When I was a kid

When I was a kid, I used to be a nice kid. You know, I used to carve figurines out of chalk(brought from school) using pins. I had a collection of those till recently. I don't know what I did with them.. :( I spent many long hours as a kid carving out faces, animals, guns etc out of those chalk pieces. Oh yeah, sometimes I used a blade.

Man was I crazy!?

I used to take a string of say a metre in length. Then I would take a coloured candle and light it. Then I'd lay the whole string on the ground and coat it with the melting wax. After that is done, I'd make the room dark, then I'd burn the string from the bottom while holding it up from the top. The burning wax would fall onto the floor like drops of coloured fire! It looks so beautiful in a dark room! Of course, after that I'd clean the wax off the whole floor.

Once I spent five hours of a perfectly useful day trying to pick up an object using a crane made up of nothing but strings. I thought(and still think) that it was possible. The engineer in me told me it was possible! But after five hours I gave up. I was actually quite hungry and my back hurt like hell! Then there was the time when I burnt whole of my right palm with 'barood'. I went crazy with pain!

Oh yeah, I was a nice kid.. I miss that kid.

These days I do not do anything as useless or as interesting as that.. :P

Generosity Impersonified

Another red light. I guess I must have been in a good mood, coz, I reached into my pocket, took out a coin and dropped it into the cupped palm of the beggar woman.

The baby on her hip was playing with a deflated balloon---pulling it and releasing it to whip in the air, or now, on my car. He had a toothless grin. Quite cute actually.

I guess my unbound generosity made him happy. With a chuckle, he released the stretched balloon. It struck me right on the nose! Ouch! Boy, did that hurt?! I laughed off my anger, even though my eyes welled up a bit. I was supposed to be all kind and nice and goody, remember? "Nice baby cute baby".

I took the opportunity to press the cheek of the baby with all the feelings of a Mahatma. The light turned green. I guess vengeance got better of me and the press turned into a pinch. The baby's face transformed from a grin to stark astonishment.

Before the baby could start bawling I vroomed off leaving the angry mama hurling abuses at me. He! He! He!

Eyes and Feet

He was looking at her feet.
    She was looking at his eyes.
She tried to hide her feet.
    He looked at her eyes looking at him.
She quickly looked away.
    He quickly looked away.
Both of them looked as if 
    neither had seen anything.

And all the while he was there, she didn't know what to do with her feet.
She was squirming as if the bed was extremely uncomfortable --
    trying to shift her feet as many times as possible so as not to let his gaze rest upon them.
He knew what she was doing and felt bad about making her feel like that.
But he couldn't resist those lotus feet --
    as if they were the most beautiful things that he has seen in a long long time.
It took him a lot of effort to tear his eyes from them --
    it felt like a huge sacrifice.
But that made her feel better.
He moved away for a while.
But once in a while he stole a few glances of her feet.
Coz it were her feet that revealed to him the real she --
    the girl he knew, the one she's inside, the woman he loved once -- and not her face or body or voice.
Those divine feet were not only a part of her being,
    but also a part of his story.

The Rise of Communism

In history, the rise of Communism must be seen in the wider context of global economic culture prevalent during early 19th century. Capitalism had reached a stage where it is today where there is a gap, not just between haves and have nots as individuals, but also between entire nations. There are 'have nations' and 'have not nations'. The nuclear element compounds the problem by introducing another element that further exposes the lawlessness and arbitrariness of human beings. We have not really come far as a race. This kind of situation is ripe for revolutions. That is what led to the Russian Revolution. Luckily, democracy takes the steam out of masses' frustration by changing unpopular political regimes. In a monarchy this is not possible, hence, overthrowing is necessary. If you look at it more deeply you will find that Democracy is just veiled Communism and Capitalism is disguised Plutocracy. Democracy is Communism's balancing power against Capitalism.

Canine Xenophobia

I go to this lovely half jungle half landscaped park at the edge of Kalkaji for my morning jogs. That day, as I joined the dogs in their stretching routines before beginning my walk, suddenly my co-stretchers started growling. I tried to figure out their object of attention among the healthy patrons of the park, but couldn’t see anyone particular they might be displeased with. Humans are, after all, their co-habitants and overlords. There was a motley group of quasi-religious beggars who joined at this joint for a joint every morning. But they were even more rooted in that place than the right wing loyalists (i.e., the doggies).

Presently, the growling morphed into low intensity barking and a pack began to form. Looking in the general direction of their pointed noses, I found that the culprit was none other than a weakling of their own species. I say a weakling because she appeared as such – cowering with fear. Or maybe she was pretending to be afraid (body language we were told). All of a sudden, the pack of indigenous mongrels descended upon her. Mongrels of all hues – black, white, brown, grey, shades of those colours and colours that I don’t know names of – but all mosaics. Some barking, some yelping and some others just too excited to make a sound. Some stout, some emaciated, some lactating and some mere pups; but all pretending to own the planet. It was obvious from the scene that the cowering fellow was an outsider and this was a territorial dispute. As if Saddam Hussain had walked into New York Central Park and Bush & Co was re-enacting Abu Ghraib around him. Anyway, after due admonitions, threatful posturing and some passionate (and occasionally angry) appeals by the foreigner, the trespasser was unceremoniously driven out of the canine country via the no-dog’s land at the edge of park.

I was disappointed with the dogs. I really was! I have great regard for dogs (more for bitches), and place them higher in character than humans. But man’s xenophobic tendencies have somehow infected them. Where there are so many of them, why can’t they take in another who needs shelter? What would it take for her to become a member of the pack – mate with an existing member?

They say dogs are territorial. So are we. The difference is, that tendency resides in the genes of dogs, but in us it resides in our egos and balls. At least dogs have character! Oh how I wish the world were going to the dogs!

As I was walking back home, I saw two dogs sprawled attentively alongside the watchman inside the gates of a primary school. Another three were guarding a hundred metre stretch of road near my house. I thought, “Damn, these guys know their purpose in life!” I was jealous! I went back to securing my place as a cog on the wheel.

Just Another Job

I cursed as I braked. I just missed the green light. It was now red and it would take another 156 seconds before it turned back into green. It was peak traffic time. The weather was very chilly and even the inside of my heater-less car was freezing. It was the usual route. And she was the usual beggar girl doing the rounds knocking at the windows of the cars. They avoided the two-wheelers - they didnt expect much from them.They had a carefully targeted consumer segment. So what did these beggars sell? They sold you the satisfaction that you did a good deed today. That you've been kind and generous.

It had been a bad day for me at the office. And missing the green light wasn't helping to calm me down. The beggar girl knocked at my window. I shoo'ed her away. She wore scraps of cloth and was shivering as if she was going to collapse and die any moment. But that was just a trick to make you feel more sympathetic. I knew that. The greater the pain, the more you pay and the bigger is your consumer surplus. She went to the car in front of me. The sucker started to give her a coin.She took it with a pained face. Of course she was acting. But I'm sure the sucker got his money's worth out of that class act.

The light turned green. I was impatient. I honked rudely. More so coz the car ahead was delaying by paying that beggar girl. Was I being cruel?

The girl quickly hopped and sat on the pavement laughing and giggling with her other colleagues. That made me madder! But then, with a realisation, I sported a crooked smile on my face. Its just another job and they're good at it! Even though their boss - God - has not been very supportive.

I drove on. A bit placated.

PS: Read Peter Foster's interesting blog post on this topic.

Sylvester

He was sweating profusely from the hot May sun of Delhi. He was dark with a hard lean body and working hands with age touching forties. He had a pair of common leather chappals on his feet; dark tan and dusty, but strong. He was in a pair of indeterminate coloured trousers. I couldnt tell whether it was beige or white gone dirty. I think it was chocolate coloured! In his right hand was a slip of paper with my address on it. With his left hard he was carrying a tool case - patent leather, quite old though, but again quite strong. His eyes were bloodshot. I wondered if he had been drinking or if he was ill.

I heard his name - "Shrivastav". Well, I thought, he looks like a 'Shrivastav' enough, a north Indian Hindu. Later, I was quite shocked to know that it was actually 'Sylvester'. I could not imagine a Christian electrician working in Kotla Mubarakpur. But he was! Guess I did not know enough about socio-economic demographics in such commercial areas. And guess what, I was also quite surprised to know that the previous electrician's name was 'Aslam' But I could imagine a Muslim working in Kotla Mubarakpur.

I am a die hard secularist and multiculturalist. So I felt strange and in some ways guilty about my feeling surprised. Was it sub conscious bias or pure statistical evidence that was behind my finding Sylvester and Aslam odd in their contexts? Maybe a bit of both.

I could not place Sylvester. I mean I could not tell whether he was a North Indian Christian or a South Indian one. They differ a lot actually, though they all look purely Indian. I revel in the variety of India and love coming across someone who is so far removed from me and yet swears allegiance to the same Constitution.

Sylvester looked like quite a serious kind of person with no smile on his face and a droning voice. But once he started working I found him quite talkative. And I joined him with my 'Ahans', 'Ohs' and 'OKs'. He was not intrusive or curious, he just liked to talk - to speak, not speak with. I felt a shade of sadness leaving him alone to work. But he was ok with that - he talked to himself.

On Chain Mails

I was going to tell you about an incident that happened to me a long time ago. I think I was 4th or 5th standard (grade) at that time. And I have always been god fearing (or at least god respecting, as now). I was more so then. One evening (we were in Calcutta then) I had gone to the local market with my parents. As I was standing on the pavement, a short ragged looking man with pock marked face and brownish dry curly hair came upto me and handed me over a leaflet, a single thin page of printed matter on one side only. I took it expecting some sort of advertising material or SALE announcement. I started reading it. It was a yellowish paper with black broken lettering in Hindi. It started with a logo featuring a well-known Baba. As I proceeded with the reading, it explained the greatness of the Baba and his miracles. Then it requested the reader to pass on the message by printing hundred new leaflets and distributing it to hundred new people. Then it went on to list the immense fortunes that accrued to the people who did exactly as told. Till that point I was happy for the people who got so much in return for spreading the Baba's word and so on. But then came the clincher. The leaflet went into a totally different zone, a different galaxy, warning of untold damage and misfortune to the people who failed to do the bidding of redistributing the leaflet. Men who lost their businesses, children dying, wife going mad, cyclones ripping apart homes, money turning to ash, blood vomits and all sort of graphic violence you can imagine. When I was finished with the reading, I was numb. I was having pins and needles all over my body. I was scared to death. I knew I could not do what was written in it. I didn't have that kind of money. If I told my parents, they would scold me for taking that thing from a stranger. I didn't want all those bad things happening to my family. Yes I was more concerned about my parents and brother than myself. It is natural for me to love them more than I love myself. And at that time, my whole existence depended on them. I was seriously freaked out. I folded up the leaflet and we returned home. After a few hours and after considering a lot, I went to my mom and showed it to her. She took it calmly and asked me to keep it near god's pictures in our wooden temple and pray for forgiveness. I pushed the leaflet deep inside the drawer of the temple and prayed hard. "Please god and Baba, forgive me and do nothing to my family.” After a year or so after considerable sobering up, one day I found that leaflet while cleaning the drawers of the temple. I promptly tore it up into minute pieces and threw it in the trash bin. Nothing had happened so far. So gods must have forgotten the whole thing. But I still believed in that mechanism and was generally afraid of getting another one of that by mistake. By the time I was sixteen or seventeen, I had matured enough to understand the conning effect behind those chain mails. Most of the pseudo-religious chain mails in India and across the world derive their momentum from fear rather than the love of god or temptation for money. Fear is more powerful than moolah. We still get chain mails by post occasionally. Rich, powerful, educated, men and women indulge in it. Maybe because they are superstitious or immature or plain stupid. But fear still is the driving factor. Most of these postal chain mails are anonymous and don't have a "reply to" address. People forwarding them know that the receiver wouldn't like it. The receiver will surely hate the sender for setting him up. Since quite many years, I've made it a principal not to forward chain mails. And I stick to it. The ones I forward do not have intimidation or baseless lures or false claims. And are e-mails only. Nowadays whenever we receive a chain mail by post, I read it slowly and surely and completely, like one would read a humour piece. Then I smile. And then I laugh out loud, pitying the person who sent it. Then I enjoy great ecstasy in shredding the mail into smithereens. Then I get back to work. Chain Mails = Bullshit!

Culture, Heritage and Tradition

Culture is the scientific and sociological stage of development of society. Heritage is everything beautiful man had ever created. Tradition is a state of stagnancy of culture - it is when we have got stuck on a particular culture, when culture does not evolve with scientific innovations and psychological development of a people. Tradition is a state of comfort, a fear of change, an avoidance of experimentation, a refusal to ask questions, and a preference to carry on with old methods which may not be appropriate for the the current state of society.

Confidence

Confidence is something that most people despise when it is in someone else. Many others are simply in awe of it. But whether one likes it in others or not, no one dare challenge it. Only confidence challenges confidence. And of course, foolishness.