Kickback Grandé

When it comes to the sheer scale of corruption, we Indians are nothing short of nanobots. Western nations exist at the scale of Diplodocus Giganticus! Poor Rajiv Gandhi got bludgeoned for a measly 64 crores of Indian Rupees and the ghost of the Bofors Scandal has never left the tail of the Congress party. Fortunately for them, corruption in India has risen like the inflation and the Dearness Allowance paid to Central Government employees. 600 crores of Lalloo's is a benchmark now. But the UP bureaucrat who got caught recently is insisting on putting all politicians to shame. I kinda feel happy that Indians have so much loose cash to grease palms. On the other hand I feel sad that majority of Indians are getting cheated out of some quality public utility.

International defence procurements and kickback-grandé go hand in hand. Since childhood I've been shocked and very much amused at how governments pay off governments so that one government can order stuff from another government. Defence manufacturers world over, be it Bofors or BAE or Boeing, are privately held only for the name. They are government enterprises for all practical reasons. They get subsidies, research and technical support, and they even get commercial intelligence through commercial espionage by the country's spy agency. The embassies of their countries go whole-heartedly into promoting their cause. Their parliamentary representatives push their case whenever they visit the buying nation. Is this their weakness or their strength that they have to seek government support? And why this blatant acceptance of bribery in Defence deals the world over? Shouldn't business logic and economics triumph automatically?

Here is an article that puts several things into perspective. I really liked this insightful article into corruption in defence deals. It's a backgrounder on the ongoing Saudi-BAE corruption scandal. It's fun to see the Americans walking over red hot coals coz of this deal! ;)

ETHICS ARE DEAD. LONG LIVE BAE!
Larry Elliott, economics editor
Monday December 18, 2006
The Guardian

Imagine that you are the French trade minister, keen to derail the global trade talks for fear that they will result in a wholesale dismantling of the Common Agricultural Policy. It's been an uphill struggle but at last help is at hand.

The next time Tony Blair calls Jacques Chirac to insist that he must face down protests from angry French farmers and stand up for free trade, there is a perfect one-word response: BAE.

Imagine you are the leader of a small, poor, African country with a troubled past and a cavalier approach to pluralism and democracy. Indeed, the crackdown on dissidents has become so blatant in recent months that the Department for International Development will cut off British aid unless the standard of governance is improved. As Hilary Benn repeats his prime minister's mantra - help for Africa is a deal for a deal, aid in return for a crackdown on corruption - you whisper one word: BAE. Read more..

The Tatas are planning to get into the Military-Industrial Complex in a big way. With their strict adherence to ethics, will they be able to survive?

Why was Robert Killed?

I just finished watching the movie 'Bobby' based on the events leading to the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy. The movie ends with the following speech. As I heard the speech, I was surprised at how relevant it is now as it was then! Haven't we changed at all? What about America? This was in 1968. Robert Kennedy was championing withdrawing from Vietnam and end to the rift between races. Where has US come since then? Who killed Bobby? Why did he have to die? Just because he was on the side of what humanity actually stands for? What lessons can India derive from the history of our Democratic elder?

The movie is a good watch but the following speech is a must read! If you can hear it toward the end of the movie, the whole speech will actually hit you.

Remarks of Senator Robert F. Kennedy to the Cleveland City Club, Cleveland, Ohio, April 5, 1968, aka, "On Mindless Menace Of Violence" speech.

"This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity to speak briefly to you about this mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.

It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one – no matter where he lives or what he does – can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on.

Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr’s cause has ever been stilled by his assassin’s bullet.

No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an uncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of the people.

Whenever any American’s life is taken by another American unnecessarily – whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence – whenever we tear at the fabric of life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.

"Among free men,” said Abraham Lincoln, “there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet; and those who take such appeal are sure to lose their cause and pay the costs.”

Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire weapons and ammunition they desire.

Too often we honor swagger and bluster and the wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach nonviolence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them.

Some looks for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear; violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleaning of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul.

For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly, destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is a slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter.

This is the breaking of a man’s spirit by denying him the chance to stand as a father and as a man among other men. And this too afflicts us all. I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we known what must be done. “When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies – to be met not with cooperation but with conquest, to be subjugated and mastered.

We learn, at the last, to look at our bothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community, men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear – only a common desire to retreat from each other – only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this there are no final answers.

Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is now what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of human purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.

We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of all. We must admit in ourselves that our own children’s future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.

Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we cannot vanish it with a program, nor with a resolution.

But we can perhaps remember – even if only for a time – that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short movement of life, that they seek – as we do – nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.

Surely this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our hearts brothers and countrymen once again." (Source)

Click here to listen to the speech.

Dudette Discovers Garlic!

FADE IN.

GREATER KAILASH, SOUTH DELHI BUNGALOW. A POSH HOUSE TASTEFULLY FURNISHED.
The camera pans the drawing room and moves toward the kitchen as Dudette passes in front of the camera straying into the kitchen by mistake.
INT. KITCHEN. DAY.
Mom has a white thing in her right hand, trying to crush it on the kitchen granite slab.

DUDETTE
Mom what is that?

MOM
It's a pod of garlic beta.

DUDETTE
Garlic as in garlic bread and vampires?

MOM
Ummmm...yes.

DUDETTE
Pod as in IPod?

MOM
Ummmmm...distantly related.

DUDETTE
Wow! Cool! Wait till I tell my friends
that garlic came from IPods!

MOM
No no it's just the word! Actually
garlic came first. Try to...

DUDETTE
Yeah whatever mom. What are you doing
with it?

MOM
I'm removing its skin.

DUDETTE
Oh okay. But why are you killing it?

MOM
Oh, I'm just crushing its knotty head
so that its easier to peel its skin!

DUDETTE
Awesome mom! Can you imagine the world's
reaction when it knows how easy it is to
skin a garlic pod? Wait, let me record
this on my cell. It will get millions of
hits on YouTube! I'll be famous! I'll be
rich!

Mom slaps her forehead with her left palm and shakes her head left to right looking down at the garlic pod.

DUDETTE
Hahahahaha! That was so funny! Wait wait,
do that again, do that again!

FADE INTO BLACK.

Sacrificial Pyre

Dear Editor,

I have tears in my eyes.
I don't know what to do with them.

I sit here in my room
with your paper in my hands
reading the gory tale of horror
where a bank manager, a lawyer,
a panwalla and a broker,
all common Indians created
a bonfire of their neighbours.
Roasted them alive in the name of
religion, without feeling the pain
or the fear of the fifty odd
innocents trapped inside
that house, hiding their babies
in their bosoms and wombs,
their fathers, mothers and infirms;
they who could neither fight nor
take flight. Just shout.
And scream and scream as the
searing flames gnawed on their
helpless skins. While their
neighbours outside celebrated
with joy, the victory of their
religion over weak, innocent,
scared and nondescript humans,
like butter into the sacrificial fire.
I want to see that god to whom
this pyre of a sacrifice was
meant to please.
I want to see his face once before I die.

I hope he has tears in his eyes.
And I hope he knows what to do with them.

Yours...

Immigration and the True Citizen

There is a huge debate going on in UK, Europe and other nations that attract immigrants in large numbers. In light of terror threats, governments have come to the realisation that immigrants are just not immersed enough into the culture and tradition of their host nations. Therefore, they feel disjointed from the society and harbour a deep sense of disenchantment and dislike that expresses itself in the form of terrorism or support for radical causes. Hence, the governments feels that the best way to resolve this issue is to 'localise' the immigrants and give them 'strong incentives' to adapt to their host's systems. Governments are not understanding that you cannot force-feed culture. Migrations and the results thereof are much more complicated than asking people to take a quiz that they can just mug up. Immigration is neither a win-win nor a lose-lose game. You win some, you lose some.

Human beings have always migrated - to look for food, shelter, safety or conducive weather. Most people who are migrating to UK and Europe from elsewhere are still looking for the same. These people are not migrating to a culture or religion. They are migrating to money, to a legal system. They are not beggars who need to be grateful to a benevolent Britain. Most of them are fortune hunters who had to go through severe hardships - to reach Britain, and even after reaching there, just to find their feet. They have worked hard and are still working very hard because they know they are in an unlike country, a dissimilar nation. They're not good with the language or the culture but that doesn't dismay them because there's good money to be made and they always have their own culture and religion to take solace from. The immigrants win some. And so do the hosts. Immigrants effectively lower costs of basic services. Young immigrants make sure that the demographics are not uneconomically skewed on the side of the elderly. Immigrants supply skilled and unskilled labour in severely shortaged markets. They also pump in huge tax dollars into the exchequer.

It is the power of economics exerting an influencing force on culture, tradition, systems, laws and government. If you cant take the change then forget about the economic benefits. Concessions have to be made, tolerance has to be shown. In search for the definition of a pure and true citizen, we must not insist on a rapid or drastic cultural adaptation. It is neither fair nor practical. Which South Asian ever emigrated to UK because he loved Fish-n-chips or felt grateful toward the Magna Carta? While asking the question about the true meaning of Britishness, people are forgetting that the world has moved on. Just as the moon exerts some influence on the earth's orbit and makes it a little wobbly, so will immigrants exert some influence on the culture of their hosts. Thats been happening for thousands of years in India. India was supposed to be a sexually liberal nation at some point in history. You have to see our temples to believe it. Where did Kamasutra come from? So what happened in between? How come we've become such prudes now?

Cultural change due to migration of human population is like mixing two matters with dissimilar properties. For instance, hot water and cold water. Put more hot water and you'll scald yourself. Put more cold water and you'll freeze. Too much of hot water changes the character of the water towards the hotter side. Similarly too much cold water changes the character of the water towards to colder side. But its never completely hot or completely cold; unless there is massive invasion of one matter. Then the identity of one engulfs the identity of the other. Immigration is like that. If original white Anglo-Saxons think that they can sit easy and politely ask the immigrants to try and gradually become more 'British' then they are in for a big disappointment. If you allow immigration, be prepared to get influenced in some ways. Prepare to change your own culture in some ways. Friction and turbulence are given. The definition of a 'British' person changes every time a new person crosses the immigration desks of Heathrow.

Is the approach of governments right? We need to define what a nation stands for. What is the definition of culture, identity and boundaries in this age of mixing and mingling. I insist on the basics. What makes a nation what it is? What are the values that attract immigrants? Where does the safety, the shelter, the food and the prosperity stem from? Where is the culture of the nation - on its face or in its heart? Multicultural democracies like India, UK or USA cannot be defined by one culture or one religion or even one political party. These nations can only be defined in terms of values - values that are enshrined in our founding documents - freedom, equality, opportunity to pursue happiness, and so on. The British government must relay messages of these basic values rather than external manifestations of culture. UK must help the new members of the British family to understand that the safety, security and prosperity that they have come to ticks because of these reasons.

"This nation is not what it is because women here do not wear burqas, but because women and men are treated equally. This nation is not what it is because people can speak English, but because everyone can understand each other, speak freely and express anything. This nation is not free and fair because it is populated by rich white men, but because long time back in its history, a great document called the 'Magna Carta' was written and adopted. Beyond this, you are most welcome to love(or hate) either Fish-n-chips or Hilsa in mustard gravy!"

Tips for a Good Morning Walk

[Glorious outcome of a recent bout of insomnia, acquisition of heavily discounted walking shoes, and mending of centrally torn track pants.]

• Wash your face, brush and have half a glass of water before you leave. It helps to feel fresh and recharged and alert enough to avoid the odd early morning rash driver.
  
• Leave five minutes before sunrise so that you can watch the sun rise over the horizon just as you're beginning. It’s beautiful! Like a bright orange Poppins sneaking out of its hiding place.
  
• Don't drive your way to the nearest park. Your tubeless radials will lose weight, not you.
  
• Don’t force yourself to walk fast. At least to begin with, in the first few days while you're still gathering the enthusiasm, just amble, just stroll aimlessly, saunter, drift, meander, loiter leisurely. Look around. Take in the sights and sounds. Think of childhood games and sports. Or don’t think at all.
• If you're as lazy as I am, then don’t impose a target or objective on yourself. You will never wake up in the first place! Mind games! These days, the objective is not to lose weight or become thin. The objective it to prevent muscular atrophy and joint logjams.
• Keep changing your routes. It’s boring to go round and round the park bumping into the same people who you've seen everyday but don’t know anything about. Also, its really really awkward!
• Avoid routes where disadvantaged people relieve themselves. Respect their privacy and your olfactory nerves.
• Talk to dogs on the way. Shoo away cats. Shout at birds. Stay out of the way of cows and bulls.
• Don’t make eye contact with anyone you can’t talk to. And if you do have company, then talk lightly, don't shout like a hick.
• Don’t stare at women, fat people and people making strange movements and sounds. Be conscious of your own gender, flab and wrong timing of birth.
• Dress flatteringly. No point flaunting your skinny calves, flabby triceps and sagging gluteus maximus. It’s important to look stylish so that everyone can enjoy the view in the park.
• Hum. Occasionally.
• Travel light. Just carry your tiniest cell phone. Or none at all. Leave your wallet at home. You can’t buy your way to good health. Don't expect to get solicited either.
• Walk for at least 20 minutes. Or just enough for you to not scramble to reach for your inhaler.
  
• Don't get too ambitious too soon. Get medical insurance before you bust a lung or pop a vein.
  
• Jogging is NOT walking. It's a whole different ballgame that is outside the purview of my experience, understanding and imagination. It's a separate matter that I don't have medical insurance either.
  
• Walk close to home just in case you need to rush back to take an urgent call from nature.
• When you're back home, don’t lose the get-up immediately. Preserve the show for some time. Feel the health seeping in. Watch the smugness on your face in a full length mirror. Feel the adipose being disposed. Walk around or read the paper like that till you start feeling too hot for comfort. Or till your better half reminds you of you being the worse half.

----

Jokes apart, this blog post is the most popular on my godforsaken blog. Lots of people come here looking for genuine information on walking and morning walks. I almost feel like a cheat by making light of the whole thing :) So I thought I should add some 'useful' information. Here are some links:

• Walking Builds Aerobic Fitness at both High and Moderate Intensity
• Walking on About.com
• Walking for fitness: How to trim your waistline, improve your health
• Why Walking is Necessary for Good Health – Even If You Are Extremely Fit and Lean
• Walking Workout Routines
• Why isn't my workout working?
• Effective Walking Routines - Tips to Improve Your Results

I hope this helps. Let me know.

Terror Fatigue

My Dear Terrorist fiend,

At the risk of being called insensitive toward your cause, let me just give you a heads-up - terror fatigue has set in. Your TRPs(Terror Rating Points) have fallen drastically and the Indian public is neither amused nor saddened by your show. There is no shock, there is no awe, there is not even one hee-haw. Your indiscriminate bombing of poor helpless souls is boring, tedious and old news. One looks much like the other and no one remembers which was the last one. Your 'bijli bums' are bummers leaving audience scratching their bums and wondering what was that all about. You think you're having an orgy of gore, but no one in the public is having an orgasm; just bore. Come on! Excite us! Use your imagination! Give us a show that we can gossip about even a week later! Dont forget that you're competing with scores of 'saas' and hundreds of 'bahus'. Even an afternoon soap causes more heartburn on a daily basis than you do in an entire year.

I say, if you really have to massacre in acres, why mow the people who still sow? Why kill people of faith, and those who still have faith; lives that make this nation valuable and yet are not valuable lives? Talking about 'valuable lives', the Indian public still fondly recalls the day when you guys decided to flush the house of representatives off the representatives. But your hand just didn't reach the lever. Don't you want publicity? How can you get publicity without becoming public? Why don't you show your face? Why don't you engage? We don't even know who you are or what you want anymore! What is worse is that we really don't care anymore! Your bips and boops of cellphone bombs are neither catching the signal, nor taking a call. Even Andrew Symmond's outburst makes a bigger bang than your burst out. You're hurting innocent individuals but your random pokes carry nothing but nuisance value for a nation as vast and varied as India. Get real, willya?!

I would think that you need some consultants from Hollywood to jazz up your show. Or maybe some wedding planners from Delhi to add masala to your pelvic bursts. But the problem is that the people don't really know what you stand for. You don't represent a demand; you represent frisking at malls, random roadblocks and breaking news. Thats it! You're so annoying that you cant be called a terrorist (maybe annoyist!). Your fundamentals are so screwed up that you cant be called a fundamentalist. You're hardly causing a movement to be called a revolutionary. And I wont insult any religion by calling you a holy warrior. You still don't get it, do you? In a democracy like India, the chorus is more popular than the lead singer. So where is your voice? Where is your chorus? Where is your real protest? You will find that in India, its easier to wash off blood stains from the floor than a mass movement from popular consciousness. If there is any truth in your claim, then why don't you ask for it? Come out, congregate and shout! And for a change, try something that really worked - Satyagraha.

Hope you're not doing well.
Please don't take care.

Yours dead bored,

AC.

Realpolitik Republik of Pakistan

I don't know how many people in India or abroad would be admirers of Pakistan, but in a world where every major power is just dying to screw your sovereignty, I cannot help having a grudging admiration of the Islamic Republic. It feels good to see at least one nation clutching the balls of two big powers and screwing the rest of the world without a tinge of worry for the future. I sometimes feel amazed at how Pakistan has been able to lie in the same bed with two bitter rivals - US and China - at the same time! The puppet seems to have become the puppeteer! Nothing has been able to budge Pakistan from those two nations' favourites list. Not even 9/11. Pakistan has always received American aid and Chinese weapon systems. 9/11 just increased the flow.

If you want to learn realpolitik, become a Pakistani diplomat. I think they are the best diplomats in the world. I mean, just look at what all they have to defend - military dictatorship, nuclear bazaarisation, religious radicalism, promoting/harbouring terrorists, human rights violations, Taleban and Osama connections, honour killings and rapes and what not. And yet, they speak proudly and defend vociferously. This despite their constant flip-flops between causes - for taleban/against taleban; for democracy/against democracy; for the bomb/against the bomb; for India/against India. Lets call it their 'diploggression'.

Imran Khan recently proclaimed that Pakistan is a Banana Republic. Who do you blame? The Soviets for occupying Afghanistan? Or further back, the British for cleaving the subcontinent? Apparently, there is no place for scruples in international diplomacy. In a world where increasingly greed and myopia are veiled as realpolitik and passed off as pragmatism, a nation has to be on its constant guard so that it is not caught with it's pants down and gets buggered by sundry kings and king makers. There is no substitute for a national conscience. Pakistan seemingly doesn't have one. But then you can't blame her. Between a rock and a hard place, conscience seldom comes to your rescue.

But is Pakistan really a Banana Republic? How is it working? Isn't the General governing the nation well enough? Aren't the systems working? Isn't trade and economy booming in Pakistan? Isn't Pakistan making good use of the Americans and Chinese? Or is she still their stooge? Hasn't Pakistan developed better relations with India? She may not have a conscience, but doesn't she have ample judgment? Who is thinking this up? My question is, who is really controlling Pakistan these days? And herein lies the seed for my next article, my wackiest conspiracy theory.

New Lands to Explore, New Wars to Wage

US started an Africa Command yesterday (see news article). Promises a lot of media excitement in the next 100 years. The Dark Continent is soon going to have arc lights planted across its length and breadth. New oil, new dictators, new puppets, new intrigues, new rogue states, new terrorist masterminds, new operations, new democratisations and lots of new promise for many future US presidents. Like common men need God, politicians need issues. Africa promises loads.

From my scale of global events, India and China are old news. Africa is a timed explosive device that is going to boom anytime soon. It is not just a hinterland for your raw materials, it is going to be a significant market and a strong influencer of world events. I think in another 10-15 years we will stop referring to Africa en masse, and start referring to the individual nations, like, Burundi, Chad or Western Sahara. Depends on who first gets under the benevolent gaze of crusaders of the free world.

African nations are getting rich and smart simultaneously and hence are resisting international arm twisting. For a change, they are looking after their national interests. Oil is pumping money into the veins of African nations. Sudan, Zimbabwe and Somalia have already made names for themselves by mooning US and other western powers. God only knows how much more wealth is lurking in the belly of that dark continent.

China has already set up large field camps which dole out generous aid and take out generous minerals. Indians are thinking. Europeans had cut up the cake and distributed it amongst themselves in the 1900s only. So they have their children playing hide and seek all around the park. Poor Americans are way behind. They never got to become imperialists (they got to play only consumers of trade in 'bonded human workers' from Africa). Now they have an opportunity to make up for it. But you never know...maybe CIA already has plans to lodge Condiben as a Hutu warlord in hotel Rwanda.

US's growing interest in Africa is going to bring a lot of necessary attention to a continent that has been treated like a step sister by rest of the continents. In the end, everything is the same. But there are miles to go before we reach the end. And those miles are going to be littered with exciting milestones. So media companies, start stocking up on arc lights and digicams.

I can see Ladenbhai taking Swahili lessons.

Nothing Changes the World

There is nothing that changes the world, I posit.
I don't know why I said that, but I said it.
And here's the thesis unfurled;
There is nothing that changes the world.

Neither love, nor a shove.
Neither peace, nor caprice.
Neither books, nor crooks.
Neither sex, nor a hex.
Neither pictures, nor scriptures.
Neither threat, nor a bet.
Neither god, nor a broad.
Neither poker, nor a smoker.
Neither yes men, nor god men.
Neither deity, nor piety.
Neither alms, nor qualms.
Neither boredom, nor freedom.
Neither you, nor your view.
Neither I, nor my cry.
Neither nerds, nor words.
Neither mimes, nor forced rhymes.

And finally, neither does this silly poem.
(That doesn't rhyme with anything, ahem!)

Nothing changes the world, I still insist.
But if change is something you want in your midst,
Then my dear shrink-wrapped Freud,
Wait for the next asteroid.

P2P 2 Networked Brains

Nicole Kidman's latest movie "Invasion" is a little low on the scare quotient. Or so I thought. But fear is not what I wish to talk about here. There were other such movies in the past. We call them Zombie movies. Like "Night of the Living Dead". Expressionless, man-subjugating, blood-sucking part-human and past-human creatures that strangely move in a regimented fashion. A friend found it interesting that so many people could share a common thought and a common purpose. So, doesn't that make zombies better than us? Interesting thought. No wonder that in 'Invasion' all world problems seemed to get resolved by the common cause alien zombies. Can we ever develop brains like zombies?

Just a thought. Peer-to-peer file sharing - millions of computers worldwide networked through instantaneous connections, hosting games, music, movies, porn and God knows what else. Isn't this the precursor of a singular entity-like humongous hard disk cum operating system? Sun Microsystems proudly says that "The Network is the Computer." Sun sees a future where your digital work, play and identity are all 'online'. Google is already cashing in on this convergence phenomenon (Google knows everything about you). Predicting this future was never difficult. One look at the Zombie movies and you can predict even farther. Internet is already a sort of common cause, a universal transport bus. When computers are networked, they 'talk'. Soon P2P networks will evolve into machines with shared operating systems and hard disks; machines that share infrastructure (processors), defence (anti-virus and firewalls), money (credits and bandwidth), tools (applications) and finally the most zombiesque of all qualities - a common cause (seen I, Robot!?).

All that leads to here. Let me bend the space-time continuum and take a quantum leap into the future of digits without shifting any paradigms. I see what? I see Matrix-like brains that can be plugged into your reigning digital machine using a wireless technology (called 'Yellowtooth'??). I shift the slider on the time scale a little and it gets more interesting. I see Person-to-Person networking by connecting the minds of all humans on this planet (and elsewhere). At the thought of a click, you are connected to the brain of a man relieving himself in the loo of a crater-side cafe on Jupitor's moon Titan. Implications and possibilities - Sahil can scrap Sagarika from a beach and Sagarika can text Sahil from the middle of the ocean - different galaxies, if you want. John can check out Jenny's lesbian memories and Jenny can check out John's SuperPowerPoint slides. No need to download anything at all! Just browse! The next step? A common cause. When our survival depends on a resource that itself depends on we all holding it up together, then a common cause emerges (think, the Earth). Here comes the scary thought - could we turn into zombies in the future? Could we become so much like each other that we're indistinguishable? Could we agree so much that all dissent is banned? Finally, could we invade planets using our seamlessly communicating minds? Maybe fear is what I want to talk about!

But thank God for the double helix that humans are neither a common cause nor a common thought life form. We humans crave to retain our genetic identity by compromising our consciousness induced standards. Somehow our survival not only depends on having variety in physical characteristics, but also in thoughts. Still waters stagnate. For growth, it is important to question established thoughts as well as the establishment. To disagree on the way to an agreement is the best form of decision making. That is why Democracy rocks!

Last request - with the future in mind, could we at least agree on a common cause? Or two? One - saving the Earth. And two - not checking out Jenny's memories.

Fate and Defeat of the Individual

Its not easy being an atheist. Who do you complain to when things don't go right? To yourself? To the earth? To space? Or to a book on probability?

What is the probability of things screwing up for you? If you believe in probability, then the probability is a rational number. What do you call it when it feels like there are other-worldly forces conspiring against you? Spooky! You don't believe in destiny, but can you call this even destiny? A bad phase even? Is there a fate machine that some alien keeps tweaking for his own enjoyment?

Do you believe in fate? Doomed if you do, doomed if you don't. We human beings don't want the truth! We just want a simple explanation. Like God, for instance. It is such a defeat of the individual to fall on his knees and plead for deliverance. Sick! Sicker even, if it works.

His legs are bent and he may be on his knees soon. So what if his spirit is crushed under some mighty cosmic thumb, at least the rest of him will survive! What ego shall he nurture? We all live a pretense anyway.

hw dz it mattr nywayz?

Middle-aged, potbellied and hairy Rajiv Ji enters the cyber cafe with his lanky teenage son Ishaan in tow. Rajiv ji is wearing an oversized t-shirt over longish ‘shorts’ and pair of worn hawai chappals. Ishaan is wearing a black tee, blue jeans, black sandals and a sombre look.

Rajiv ji to cyber café guy: “We want to check IIT-JEE results. My son heard that they’re releasing it online today.”
“Do you have an account Sir?”
“No.”
“Ok, you could browse for an hour for 20 Rupees or you could take a membership and one month validity coupon for 50 Rupees.”
“I don’t have much work, so I think first option is ok.”
“Take the coupon. You can use it again if you don’t finish it today. Its valid for a month.”

Rajiv ji looks at Ishaan and asks, “What do you say? Will you use it?” Pause. Ishaan is staring at the floor. “Bolo! If you will use it then I’ll take it. Its valid for a month.” Ishaan slowly nods his bowed head from left to right, indicating ‘OK’.

Slowly, Ishaan sits on a comp. His dad sits next to him. Ishaan opens a notebook. Reads something from it. Carefully types on the keyboard and a page starts downloading. Rajiv ji peers into the screen trying to decipher the digital mumbo-jumbo. Ishaan is reading the text without speaking and is clicking from time to time. Rajiv ji can read it too, but after a while he asks Ishaan.

“So? What does it say? Are the results out or not?”
“No Papa.”
“Then when is it going to come out?”
“I’m checking papa.”

After 5 minutes more of checking, Rajiv ji is impatient.

“What is it?”
“Doesn’t say anything Papa.”
“Then how will you know? Ask your friend Vidur.”
“I asked Papa. I will email them Papa.”
“Ok you do that. I’m going home now. Come back soon.”
“Ok Papa.”

Rajiv ji’s second foot was not out of the café before Ishaan’s fingers started flying across the keyboard.

“dublyoodublyoodublyoodotorkutdotcomenter.”

Ishaan’s profile photo has him in low waist anti-fits and spikey-gelled hair and his best mate Janice by his side.

23 new scraps.

Scrap from @$$k!kr: “hey hus da chix in da pix?”
Reply to @$$k!kr: “ma buddy kul 4m skul. nw fukoff k?”
Scrap from ne~^~ha: “hey hansm watz ur futr plans?”
Reply to ne~^~ha: “no idea dn care nywayz. Dads goin bzerk!”
Scrap from \/iduR: “hey bro sup? reslt ka kya hua? tensd!”
Reply to \/iduR: “No nus yt. gand fati padi hai! u cumn 2 chil @ priya evng?”
Scrap from $/\m|r: “dude u online?”
Reply to $/\m|r: “q? kya hai be? u alwyz on orkut! no odr wrk jakazz?”
Scrap from \m/ju$t|n\m/: “yo lissn lifs bitchn dun fink I’ll mak it.”
Reply to \m/ju$t|n\m/: “okzzz jus hang on. u hafta luk 4 smthn difrnt.”
Scrap to shirley: “hey babe meet me @ priya @ 7 k?”
Scrap to ananya: “hi sweets wana meet @ priya 2mrw 7?”

Ishaan hollers at the café guy, “Bhaiya! Why don’t you have limewire on this machine?”

Disco Deewane

Its just a memory now. I cant even say for sure whether its true. But I remember that in the 80s, in Bombay, my parents used to host awesome parties. Red and yellow chandeliers, breezy atmosphere, latest Phillips cassette player with two separate stereophonic box speakers. Lilting music of ABBA, BoneyM and Nazia and Zoheb Hassan. Why is it important to me now? I was born in 1977 and the entire 80s was the time when I registered impressions that were going to stay with me forever. 80s was the age of Disco. I became a willing slave to that music for the rest of my life.

My eyes started heavily lacrimating, as I listened to 'Tere Qadmon Ko' by Nazia and Zoheb, today morning. I was teleported to that drawing room with dim lights. I can see my parents and their friends dance to 'Dancing Girl'(I don't know if thats how it really was. But thats how I'll always remember it.) . I can see myself jiving to 'Sunny'! I was living that joy, that hope, that carefreeness, that love, that warmth, that energy, that rhythm... that D.I.S.C.O. I was a Disco Deewana. And I still am. It would be cliched to say that they don't make music like that anymore. But let me still say for the sake of my childhood- they don't make music like that anymore.

I remember my mom loved to sing 'Tere Qadmon Ko' with a look of intense pleasure. I think she had a crush on Zoheb. But me, I was madly in love with Nazia Hassan. Ah! Nazia! I deeply loved her voice. If you could make love to a voice, listening to Nazia made me feel like hugging that voice, kissing every modulation of it, caressing every intonation of it; my soul rolling with the amplitude with its rise and fall and an orgasm at every high pitch. That smooth, finely balanced, delicate, beautiful, wise, innocent, stable, pure and slightly nasal voice in the modern, liberated, sexy setting of disco. That voice that gave you an intense emotional erection, yet instead of making love to her you would love to just keep looking at that heavenly mirage bursting with sexuality that was waiting for the slightest touch of yours. I think that voice shaped my own sexuality to a large extent. I still imagine my ideal mate exactly like that voice.

And what was about that music? That immortal, ethereal, infinite, that here to forever, that inside and everywhere music. That music that hit your head and splashed it across all known universes. That music that had just the right amount of echo. I always felt that Biddu was possessed when he composed 'Baat Ban Jaye'. And if you get the hottest item babe of that time, Zeenat, to perform that on big screen, then man!Main Insaan Hoon, Farishta Nahin...

I really don't know who that Brown Girl in the Ring was, but I sure felt like playing with her every time I heard her song. Those were good days. You could write a song on just about anything. Ma Baker or Sunny, Belfast or Rasputin. Today if Avril or Christina sang about Darfur or Putin, the music company will perhaps go out of business. Remember 'Oceans of Fantasy'? I remember. I remember while listening to that song I could always imagine myself surfing away on a wave of psychedelic lights in a river that led into dark and vast eternity dotted with a billion little twinkling stars. Man! What was with that music?? The composer surely composed it when he/she was high on LSD or Marijuana. You could tell. You could feel.

"Can you hear the drums Fernando..." I lost touch with that music in the late 80s and entire 90s. There was a long long pause. Then, suddenly, one day in the late 90s, while watching an Australian film, Muriel's Wedding, on Star Movies, I heard 'Dancing Queen' and I sat up. As usual, whenever there is such an instant regression, my eyes welled up, goose bumps all over and throat choking, involuntary and without warning. I said what the heck! I know that music! I've heard it before. I've danced to it. And I went to the music store, bought ABBA and danced to it. "You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life..." I dug in the Dancing Queen so much that she never fails to inspire me. Although now I know that she wasn't trying to inspire a boy of 5 or 6. ;) Why did I let her go??

"Yes, I've been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go?
Mamma mia, now I really know,
My my, I could never let you go."

Chronicles of Bunty: It Could Be You!

Bunty cut sharp left and screeched to a halt next to the footpath under a shady tree. He took out his Nokia N70 and called Pummy.

"Where are you?" he barked.

"Arre I'm just reaching na!" came the reply.

Bunty's face contorted. He made a quick calculation. 'Just reaching' would mean another 30 minutes. He replied 'ok' and disconnected. 30 minutes to kill! No point in getting bored inside the SUV even though it was slightly hot outside in the May morning.

Bunty got off his limited edition black Safari and adjusted his tight shirt's unbuttoned top button. He shook his hairy wrists and got his gold bracelets into position. He pulled up his Diesel jeans and knocked his pointy leather shoes on the tarmac. He looked left and right through his oversized shades and walked to the cold-water vendor on the footpath.

"How much for a glass?" he asked.

"Fifty paise, saab."

"Ok. And how much with Lime?"

"Two rupees."

There was a pause while Bunty inspected the cart leaking saline water from its bottom. Bored, he shifted his attention to Bidi-Cigarette vendor.

"Saab, should I give you a glass?" asked the water vendor.

Bunty turned sharply and said half laughing and half mocking, "Abe you have understood me a chutiya? I dont want to die by drinking your water!"

The water vendor was dejected. The Bidi vendor heard this and tried not to catch Bunty's gaze. Luckily, Delhi in May of 2007 wasn't as hot as most years. So you could stand outside in the mornings at least. Shades were especially cool. That, and his boredom, prompted Bunty to hum the latest Himesh Reshammiya number, a bit too loudly.

A traffic cop drove up and parked his yellow, aged and thumping bullet behind Bunty's Safari. He removed his helmet and took out what used to be a white handkerchief and wiped his face.

He looked at the SUV and then at Bunty and asked, "Is everything alright?"

Bunty stopped humming and straightened up and replied in a friendly manner, "Ya ya, just waiting for someone Sir."

The cop began watching the streaming traffic keenly. Within no time he took a step forward and extended his two and half feet hand and blocked the twenty feet road. A hapless scooterist was caught in the net. The pillion rider didn't have a helmet on.

"License and registration please" ordered the cop.

Bunty was watching this with much amusement. One thought crossed his mind. "Chutiye saale!" A grin plastered across his face. After some negotiations, the transaction was done and the scooter was allowed to proceed. Bunty stepped up to the cop to strike a conversation. He still had some time to kill. And no one like a cop for some masculine BC-MC chitchat. He might as well make up for the mush-talk time he's going to spend with his nagging girlfriend during the next two days in Kasauli.

"Haraamzaade, never seem to learn!" started Bunty, "And then they blame the traffic police of harassing them..."

The cop took the friendly cue, "Yeah! You tell me, what more can we do if these village idiots act like animals? How can we educate them? They don’t understand the laws or the traffic signs..."

Bunty asked with a crooked smile, "So how much did you fine them?"

"He he he...forty bucks" said the cop with a grin, "Poor buggers needed money for lunch. I'm a fair person you know..."

"How's the business doing these days?" Bunty dared further, knowing that Delhi cops are very friendly if you talk to them in a friendly and knowing manner.

"Things have actually improved after the orders of the High Court. People never learn you know. They still drive rashly, still don’t get pollution check done and still talk on phone while driving. With the higher fines, they're keener to deal with us than going to court. So yeah, things are looking up!" said the cop with a smile of contentment.

Suddenly the cop jumped and darted to the middle of the road and stopped a cargo company's Maruti Van. Traffic cops had 'Spider Sense' for violaters. The driver was taking instructions on his mobile.

"Licence and registration please." Another round of negotiations followed. Bunty was by the side of the cop this time but didn't open his mouth. Transaction closed at Rs. 100 and both of them retreated to the shade.

"Today is the first birthday of the Sub Inspector's son. We're all contributing. I have to finish this before midday. No point standing here in the heat." the cop said.

"Oh ok. I too want to move before it gets too hot. Driving to the hills for the weekend. With my girlfriend." Bunty said with a wink.

Bunty got a call from a business associate of his father's and assured the 'uncle' that he will definitely visit the vendor 'tomorrow' and get the work done. The traffic flow had reduced to a trickle. The cop was getting impatient.

"How fast does that go?" he asked looking at Bunty's Safari.

"Fast enough to tear apart other car's asses!" guffawed Bunty.

The Cop went up to the Safari and walked around it appreciating. It was one mammoth machine with huge Hankook tyres, beautiful golden trim, VIP dark film and sexy fancy number plates. Bunty walked along with him gloating over his possession. When they got back to the rear, he asked, "How did you like her?"

The cop looked disinterestedly at his wrist watch and then at the sun's angle, and said,

"License and registration please."

Just Another Girl

Mary Magdalene in the City of Djinns,
took upon herself the curses of mankind.
With a fragile dignity you carry on
the fate you have been consigned.

The Father dealt you an ugly hand
and you are reluctant to contend.
But the game tumbles inexorably
towards its logical end.

Late breezy evening you look up and wonder,
"A star maybe soon, but is this what I want?"
A daydream or night one, its all the same to you.
Nearsighted, censored, nightmares that haunt.

"What will I do with dreams
that come with no wings to fly?
With not even limbs to walk, to keep breathing,
a sick joke on which to rely."

Inevitability has made you bigger
than we ever could be.
Near and dear and loved ones here,
you revel in their victory.

A momentary scorn, the peak of protest,
but thats not your memory.
Hop skip and jump with family and friends,
are your three steps to glory.

Mary you lie on a bed of needles,
in a slumber of anyone's ability.
And every drop that springs from you
is a path to immortality.

Let me hold an earthen pot
and feed the children where it begins.
Let them know the inferno you walk
to take away their sins.

Let me sit by your side
and caress your scar turned blue.
Let me drink from that spring of pain
and become one with you.

You straddle the three worlds of worth
and know what happens eventually.
We behold your holy walk,
with dismay pretense and homily.

You turn around and smile at us,
the scared and ignorant world.
Your eyes whimper, dark deep and moist,
"I'm just another girl."

The Ordeal

I felt a great surge of agitation envelope me. I did not know if I was dead or alive. I realised I was in one of those deep slumbers that makes you feel almost dead. Was I having a nightmare? The ringing of the distant mountain bells was coming closer and closer. Finally it pierced my skull and started drilling into the grey matter within. It was intolerably painful! I regained some consciousness - it was the wake-up alarm of my cell phone.

I willed it to switch off automatically. But that didn't happen. I fumbled along my bedside like a drunk and managed to get hold of the phone. It felt like eons before I could manage to switch it off. And then the peace that followed was enormous! But the realisation that it was the first day of 2003 AD and I had to go to work soon made that feeling very temporary.

Delhi was having a very chilly winter. The warm blanket felt like a mother's womb. It was 6 am. I knew that it would take me another twenty minutes to muster up enough courage to expose myself to my cold room. I lay there thinking and gathering will power.

I thought about the people I loved and the people who loved me. I planned the day's work. I wondered about my next assignment. I felt bad for the condition of the world. I decided not to have breakfast. I tried to cook up an excuse against getting married anytime soon, that I could give to my parents. Somehow all my problems seemed to get solved if I could just do one thing right now - go back to sleep!

I was warm but stiff. I tried moving my arms, but no success. Wiggled my toes - some success. Let me try and move a bit. I'll open my eyes the last; no point in feeling any worse than I already am. It took so much planning just to get out of bed on a winter morning. But it wasn't working. Finally, with a quick jerk, I threw the blanket onto one side and sat upright. I was numb. I opened my eyes but didn't move them. I was born! First day of the rest of my life! Quietly I cursed to myself, "Happy New Year asshole!"

Somehow, surviving in adverse conditions gives you a kind of satisfaction that you do not get in normal and more comfortable situations. There is an immense sense of achievement even out of small things like getting up in the morning or driving to work through thick fog. You feel good about yourself. That was a challenge - a compulsory one - and I made it! Its my accomplishment for the day!

Two hours later I was done with the newspaper, tea, motions, shave, bath and dressed to kill. I locked the house and strode off to the car with a purpose in life. I don't know what it was, but I felt it there - somewhere within.

I did have breakfast - an apple.

Nothing But Fragile

A blade cuts a finger.
I bleed and hurt.
I trip on a pebble.
My face is in the dirt.
I am nothing but
fragile.

Love cut my heart.
Heart bled to death.
A tear drops with every breath.
I am nothing but
fragile.

I am betrayed.
Disillusionment and hate descend.
Is this my end?
I am nothing but
fragile.

I betray.
Guilt and self-loathing ascend.
This surely is a dead-end.
I am nothing but
fragile.

I take a chance.
I lose my worth.
All hopes are abandoned.
Despair takes birth.
I am nothing but
fragile.

I say something.
They hear something.
I mean this.
She understands that.
Bridges are burnt.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Where is the sea? Where is the shore?
I am nothing but
fragile.

This thing called ego
I lug around as I go.
Bursts like a balloon with every blunt touch.
What to talk of friends?
Even my family I forgo.
I am nothing but
fragile.

After an epic climb
I finally arrive at the peak.
I know I have proven.
But now what? NOW WHAT DO I SEEK??
I wish the full stop had been a comma.
I wish the peak had been a crossroad.
I am nothing but
fragile.

To be or not to be
is the question I ask of destiny.
I wish I knew the answer she would give.
All I know is this,
my life is destiny's prerogative.
I am nothing but
fragile.

Five elements in God's five fingers.
Five zillion ways of rubbing out a life.
Five billion years the Earth has lived.
Just five seconds could wipe out her constant strife.
Hey Man! You are nothing but
fragile.

Rags to Witness

Morning. Rituals. A Mug full of strong ginger tea and Hindustan Times. Like many others, there's a "Please Don't Disturb" sign hanging on my face. I don't know how many people of my generation and the subsequent generations enjoy this age old ritual these days.

The famous BMW case. The case that was the precursor for many such branded cases to come. The case that defined witness manipulation. The papers said today that the last witness is going to depose. The rest of them turned hostile. They reached a compromise or were bought off. Threats are futile. Money is a great motivator.

Raju, a peon at a small courier agency in Jangpura. Tries his best to make ends meet while chewing gutkha. His twin daughters are ready to go to school. But what about books, clothes, slates, chalks and so on? His employer sometimes borrows 502s and Rajdarbars from him. So it would be ridiculous to ask him for a raise. Punjab Kesri was always somewhere nearby. Raju was not illiterate. And definitely not stupid. He knew stuff, you know! So off he went to the temple to ask for a fair chance.

"God, you are my maibaap, you are kind, you are generous. You heart is like a river. Please cast your kind gaze upon me sometimes. I'm not asking for too much. I'm not even asking for something that is not mine. I cycle 9 kilometers every morning to office. I cycle back late sometimes. So many drunk people are driving on the roads of Delhi. Then why not give me a chance? All I ask is just one BMW or Porsche (I dont mind the brand as long as its luxury segment), one rich kid, drunk silly should provide nirvana to a fortunate soul in front of MY eyes. God all I ask is this- make me a witness! Leave the rest to me. I will earn every penny that they stuff into my mouth. God please grant this one wish and I'll put 1100 rupees worth on your feet."

So the news channels are raking up the back of Tendulkar coz he thinks his cricket strokes are nothing short of pure art. Many of us would agree. The CAG does not. They have absolutely no cricketing or artistic sense. Anyway, there's this artist category which gets substantial tax exemption. The Income Tax department will soon come up with a new category called the 'Hostile Witness' category. The Finance Secretary has noted that the government loses a lot of revenue in this category. They need to be appropriately taxed. If needed, give them a small exemption in view of the trauma they had to go through, but get them under the tax net.

I heard Witness Protection! Who said that? Who said witness protection?? Are you stupid? You think the government is stupid? Remember, the government is never stupid, just not informed enough. In this case the government knows how much it costs to protect witnesses who are better off making big bucks as hostile witnesses. The government cares for the greatest good, for the greatest numbers. There's always one victim but so many witnesses. Why victimise them? Let witness protection be the sole responsibility of the defence side. We, the government, are already burdened by the ridiculously high salary of the public prosecutor. Hey, we don't want to screw around with the Budget Deficit any more. Okay?

Rocky: A Belated Obituary

The first time I met Rocky was when I moved into his neighbourhood, Andrewsganj in mid 2001. Rocky's initial belligerence was understandable. He didn't know me, I didn't know him either. But it was not long before we bonded fabulously. I guess he liked me for the way I treated him and his family. It also helped that his family loved me a lot. On the other hand, I liked him simply because..well simply because he was he.

By all calculations Rocky was middle aged. He was certainly older than either Joyattam or Jayeeta. I being the eldest of the set, perhaps he liked my mature outlook. He would get excited every time I visited their place. We would go for long walks together. He loved nature, so did I. But while I did all the talking, he would just take in the fragrances of the environment. He loved my company, I loved his. But I could never be as energetic as him.

Rocky had that senior feel about him. You would never see him prance around or get over-excited about something. He loved to rest, sleep, eat and throw an attitude. The only person he was afraid of was Kaberi aunty. Rocky was quite guarded. He loved his family and made sure that they're safe from any intrusion. If you wanted to be friends with the Dutta Roys, first you had to be friends with Rocky. Once you had Rocky's trust, you could truly enjoy the great hospitality of the Dutta Roys.

Rocky could eat like an elephant and Kaberi aunty is a great cook. I and Rocky both loved the fish and chicken made by aunty. Aunty was a bit strict on Rocky, but that was all for his own good. Once, I was at Dutta Roys with just Rocky for company and we had a fight over who will sit on the sofa that was near the cooler. It was hot and the cooler was blowing away cool, humid air. We both wanted to sit on that sofa but Rocky, the sly thing that he was, took the seat before I could stake a claim. We had a series of pushing and pulling but he didn't budge. I even poured some water over him, but I think he enjoyed that even more! Finally, I lifted the couch and turned it upside down thereby dropping Rocky off it. Rocky accepted defeat and went to lie on the bed. We didn't talk a word that evening.

Rocky was not allowed to eat too much sweet. But he loved cookies and an odd roshogolla. whenever I'm there, aunty makes it a point to serve me with some strong, sweet tea and biscuits from a bakery in Kotla Mubarakpur. I used to sneak a few pieces to Rocky, who would eat with relish and demand some more without worrying about aunty's scolding. I've been caught a couple of times and have been reprimanded for that too. But I and Rocky were buddies, so it was ok.

Rocky was getting old and losing health. From the beginning of 2006, his health began to deteriorate very quickly. First to go was his eyesight. He had cataracts and could hardly see where he was walking. During our walks in the the neighbourhood, he would frequently stumble over stairs, footpaths and stones. He simply couldn't see that they were there. It was becoming too sad for me. His diet went down. He tried eating but he vomited most of it. When I visited them, I made it a point to take him for walks, but by April he had become so weak that I had to lift him while walking. I could feel each and every bone of his frail body. There was no muscle left on his skeleton. He would just look into my eyes as if saying "thank you." He couldn't even cry and tears would well up in my eyes. Towards the first week of May, he stopped going out. He would lie prone on his belly and very lightly acknowledge my presence by just lifting an eye. I would caress him and talk to him for a while before my throat choked up. It is painful to see any living thing in that state.

I don't remember when was the last time I saw Rocky and I'll regret that forever. 17th May 2006 was my birthday and I was treating a couple of old friends at Ansal Plaza. I parked my car at Andrewsganj and informed uncle and aunty. While leaving I glanced towards Rocky. It was dark in his room and I couldn't see him. Normally I would go and talk to him, but that day I had neither the time nor the courage.

I asked uncle, "How is he?"

"Not good. Might go anytime now" he replied.

I just hoped it wasn't anytime soon because I wanted to see him once more and say goodbye to him.

The next day I came back all the way from Vasundhara Enclave to meet Rocky. But he was gone.

"He went away last night" uncle said.

I hated myself for not talking to him the previous night. I hated the fact that my birthday fell on that day. I tried to take it in with as much fortitude as is expected from a twenty nine year old. I just wanted to say goodbye to him. Why couldn't he wait for another day?! I sat there numb and silent.

"Its ok, he was suffering. Good that he went" uncle reassured me.

I drove back home with moist eyes and a heavy heart. I kept repeating inside my head, "Goodbye Rocky.."

Doodh Ka Doodh...

Mrs. Sharma was a long time resident of Doctors Apartments. Her buttocks were so heavy that you would think that they were a part of the apartments' foundation. Mrs. Sharma was a stickler for hygiene and cleanliness. Thats why she would often look outside her balcony with disgust. The thing was that the footpath across the south west corner boundary of Doctors Apartments had a massive Delhi style garbage dump and the garbage always spilled out onto the road, which attracted all kinds of gourmands. Cows, crows, dogs and rag pickers were regular patrons of the joint. What Mrs. Sharma couldn't digest was the stench that wafted into her house whenever the southern winds blew a bit too excitedly.

"Chhi!" she would remark, "Good I didn't vote for anybody during Municipal election. MCD anyway doesn't clean this mess. One day I'll die of this stench. Why dont you do something?" she would lob at Mr. Sharma who would try harder to evade her gaze by burying his head deeper into the morning papers.

"Are you listening? Do you want me to die?"

Mr. Sharma always wondered if he will be arrested or ostracised if he actually answered that question. He wasn't the kinds who like to shake things up. Moreover, his nose had become insensitive to the smell that disturbed the residents only once in a while.

You could give the credit for Mrs Sharma's excellent rump to Ombir's milk. Mrs Sharma wanted only the best for her family. So she only trusted fresh cow's milk.

"Oh God Mrs. Gogia, have you seen how they carry that Mother Dairy milk in trucks. It looks like it was produced in a petroleum refinery. And God only knows how old that milk is. Our Ombir brings only the milk drawn in the morning. Have you seen how much 'malai' I get out of it?"

So thats the secret of Mrs. Sharma's health - the cream from Ombir's milk. Mrs. Gogia would only nod her head in mock agreement and hate the fact that Mrs. Sharma's hind was more majestic than her own.

Mrs. Sharma kept three litres of Ombir's milk everyday. She forced four glasses down the throats of her teenagers Roshan and Roshni - two in the morning and two in the evening. She made tea, kheer, gajar ka halwa, shakes and many other healthy items out of that milk. She loved it so much.

Ombir was a strapping Jatt from Dallupura village. If only he'd shave, he'd look like Arjun Rampal. He had a small dairy that belonged to his family. He made a good income supplying milk to residents of Vasundhara Enclave and Mayur Vihar. His prized posession was his powerful Enfield Bullet that never had a legible number plate. He was also proud of his young milch cow 'Doodhia'. No she wasn't called Doodhia because she gave good milk, but because she was white like milk. Nevertheless, Doodhia would loyally squeeze out of her udders 3-4 litres of milk every morning. Ombir made sure that it was appropriately 'monetized'. So he would shout out to his nephew,

"Oye Jitender! Make sure you mix equal amount of water. These meydum jis and their kids in the high-rises have weak stomachs. I don't want any complaints of impure milk."

Jitender would diligently get 'clean looking' water from the local rusty municipal tap or handpump or from wherever he could, and make 8 out of 4.

Now Doodhia being young, was also foot-loose. Her light feet took her farther than other cows. She would roam around Trilokpuri, Dallupura, Vasundhara Enclave and nearby areas. She was free to go wherever she wanted to, but she would instinctively return to her master at sundown. She was free to choose her own grub. Ombir, being the liberal he was, never stopped her from experimenting. So off she went checking out various diners in her area of influence. Grass was good, juicy leaves were better but those were hard to come by. But last night's shahi paneer, rajma masala and sundry vegetable peels? Well, now we're talking gourmet food. Now and then, she would join other regulars, Kali, Tommy, Kaw-Kaw, Raju and such, for a hearty meal; often at the dump opposite Mrs. Sharma's. More than once Doodhia has noticed Mrs. Sharma casting a disgusted look towards her.

"She's just jealous of my rear end." Doodhia would conclude.

"Chhi chhi chhi! These animals eat anything!" Mrs. Sharma would say while loudly slurping her morning tea made out of Doodhia's milk.

Let Me Summarise - Our Love of the Gist

I took this pop-quiz that rates your life. Even while you're answering the really straightforward questions, you can make out how you're doing. But then there's the joy of watching all that in the form of bar graphs and decimals.

We human beings have a strong attraction for summaries. We love the fact that our birth chart can predict when we're going to 'drop out'. We love the thing that the lines on our palm can tell others how screwed we really are. Isn't it great that your percentile score in CAT or GMAT can almost accurately predict your pay package in 3 years time and yet reveal nothing about your ethical character?

Corporate honchos have a special love for charts, graphs and figures. They can see their popularity, commission and wife's love rise and fall with the revenue and profits graph. I would say that one look at the faces of your employees early Wednesday morning can tell you more about your company's performance than all the stats churned out by your overpaid accountants.

'Screaming Headlines' Do headlines really scream? Yes, they do. They scream out the entire story in a few words. Its supposed to attract your attention to the story but what it really does for me is that it tells me whether the story is worth reading. The louder the scream, the more suspect the content. But I too fall into the trap of sensationalism sometimes. News these days is more entertainment than news; more advertisement than information, even if it is about rape, murder and elections. I guess we still read and watch news just because we want a pre-packaged, easily digestible, least involving, distance maintaining, hygienic way of interacting with society at large. Its a hard-to-resist summary of the world around you.

Every religious leader worth his donations account and every prophet worth his sombre look has tried to summarise life for us. Some such aphorisms come to my mind - Love thy neighbour (but don't get caught); God is Great (but Devil comes close); Take the Middle Path (but don't get crushed). [The words in brackets are not mine but additional notes by charlatans and realists down the ages] Don't we just love these lines? Sometimes they inspire, sometimes they simplify and some other times, they rectify. Religion is nothing but spiritual fast food. Pre-packaged, quickly delivered, easily eatable and quite filling. On top of that, inexpensive. Just imagine how much more difficult life would be if each one of us were to develop his or her own personal religion. (But some of us like to rough it out.)

I guess we love summaries because life is too complex to be understood in bits and pieces.

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	6.5
Mind:	7.5
Body:	7.3
Spirit:	7.5
Friends/Family:	4.9
Love:	1.4
Finance:	4.7
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Gathering, a Storm in Russia - Dissent and Democracy

MOSCOW (Reuters) - Russian police detained several hundred people, including chess champion Garry Kasparov, on Saturday as they snuffed out an attempt by opponents of President Vladimir Putin to protest near the Kremlin.

I can't imagine something like that happening in India anymore. Thank god for chaotic, true-to-form democracy! My generation has grown up knowing and believing that protests, rallies, gatherings are completely natural. Political protests, Dam protests, Reservation protests-you will never hear police trying to thwart them from even happening. Of course we have seen umpteen incidents where protesters were water cannoned and a few bundled off to lockups when they are literally at the Parliament gates. But allowing a protest to happen is perhaps as sacrosanct as our constitution itself. When this sanctity is breached, you can tell that the state of the nation is in jeopardy.

"Thanks to the well-coordinated actions of the riot police and Moscow police, we were able to prevent an illegal gathering being carried out," he said.

When the authorities begin to get scared of 'gatherings' then you know that they truly have something to be afraid of. Luckily, we in India, have areas very clearly marked for this purpose only. If you get caught in a traffic jam somewhere near Parliament street, Boat Club, Jantar Mantar or Raj Ghat, you curse at the protesters. But they might be doing you a great service indirectly.

Kremlin loyalists say the protesters are dangerous extremists plotting a revolution.

Since when revolutions were plotted in the city centre square? And since when is a gathering extremist? Does the ruling party truly have something to be afraid of? Are they fearing another Russian Revolution? Anyway the Russian Intelligence agencies must be tapping each and every phone involved and bugged each and every protester's house by now. I'm sure they know of all the plots.

Dissent is a characteristic of the original political systems that gave birth to democracy. Right from the days of Cicero and early Greek Senates, the right to debate and disagree are held fundamental. Protesting in public is just the masses' way of saying "I Disagree!" Vox Populi, Vox Dei.

Imagine this - you're filling a jar with sugar granules. You shake it a few times so that the granules align with each other and more space is made to put in more sugar. Dissent is that chaos in a Democracy. There are some shakes, but it makes for a more unified society in the long run. Cherish it, nurture it, indulge in it, coz without dissent democracy and liberty will die.

Poor Garry has a lot of Check Mating to do. Unfortunately, politics is far more complex and far less objective than Chess. Nevertheless, protest on Garry!

KBC, Shah Rukh aur Tum

So the other day I was at the Dutta Roys in Andrewsganj. KBC was going on flat-out on the flat screen. It may seem idiotic, but I don't own an idiot box. So whenever I'm here, its a novelty to watch TV. I love quizzing too, so I was gleefully answering Shah Rukh's questions(all correctly) and had reached the 6 lakh Rupees mark. Piyali's odd remark broke my concentration.

"Bhaiya Shah Rukh khan ko manners nahin hain." She said.

"Matlab?" I asked.

"Wo badon ko bhi 'Tum' bolta hai." Piyali explained

"Kya baat kar rahi ho? Ho hi nahin sakta!" I said incredulously.

"Haan bhaiya, use baat karni nahin aati." Piklu seconded with force.

Now I had to see and hear this for myself. I couldn't believe that Shah Rukh, a pucca North Indian, didn't know the basic manners of addressing people and elders.

Dominic(Dom), a late fortysh gentleman from Mumbai, was on the hot seat. With some white strands and some appropriate wrinkles, he looked much older than Shah Rukh. This was a real test now. Just then Shah Rukh Khan said something like, "Tumne first stage paar kar liya hai.." or something to that effect. I was flabbergasted! Afsos! Galat Jawab!

Once while riding my Bajaj Super scooter, a tiny bug fell into my left eye. The feeling was similar. It was sudden, unexpected, it was odd, incongruous, out of place and stung like hell! The thing is that in normal Hindi conversation you always address strangers, youngsters and elders as 'aap'. 'Tum' is reserved for your wife, girlfriend, little kids, friends and some other categories of economic class (like your maid or driver or car washer). 'Tu' is strictly for close friends, brothers, sisters etc. It is normal for me, having lived in Delhi for almost fourteen years, to follow this linguistic culture. Most people I know follow these rules. In fact I know no one who doesn't. The Dutta Roys are Bengalis, I'm an Oriya and we too know these nuances. Thats why when I heard what Shah Rukh said, it didn't just come across as wrong, it came across as if something is not right with the picture. Something just doesn't fit. Like a smudge on a clean mirror. Like a mole on Mona Lisa's nose. It wasn't just wrong, it felt ugly.

The other thing that really puzzles me still is that Shah Rukh Khan has lived in Delhi long enough to know this. Then why would he commit such a disgrace? Does it have to do something with Bollywood's scriptwriters, who for ages have made heroes address the villains as 'tum'? Since a long long time, I've noticed that many Hindi film heroes do this, "Main tumhein nahin chhodunga!" Or, "Tum mera kuch nahin bigad sakte!" Of course the villains reciprocated, "Main tumhari maa behen ek kar doonga." Whats with all the respect? 'Tu' should be the word here. If you want to check if this is right, then go watch the usual brawl on Delhi roads. I think Bollywood is obsessed with 'Tum' and therefore, the professional that Shah Rukh is, the script has just seeped into his neurons. Its high time someone corrected him. This is a live family show, not a Bollywood matinée.

The English have it easy. No degrees of respect. So no confusion and no disrespect. Most Indian languages and cultures are developed enough to have two or three degrees of respect. Although, the respect denoted by 'tu', 'tum' and 'aap' can be different for different languages. For instance, in Oriya, 'Aapono' is for strangers, 'tommay' is for elder relatives and 'tu' is for real close relatives, friends and brothers and sisters. So I address my dad as 'tommay', my mom, my mausis, my nani and cousins as 'tu' and my brother as 'kutte'. ;)

Pimp my Cricket

India's Cricket World Cup 2007 Debacle

After 3 bottles of greedily gulped down Kingfisher light beer, I was too drunk to have patience, or hope. So when Dhoni's wicket fell, I finally asked my good friend Sumanta to switch off the TV. He readily agreed being equally drunk. But I could feel his pain coz he's a big fan; and a Bong on top of that. I went to sleep immediately not wanting to know the result. The next morning I woke up still not wanting to know the result. I truly didn't bother. Nor did Sumanta. Though we did see on a news channel in the passing that India had lost miserably. Life has to go on you know. And sports is entertainment. It is also a nationalistic expression in some ways but a facile one.

But there were others who didn't take this lightly - many fans, the BCCI, the media, corporates, betters and bookies. I can understand the anguish of people who had hoped to make a profit out of this extravaganza. But what I don't understand is the way some fans reacted to this debacle. Blackening the posters of our cricketers, breaking and stoning their houses?? So you can deify and vilify the same person within a few hours? I mean what kind of really silly behaviour that? Who needs who more? I'm sure that our sports persons need their fans more than the other way round. So how about due to the absence of support during a cricket match, later the cricketers come and smash the houses of fans for failing to show up? Is there some kind of contract here? In a civilised society outpouring of public sentiments should limit itself to peaceful means. And in the case of something as harmless as cricket, fans really need to chill.

In fact I'm pretty sure that the insanely high expectations of Indian fans had made our cricketers so damn nervous that they forgot to play their 'natural game'. Looking at a genius like Sachin get out definitely made me feel so. The Bastard Cricket Czars of India act like a local politician, the fans act like lustful customers, the advertisers act like pimps. Where does that leave our poor cricketers? Can they still play cricket for the love of the game? Anyway they are not paid as much as Bollywood stars. Also unlike Bollywood stars, who do subjective entertainment, our cricketers perform objective entertainment. Either you win or you lose. A film star makes the same amount whether the movie flops or hits. A cricketer loses a lot if the team doesn't win. Nobody gives a shit if a movie is a hit or a flop. Everybody abuses our cricketers if they lose one. Why this step-motherly treatment? Do they need to succeed in every match they play?

I'm not a great fan of 'Success'. I've never been very successful myself. Moderately, somewhat, but not massively. The thing is, success as an end is as hyped as 'nirvana' is as an achievement. Too much focus on success makes us look at life not as 'line' but as a 'dot'. A line can be straight or curvy and extended to make beautiful shapes. A line is a journey, but a dot is...well, a dot is a dot is a dot. Nothing else. Of course, success has its place in situations where success means ending a living creature's misery. But success in a cricket match? Surely, you cant say that you were miserable before India went to play the World Cup? And that your misery could only end if India wins the world cup? Ironically, Cricket in India, is a victim of its own popularity. But its still a form of entertainment and recreation. We must not make it an issue of life or death. Definitely not the death of the players or coaches. I think a nation's morals can be gauged by its predominant form of entertainment. At the peak of the Roman Civilisation, people paid money and sat in huge stadia just to see human beings chop each other off. The fans screamed, shouted, howled, clapped and whistled with every limb being severed and every eye being gouged. Free concessions for the audience made matters worse. And that was perhaps the real peak. The slide began soon after that. If we have to save our nation and not disintegrate then we must have a more sensible approach towards our entertainment-whether its cricket or saas-bahu serials.

The kind of money that is pumped into cricket defies all sensibilities. So partly media and corporates who look at viewers as milch cows are responsible for the state of affairs. Of course all this attention has helped the cricketers in getting paid, but I'm sure that if Sachin had not been a sports person, he would've been good at whatever he did. Thats the kind of person he is! The characters surrounding the cricket drama have only overdone the whole thing like a gaudy nautch girl. No wonder the fans are reacting as if they've been denied a good night's romp after having paid for it. And the local politician has no accountability and all the control. If we can fire the coach, the captain, why not the Board President? Are only the players answerable to the fans? That really isn't fair at all! BCCI is nothing but the emperor who gives the thumbs up or thumbs down to decide the fate of the 'down but not out' gladiator.

My grouse against BCCI is that it is an enterprise meant to promote a concept but headed by people who have nothing to do with the concept and have no love for it. Why do you think Sharad Pawar, a politician, is the President of BCCI? Is it because he was a star wicket keeper in his youth? Or is it because it will ensure a good sugarcane crop in Baramati? More of the latter I think. The immense success and appeal of cricket in India has meant that politicians and businessmen have successively controlled BCCI. It ensures power, popularity and spotlight. Just imagine that Google's CEO has the controlling stake in Google, and Larry and Sergei are just hard working coders.

Whoever names a promotion and lobbying body 'Board of Control '? I mean you're here just to control, is it? Is Cricket going out of control in India? Maybe it is! Right from the media to the fans, everyone is going berserk. Then there are the bookies who must have gone berserk after India's exit. Poor Woolmer bore the brunt of one shock. I wouldn't be surprised if a few similar incidents happen in India too. But then the people who bet big on India's matches live all around the world. We will never really know how many lives were destroyed that fateful day. But sure there are a few who must be still stuffing their mattresses and pillows with banknotes, their insane guffaws still trembling the corridors of betting syndicates.

They say that hundreds of crores or Rupees has drowned in the Caribbean seas. When you see the ads of Hutch and Kingfisher and many other Indian companies swamping the West Indian stadia, you feel, "is this match happening in India?" Indian money is traveling far and wide and has almost bankrolled the 2007 world cup. Indian fans from the world over were supposed to stuff the pockets of Caribbean hotel owners. Now that they are not coming, the hotels, the stadia and the streets seem empty and worthless. So I think the biggest actual stakeholders of this charade are Indian corporates and Caribbean tourism. So to be fair to everyone, why not just give India a confirmed berth in the finals? I'm sure the Indian fans would love that. I'm sure the corporates would love that. And I'm sure BCCI would see merit in that idea. After all it is flexing its muscle! I don't know who can be more shameless in Indian Cricket today.

A few days back I got an sms rumour that India made it to super eights because Bangladesh was caught doping. I almost puked with indignation.

PS: Hell, BCCI doesn't even have a website of its own. What kind of promotion are they doing God only knows. Well, Devil may care..

Lions and Paper Tigers

The way poachers killed 3 lions in Gir reminds me of the days when my mom or grandmother used to pick out lice from my head. I was in school in Calcutta and lice infestation was common. But finding lice and catching them needs careful technique and some practice. Something poachers have but forest officials dont.

You take a tourist to Ranthambhore or Sariska, you wont see a tiger. But of course for some extra fee, the really determined kinds can have a dekko. How so? It seems people know where the tigers are when commerce knocks on their doors.

Only poachers see commerce in tigers, lions, rhinos and tuskers. Not the government and definitely not the rest of the public. Who goes to Ranthambhore or Corbett because they want to save the tiger? Honeymoon maybe, vacation yes, post safari booze party most definitely! Poor wildlife activists try hard to enlighten the public. The same public that doesnt hesitate to lynch a scared leopard that 'mistakenly wanders' into territory that was his to begin with. But then he doesnt have the voting rights. Even if his species had, we'd make sure that their numbers are so less that they cant make any meaningful changes to the existing laws. We might even have to set up a minority commission just for them.

Minority commissions are set up for wild life. But those are there to give a patient hearing to activists really. Who cares about wild life? About trees? You think city dwellers? All they care about is that the trees in their avenue should not be cut. Not because of the shade or the oxygen or the fruits, but because it looks beautiful and increases the value of their real estate. Hell, a small shopping mall in Delhi would get more footfalls during a regular weekend than Gir receives in an entire year. You think villagers care? All they want is that elephants dont trample their crop, leopards dont carry away their cattle and that there is more land to give away as dowry. What about the government? You know, in some ways, the government is the keeper of public conscience. Yes, government is active in that area. It is busy making sure that people below 25 can vote, copulate, raise kids, gamble on stocks, but cant drink alcohol. It is making sure that kids who get raped and molested by their own relatives are not exposed to any suggestive sexuality on television. Government can only do so much. After all we are the government. Government does what we want and what we want is a facade of propriety.

And a facade is what we shall get. A few years down the line, your kids and mine, lugging 'artificial oxygen' cans on their backs will go on a weekend trip to the local zoo to see something called Wild Life. The only problem is that it no longer exists in the wild.

I feel like watching 'Planet of Apes' once again.