The Metastasis Of Thought

IndiYeaaa! IndiYeaaa!

2011-05-03T05:27:00.001+05:30

Ok, so India won the world cup- that’s old news. But why is it still important? Well, if you are an Indian, it is the most significant thingy, because 1st of all- it is cricket, 2nd of all- everything is about winning and final of all- it is the most prestigious international event, hence naturally ecstasy runneth over!

Even if you are disinterested in cricket, the way I am, you simply can’t escape the euphoria and the madness. Cricket binds us, heals us, soothes us and ultimately makes us crazy. And since I couldn’t escape the insanity, I decide to join in- I saw the India-Sri Lanka final at the ebay office, where the management had organized a special screening for Indian employees.

For someone who hasn’t seen a cricket match in quite a while, let alone ever in a stadium or even on the small screen lately, the event turned out to be thrilling, hilarious, confusing, all at once.

The following for me were the highlights of the match:

The feeling of singing the National Anthem was absolutely exhilarating. It sent shivers, at the speed of a 6, down my spine and goose bumps, the size of a cricket ball, across my arms.

It’s kind of sleepy to watch a match at 2 in the morning. I ended up catching not-too-peaceful 40 winks at an interval of 10 winks apiece.

An intimidating-looking Sri Lankan couple came on screen and the guy sitting behind me promptly informed us all that we are lucky to witness the modern day incarnation of Ravana & Mandadori!

There were quite a few members in the audience who wore blue lights on their bodies. Kinky, you’d say- it was- weird type of anklets, bracelets & necklaces that dazzled as these Men In Blue ran hither and thither every time anything remotely significant took place.

Every time Lord Rajnikanth came onto the screen, a particular southern section of the audience started clapping, shouting, hooting, and applauding, not necessarily in the same order. These expressions of admiration were way higher in decibels than the kind of clap, shout, hoot and applaud reserved for a successful Lankan wicket or a smashing India run. Just imagine, what if Lord Rajnikanth decides to join the Indian cricket team one day? He can, any day, u know- he invented the game after all.

Sachin Bhagwan G’s presence on screen was met with nothing but wonder and awe. Even if he misbatted, misballed or misfielded, he was cheered on and on and on and on. Lords, be it Sachin or Rajni G, just can never be wrong. But to say the least, Sachin does deserve to be applauded for everything that he does or doesn’t do on the cricket field. Is there a higher embodiment of craftsmanship, honesty, perseverance and humility anywhere?

All those players fielding their hearts out like Yuvraaj, Raina, Kohli et al, were given not just a round of applause but several of them and in most cases loud enough to stop a heart!

Ranbir came on the screen and waved to me! How very sweet! He was looking wonderful as usual. Saif was looking good too and surprisingly with a beard! Moustaches too made an appearance and came in all shapes- Shahid carried it off brilliantly but Mr. Aamir, facial hair just isn’t your cup of tea.

Whatever funny little doubts I had about India winning the final were totally dispelled once I saw this:

All in all, I am quite glad I did not miss out on the opportunity of watching the final, and am real glad India won. It doesn’t matter all that much today, but that wonderful, glorious day, it truly did.

A highly recommended and fantastic article about cricket and Sachin- http://www.espncricinfo.com/magazine/content/story/509803.html

The Gastronomical Equation

2011-04-13T04:44:00.002+05:30

Ever since I have had to cook food independently and on a regular basis, my scientific faculties have sharpened. It’s really got nothing to do with the nutritious value of the stuff I’m churning, and is even more far away from the quality and flavor of the victuals.

What it is nearer to is towards deduction of the derivative of hours spent in burning calories in front of the burner over the relative unimportance of the calories ingested.

Put simply, given a bunch of veggies and adequate masale on any given day, KC’s gastronomical equation looks like as follows:

A B C D E

+ + + =

Where:
A = 20 minutes of slicing & dicing
B = 40 minutes of brewing, boiling, flavoring & seasoning
C = 5 minutes of chewing & digesting
D = 15 minutes of washing & drying
E = Almost dead, wondering wasn’t I better off without food; no wonder they refer to the stomach as paapi!

Whoever knew the process of cooking could result in immediate expenditure of just-consumed calories and enhanced brain metabolism hence activity leading to derivation of ridiculous equations!

The khet of the Rani!!!

2011-02-25T14:21:00.016+05:30

Ranikhet is a quaint, picturesque hill station, a mere 60 kms from the more popular, overtly crowded Nainital. An area maintained exclusively by the Indian Army, the location serves as a perfect escape from a bustling city life and offers the tourist a quiet, serene and virtually isolated holiday.
The excursion turned out to be absolutely rejuvenating; perfect to recharge life's batteries- dulled by the ennui of everyday life, sharpen the consciousness- muffled by the pollution of senses, and revitalize the imagination- subdued by the humdrum of employment.
The trip made me realize that I am not all that bad at photography- if I actually talk less and click more. But on sensible second thoughts, it really is not me; it's a good ol' camera and mother nature showering her benign blessings. Nature is far too smart to allow us mortals to mess her up. Kahlil Gibran said "Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair." And I allowed nature to feel my bare feet and dry hair, but in return I shot and captured her varied moods.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That's how the light gets in.
Leonard Cohen

A sensitive plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light,
and closed them beneath the kisses of night.
Percy Bysshe Shelley

'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Thomas Campbell

Earth laughs in flowers.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs.
John Keats

The sky broke like an egg into full sunset and the water caught fire.
Pamela Hansford Johnson

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me),
It's always our self we find in the sea.
e.e. cummings

Into my heart's night,
Along a narrow way.
I groped; and lo! the light,
An infinite land of day.
Rumi

To the next beautiful vacation and renewed camera batteries! Amen!

With you! For you! Always!

2010-12-22T10:59:00.006+05:30

That's what Delhi Traffic Police would like us to believe. And I, for one, want to believe.

I called up the DTP helpline and had an interesting conversation- well, remarkable enough to be blogged about.

KC: I am calling from Vasant Kunj. This is to inform you that a traffic signal situated at the T-point of Sector D1 is not working. It starts working at 8:05 in the morning but before that, it does not and this leads to major traffic jams in the area.
DTP Official: What is the red light number?
KC: I do not know.
DTPO: What is the red light name?
KC: I do not know. (Inner mulling- do red lights have names? Like Ram, Shayam, Tom?)
DTPO: How can I help then Madam? I need to know where exactly the red light is…
KC: It is at the turn for Sector D1.
DTPO: (Very patiently) That does not help me Madam. I don't know where Sector D1 is, I haven't been there. I need a prominent landmark.
KC: Well, there is an Aggarwal Sweets nearby.
DTPO: (Absolutely patronizingly) Well, there is an Aggarwal Sweets around every corner. How does that help me?
KC: (Inventing wildly & a tad forcefully) It is known as the Sector D1 red light. That's the landmark.
DTPO: Fine. Ok. We'll see what can be done.
KC: Thank you. How will I follow-up on this complaint? As in how can I track the status?
DTPO: Follow? Track? (Long breath and in a tone taken to talk to a 5 year old) You will know when the red light starts working, won't you?
KC: (Hangs head in shame) Yes, of course. Thank you.

At the end of this chit-chat I realized that I am no where close to being teez than a panchvi pass. As rightly pointed out, I should have had my facts ready. And what do I need to track anyway- the number of jalebis the DTPO will have at Aggarwal Sweets?

Blatantly ignoring my logical incompetency here, let's focus on the outcome of this particular call. I logged a complaint last Thursday. This Monday the stop light was working. That is the kind of power the police is dispensing to the local populace these days. In fact, it is quite possible that the traffic sign was rectified over the weekend and was fully operational by Sat or Sun but then I did not take the trouble to ascertain that, did I?

I would like to take this opportunity to sincerely thank the DTPO and I think it's amazingly awesome that suddenly we have such a proactive traffic police force- a body that is both smart and savvy. For someone who stays miles away from social networking sites, I find it amusing that even I am aware that Delhi Traffic Police is now on Facebook. When responsible citizens bring to light gross traffic violations for the convenience of the police, the DTP's page status goes: "Relax and chill people. We are looking into all complaints and grievances!" How kewl!

Please do visit the DTP web site. It has fun poetry like:

Accident brings tear, safety brings cheer.
Don't be a hell mate, wear helmet.
Don't be rash, let's you crash.
Caution and care make crashes rare.

Also, have a dekko at http://www.delhitrafficpolice.nic.in/trivia.htm

And then on a serious note, it's commendable that there is a growing sense of accountability and responsibility all around. Cheers to a brighter, safer and hassle-free future of traffic in Delhi!

Harry Potter and Maut Ke Tohfe!

2010-12-06T10:03:00.007+05:30

Did Warner Bros. one fine day in their wrong mind, read my blog? Really? Well, let's not ask the wrong question and instead celebrate the cinematic progress of the Harry Potter franchise. Almost 70% of the cast came of age during the filming of the series, but apparently so did the technique and method of shoot.

The amazing thing about the 7th HP book was that it was extremely fast-paced and full of adrenalin that made it immensely enjoyable and succeeded in firing the imagination of its readers, without the bang and boom of audio-visual aids. To match that level of intensity in the movie would always be a challenging task.

Part 1 of the 7th HP movie tries it's best to remain loyal to the book and it does manage it admirably. It succeeds at various levels from establishing the characters and their various actions to explaining the tale and its numerous twists. This is a huge leap from the disastrous showcase of the 6th movie where the meat of the 6th book was simply glossed over.

It always is difficult to convert books into movies. A lot is lost, just like in translation. The intent with which a book is written is different from the intent with which it's captured on screen. No wonder the director's vision is different from the writer's idea. But, the underlying fact remains that they both are telling the same story and "nothing is more telling than a story".

A lot of times while reading books, I tend to imagine and visualize them in their onscreen avatar. Some stories are in essence so powerful that their progression to the big screen is indeed the next logical step in the process of evolution. And therein is where lies, the curse and boon of a good story- it just might in the process of this conversion lose its soul.

The pen has always been mightier than the sword, but when did it become swankier than the camera?

men to the last movie that will end an era!

Oh, Sinnerman, where you gonna run to!

2010-10-25T09:28:00.011+05:30

The following video depicts a step by step manual that teaches how to return a stolen painting and steal another one and go through all this trouble just for the fun of it. I know it's kinda old but quite a lot of fun and still all golden. Hope it proves to be educational!

From the movie- The Thomas Crown Affair
Clipped from- You Tube

Poetic Compliment!

2010-10-19T12:10:00.005+05:30

My tribute to Pablo Neruda’s Book of Questions:

Does brightness conceal the coat of dark or does darkness hide behind the cover of light?

Do colors truly ever mix?

Can music live without instruments?

Where can I buy sleep?

Why do stars hide when they are needed the most?

How loud is the breaking of a heart?

What color is the sky when it’s feeling blue?

tO lOOk Or nOt tO lOOk?

2010-10-14T08:36:00.005+05:30

There is something that has been bothering me for a while. Not really, bother bother but it does intrigue and fascinate me; it is not really a problem of philosophy per se but it does have certain reflective connotations associated with it.

My question, is simple- to look or not to look?

Looking involves directing all energies towards the pursuit of whatever is that is being sought- a relentless, persistent search. Is there not a prevalent conspiracy theory that talks about wanting something so badly that the entire universe starts conspiring in helping one achieve it- what 'The Alchemist', 'The Secret', 'Om Shanti Om' etc have been trying to drill into us? That means I can actually find out who gave the Joker his scars? Amazing! (And, no, even in the face of overwhelming evidence it is not Rajnikanth)

On the other hand, is there not an equally established school of thought that promotes the "Don't seek and you shall receive" theory? For example, when you have lost something and are frantically looking for it or when in the middle of a conversation an all important word eludes you, is it not highly recommended to immediately halt the exploration and cease rummaging around? And is it not believed that after a few anxious moments, just like that, as if carried by the wind, the spectacles will be found perched atop the head and another curse word will simply pop into the mouth?

To summarize, there are 2 scenarios- one where you look and look and look…∞
And in the other situation, you look but then decide not to look for sometime and kaboom, you find what you were looking for.

So dear Reader, what do you think- which solution should one look up to? Which one would work?

P.S. - Personally, I think sunglasses should be worn all the time. No, it won't answer my query but at least no one would know if I were looking or not!

10 Reasons Why People Create A Blog And Then Ignore It

2010-10-08T10:30:00.004+05:30

Reason 10: Somebody (of course a well wisher with the sincerest intentions) told them that they can write.

Reason 9: They know and believe that they can write.

Reason 8: They are laziness-personified. They idolize Garfield and believe that inherent lethargy is a genetic trait that cannot and should not be messed with. They like to stretch the idea that a personal blog can never be updated, to its maximum limit so that the idea itself snaps with a loud creak. Was it that or the sound made by suddenly moving bones that have been idle for ages?

Reason 7: They, by fluke, once sent a piece of their work that they really despised, to an online writing reviewer/tutor. The tutor appreciated and encouraged their work but they firmly believe that the tutor was a habitual drunk who cannot be trusted.

Reason 6: They have a personal TV recently moved in their room. They watch one series after another and the re-runs and end up being zonked out and in general an idiot.

Reason 5: They think they can write.

Reason 4: They get the weirdest issues to resolve at work. They end up replacing a single beautiful simplest line of code in the world with 30 lines of the wackiest ugliest piece of code every seen by humankind. And then ensuring that this clutter ends up looking the same on Internet Explorer, Firefox, Chrome and whatever-is-the-name-of-the-newest-browser. Not that anyone said that office hours (total hours minus hours spent taking tea/lunch/chit-chat/loo breaks) are meant for writing blogs but that's not what we are talking about, are we?

Reason 3: And if killer work is not trying to strangulate them, it's Mother Nature taking her revenge. Sometimes the scorching sun tries to fry them, other times vengeful clouds attempt to drown them. As if Delhi traffic and roads were not enough to bring them in close contact with death everyday, the climate decided to join the slaughter party too.

Reason 2: They have the attention span of a fly. There are so many things happening in the immediate surroundings that it becomes humanly impossible for them to retain their focus. And so when they are trying to keep up with world events, they have a dekko at other writers' blogs and repeatedly question their self what was I thinking and then, more importantly, why was I thinking?

Reason 1: They feel they can write.

Hindi Ki Tangi

2010-05-26T09:40:00.007+05:30

I come across this foot-board everyday and every time I wonder what these words mean. I also wonder why exactly my Hindi is so very poor. I could easily do a Googli and figure out the meaning but I kind of wanted to ascertain my depth of Hindi illiteracy and also to know how many fellow country men and women are as bad as I am, if not worse. So, if you happen to visit the blog and know the correct meaning of any of the words depicted above and listed below, do leave your comment and contribute towards my national tongue GK. Thanks in advance!

A showcase of my limited knowledge:

Steel Plate- This I know!
Phatte- I think wooden planks and not Chak de phatte.
Pallu- The sari wala Pallu?
Chali Balli- Did they mean Chalu Billi?
Kolam- No idea.
Pani Ka Drum- This I know know!
Jeene- Ladder, if me not wrong.
Lafa- One tight slap?

As you can see, any help will be highly appreciated.

Angrezi Khana Anyone?

2010-05-10T09:07:00.004+05:30

This is an actual menu from a real restaurant at a place called Ayas, Turkey.

KUJUK AYAS FAMILY RESTRANT

INGLIZ MENUYU

SOAP

Ayas soap
Turkish tripte soap
Sheeps foot
Macaront
Water pies

EATS FROM MEAT

Deuner kepab with pi
Kebap with green pe
Kebap in paper
Meat pide
Kebap with mas patato
Samall bits of meat grilled
Almb chops

VEGETABLES

Meat in earthenware stev pot
Stfue goreen pepper
Stuffed squash
Stuffed tomatoes z
Stuffed cabbages lea
Leek with finced meat
Clery

SALAD

Brain salad
Cacik - a drink made ay ay
And cucumber

FRYING PANS

Fried aggs
Scram fried aggs
Scrum fried omlat
Omlat with brain

SWEETS AND RFUITS

Stewed atrawberry
Nightingales nests
Virgin lips
A sweet dish of thinsh of batter with butter
Banane
Meon
Leeches

Circa- 1986; Source- In Xanadu, William Dalrymple

Disclaimer!

2010-02-08T12:19:00.004+05:30

What with Gulzar sahib being dragged into a controversy that I believe shouldn’t even exist in the first place, no one in this country seems to be creatively safe. Ibn Batuta Pehen Ke Joota, Nikal Pade Toofan Mein is the line that’s caused plagiarism charges to fly up and down, left and right. And Ibn Batuta, Bagal Mein Joota is the line that’s caused Hindi poet Sarveshwar Dayal Saxena to jump and twist in his grave. Somehow everyone seems to totally have overlooked the fact that Mr. Ibn Batuta did exist and that too non-controversially. Did he or did he not have a Joota, that’s the pertinent question to ponder over.

Anyway, what this little fracas has done is that it has made me realize that I am such a chor. Super-chor, in fact. I get inspired my some many quotes/expressions/phrases/sayings etc and these inspirations end up as titles or even sentences on my blog that I’m sure in the current let’s-give-credit-where-it’s-due atmosphere I’ll end up being beaten up by Rashtriya/AntarRashtriya Sahitya Sevak goons.

So, just so that I don’t end up in a dump or drain, I’m going to set the record straight and go ahead and express my heartfelt apologies to all those individuals to whom I may have caused irreparable harm, both knowingly or unknowingly. Additionally, I avow that no copywrite infringement was ever intended or unintended, and absolutely none whatsoever, zilch, financial gain is being made!

I am an Idiot- Are you?- To the team of Aamir, VVC and Rajkumar Hirani. And just to on the safe side, sorry Chetan too.

Back!- To my no-longer-there Yoga teacher.

Bow Wow- To the RHD and his doggy.

Shayari Sunao Madam?- To all the residents of Fatehpur Sikri including the goats.

No Kidding!- To Rakhi Sawant. Okay, strike that- no way am apologizing to her!

Aana Jaana- To the Gujjar community and as an extension to the Meenas.

Khel Khel Mein- To a lot of people here- MCD, CWG, CAG, CM SD, all the places and spots in Delhi- the list continues and so do my sorrys.

Kaminey- Dhan Te Nan!- Again, to loads of people- the entire creative of Kaminey. I am the biggest kamini!

A Sawaal of Crores- To Deepika Padukone and to Saif too- I apologize on behalf of my sister!

Bhainth of a Lifetime- To my weirdly-loving brother. If the comments are any indication, I got quite a lot of flak already.

Aai La! She-lie-a!- To Shiela Ma’am and her ideology.

Pic of the Year!- To the Pandit dudes.

Harry Potter and the Nostalgia of July- To Harry, J. K. Rowling and all the wizards and witches in the world.

A tale of 3 subzees- To Ghiya, Tori, Tinda, Parwal, Karela.

We Don’t Need No Reservation- To Pink Floyd. And no, no apologies to male politicians.

TPA- To the staff at Rockland Hospital.

AngLes and DeMoans- To the workers at Sangam theatre and the makers of “Kafann”.

Déjà Vu!- To the staff at Fortis Hospital.

Dung Ho!- To hyenas and their shit.

The thing is- did I even need to go through all this trouble? My blog is so very unknown, it may almost be non-existent in this big bad world where the words inspiration and copy can be used interchangeably. I think I’m gonna continue with the chori and bezaati, I don’t know any other form of writing and that’s the only thing I should be sorry about!

I am an Idiot. Are you?

2010-01-05T09:42:00.003+05:30

This is to inform and educate all the dim-witted out there who haven't caught 3 Idiots yet, that they should go watch it immediately and promptly and proudly confirm their status as an Idiot.

This post is not about the merits of the film nor is it a review of the movie. Both the merits and reviews are aplenty and have already been discussed aplenty. What this post is about is my extreme happiness- happiness that I have been so right about the Hindi Film Industry. Of my belief in the "system".

The last year had been particularly path breaking- of experimental cinema, of young blood, of new visions, of varied themes, of veiled social messages, of the celebration of love and sexuality aaj kal, but most importantly of the appreciation of the viewer's mental faculties. Dev D, Gulaal, Delhi 6, Kaminey, Love Aaj Kal, Luck By Chance, New York, Paa, Rocket Singh, Wake Up Sid, 3 Idiots were all not the oh-so-typical Bollywood masala flicks. They were smart, slick, polished and professional packages. Arrival of world-class cinema at a theater near you?

It's time we understood and accepted that we make different movies; movies that suit the sensibilities of a billion plus Indians. And it is more important to remember that we'll get there. It takes time; everything does so why should the sensible movie-making business be any different? We are already seeing a resurgence of a new wave of cinema, akin to the one that permeated the Indian Film Fraternity in the 1970s to the 80s. It's not as dramatic and drastic as its 70-80s Parallel Cinema counterpart but is competitively hard-hitting and more in tune with commercial viability and the need to reach a plethora of audiences, not just a targeted viewer. It is made of people who have been brought up on movies; people who eat, drink, sleep cinema; people who understand not just the craft but the art of making films. So, even if such people make a few glitches on the path to glory, even if they stumble and slip on their way to stardom, even if they succeed in bringing only a quarter of the world to India's doorstep, so what? They'll ensure that the journey is memorable- and what's more, they'll take us along on this roller coaster.

So, why exactly am I an idiot? Simply because I believe- believe that even if Awl isn't well, Awl will be well. As they say Dil Idiot Hai, Pyaar Se Usko Samjha Le!

To an even brighter, bigger, brainier Bollywood in 2010! Amen!!!

Back!

2009-12-21T12:07:00.003+05:30

No, I'm not giving a long-winded explanation for my absence from the blog world. What I am really giving is an account of a back-breaking pain that I had well, in my back.

It started yesterday and after prolonged pondering I have realized it was because the Yoga teacher made me do crocodile pose four, or was it five? All I know is that had I shed tears, they wouldn't have been crocodile ones. Just goes on to prove that humans shouldn't even think of competing with animals when we can't even pose like them without subjecting ourselves to intolerable pains and aches.

The unbearable agony resulted in making me look like a question mark. That's how way bent I was while trying to walk/crawl/sit/stand. Once I sat, I had no idea how I'd stand and once I stood I had no idea how I'd sit. Quite a lot of fun, all in all- believe me when every moment of your life becomes an all-encompassing mystery you do tend to enjoy it.

My favorite song these days happens to be Karvate badalte rahe saari raat hum or rather trying to karvate badlofy. Quite hummable and the song can be sung back to back during the entire process of turning on one's side. And oddly enough when after a lifetime you do manage to complete the elusive curve, by hanging on to a blanket, bedspread, bed sheet, brother, you congratulate yourself as if you've passed your endurance testing military task with flying colors. Talk about a twisted spine.

By the way, I am absolutely fine now. Ok, well, I am not a question mark anymore, more or less like a comma.

P.S. - Concerned and encouraging people- no apparent reason for staying away from the blog. I just have been plain old lazy, I guess. Posing like a possum in shav asaan.

Bow Wow

2009-10-14T09:02:00.004+05:30

Tail of the Week

Once upon a time in the neighborhood of Vasant Kunj, two carefree sisters went out for their daily evening walk. A Rich, Handsome Dude was out too accompanied by his mean, vicious dog. The dog, being true to its evil nature, tried to attack the helpless sisters, but the RHD, being true to his heroic nature, pulled in the dog's rein in time and prevented any untoward incident. The sisters, after their cries of exclamation, were just about in the process of thanking their savior when he severely scolded his canine companion and shouted "Pagal Hai Kya Tu?". The sisters tried to curb their laughter but to no avail and they chuckled happily ever after.

Don't really know the end of the tale as couldn't stay back long enough to hear the dog's arguments!

Inspirational Messages!

2009-10-12T09:24:00.004+05:30

I, like quite a few people, have been at the receiving end of particularly inspirational SMSs over the past few days:

From INLD

Sab ko bijli, paani, rozgar milega.
Haryana wasio ka bhavishy khilega.
Oct 13 ko Haryana me fir se khushhali laye.
Ainek pe buttton dabakar INLD ki sarkar banaye.

Haven't really been so very poetically inspired to vote before.

From Be Safe

This Diwali Save India from Fake Notes (Nakli Note).
Gift Fake Note Detector, Paper Shredder, Currency Counting Machine, Electronic Safe.

Haven't really been so very genuinely inspired to gift either!

Shayari Sunao Madam?

2009-10-05T14:51:00.004+05:30

I made a trip to Agra on the Mahatma's birthday. Nothing planned, just a leave-in-morning back-by-evening kind of outing prompted by a sudden wish on my dad's part to visit the Radhasoami Temple Complex. My great-grandfather had become a follower at some point in his lifetime and my father is a disciple by proxy. I don't as such ascribe to his faith but mean no disrespect either. Moreover, the elaborate carved marble patterns are breathtakingly beautiful and render the shrine a visual treat. The temple aspires to one day surpass the Taj Mahal in terms of its beauty and intricacy of design. And this is in spite of the fact that the temple has been under construction for over a 100 years- some say it is cursed- the most logical reason, though is an acute lack of funds. But all this in no way takes away the promised splendor of the holy place.

And since it is nearby, we decided to visit Fatehpur Sikri as well. I had very fond memories of the place courtesy a childhood vacation but the trip this time was nothing but disappointing. The entire area is in shambles and left to the local populace, which seems hell-bent on converting it from a World Heritage Site to a World Eye Sore Spot. At the entrance, goats were being fed by tourists. Not that there is anything wrong with feeding goats, but aren't there no rules as to what members of the animal kingdom are allowed to interact with humankind at monument doorways?

The red sandstone flooring burned and scorched our feet and in the name of convenience flimsy mats had been placed all around which I am sure had been left thread-bare thanks to the ever-nibbling goats.

The area enclosing the graves and tombs in the complex has been turned into a marketplace. The traders were selling chunnis and traditional offerings to be chadofyed at the Tomb of Salim Chisti; including promoting the whole dhaaga-bandho, mannat maango routine. Faith is the cheapest commodity in this country but it still is disturbing when people trade in it and that too atop dead ones. Lends a whole new meaning to the phrase 'someone just walked over my grave'.

It is sad and extremely disappointing that such famous tourist attractions have been allowed so carelessly to be left in ruins.

The most memorable thing about the trip was a question asked by a child at Sikri- "Shayari Sunao Madam?"
Or was the best thing the yummy besan laddoos which are distributed as prasad at the Radhasoami temple or the beaded necklace I bought at Fatehpur? I wonder.

The only thing I don't wonder about is whether I'll be making a return trip!

No Kidding!

2009-09-30T08:59:00.004+05:30

A popular tourist destination weekend getaway package includes:

Accommodation for a couple for 2 nights & 3 days in Deluxe / Swiss Cottage Tents
Welcome drinks on arrival
Bed Tea, Breakfast and Dinner
Free guided soft trek to riverside
1 free rock climbing & rappelling session
1 hr roller skating free for two days
Visit to water mill
Child below 5 years free
1 surprise gift

I am sorry, but when exactly did I ask for a free child? I was just innocently inquiring about the tour details. Last time I checked, I wasn't even invited to compete on "Pati, Patni & Woh".

Overlooking the sentence-construction lapse above, it seems people have really taken quite avidly to this give-up-your-child-to-strangers game. First, they enthusiastically give up their kids as playthings; second, they enter their nastiest creation in the competition. I mean, do you honestly do not sympathize with Ms. / Mrs. Rakhi Sawant when she tiredly complains "Mujhe jaan pucch ke aisa bacha diya hai jo sota nahin!" C'mon people, whatever happened to fair competition?

My sincerest sympathies Rakhi. I mean, I'd totally freak out too if I'd plan a vacation and suddenly end up with a child below 5 years as a free surprise gift. But well, you chose to be part of a weird and silly contest and you are getting loads of money for it, so we won't go there.

Certainly no kid's matter this and nothing to kid about either!

Aana Jaana

2009-09-15T09:08:00.002+05:30

Saw this sign on the front bumper of a Maruti 800:

Gujjar Aa Rahe Hai

Saw this sign on the rear bumper of the same Maruti 800:

Gujjar Jaa Rahe Hai

Oh! Me and my aimless directionless life!

Rainy Rumble!

2009-09-11T15:20:00.002+05:30

Rain, rain, go away,
Please don't come again another day.
Sheila Ma'am wants to play,
And host the Common Wealth Games.
But, if it rains the way it rains,
Delhi will only be in pain.
Roads cave in, traffic's a snail,
Trees fall, life's a drain.
So, next year gentle Rain be fair and kind,
Only visit Delhi at your appointed time.
Lest the work we do for the khels,
Is wrecked and we put to shame!

When my Country bled…

2009-09-04T09:59:00.007+05:30

1947 TIME Magazine cover by Boris Artzybasheff depicting a self-hurting Kali as a symbol of the partition of India.
(Source: Wikipedia)

As speculations abound once again as to who orchestrated the partition of India- was it the conveniently devious Jinnah or the seemingly spotless Patel or just the lame British hobby of dividing nations- the truth of the matter remains that the painful echo of greatest migration in recorded history is still reverberating loud and clear across a continent.

The truth of the matter remains that my country still bleeds- it is a case of a very severe form of Hemophilia- and with no cure in sight.

The most important thing, I feel, is to never forget or blot out such incidents from our collective consciousness. And that is not because we should foster and nurture wounds and feelings of retribution and payback, but simply because we must remember the horrors of our errors and their eternal repercussions.

As for forgiveness, that's God's job.

Khel Khel Mein

2009-08-25T14:36:00.003+05:30

As Delhi gears up and tightens her belt (or will it turn into a noose?) to host the 19th Common Wealth Games, officials from the UK, Australia and Canada express concern over the lax security arrangements. Misters UK, A and C, where and when does the question of security loom if the infrastructure to host the event will not be in place by the scheduled time for the games? As per the Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG) report, 13 out of 19 sports venues evaluated are at high risk of failing deadline as work shortfall is between 25% and 50%. But as Dixit ma'am so very dispassionately assures us all the time that everything is hunky-dory, I think I am going to, for once, place my trust in the establishment. So, this essentially implies that if Lord Shiva doesn't get angry and performs his tandav, Kali Mata doesn't get pissed and brings out her tiger or Lord Krishna doesn't get agitated and spins his chakra, the Common Wealth Games will be definitely held in time on time. But let's say, for argument sake, these bhagwans do in some way impede the games, shouldn't we mortals be prepared? Shouldn't we have a contingency plan in place in order to thwart the vagaries of nature? Well, before any of these Gods decide to play a game with my life, I'll get down to business- I, hereby, propose the Uncommon Poverty Khels. There are 17 disciplines planned for the 2010 Commonwealth Games and here's my take on each:

Aquatics: Venue- Dwarka Underpass (obviously water-filled); Yamuna River
Procedure- Contestants to swim vertically in the underpass pool.
Contestants to deep-dive in Yamuna river; extra points will be awarded for retrieving coins from the river bed.

Archery: Venue- Indian Parliament
Procedure- Contestants to aim at apples placed atop the heads of lined-up politicians; extra points will be awarded for tearing a heart.

Athletics: Venue- Outer Ring Road; Chirag Delhi Nalla
Procedure- Contestants to race against blue line buses.
Contestants to jump over a nalla; extra points will be awarded for cleaning the nalla.

Badminton: Venue- Chandni Chowk
Procedure- Contestants to play Terrace Badminton in the walled city using Dahi Bhalle; extra points will be awarded for not ingesting the bhalla.

Boxing: Venue- Delhi Police Stations
Procedure- Contestants to box policemen; extra points will be awarded for avoiding a custodial death.

Cycling: Venue- BRT Corridor
Procedure- Contestants to cycle alongside the corridor; extra points will be awarded for surviving at the end of the race.

Gymnastics: Venue- Roadside Electric Poles
Procedure- Contestants to perform acrobatics on electric poles and naked wires; extra points will be awarded for not getting electrocuted.

Hockey: No comments- Hockey is India's National Game. (Ok, ok- I couldn't think of anything appropriate; or should the word be inappropriate?)

Lawn Bowls: Venue- Sadar Bazaar
Procedure- Contestants to roll balls on the market floor; extra points will be awarded for not hitting a shopper.

Netball: Venue- Roadside Hoardings
Procedure- Contestants to net the ball on nets fixed on billboards; extra points will be awarded for defacing the advertisement.

Rugby Sevens: Venue- Metro Station; IGI Terminals; Railway Stations
Procedure- Contestants to jostle and elbow crowds at the said venues, to board identified modes of transport; extra points will be awarded for not sweating.

Shooting: Venue- Indian Parliament
Procedure- Contestants to aim at berries placed atop the heads of lined-up politicians; extra points will be awarded for rupturing an eye. (Aren't apples expensive?)

Squash: Venue- MCD Office
Procedure- Contestants to be escorted by the MCD staff to various locations in Delhi that have been identified for demolition, to play squash against the walls of these illegal structures; extra points will be awarded for not getting demolished themselves.

Table Tennis: Venue- Roadside Dhabas
Procedure- Contestants to whack at mosquitoes on dhaba tables.

Tennis: Venue- Chandni Chowk
Procedure- Contestants to play Terrace Tennis in the walled city; extra points will be awarded for eavesdropping and reporting the goings-on in the locality.

Weightlifting: Venue- Metro Station
Procedure- Contestants to lift cement blocks used for Metro pillars.

Wrestling: Venue- Any Delhi Road
Procedure- Contestants to wrestle with cows, cattle, horses, pigs, camels, elephants- in fact any animal of their choice that they encounter on the road and to steer these animals towards safe houses; extra will be awarded for cleaning the animals' poo.

So, as per the games' slogan, I have completed my "Come out and Play" part.

My only hope is no one from the Delhi government comes across this little piece; else I'm so very dead. I will be like shot in the middle of the street and my body will be left at the mercy of MCD-disowned, rabies-stricken dogs. Ouch, wouldn't that hurt!

Kaminey- Dhan Te Nan!

2009-08-17T11:24:00.005+05:30

Caught the movie over the weekend and the verdict is- Kaminey is an extremely kamini movie! Shahid is the cutest kamina around. Priyanka is not a bad kamini at all. Amol "Bhope" Gupte is a nasty kamina. Chandan "Mikhail" Roy is an endearing kamina. But, the biggest certified kamina is Vishal Bhardawaj. Well, if you sing, compose, direct, write, live and breathe your movie, you do turn out to be the best kamina ever, don't you?

The script is refreshingly kamini; the screenplay is tautly kamina; the dialogues are scathingly kaminey; the music is melodiously kamina; the cinematography is breathtakingly kamini; and of course, the direction is kamingly kamina.

All in all, the most intelligently-made Hindi kamini movie in a while. So, all you kaminas and kaminis out there- don’t miss it or rather miss it at the expense of your own kaminapan!

Thought for the Day: Zindagi mein waat tab nahin lagti jab hum koi raafta chunte hain, waat tab lagti hai jab hum koi raafta chhodte hain.

Fo Fweet!

A Sawaal of Crores

2009-08-10T13:59:00.003+05:30

Dost: Movie dekhi weekend par?
Me: Nahin- koi thi he nahin
Dost: Love, Aaj Kal?
Me: Naa- can't watch that in a theatre- I don't like Deepika Padukone @ all!
Dost: Does she?

Bhainth of a Lifetime

2009-08-06T12:51:00.005+05:30

I have been pestering my bro this year to get me a proper gift for Raakhi. Every year he passes on the money that my parents pass him on when my sis and I complete the tying-the-wrist-with-funky-thread ceremony. I know it is really unfair on my part since bhai is still a student and nowhere near earning his own money but it’s so much fun troubling him and it’s nothing in comparison to the torture I face at his hands all the time.

So, in view of my constant harassment, yesterday he did get me a gift- my Rakhshabandhan Bhainth- a pair of Rayban sunglasses.

He absolutely swears by the fact that the shades are authentic which of course, they aren’t.
He maintains that they look good on me, which they in no way do. They are so large- they cover half of my face and reach the upper jaw. I wonder if they even are meant to be worn on the eyes.
He insists that tilt is not a flaw in the design but a brand new innovation.
He claims that he can see the world after putting them on- I can’t even see my own hand.
He states that they are for 100 bucks (the shopkeeper started at 250!), though I'm sure they didn’t cost more than 10/-.
He declares that in case I don’t appreciate this pair he’ll get another one for me in any tint I want- blue, green, purple, brown, yellow - I just have to name the color- how about a color that cannot be dyed or painted on plastic? (Okay, it’s not plastic- but it still is weird.)

Well, no more Raakhi gifts for me- Thanks but no Thanks!

Marasim

2009-08-05T15:21:00.003+05:30

Kisi Mausam Ka Jhoka Tha, Joh Iss Deewar Par Latki Hui Tasweer Tirche Kar Gaya Hai
Gaye Sawaan Mein Ye Deewarein Yoon Seeli Nahin Thi
Na Jaane Is Dafa Kyun Inmein Seelan Aa Gayi Hai Darare Pad Gaye Hai
Aur Seelan Is Tarha Bhaithti Hai Jaise Khushk Rukhsaroon Pe Geele Aansu Chalte Hain

No, this isn't something that I have penned- I can't even think in Hindi- this is the maestro Gulzar at his usual which also happens to be his best most of the time. At a time when it's easier to find a needle in a haystack than finding a meaningful Hindi song, Gulzar makes us believe that the words lyrics and poetry can be used in the same sentence and can be in fact, employed to describe a Bollywood song. With a career spanning decades, Gulzar sahib has established a relationship (marasim) with his audiences via his written thoughts and expressions and has made a very wordy contribution to the Hindi Film industry.

There's this whole basket of romantic numbers- soulful melodies that are soothing and comforting more so coz of the lyrics.
Khamosh Sa Afsaana, Paani Se Likha Hota
Naa Tumne Kaha Hota, Naa Humne Suna Hota

Roz Roz Aankhon Tale, Ek He Sapna Chale
Raat Bhar Kaajal Jale, Aankh Mein Jis Tarah Khawab Ka Diya Jale

Kabhi To Kuch Aisa Yeh Hua Tha, Neend Mein Thi Tumne Jab Chuaa Tha
Girte Girte Bahaon Mein Bachi Mein, Sapne Pe Paun Padh Gaya Tha

The basket is so very full and its brimming over- songs from movies like Khamoshi, Aandhi, Ghar, Masoom, Ijazzat, Libaas, Dil Se, Saathiya, Yahaan- an endless list.

How many Hindi songs talk, that too so beautifully about the night-after?
Raat Ka Nasha Abhi Aankh Se Gaya Nahin

One thing I really like about Gulzar's work is the smattering of English in predominantly Hindi-Urdu lyrics and the occurrence is so sudden and unexpected, it makes you question your linguistic and hearing abilities.
Aankhein Bhi Kamaal Karti Hain, Personal Se Sawaal Karti Hain
Ghoomti Machhli, Aankh Nishana, Ek Ungli Par Globe Ghumaana
Aaja Aaja Dil Nichode, Raat Ki Matki Phode, Koi Good Luck Nikale, Aaj Gulak Toh Tode

Something that makes poetry weave its magic is personification- the process of blowing life into inanimate objects and Gulzar plays this God-role so very well.
Chand Ki Utar Le Hai Dono Baliyaan
Dekhna Asmaan Ke Sire Khul Gaye Se Zameen Se
Thaka Thaka Suraj Jab Nadi Se Hoke Niklega, Hari Hari Kayi Pe Pau Pada Toh Phislega
Raat Ko Khidke Se Chori Chori Nange Pau Chand Aayega

There was an Asian Paints ad that used to so very make me look forward to buying my own house. (I still don't have one, but that's a different story.)
Har Ghar Chup Chap Se Yeh Kehta Hai, Ki Andar Isme Kaun Rehta Hai
Chath Batati Hai Kiska Aasman Hai, Rang Kehte Hai Kiska Yeh Jahaan Hai
Kamron Mein Kiski Kalpana Jhalakti Hai, Iss Farsh Par Nange Pair Kiske Bache Chalte Hai
Kaun Chun Chun Ke Isse Aapne Haathon Se Sajata Hai, Kaun Iss Makaan Mein Apna Ghar Banata Hai

Sometimes, it's just the audacity of the words- like they have taken a life of their own and decided to perform a little dance.
Kabhi Chaand Ki Tarah Tapki, Kabhi Raah Mein Padi Paaye, Athanni See Zindagi
Kya Karein Zindgai Isko Hum Jo Mile, Iski Jaan Kha Gaye Raat Din Ke Gille
Humne Gilheri Ke Jhoote Matar Khaye The (Really?)

And well, how can I forget my current favorite?
Meri Aarzoo Kamini, Mere Khawab Bhi Kaminey
Meri Dastaan Kamini, Mere Raaste Kaminey
Meri Dosti Kamini, Mere Yaar Bhi Kaminey
Kabhi Hum Kaminey Nikle, Kabhi Doosre Kaminey

And that's wherein lies the genius of Gulzar, he makes even a swear word sound poetic and melodious.

Just BMB- Beautiful, Mesmerizing, Brilliant!

Aai La! She-lie-a!

2009-07-29T11:05:00.004+05:30

Delhi CM Sheila Dixit was at her charming best yesterday while discussing the Monday rain blues. An excerpt from a TV interview:

Reporter: What do you have to say about the rain situation in Delhi, Ma'am?
CM SD: I don't understand what you people want! First you complain that there is no rain, the land is dry and parched, as if it is my mistake. And then when it rains, your complaints are louder. Pehle rote hain log ki baarish nahin aayi, phir rote hai ki itni baarish kyun aa gayi. Please decide what you want from life. This kind of confusion in not healthy.

Reporter: But Ma'am people were stranded on Delhi roads! There were jams that lasted from 5 to 7 hours!
CM SD: It is the story of just one day. Just one solitary single day that a jam lasted till such odd hours. And, again, why the grumble? People have been provided with natural swimming pools, that too for free! I am told vehicles turned into road-side stationary discotheques. Such a lot of fun! And, really, forces of nature were unleashed on Monday. Delhi was blessed with exceptional record-breaking rain. We have no control over it. Do you think I can compete against God himself? Mausam Ka Luft Uthaiye!
By the way, doesn't jam have an expiry date? I didn't know jam lasted just a few hours. What's the food world coming to?

Reporter: Is Delhi ready for the Common Wealth Games yet? Would Delhi be paralyzed similarly and will she be brought down on her knees during the games?
CM SD: My dear lady, the Common Wealth Games are due to take place in October. The rain Gods don't visit Delhi during that month. Please get your facts right. I am afraid to say, but you have a long way to go.

Personally, I think the reporter deserves plaudits and praise for not laughing out loud during the interview. And that's because most of what has been documented above is true, albeit a little of mirch-masala here and there.

Shouldn't we be thanking God, and not the rain ones, that it isn't July all through the year in Delhi? And really, can Dixit ma'am be really blamed for shrugging her responsibility so nonchalantly? Didn't the Congress win in Delhi emphatically and categorically? Aren't we the citizens responsible, somewhere and somehow, for this casual indifference? Looks like a topic worthy of a Freud-Jung debate.

Pic of the Year!

2009-07-24T08:53:00.004+05:30

Courtesy: The Times Of India

Are these dudes kewl or are these dudes kewl? :P

Harry Potter and the Nostalgia of July

2009-07-20T11:19:00.016+05:30

Not that I have ever denied it, but for the record, I am a huge Harry Potter fan. I simply adore the 7 books. And all this sudden outpouring of love for Harry is because I caught the 6th movie over the weekend and it brought back all the wonderful memories of the eager wait that used to precede the release of the HP books, and since most of them were made public in the month of July- that's what triggered the reminiscence.

I read the first one in 2001, a good 4 years after its release. I had obviously read reviews about it- mostly in Delhi Times that used to feature articles that talked about the controversies surrounding the book. The fact that the book dealt with witchcraft and wizardry ended up disturbing Christian sensibilities. And honestly, I never really acknowledged the fan-following the book was generating because I thought it was just a case of plain old hype.

And that's exactly what I kept on feeling till I read the book- my first impression though was that it is like an elongated and expanded Matilda- the Roald Dahl book that was about a young orphan girl who discovers that she can perform magic. But, of course, in the Harry Potter universe, magic is the magic word. It's all about how wizards and witches live all over the world, unknown and hidden from the non-magical people- the Muggles. It's all about spells and potions and charms and brooms and wands and hexes and jinxes and creatures and generally, a whole lot of enchantments.

To all those people whom I still haven't pestered enough, please go ahead and read the series. And no, it's not a book just for kids; the whole series teaches you so much- of the power of friendship, of the strength of innocence, of the inspiration of bravery, of the blindness of power, of the price of cowardice, of the gifts of perseverance and quite a few other thingies.

And since I'm getting all nostalgic, just a few tidbits (all personal, of course):

The 5th book is the most disappointing in the series.
The books were always ridiculously priced.
I cried my heart out when Dumbledore died. I read the book again and then cried all over again. Now, since I have read the book a number of times, I no longer cry but it still is the saddest death in the series.
Lord Voldermort is an exceptionally engaging and interesting villain and he has been played to a T by Ralph Fiennes.
I discovered an anomaly between the 6th and the 7th books.
It was an immense relief when Harry survived at the end of the series.
I have 2 copies of the 7th book.
I have no freaking idea what are Warner Bros. playing at with the movie franchise- the movies are turning out to be big disappointments.
And most importantly, I am still waiting for my letter from Hogwarts and I think I'd make an extremely good witch!

A tale of 3 subzees

2009-07-14T13:41:00.003+05:30

As obtained from the green archives:

Once upon a time (actually all the time) in the garden of loathsome vegetables grew a family of herbaceous plants designated the Gourd family. The Gourd clan, a notoriously prestigious family line, flourished and flaunted its lineage by controlling of the growth of the various varieties of greens in their designated patch of land. The Gourds, it seemed, did have every reason to be as snobbish as they were, as according to legend the ancestors of their species were the oldest plants domesticated by humans. What an honor!

Leading the pack of the trouble-causing Gourdonians was the tall, lanky Bottle Gourd. BG aka Calabash aka Ghiya aka Lauki was the ring leader of the brat pack. Mr. Ghiya was responsible for organizing and coordinating all the mayhem in the Gourd garden. He led his life by the rule- when you can walk tall, why not wreck it all? His smooth toned green body was the envy of many a plants. After all, not only could BG be used as a vegetable and a delicacy with innumerable health benefits (like being a source of nutrients, aiding in the treatment of digestive and urinary problems, diabetes, high B.P. etc) but his dried outer cover could be put to use as a bottle, utensil or a pipe; in some cases it could even be used to make musical instruments like the veena- who wouldn't be proud as a peacock.
His svelte cousin Ridge Gourd aka Luffa aka Tori was famous far and wide for her dark beauty. It was rumored that her mature skin could be used as a bath sponge and scrub. And Ms. High and Mighty just also happened to be real low in saturated fats and cholesterol. No wonder her figure drew in all the catcalls. She was, in fact, the cause of frequent testosterone-induced brawls that were nastily resolved by her big b- BG.
Indian Round Gourd aka Apple Gourd aka Indian Baby Pumpkin aka Tinda was the sweet little cousin- the much pampered baby of the family. She, of course, had weight issues- after all, she was short and round. But, that in no way prevented her in carrying on with the grand tradition of the Gourdonians- that of their usage as extremely healthy food.

All in all, the Gourd family enjoyed a venerated status in the vegetable garden and lived happily ever after.

A tale of 3 subzees

As recorded in the journal of KC:

Come summers and the members of the Gourd family invariably infiltrate the vegetarian Chandra household. And lo behold the staple diet day-in and day-out starts revolving around Ghiya, Tori, Tinda. Occasionally (which translates into every 3 days), a cousin like Parwal aka Pointed Gourd or Karela aka Bitter Gourd joins the table to commemorate the parties thrown in honor of the Gourd family.

The thing is, despite the numerous qualities exhibited by the Gourds, they just happen to compete with each other in destroying the taste buds of the Chandras. (It's really just me; I'm dragging everyone else along for the fun of it.) Anyway, Ghiya tastes like aged mellowed rubber, Tori tastes like a slimy snake (not that I have ever tasted a snake, but if I were ever to one day, I'm sure I know what it would taste like) and Tinda tastes like well, Tinda. The less I talk about how Parwal and Karela taste more the better for my mental faculties and sensibilities.

The Chandra family has gone out of its way to show appreciation for the Gourd family and has composed a song which can actually be set to any tune:

We all like- Ghiya, Tori, Tinda
We crave for- Ghiya, Tori, Tinda
We'd die for- Ghiya, Tori, Tinda
What we'd do without- Ghiya, Tori, Tinda

Moral of the story: I'll have to so force myself to start liking the process of cooking!

P.S. - It's not really that I hate these vegetables, it just so happens that I'm a little tired of eating the same stuff noon and night. Believe me, I'm singing the song right now!

We Don't Need No Reservation

2009-07-01T17:07:00.005+05:30

The dance of democracy in India makes politicians sway to varied and weird tunes. Janata Dal (United)'s Sharad Yadav threatened to consume poison if the Women's Reservation Bill is passed in Parliament. Samajwadi Party leader Mulayam Singh Yadav warned male MPs of political extinction unless they recognized the threat imposed by the enactment of the bill.

What I fail to understand is what exactly are these so-called men afraid of? After a lot of deliberation, I feel, the following could be a few plausible reasons for the terror that seems to be clutching at the hearts of male politicians:

They feel women will steal their microphones which are frequently put to use as spears
They feel women will grab their share of allotted seats which can be occasionally used as weapons to be flung across the floor of the house
They feel women will surpass them in mouthing bad words and language
They feel women will prove to be better at causing interruptions and casting aspersions while fellow MPs address the house
They feel women will encroach upon their designated napping areas in parliament

C'mon Mr. Yadavs, please don't obstruct reservation for women just because of these serious issues. We promise we won't compete with you in any of these departments. And while we are at hosting the reservation party, let's go all the way- let's reserve seats for the pretty and the oh-not-so-pretty women; for the women who can cook and clean and those who can't; for those who can sing and dance and those who can't; for those who are parkati and lipstick addicts and those who aren't; for those who drink and smoke and those who don't; for those who can carry off hot pants and spaghettis and those who well, can't. Let the ball keep rolling!

Belying all the inanities above, let's have a look at hard facts. A mere 10% of the Indian parliament is represented by women. The bill, in its current form, was introduced in 1996, and the fact that even 13 years later it still hasn't been passed by any elected government highlights the depth of ingrained discrimination against females in power positions.

The whole idea of women disturbing the murky waters of an established patriarchal political system and the consequent shift in the power equation is what makes male politicians cry foul. There is no doubt that women are awfully under-represented in the Indian polity. There is also no question of the manner and form of discrimination faced by women belonging to all strata of society on an everyday basis- from female infanticide to dowry deaths, from domestic violence to honor killings, from abduction to rape, from forced prostitution to child labor, from sexual harassment to eve-teasing, from denial of education to disparity in pay packages, from sexual dynamics to casting couches, from suggestions of banning jeans to proposals of barring public drinking- the list is endless. It is exactly to reform and remove these prejudices that female concerns need to be brought to the forefront of national consciousness and who'd better do this than women themselves. Having said that, women, from all sections of this country, do need their voices to be heard and acknowledged but not simply because of their gender but because their issues need the same attention and importance as that of their male counterparts.

It's high time that the politicians and the policy makers of this nation understand and imbibe the notion that reservations are no solution to any problem. The key word is empowerment- of women, of SCs, of STs, of OBCs, of Muslims, of Christians, of gays and of all those people who are grossly misrepresented and discriminated against- be it because of their gender, caste, creed, religion, color or birth. A complete economic, social, political and legal emancipation is an urgent need of the hour.

Till the time we take to move towards solving these pertinent issues, let's start a campaign to root for a 100% reservation for women in parliament; that way we'd succeed in ensuring that a greater number of male political honchos are encouraged to take their own lives in response to an all-female threat. So many birds will be killed with just 1 act!

And as for Mr. Yadav, would you be able to choose your poison all by yourself or do you require some assistance? Please feel free to ask for help, we'd all be more than welcome to extend an unreserved hand.

RUMInations

2009-06-17T15:10:00.014+05:30

I have been meaning to discover Rumi's work for a very long time but I guess my purpose just took on a form of intent. Isn't it said that there's always a designated time and place for everything? Doesn't time have a way of taking time? All said and done, I finally did embark on my RUMInations journey and it has been one kick of a start. For the uninitiated, Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi was a 13th-century Persian poet and mystic.

The general theme of Rumi's thought, like that of any other mystic and Sufi poet of Persian literature, involves the concept of tawhid- union with his beloved (the primal root) from which/whom he has been cut off and become aloof- and his longing and desire to restore it.¹

Rumi composed 3500 odes (Ghazals), 2000 quatrains (Rubaiyat), and a vast spiritual epic called the Mathnawi. It is considered one of the best known and most influential works of both Sufism and Persian literature and some Sufis label it as the Persian-language Qur'an. The Diwan-e Šams-e Tabrizi is another of Rumi's masterpieces. A collection of lyric poems that contains more than 40,000 verses, it is written in the Dari dialect and named in honor of Rumi's great friend and inspiration, the dervish Shams Tabrizi. These sheer numbers give a fair idea of the volume of Rumi's work.

Just a few snippets of his all-encompassing devotional & inspiring poetry:

Last night a friend asked me, "Where is your homeland?"
I said nothing, for what could I say?
My homeland is not Egypt or Syria or Iraq.
My homeland's a place that has never had a name.
************************************************************
As salt resolved in the ocean
I was swallowed in God's sea,
Past faith, past unbelieving,
Past doubt, past certainty.

Suddenly in my bosom
A star shone clear and bright;
All the suns of heaven
Vanished in that star's light.
************************************************************
Flowers every night
Blossom in the sky;
Peace in the Infinite;
At peace am I.

Sighs a hundredfold
From my heart arise;
My heart, dark and cold,
Flames with my sighs.
************************************************************
I sought a soul in the sea
And found a coral there
Beneath the foam of mine
An ocean was laid bare.
************************************************************
From now on I will make burning my aim,
for I am like the candle: burning only makes me brighter.
************************************************************
All theologies are straws His Sun burns to dust;
Knowing takes you to the threshold, but not through the Door.
Nothing can teach you if you don't unlearn everything
How learned I was, before Revelation made me dumb.
************************************************************
One day you will look back and laugh at yourself.
You'll say, "I can't believe I was so asleep!
How did I ever forget the truth?
How ridiculous to believe that sadness and sickness
Are anything other than bad dreams."
************************************************************
This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
************************************************************
What I want to tell you is that all of these words I speak, out of love and inspiration and whatever knowledge God has graced me with, are for the sake of the person who needs words in order to understand. As for the person who understands without words, obviously he or she doesn't need words at all. In fact, to the one who really understands, the heavens and the earth themselves are "words"; after all; they came into being through "words"- the Divine Words "Be! And it is." If someone can hear a low, subtle whisper, is there any need to shout and scream?

Make everything in you an ear, each atom of your being, and you will hear at every moment what the source is whispering to you, just to you and for you, without any need for my words or anyone else's. You are- we all are- the beloved of the Beloved, and in every moment, in every event of your life, the Beloved is whispering to you exactly what you need to hear and know. Who can ever explain this miracle? It simply is. Listen and you will discover it every passing moment. Listen, and your whole life will become a conversation in thought between you and Him, directly, wordlessly, now and always.

It was to enjoy this conversation that you and I were created.²

I don't know whether I'd be able to make everything in me an ear (have always been a little hard of hearing) but will try to keep an open eye (not that the eyesight is all that great) for all that the Mawlana has to say.

In case any of you'd like to ruminate, please visit the following links which also happen to include References:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jalal_ad-Din_Muhammad_Rumi¹
http://www.poetseers.org/the_poetseers/rumi
Light Upon Light by Andrew Harvey²

TPA

2009-06-16T14:23:00.001+05:30

There's something about Hospitals and their sign-boards and well, me. Another hospital- Rockland this time and another sign-board that read- Cash/TPA.

My brother and I had a lot of time to kill so we decided to spend it by figuring out what-the-blazes-in-the-world could TPA stand for. The following are the few full-forms (in decreasing order of relevance and sense) we came up with till we got fed up with the exercise and asked a nurse what it did mean after all.

Total Payable Amount
Therapeutic Painless Administration
Third Person Account
Total Patients Admitted
Total Pain Alleviated
Total Patient Aaram
Troubled Patients Allowed
Talli/Tun Patients Approved
Temperature Pain Ache
Throat Protection Apparatus
Tooth Pick Ache
Toxic Pathogen Ascertained
Tauba Patients Aaye
Tonight's Party Arranged
Theoretical Practical Analytical
Toilet Paper Association
Throw Pillow Around
Tum Pass Aaye
Tootha Phoota Association
Tohar Paise Amaar

The thing is what TPA stands for happens to be Third Party Administrators. How very boring!

The Fall and Rise of Roger Federer

2009-06-08T11:50:00.010+05:30

Another Sunday. Another Men's Grand Slam Final. Another jam-packed stadium. The only thing out of place was the finalist. Conspicuous by his absence was Federer's nemesis- Rafa, his place taken by a snowed under Soderling. And, as if by divine intervention, Federer finally won the elusive French Open.

What else can explain Rafael Nadal's absence from his Mecca- the clay court, if not fate? Because had he been there on the court last night, Federer would have had to fight a battle of the indomitable human spirit yet again and in all probability he would have lost- again.
Because had the Spaniard been there yesterday, he would have been in his element and exactly what he is- a bull. A non-tiring, inexhaustible veritable mine of energy. (I sometimes feel he is a mutant or a super-human, genetically engineered, perhaps?)
Because had Rafa won again, Fedex would have cried. And this time, my heart would not have gone out to him the way it did at the Australian Open finals.
But, all these things didn't happen, because destiny finally decided to bestow her smile on Federer and he did cry after all, but there was no mistaking the joy and pride in those misty, dewy eyes.

Jimmy Connors once said "In an era of specialists- you're either a clay court specialist, a grass court specialist or a hard court specialist...or you're Roger Federer."

It is generally agreed upon that Federer is the greatest tennis champion the world has seen for a while. Federer has reached where he is by sheer grit and tenacity. And he needed this win- not to prove to the world the champion that he is, but to vindicate himself. After all, a winner needs to set personal benchmarks, to be the best of the best. And, if it really takes a little bit of luck, a certain tweaking of the circumstances, an evident absence of a worthy opponent to get a hold of what is rightfully yours, so be it. What is meant to be- will be. (He'll take care of Rafa another day!)

So, what exactly does Federer teach us? More importantly, what is that we can learn from him? The Roland Garros cup (and the other innumerable cups and shields) will always serve to remind him and all of us that perseverance and skill are always rewarded. No one can fake effort; talent is great, but determination is necessary.

Federer reminds me of the Phoenix- the mythical bird of lore- his tendency to fall but his ability to rise again; to embrace defeat but acknowledge its learning; to accept fame but be wary of its fallouts; to welcome a winning streak but always with humility; to allow tears but recognize their healing power. And that's what makes a true champion. Way to go, Fedex!

Looking forward to a Wimbledon Fed-Rafa final. And praying for an emphatic Federer win!

AngLES & DeMOANS- Part II

2009-06-05T12:53:00.005+05:30

My bro also got the lucky chance to watch A & D at the same theatre where I had the pleasure of viewing it. Apart from the movie, he got a wonderful opportunity of watching a 15 minute documentary titled "Kafann" about alcohol and its effects. After every 2 minutes, someone screamed "Kafann" to emphasize that that's exactly what you'll be wrapped in case you watch movies at this cinema hall; Oops, I meant, that's what in store for you in case you consume more alcohol than you can buy. Also, he saw the silent version of A & D when the sound was turned off for 5 minutes during the film climax. Phew! And, to top it all, he ate stale popcorn and survived to tell the tale. The food isn't poisonous there after all. Wonder what makes people puke then.

What can I say- life is unfair. I missed "Kafann"- sounds so much better than A & D!

AngLES & DeMOANS

2009-06-02T13:07:00.008+05:30

The movie distributors - multiplex owners standoff is resulting in very interesting consequences, the most prominent of course being that new movies are being run at non-descript cinema halls. So, I had to go and watch A & D at such a weird theatre near me, which happens to be in R.K.Puram and in case, Aap Panchvi Pass Se Teez Hai, so you'd know which movie hall I am talking about.

Anyway, it was an amazing, life-changing experience. Just makes you realize that you should be thanking God all the time for multiplexes and their lesser revamped, renovated singleplexes. Anticipating a very high turnout for the movie, I thought I'd call up and find out about ticket availability.
Me: Hello, are you currently airing Angels & Demons?
Hall Personnel: Yes, we are airing AngLES & DeMOANS.
Me: In English, right?
Hall Personnel: Of course.
Me: Would tickets be available, let's say for the 3:30 show?
Hall Personnel: Depends- You never know. (I bet he had a twinkle in his eye when he said that but I couldn't confirm it over the telephone line)

As it turns out, I really did not know, because the tickets were so easily available that if I had walked in the next day, I still would have got tickets for the previous day. 100/- Balcony- Imagine! But, let me assure you, a 100/- ticket is not as good as it sounds.

The theatre was, well, in a dilapidated state. It seemed like the roof would cave in any moment. And guess what, there were fans and tube lights there- lends a whole old meaning to surround-sound and light; though I think am being hyper-critical, the fans seem to have been fit-in to circulate the AC air. The seats were fixed, wouldn't budge- neither hither nor thither and the one next to mine looked as if it had been puked on, which wouldn't really be surprising coz the beverages and food being served looked positively poisonous. One very interesting and beneficial feature, though, provided at the theatre was a Spit Box.

Where do you find these in multiplexes? I mean- think about it, if in the middle of a movie, you get an insane urge to spit, what would you do? Where would you go? What- Where, indeed.

A very odd smell permeated the entire area. Could it be because the ladies toilet was broken and under repair? Well, if people are allowed to spit and vomit to their hearts and stomachs content, wouldn't peculiar smells be a theatre owner's USP?

The movie didn't begin a full 25 minutes after the scheduled timing. Everyone was waiting with bated breath (what a surprise) for some special event, Sitaram Yechury included. And as soon as a few enthusiastically bored audience members of the front stall started hooting, catcalling and jeering in general the movie began promptly.

Okay, now for the "film" review- it's a good movie- way better than The Da Vinci Code. It's good to see Tom Hanks return to 1/8th of his usual self. And Ewan McGregor is absolutely yummy. Are we allowed to speak like that about actors who are playing wannabe-popes? Please forgive my sin, Father.

P.S. - The book was better. Aren't books anyway and any day?

Deja Vu!

2009-05-20T08:43:00.004+05:30

I came across the following sign on an elevator at Fortis Hospital:

Come Into The Hands Of Our Experts!

I am not very sure if this even requires further comment but me being me, I just can't help myself!

The sense of deja vu is creeping in from all quarters simply because I'm trying to understand if something is incredibly wrong with me or has the scientific establishment gone bonkers? It's a hospital for God's sake- they operate on all organs, they have all kinds of doctors, they administer and cure a variety of conditions but perhaps the English language is too perplexing an ailment that can be diagnosed. Or is this a straightforward case of doctoring?

I am just not ready to believe that not a single soul at the hospital recognized such a double entendre. I guess the only thing I can be thankful for is they didn't choose a phrase like- Our Experts Will Never Let You Come Again! [Back to the Hospital, of course; what were you thinking???] ;)

Dung Ho!

2009-05-15T14:52:00.005+05:30

200,000-year-old human hair found in dung.
Paleontologists have discovered strands of hair belonging to a human who lived 200,000 years ago in fossilized hyena dung from a cave in South Africa. Lucinda Backwell, a paleontologist at the University of Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, South Africa, found 40 strands of hair preserved inside the dung. “This find is so unusual as the human fossil record at this time is exceedingly poor, and of course hair is fragile and degrades easily. It is the first non-bony material in the early hominid fossil record,” Backwell said. Experts think it could belong to the first Homo sapiens who evolved 195,000 years ago but the possibility that it could come from a totally new human species was also not ignored.

I came across this piece of news recently in the Times of India. Now, the question is not why it's exciting or relevant or intriguing or worth-being-blogged-about, the question is why, why and why-in-the-world would anyone experiment on dung? Fossilized hyena dung? How can anyone know that some dung, any dung is a hyena’s? And well, really, if you can tell the difference between the various types of excreta, you need to rethink your life’s aims & ambitions. Was it ugly? (That’s a wrong question of course.) Was it emitting a weird kind of laughter?

I just did a wiki on our hyena friends; seems like you wouldn’t really like to have one by your side; they look and sound real dicey characters to me. First, they are extremely conscientious when it comes to dietary behavior, they’ll eat you up whole if you happen to be zonked and befriend them. And when I mean whole, I mean whole- bones, skin, teeth and horns too if you happen to be flaunting some fashion fad. Second, they are born with their eyes open and teeth already fully developed. To me that signifies extremely highly developed senses- Extra Sensory Perception- and that anyway automatically qualifies one’s entry in the psychotic-wannabe bracket. Third, they belong to a group of mammals that commit neonatal siblicide. In simpler terms, in case 2 chaps/babes are born, one will end up killing the other ASAP. Gives quite a turn to the phrase sibling rivalry and makes me an extremely benign sister.

Well, it can be easily determined that how questionable the dung of such sinister beings would be like. Is that what makes it so very apparent and recognizable? A little more online digging helps in establishing that the various species of the hyena clan maintain latrines far from the denning area where the dung is deposited. So, did the paleontologists discover a DDD- a Designated Dung Ditch? And how could they be so sure that this particular DDD belonged to our giggling pals and not to some other distant relative who practiced its excretory habits in a DDD too?

Moving on to the more pertinent discovery of human hair- what exactly do we hope to “discover” by the presence of the 40 strands? That human hair can survive in feces? That non-bony material flourishes in a ‘number twos’ habitat? That the usage of spoor and droppings can be investigated in the manufacture of hair conditioners?

My gripe is not with the purpose or the validity of the research specifically but with the research itself per se. But then again, I wonder if it is just me or is something really wrong with the scientific community? There are so many worthwhile things that can be investigated, discovered, unraveled- a practical example could be to ascertain the psychology of an individual who is the right behind you in a standstill, mind-numbing traffic jam but still insists on honking away to glory.

I guess my thinking is just not perceptive enough- if vanilla fragrance and flavoring can be extracted from cow dung, hairs can certainly be mined from a hyena’s poo!

You've got chat!

2009-01-19T09:48:00.003+05:30

I had this conversation below, a few days back, with a very dear friend's hubby:

GagL: hey
can i ask for a favor?
me: sure
GagL: if u r not busy?
me: go ahead
GagL: has wifey mentioned any new friends recently like from her work?
me: naa
v hvnt talked abt her office
GagL: or has she mentioned some new acquaintances anywhere else?
me: naa- she hasn't
GagL: ok
one ques
did she have any boyfriends at school if u dont mind?
i mean was she a flirty type?
me: no- she wasnt
& naa she dint hv any boyfriends
not dat i know of
but i would hv known had she had any
GagL: ok
just wondering these days
me: i guess it's normal 2 wonder but really u hv nothing 2 worry abt
GagL: i guess i am getting paranoid
but
sometimes.......
one wonders..........
me: seriously GagL, pls put dis out of ur mind
nothing 2 worry abt
GagL: i can put things out of my mind
but my eyes cannot deceive
and neither can my ears
something is up
me: c'mon
i dont believe it
GagL: i didn't either
me: she really loves u
datz wat she says alwayz
GagL: but she really has a thing for men in power positions
i mean
men who have more influence than i
me: talk 2 her den
i don't know abt anything
GagL: and lately she has started acting moodily
and wants to spend more time in office
but nobody is there
i know it
the phone rings and nobody picks up
she comes home and claims she is not hungry
i know why
the other day i say a restaurant receipt in her purse
i am telling u
something is up
some guy named iqbal
she was even saying his name in her sleep i think
u sure she has not mentioned anything?
ok
in this time of crisis all have turned their backs......
that's ok
later
i will get to the bottom of this mess
once and for all
me: hey sorry- sum1 was @ my seat
i really hv no idea
i m sorry- i really don't know how can i b of help
GagL: marry me then....that will teach her a lesson

Oh yes, it took me all this while to realize that I was the butt end of quite an elaborate joke. Now, that I go through this little chitty-chat, I realize I should have picked up the nuances relatively early- first "power positions" & then "guy named iqbal" was a dead giveaway. Well, all I can say GagL, is that I whole-heartedly acknowledge your conniving abilities and am glad that I provided you such a wonderful opportunity to laugh your head and backside off.

Just wait till I get back!

And, you know what- I might just marry you, just so as to teach you a lesson!

And it was at that age...

2008-12-16T16:01:00.003+05:30

I have always wondered what makes poetry tick. It's such a drab art form- nothing concrete, nothing tangible. Every verse, couplet, sonnet is open to interpretation. Poetry stretches the phrase “to each his own” to the max. You can take whatever you want to from a poem. Can you ever guess, come even close to taking a pot-shot at, what a poet was thinking when he penned a line? For someone who’s been brought up on a staple diet of literary fiction, poetry baffles me. I find it a tad difficult to appreciate its various forms, the myriad genres, the numerous meanings.

What, though, one cannot deny is that poetry is beautiful. You just cannot escape it. It’s everywhere and so really, there is no point in running away from it, and that’s exactly wherein the splendor of poetry lies- that it will find you, and as Pablo Neruda so wonderfully puts it- And it was at that age...Poetry arrived in search of me.

He, of course, was talking about how poetry arrived for his writing; I’ll just change the meaning, to my convenience, and apply it to my reading.

Pablo Neruda was the pen name the Chilean writer and politician Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. If all it takes to write soulful poetry is a long real name, am changing my name to Niyati Revarto Reshmaiyyes Budhvaro!

Neruda was the winner of the 1971 Nobel Prize for literature; he was an accomplished poet who skillfully handled many poetic styles. I came across Neruda quite late, to my dislike, but then when one has never really made an effort to be acquainted with the field of poetry, one can’t really complain enough or much!

It was, in essence, like a rush- the rush of discovering Neruda. Below are few of my favorite lines from the little that I have unearthed of Neruda:

From the Book of Questions:

What does autumn go on paying for with so much yellow money?
In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?
Tell me, is the rose naked or is that her only dress?
Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?
Is the sun the same as yesterdays or is this fire different from that fire?
How does rumor of the sky smell when the blue of water sings?
What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?
Where did the full moon leave its sack of flour tonight?
And at whom does rice smile with infinitely many white teeth?
Why don't inanimate things do something?
What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?
Whom can I ask what I came to make happen in this world?

Personification is something Neruda is a natural at. And with just questions, he conveys half-hidden answers, long-lost conversations, and implied, unsaid feelings. My question to you Mr. Neruda is: What can I give to have an imagination as yours?

From Statues:

May whatever breaks
be reconstructed by the sea
with the long labor of its tides.
So many useless things
which nobody broke
but which got broken anyway.

From Too Many Names:

No one can claim the name of Pedro,
nobody is Rosa or Maria,
all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain under rain.
They have spoken to me of Venezuelas,
of Chiles and of Paraguays;
I have no idea what they are saying.
I know only the skin of the earth
and I know it is without a name.

When I sleep every night,
what am I called or not called?
And when I wake, who am I
if I was not while I slept?

I have a mind to confuse things,
unite them, bring them to birth,
mix them up, undress them,
until the light of the world
has the oneness of the ocean,
a generous, vast wholeness,
a crepitant fragrance.

I particularly like these lines above- a mind to confuse things. Maybe that’s exactly what the mind is good at, at getting confused and muddled. Mine certainly is, and I’m happy that my mind has been brilliantly described by Pablo!

From I Like For You to be Still:

And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.

Neruda is wickedly famous for his erotically charged poems. In fact, Twenty Love Poems and a Desperate Song, is his most critically acclaimed and best-known work. His passionate love sagas are set to love’s yearning, its loss, its damage, its death.

From For Everybody:

It's nobody's problem
Not for them, nor for you,
And if you listen well, in the rain,
You will be able to hear
That I come back and go away and stay.
And you'll know when I must leave.

If my words aren't heard
Don't doubt that I'm the one I was.
There is no silence that doesn't end.
When the moment arrives, wait for me,
And let everyone know that I'm coming
To the street, with my violin.

There is no silence that doesn’t end. Can this be true? It’s so difficult to believe, easier said than done. But then that’s what the maestro is so good at- at filling you with an all-consuming hope that maybe, just maybe, all silences will break.

From here and there, still all his:

They may mow down all the flowers, but they can't stop spring.
Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.
I don't have a never, I don't have an always.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

All I can wish for is that this rush lasts a lifetime!

P.S.- My favorite poem has not been listed here, Neruda, after all, does deserve some privacy!

Hi there!

2008-12-15T13:55:00.001+05:30

It’s always nice to say a big Hi to one and all. Well, not to one and all- a big Hi is generally meant for only those special people who deserve it, who are close enough to understand the warmth behind the greeting, the love and affection behind the salute.

They are also the same people who will unconditionally forgive you even when you extend the courtesy after donkey years, who will warn you and perhaps sometimes threaten, though always good naturedly to keep in touch, who will break your neck and your nose when you do manage to meet them, again amicably of course but then to what extent does a broken nose underscore a benevolent disposition is open to debate.

Now these deserving few, as they exist, belong to different categories, varied domains and distinct time periods. They have become a part of my existence under diverse circumstances ranging from the mundane to the bizarre.

I have known some for years, since my school days, when those dreaded and disastrous red ribbons were excusable because they looked worse on them. These mates who still keep in touch (God bless their souls and may he never give them the ability to realize their mistakes- Amen) made me cognizant of so many things- of how to smell affairs- that is so say between teachers- a certain Mr. Tommy and Mrs. Daisy (both married- not to each other), of how a stream like Mathematics could be subjected to cramming, of how deserving students were taught the viciousness of life at such a tender age by denying them positions of responsibility, in other words by not being made prefects, of how these undeserving students who were made prefects subjected fellow humans to inhuman unspeakable tortures, of how it was okay to wear the same clothes for the entire week (for the record- I did not do this), of how every morning one learnt the lesson of humiliation in the form of weird and painful drills to the tune of Japanese enumeration and most importantly of how it was illegal and criminal to go AWOL, the possible exception being a death bed which of course wasn’t all that often.

A handful of acquaintances turned into lifelong relationships during the years I attended college. College life teaches you so much- the most important thing being unity- of bitching together, of attending classes together, of bunking classes together, of gossiping together, of falling for the same guy together, of getting through heart aches together, of bitching together, of 8 people eating a single dosa together, of skipping examinations together, of flunking subjects together, of experimenting on rats and frogs together, of bitching some more together.
Another very critical aspect highlighted during this period is the consequence of messing around with authority figures. Unity again figures prominently in this arena, when you, backed by well-wishers without doubt, incessantly crib about everything and anything. The result of this innocent and harmless blabbering is that it reaches the ears of the commanding personality whose not necessarily just ears were being talked about. What follows is a harrowing, agonizing, distressing, excruciating, nerve-racking and terrifying period of subsistence that is worth chronicling and of also easily being recommended for the Guniess book of world records.

Enter the workplace- suddenly the dynamics of friendship change- but do they, really? Technically, associations in the workplace are meant to be a little restrained, a tad formal. But then I’ve never really been strong technically so all cautions, considerations and inhibitions were easily thrown out of the 5th (now 6th) floor window. Amity in the professional environment involves preparing each other for future interviews, spending endless hours in and around the canteen, trying to learn to play the guitar in organized free guitar classes and failing miserably, participating in company wide competitions and failing miserably again, sending bulk and junk mails and consequently being forever marked a felon by the HR department, happily organizing lunch/dinner treats, drinking gallons of horrible beverages in the break-out area, criticizing the company’s policies, censuring the Manager for even breathing, relishing office gossip (there exists no immunity for the bitching virus) and finally helping one another sometimes with something referred to as work.

Some bloke once said “What’s in a name?” I’d like to believe quite a lot and hence I like to give my friends names and no it’s not the same thing as calling them names. It’s just meant to be a little less rude. So I know a ‘jhelu’, an ‘amma’, a ‘squeaker’, a ‘salo’, a ‘casper’, a ‘pretto’, a ‘flakes’, a ‘cyclops’, a few ‘rajputs’ and lots of ‘jerks’.
These terms of endearment could mean a lot of things for e.g.:

You have an atrocious or mediocre or irrelevant appellation. Please change it.
It is irksome and perplexing, not to mention embarrassing to be affiliated with someone with such a nomenclature. Please change it.
It appeases my ego to address you such, so I have changed your label as per my convenience and that’s that. Please learn to live with it.

Despite all that’s there to friendship and its associated complications, I think I cannot thank each and every buddy of mine ever- completely and fully. For putting up with my idiosyncrasies, my tastes and my ideas, for being the first to make that opening remark which probably you knew would never have come from my side, for patiently listening me narrate stories from books/movies/TV serials (I promise someday I’ll narrate my own story- not that actually anyone is waiting for it- but we’ll leave it at that for the time being) and for always being there whenever, wherever, however required. So, just in case you thought I had forgotten all about it- HI!

My Big Fat Sweet Tooth

2008-12-12T15:33:00.000+05:30

Well I don't really have one. It in reality runs in the family and I am waiting for that dreaded day when it will be uncapped and take over my existence and transform my life once and for all. The only sweet things that I like are chocolates, cakes, pastries, penalty with vanilla scoop, gajjar ka halwa just to name a few. I have not for example inherited my parents compulsive habitual need to taste and relish all kinds of sweets prepared by the 'around the corner' Aggarwal. Also I'm famous in the entire family as the one who does not appreciate the sugar coated varieties offered by life, so the extent to which sweetness has percolated down the family tree can be estimated. There is also this unexplained habit prevalent amongst the relations to try out every new mithai that one comes across and to take upon oneself the responsibility to publicize the same to as many people as possible, especially to the ones suffering from diabetes.

They say everything happens for a reason. So for some time now I've been trying to figure out the reason why diabetes runs in my family. I have not been able to fish out anything concrete except mind-boggling readings and everyday a new family member who had or has the dreaded disease. Just to signify the gravity of the situation, I'd like to state for the record that my grandparents till a little time back had their blood glucose levels around the 350-450 mark, a score that would put even a certain Mr. Mathew Hayden to shame.

Everybody in India, of course, knows or rather, should know about diabetes, because in the next five to ten years this country will be playing host to the largest number of diabetics in the world. Well if you have diabetes the operative word is not "Sugar" but "Carbohydrates". The former is one of the two types of the latter, but there existed this notion for quite a while back that consuming anything sweet would lead to diabetes but this of course is not true. Once one is diagnosed with the disease a whole new world is brought into focus; it signifies the dawn of a new era. It's an amazing transformation. Food that was earlier shunned and discarded is now to be worshipped and eaten. And those edible eateries that were popped in without a second thought can now not be popped in so easily because hidden within those seemingly harmless goodies lies waiting a microscopic monster that is going to shoot the glucose level up, up and away, much to the envy of Superman.

I still remember that one glorious morning when my father announced that he was going to the neighborhood diagnostic clinic to get his blood sugar tested. He tells me it was an instinctive thing to do, in all probability it's-high-time-I-got-it-checked kind of a routine, but there must have been telltale signs all along. His appetite had considerably increased- put simply he was turning into a glutton; apart from having his three course meal he was actually munching something or the other all the time; also he wanted dessert after every meal or rather after every snack he had. It was quite frightening when I now think about it and the incessant pain in the calves was like icing on the cake (no pun intended) and that ultimately made the way to the clinic clearer and nearer.

My dad walked in triumphantly after the check-up, smiled mischievously and announced proudly "Now, I'm a sweet man!" The result was expected but still disheartening. My mother geared up big time to take the bulls by its horns. Big plans were drawn out to minimize sugar intake and everybody who's anybody in the family, were not really asked for their respective opinions, but they were given anyway. We all readily agreed to the changes that were now going to take place in the so-called lunches and dinner that were going to be served. With a concordance rate of more than 90% between identical twins, there appeared a more than 100% chance of we three kids developing the disease, so we all decided that there was no harm in starting too early in life. In addition to a well-planned balanced (read fat-free, sugar-free, less-calorie etc) diet, a strict exercise regime was also proposed. Someone great once said 'Ambition is a very important thing'. Well, I'll take it at face value that he/she was great.

Avoid fruits and nuts. You are what you eat. -Jim Davis
Avoid fruits, nuts, potatoes, rice, anything sweet or starchy. You are what your parents are, and what their parents were- Diabetic. -Me

The mornings were to be started off with a long walk, which I think was ardently followed for three days. Breakfast was to be light with either cornflakes or a lightly buttered toast. The morning tea of course was to be taken without sugar and also every subsequent cup of tea after had to follow the same course. Big changes, however, were introduced during the full meal routines. A mix of channa and missi roti ka atta replaced the normal roti ka atta. Yes, it is as cool as it sounds, though I've never really tasted it before but I'm pretty optimistic. I'm, in fact, relying on the verdict given by my father, who on the first day of his new diet plan assured me about the extent to which he was relishing this new stuff. As far as I can recall, I think he had tears in his eyes but those were readily dismissed as an overflow of emotion over the prospect of eating such a wonderful meal for the rest of his life. Potatoes were to be boiled before they could be subjected to any further treatment. Rice was to be de-starched. Most of the fruits were banned except some; the most prominent fruit that survived the onslaught of the war against diabetes and gained its entry on the shelf of the refrigerator, day after day, was papaya. My mother has a very interesting theory, which she never ceases to drill into me whenever I try to shrink away from the sight of the dreadful fruit. She tells me that papaya is the only fruit that will bind your tummy in case you're having an attack of the trots and will loosen the inner contents in case you have constipation. It seems too contradictory and a figment of her imagination so I've always been too scared to experiment when I'm passing through either of the two conditions.

Another very important ingredient that was deemed fit to be included in the revamped diet plan was soy. Since the preparation time is just a few minutes, it seemed all ready to acquire the status of the new kid on the block, the new sensation to hit town, the new rising star on the horizon. A few weeks later, however, I received this forwarded e-mail, a true story to boot, lamenting the use of soy in food and highlighting the dreadful effects it could have on the body, including dangerous diseases like cancer. The box of soy was as a result, duly shown its correct place- the dustbin around the block, the dump at the end of the town- as the drowning star at the horizon.

Lots and lots of home remedies were suggested by lots and lots of people and my mother in her responsibility as a good housewife noted everything in her diary that was aptly labeled 'My Sweet Fight'. Jamun powder, meethi daana, neem leaves, paneer doda are just few of the weird and probable viands that I came across while flipping through the pages of that battered diary; the additional reason behind these being mentioned is that they happened to be the only ones where I could comprehend either the whole or a part of the word. The rest seemed to be in Hebrew.

My parents were also told that if one were to eat the niboli, or the fruit of the neem tree, one would be able to conclusively control the glucose level and thereby get rid of diabetes. But like all good things in life come in ugly packages, there is no exception in this case too. Chewing the niboli is the hardest thing to do, even moving a mountain would prove to be child's play. The problem multiplies when appearances become deceptive. There are quite a number of trees that resemble the sacred Neem, and as a result the fruit of the tree can easily be mistaken for. We were recently informed that the tree under which we had spent a considerable portion of our time collecting the nibolis was not the correct one but some distant relative. With a heavy heart and a squashed spirit, we took it upon ourselves to relay the same to as many people as possible. Much to my mother's dismay an acquaintance refused to believe her and argued that since the brother-tree's fruit was benefiting her she would continue to use the same. This just goes on to prove that it is quite dangerous to suffer from a disease. Not only are the physical aspects compromised, so are the mental faculties threatened.

The most important vegetable that was actually considered to lead the way to a normal healthier better life was bitter gourd (karela). There is something about this particular work of nature that makes one despise it even before it is reaches the mouth. Something also needs to be said about the way karela tastes. It's like multiplying the taste of the niboli by a factor of 100. And I think I'm correct in my observation since a considerable portion of the Indian population tends to hate this particular delicacy. But the first and golden rule to be followed by a diabetic is not to hate any from of food and especially love the food that one has always hated. Therefore it became imperative to consume the most loathsome denizen of the entire vegetable family.

It's been close to eight years now and I won't say that the situation has worsened though it has not changed for the benefit of all either. My mother has diabetes as well. Dad wakes up early in the morning every day and resolves to walk at least for 5 miles, but inadvertently ends up scooped up in the blanket fifty inch deep. We got a Gluco-meter to save the time, blood and energy spent in going to the close by clinic. But a little while later, its ineffectiveness was realized and the concerned doctor suggested a better clinic that is now not so close by. So much so for technology and innovation and their cumulative efforts in making our lives simpler. Ironically enough when my parents' respective sugar levels do turn up near the normal value, my dad suggests that we celebrate by preparing or buying sweets! Both my parents' sugar levels are not actually very high yet are also not in control, so constant efforts are put in to not allow them to exceed beyond dangerous levels. These so-called efforts involve the very challenging task of popping in tablets before and after breakfast and meals, a task, which my father almost always forgets. A recent visit to a renowned endocrinologist was dismissed as unnecessary because the doctor didn't treat patients with such abysmally low sugar levels. Only when the glucose level should touch the 300-350 mark will the doctor consider a patient as an aspiring appetizer.

The moral of the story is life with diabetes is not easy. Also life without food is unimaginable and to an extent impossible. George Bernard Shaw once said, "There is no sincerer love than the love of food", which echoes the sentiments of every human being. The catch therefore lies in balancing the scales to as to achieve a healthier longer life.