
Can't we worship God as a part of our soul without being extravagant? Lastly and stupidly so
Why does God always eat sweets? Are we trying to make him diabetic?

Kasablanca

2009-12-04T23:32:00.000-08:00

Presenting the next superstar ........ ahhh!! hold your breath c ya after a break.(and i thought i could imitate the reality show hosts.. poor me)

Sorry for the inconvenience. Ladies and gentleman the name is none other than .. tick tick tick tick....

Mr. Ajmal Amir Kasab

People might have started to think i am exaggerating the thing or creating hoopla just to attract eyeballs or am just one of those wannabes. tch tch!! time for some reality check guys. The tantrums of this blood thirsty weed would put even the likes of Megan Fox and Paris Hilton to shame. But the Government of India is not complaining, after all, "ATITHI DEVO BHAVA". We bow down to all his demands and obey graciously. One day he orders Biryani, if not served accordingly, the star throws jail food into the dustbin. He has asked to include 2 servings of mutton every week and the food should be spicy too( certainly not healthy food .. keep note health freaks). Reportedly a plate containing three chappatis, dal, rice and two vegetables found their way into the bin; the average indian middle class could happily survive on this, but he is a celebrity after all(yes no need to book an appointment with the eye- specialist, you're reading it crystal clear). A celebrity created by our very own indian media out of a person, who should have been hanged or shot immediately when the raison' d etre of this weed was over. Well, the responsibilities and role of the media has changed over the years, i do admit. From being a conduit to being the roadside vendor selling spicy pao bhaji and chhola bhatura, it has come of age. But what about social responsibility and humanity? everyday you open the newspaper or peep into an E-paper , you see the same stuffs like as it goes: Amir Kasab likes DDLJ(ohhh!! how sweet), Kasab's favorite movie star is SRK(ohh!! King Khan is admired by the terrorists too, how about a candid tete a tete?).

Here comes surprise of surprises or the height of hospitality: Chief Justice of India K. G. Balakrishnan said that for a fair trial, Ajmal Amir needs to get a lawyer. Well fair trial of a person who fairly went on a rampage killing your own people, anyways that was vanity fair for the Indian government. Even after the CCTV images were captured and flashed on every TOI front pages clealry, it was not clear enough. Well look at the irony of the situation, the above pasted picture would put even the twilight vampires look like anemic abstainers, but our Government allows the case to go on and on, and the defense lawyer even cites evidences in favour of Kasab ( and you blamed poor Ekta Kapoor for her melodrama!). But who cares? do we? We are a nation where the same NSG commandos who saved us putting their lives at stake, survive like slum-dwellers, laying on the floor under a single roof. On the contrary, according to a new estimate we have already spent over 31 crores on Mr. kasab giving him five star accommodation and foods.

"oh Lord ! Save our country from us"

PAA- i've grown up

2009-12-03T09:44:00.000-08:00

jai hoooooooooo jai hoooooooo........shhhhhhh!! oops!!! sorry hope paa is not listening.
But how long can we take this haven't we grown up paa? can't you give me some space?

well no dabur honey or hajmolas for guessing (am already out of stock anyways) yes i am talking about our beloved mega star , the one and only Amitabh Bachhan, the Big B, APPLE of everyone's eye, the sexy sam and the evergreen legend. No doubt words are not enough to describe his charisma on screen. He is the real 'shehenshah' who has been ruling the industry since almost close to 4 decades. He deserves all the praises and fan following and respect that he has garnered through mesmersizing on screen appeal and charming off screen persona. He has produced an array of hits ever since zanjeer(1975) and still continues to grow stronger and even better like old wine, with black , paa and the list goes on blah! blah! blah!

But my question is what is your perception of God? Is Mr. Bachhan at par with the almighty and really deserves having a temple after him? well the worshippers might have gotten chafed off already (grrrrr! why is this keyboard pressing fella targetting only Amit ji... doesn't he see there are others too?) well before you start throwing rotten eggs (please separate the egg yolk and throw only the whites as my trainer prescribes) i would like to put forward some arguments in favour of me the poor fella and probably agnostic to for insulting a demi- god.

Here it goes: Mr. Amitabh Bachhan rubbished slumdog millioinaire(which eventually won the oscars) saying that it was endorsing indian poverty in international market and he was feeling aggreived. Well my question is when was the last time you visited a slum? when was the last time you feeded a slum child? what have you done in helping eradicate poverty? Instead Mr. Bachhan has inflicted more damage than he can ever repair. Ding dong!! let me remind you the farmer's land controversy where our Big B comes out getting a clean chit calling himself a farmer ( wonder he is in farmville too!!) and then says it was framed by opposing political party (are you sure? lock kiya jaae?) Not long ago he found him dipped in another bowl of soup and came swimming out( our answer to michael phelps) sorry, if obscurity has creeped in, i am talking about the tax scandal where our God was charged of tax evasion but he again came out clean. Another similar case has been filed against him by the IT department for the same but , i don't doubt his swimming abilities do i? Ok, i understand a person is made up of several shades of characters , you cannot expect him to be a goody good. But who wants his opinions in every matter? who has given him the right to act as our PAA, we don't need a sequel to Father of the Nation , Mahatma Gandhi well justifies the title and i am afraid sequels have never been better than originals.

So with utmost respect to the legendary actor , his acting skills and to all his fans , i humbly request him to leave us at peace and if he really wants to do something for the society , indulge yourself in some charity , help us save the nature and make india beautiful. Aidos