saurabh : new blog

Faith less !!

2009-02-08T20:38:00.000-08:00

With weaker nails, smaller canines and no ability to camouflage, the aboriginal man was left to pray the very moment he found himself hanging down the khajoor tree. He somehow survived the obvious threat of extinction. My take is that men must have multiplied at rats’ rate and survived at turtles’ until the stone age arrived. The stone age taught the man that he should hurl stones at others to survive. With this fact down his belly man’s evolution stepped on the gas and within a whisker the man found himself sitting on the sofa gnawing pizzas and watching Obama promising that change is round the corner. In the meantime the paper age passed somewhere. Thats when few intellectuals scribbled religious books perpetually forcing god into a state of depression. They sought to bring their men together to live for a higher purpose but ended up as the initiators of the religious chain reaction that has not ceased yet. Little did these prophets and gurus know about the nature of the common man. The common man is basically a sheep in man’s skin who just wants to be led. They thought of all men to be of their league and when they realized that not many were interested in reading all this … they took Samadhi and left the world to be on its own[as god was still depressed knowing whats gonna come in the future] But after a few generations here and there, men smart enough read few of these books and started ruling fellow men. The concept was simple. Let them have faith! Heaven or nirvana was the carrot the man was running after and the thought of sinning instilled greater fright than a stick …

Eons later nothing has changed. Man is still hurling stones at others. But now others are fellow men with differences of opinion and faith. Everyone is so involved in proving their religion or faith to be right and in proving others’ wrong that in the process the sole motive of religion seems to be lost. Terrorism – a dreadful phenomenon often justified in the name of faith has caught the world off guard… and unprepared. And the root of problem is yet the same. A few men are still leading millions in the name of faith alone. They have amassed armies of men ready to kill. These are institutions… powered by religion and driven by sentiments. And people are doing things those are unjustifiable by any religious yardstick. Extremism amalgamated with the religious catalyst has left the world crying many a times. No one is ready to realize that a man’s religion is essentially ancestral. Killing for a choice (of faith) that you never really made is really dumb!

Lets just ask some questions to ourselves:

Q- Why am I a hindu and he a muslim?

A- because my parents are hindu and his parents are muslim.

Q- Is my faith correct or his faith ?

A- I don’t know. And there is no way I can find out. My father doesn’t know either. Nor his father. Maybe no one has ever and will ever know.

Q- So whats wrong with the other guy?

A- nothing.

That sums it up !

It’s also baffling to see so many people, educated and uneducated, moved by the maharaj’s, the guruji’s or the maulana’s to an unimaginable extent. The height of hypocrisy is that any positive achievement is attributed to maharaj-ki-kripa and any sufferings to our own past sins. Even if there is something divine in these men, lets face our problems by our own … lets credit ourselves and our hardwork for our own successes… lets have faith in them, lets be religious … but lets not allow our faith the control our actions …

Don’t sign me off as yet another atheist. No I am not… or lets say I don’t want to be one. Because faith has a magical side to it too. It gives you a divine strength in situations when you are really yearning for some. Hanuman chalisa for instance- is believed to get rid of all fears.. and people who have faith in it do audacious things by reciting it to themselves… people feel confident in the exams with the tilak on his forehead… and we feel an entirely different warmth in festivities... that’s the power of faith.

The problem occurs when this blind faith gets the better of our reasoning, the problem occurs when we stop listening to counter arguments, the problem occurs when a guru or a preacher starts controlling your thought process, the problem occurs when we stop questioning, the problem occurs when we stop working and start praying, the problem occurs when we have too much faith in the faithless!

The solution is simple – have faith but faith less!

सॉस्क्रुतिक दुस्वपन

2008-09-12T03:48:00.000-07:00

Ever since I learnt to comb my hair, I have never proclaimed myself to be an out and out linguist. Yet I am not being narcissistic when I say that I have always had a penchant for languages. I agree that it is difficult to figure out the nuances of any language but as a toddler I always liked to believe that I get the bird’s eye view of languages quite quickly. But then as I grew up I found myself surrounded with a language that shattered such unreal beliefs of mine and left me at a loss for all practical reasons.

My notion of this assumedly high degree of self-conceived linguistic cognition took a blow for the first time when I faced the challenge of a language that was new to me. The language of the gods…. Sanskrit. I was in std 6th then. Reciting the primordial shlokas, I used to feel disoriented and lost. The chorus rhymes of these hymns invariably ending with “aaha’s” (The symbol which I later found out was better known as colon in some other modern and humanitarian language called English) were the first ones which made me twist my tongue. With other guys very easily remembering the incomprehensible punctuations and verb forms, I truly used to feel like a square peg in a round hole. But still life was good….. until my mom smelled this unrest of mine. Havoc wrecked soon as she made me sit down and study the Sanskrit text-book for the first time the very next day and then everyday after that. Like a true mom-fearing child, I wanted to maintain that false image of an ideal son in her eyes [to cover up for other misdeeds of course].So…. With renewed determination I opened the Sanskrit textbook every single day with an ambition to tame down the language of Gods. The text book that resembled with my childhood-bible : Champak from the outside, when opened, was no less cryptic than an RSA encryption with the key lost. With every flip of the page my perception of the Sanskrit grammar used to toggle from okay-state to pathetic-state and then again from pathetic to okay. At the end of these meticulous and reportedly enlightening reading [not learning!] sessions, I used to find myself back where I started.
Things started getting worst as I came to know that the teacher of the subject held me in high regard. She expected me to top the charts in the quarterly exams. As it eventually turned out, I disappointed her utterly. I somehow managed to cross the passing threshold in Sanskrit…. meanwhile passing with flying colors in other subjects [which acted fuel to the fire]. As I grew wiser, I realized that Sanskrit was not my forte. Lost and dejected I raised the white feather and decided that I would rather score more in social science [which is another disaster of a subject by the way!].
My dispirited soul began hating itself and I could have landed up in depression but for the miracle that happened a few days before half yearly exam.

That night…..
After mugging till the wee hours I hit the hay with Sanskrit jargon all over my mind…. My wild imaginations soon transformed to hallucinations and I started wondering what would have happened had I been born at the time sanskrita was the de-facto mode of communication…. Scribbling on papyrus with ink-dipped-peacock-feathers I’d have flunked my exams big-tym… or worst, I could have been convicted by maharshis for uttering a verb in a wrong vibhakti form… pleading before the Judiciary-in sankrita of course- I would have reestablished my own guilt …………….
…….
….
..
.

the ceiling fan above my head suddenly started moving in a spiral curve …..and only a nanosecond before sinking into the quagmire of hapless dreams, reality dawned on me…… I was in deep shit!

In my dreams maa Saraswati came to my rescue….. dressed in impeccable white, she had four hands….. two holding the veena and two hands in the back [out of focus] one of them holding the 6th standard sankrita notebook and the other one holding a wooden stick [hindi me bole to haath par padne waali beint…] she suremust have been a hell of a teacher herself!! Her deep voice reverberated on my eardrums “ Vatsa: !! kamal prakashanasya: guide: pathasyati: …. Examasya: pass: bhawanti:::: !!!” The heavenly voice still echoes in my ears ….

The very next day I went to khajuri-bajaar-book-shop and asked the shopkeeper for the kamal guide of Sanskrit … And needless to say I passed the Sanskrit exams gracefully after that.

Jai maa saraswati !!!!

Newly discovered professionalism

2008-07-28T05:16:00.000-07:00

Professionalism, they say, brings the best out of you. I recently got to know how …how do they bring the best out of you ?…they actually hang you upside down, pat [ hammer is more appropriate ] your butt and you puke everything out.. including the best you could have had offered. People undergo an unforeseen metamorphosis as they enter this phase of life. It is as if there’s a room, full of gadgets, in between the two phases of life [namely, student life and professional life]. The room is a gateway or the techie term is ‘an Interface’.Picture this... A dumb, lazy and screwed up dude after making absolute mess of his tution fees for the past few years, enters into the gate and on the other side appears a polished, English speaking techno-maniac , a gentleman who is least concerned with the charms of student life now. The only thing he knows is how to get nostalgic reminiscing those hay-days.

Along with squeezing the juice out of you, professionalism brings about a lot of changes.
Those who erstwhile used to find solace in lazy adventures[ like sleeping on the last bench ] suddenly appear to be in the league of the most agile and career conscious gentlemen [few exceptions always creep in though]. Those who never paid the slightest heed to the lecturer’s words suddenly are all ears to any voice in the training room….They even have doubts sometimes! And those who never bothered about what the hell is a Unix or a linked list, suddenly have turned geeks big time.

Money comes as another symptom of the abovementioned metamorphosis. If compared to the quondam economic crisis, it must be said that once you get out of that room[the interface], it literally rains money ! Fortunately [or unfortunately !] no fights over athtanni-chavanni’s now. People who used to sing the TTMM* song in the college are now dying to pay.
”Yaar mein pay kar doonga ” ….. “nahi yaar aaj to meri taraf se …” [Note - humare room par abhi tak aisa nai ho paya hai ]
There was a subtle charm in those candid hisaab-kitaabs “oye apna 3 rupaye ka hisaab tha bhai …” replied by “ OOye …. Kaunse teen rupaye be …. Kal maine chai pilai thi wo kaun tera baap jodega …” Alas! long lost are the days now … see I told you- professionals tend to get nostalgic.

[*TTMM=> tu tera mein mera]

Another thing that changes prolifically is that the once evergreen and ever-blossoming basket of excuses now suddenly seems stale and shrunken. The boss in no way treats you like those teachers you used to swear all the time. Make no mistake, everyone curses the boss too. The cliché Boss is always right does holds true and you have to avoid excuses and you have to WORK! … Gosh! had I been half as sincere in the college!

But nevertheless there are some things that never and will never change …. Even in offices, finding hot chicks will only be as easy as spotting mermaids in the dead sea. Secondly … your biolological clock will never change its settings … simply stated: you will never be on time …. More simplification: you will not be able to even catch the bus. You see there are things that will never change…You will still commit blunders in the name of silly mistakes, you will still unravel your genius at times, you will still fart on the worst possible occasions, you will still laugh aloud remembering an old joke, you will still hum arbit songs and you will still doze off sitting on the chair ……….

But alas! you’ll not have enough witnesses around you to laugh with … now on!

[ Note :- I have been fortunate enough to be living wih some college friends .... but still college was far too different ..this thing is dedicated to college life ...]

Deepak tale Andhera

2008-06-11T22:45:00.000-07:00

Statutory warning : based on a true story, characters are real and alive

Mercury rose as high as 28 degree that day, but Tapas was trembling like a tuning fork whose prongs had just been hit by a sledge hammer.In complete resonance with him, my shit-uation can be best described by the word shaken.Being the nearest to the epicentre of the quake this is more of an understatement. The epicentre was Deepak.

The day had been odd from the very begining.A bright sunny day in mid January. Quite evidently, having fun was what the doctor had ordered and looking back at it now, in an eerie manner, it was exactly what happened. For me, proceedings kicked off inauspiciously in the assembly prayer itself. While half-heartedly reciting the prey-er I heard someone in the vicinity diffuse little background music in between the dull chants of the cliched lines. I heard ...

" hey prabhu anand-data gyaan humko dijiye ....
shighra saare purrrrr-guno ko purrrrr humse kijiye "

Moments later i inhaled some air fart-icles that gave rise to a nausea which corroborated that whatever i had heard was not exactly background music. The shankhanaad had occurred ....

Class X- B used to always be in the limelight, more so for mischievious reasons. I can remember agnihotri ma'm [ our vice pricipal then] boasting that we were the worst class the school had ever nurtured and I can still remember how proud our bunch of brats used to feel after recieving such accolades. The classroom was on the second floor, green painted walls and grey colored furnishing never provides the best ambience for studies and hence while sitting in that room even opening the cap of a pen used to spell trouble for us. There were three rows of benches, each bench having the capacity of accomodating three. We guys entered the class after the assembly, and Tapas, me and Deepak got seated on the secondlast bench, Tapas entering first and thus getting glued to the remotest corner of the room [Alas! that holy soul couldn't find peace even there]. The stage was set for the melodrama to take place.

one lecture was over. We had succesfully persuaded the cloyingly charmful dhanno ma'm [short for dhanashree ] to check classwork a day later. A sense of jubiliation prevailed in the room. And as the teacher concerned for the second lecture wasn't present, pandemonium cut loose. It had been 15 minutes past the last lecture now and the decibel had long crossed permissible limits. It seemed that the occasional shreiks, the screeches of benches , the overjoyously irrelavant babbling, the daily gossips, and the nakhra's and the jhagda's together gave rise to a chaotic sound that was capable of permeating through the sturdiest of walls. And to our utter misfortune, the teacher present in the neighbouring class was none other than the self declared gunda of the staff, Dalal sir !, a maths teacher whom we used to call The-laal sir [the pun seems quite fitting as red or laal is the color of danger].

Shhhhh !! a sound came from the doorway and all other sounds muted at the very instance. A dark figure standing some 10 inches short of a respectable six feet appeared at the doorstep. Terror followed suit.

"Whaat eej going on ?'. silence prevailed.

"Whoj period eej this ?"

"Sir, this is a free period, no teacher is available to engage us" I,being the irresponsibly responsible monitor of the class, blurted out.

"mein paas ki class me padha raha hu .... I waant pin draap silence ....undershtand ? "

"Yes sir" we sang in chorus.

The tongue is like a spring, the more u keep quite, the more you want to break free and talk. within minutes the urge to talk took toll on us and the usual hullabaloo was restored. This was the invitation for massacre coz Dalal sir couldn't stand indiscipline. To his misfortune, deepak was not going to play the role of a worthy scapegoat for his ill temper.

"bas bahut ho gaya " He reentered the room, the scene of forthcoming action. sab ke sab chup.

" tumhe kitna bhi samjhao samajh me nahi aayega "

He started ambling between the rows like a gabbar holding chalk [instead of belt] in his hand. He stopped at our bench. Insanely enough, Deepak was sketching some cartoon on the last page right then. Me and tapas acted to be scribbling homework.

" ye kya kar rahe ho aap "

"sir copy ka cover phat gaya hai, wo chipka raha hu" Deepak mumbled ignorantly. Let me tell you something about Deepak first.

Deepak Gurung. The bravery of the nepalis was evident in the eyes of this arrogant and adamant chap. And when we used to tell someone "bahut tej chal riya hai .....saale tu school ke bahar mil" it meant that use humse nahi deepak se milna padega. Coming back to the conversation...

"upar dekh ke baat karo " Dalal sir wasn't going to relent. Unfortunately for him, he had never taugh our class before.If he had .... he could have very well chosen Tapas to be a preferable victim.

a pair of chinese eyes stared back ...
"copy ka cover chadhha raha hu" that tone spelled conviction and assertion.

Very frankly, Dalal sir was taken aback by the sheer arrogance of that lad ... his reputaion was at stake now.

"Khade ho ke baat karo .... aur ye kya pehen rakha hai haath me " The cheap bracelet was going to act the spark to this fire. Deepak stood up ... stared right into the eyes of Dalal sir, hurting his ego deep down .... tapas and I started feeling the adrenaline level rising. There were only two men talking in the room, the rest were silent lambs.

"kada [bracelet] hai .... .... .... sir " the premeditated pause made things worst.

"Utaro use .... "

"sir copy chipka ke utar doonga ... " finally a sensible answer in the most insensible tone

"maine kaha abhi utaro "

and then the most unexpected thing happened .... the faintest possiblity of restoring peace was obliterated by the reply that came from Deepak.

"Kya hai be .... bola na utar doonga "

At the very moment Tapas started vibrating to and fro, I was in a fix .... and Dalal sir was shaking with anger ..... he retaliated with a slap .... once the echo faded, I knew for the next few nanoseconds what he had meant by pin draap silence.

"Ye tenth class hi hai na ?.... aise hote hai tenth ke bachhe?" dalal sir managed a few words amidst the furious breaths of heavy air.

"aise hote hai .... ?" there comes another slap .... another one followed .....

Dalal sir stopped ....still panting .... and then whatever happened after that had to be the most insane moment of my life .... Deepak ....with boiling blood took Dalal sir by his collar and slapped him back ....

It was official.... Deepak Gurung was the new DON of the school.

PS : writing the proper epilogue to this story is another challenge to me .... but the fact is that dalal sir is still alive ... and both of them lived happily ever after .... not together ofcourse !! Drop in your comments about the story

Sadak ka Daanav

2008-05-13T01:34:00.000-07:00

3 am in the morn, cool breeze ballooning the loose untucked T-shirt ….Hoodibaabaa!! …Vrooom!!….. Bliss !! …… And a sudden thrust on d brake-paddle and my head bumps into a front seated ISI-marked helmet ….What the …!!!! Newton called it inertia - A gaadi will continu to move with its raftaar on a sadak until and unless it is acted upon by brakes owing to unavoidable gadhhaas . Isskool me sikhaya tha …there are two types of roads: Kaccha roads and pakka roads …..Papa ne bataya …there are also Indori Roads!!

Indori pimple faced sadaks have always been one of the most revered indori phenomena… Tarnishing and weathering over the years, they have endured their cause and ensured that the adage “Life’z never smooth, or …. Life’z full of ups and downs ” was obeyed literally!! These chand-sa- roshan roads of indore experience full moons in d monsoons and truly stick to the line “ chand me bhi daag hai “. Driving on such wet- or rather drenched - roads is worst than standing on a quagmire. You may try incessantly to avoid the potholes but the divine chakravyuh always gets the better of you ... You sink into the puddle thinking OMG my trousers!! But suddenly a Pulsar-180cc overtakes the- unfortunate-you and spurts muddy water on your face …. Point taken ….Always consider the centripetal force while looking into problems! While riding on a truly indori road [eg. Sadar bazaar road] its like you have been given quite a fair choice –Do you want to be burnt alive …or do you want to be baked alive [Yeah james bond! In either case you have to die! ]. And when it comes to speed brakers, they are worthless as well coz who the hell is ever able to pick up speed .... Waaoww speeeed ...whats that?

These roads do experience springs sometyms .It happens when a gulam ali faced sadak suddenly seems like a spotless aishwarya when a VVIP visits the Holkar-ki-nagri but it reinstates to the gud old self when someone digs in the Tambooz and bambooz for his bhatije ki shaadi … “sadak nayi hai to kya hua… Jao paarshad-unkil se mil lo ….unse baat ho gayi hai” And when such things happen its quite natural for the shock-ups of a new vehicle to get shocked at the brutality of these roads on their very first mulaquaat. I can imagine a discover-125cc wailing while pleading Mr. Sojatiya [Bajaj dealer] saying “Papa…. I don’t want to marry him …. He’ll take me to indore…..uuuuaaaan” But the true sufferers are not the shock ups … Tyres are the true Mar-tyres. They are the ones who face it!!

Anyways, owing all the credit to the potholes would be quite unfair on the part of the indori junta-janardan. Consider an indori 6-lane-road with 3 lanes on either side of the divider. Pedestrians walking in lane 1 [outermost lane], cattle all over the place, a baraat singing “ kala kawwa kaat khayega” in lane 2 and 3,bicycles on the footpath, bykers zig-zaging a roller coaster ride all over the place, [even over the divide in some cases] and the car wallahs hollering hi-pitched-horns while trying to find an escape from this strum and drang, inside the car atif aslam screaming “ Hum Kis Gali Jaa rahe hai apna koi thikaana nahi “ … total chaos ! So being an Indori this happens so often to me … I wake up in the morning….fresh as a daisy … do all the nahana – dhona stuff and oops I am already 10 minutes late! Rush to my Byk …. I hit the road… I am riding steady telling myself to be slow steady and careful [years of experience u see] evrythin is all right ,I am behind a maruti 800 and all of a sudden I see this open drainage-hole appearing from between the hind tyres of the maruti… holy shit! Move right-theres a tempo, move left-theres this array of pedestrians and stop- no ways! I I take my chances with the tempo that’s a bit farther…I turn right…woooops theres this cow ,I turn left woo-ooops sorry unkil [“oye pelwaan dekh ke ni chalate banti kya?” He shouts ] and suddenly the autorikshaw takes a 180 degree turn… hey hey hey ….I turn right and what the hell is this baraf –ka –gola-thela doing here…ohh-ohh –ohh….wuff a narrow escape….. gear up –gear down – clutches- brakes-horn-accelerator …. Am I human …you must be kidding me! That’s why the Spidys and the supermans don’t come to indore …they can’t rescue a guy by picking him up in mid air…. they may just end up crashing into a reverse geared nagarseva …

Anyways being an eternal optimist I look at the brighter aspects and thank God that I don’t own a ferari. As an Indori shakespeare wud’ve said “Blessed are those who drive [read as : thrive] on two wheels “ Coz when it comes to indori roads-the slimmer the quicker. And anyways so goes the Holkarian curse

“Ramchandra keh gaye siya se , aisa kalyug aayega

Car-wala bachte rahega gaddho se, byk-wala aage nikal jaayega”

;)

Engg students : Best Vs Rest

2007-09-30T01:08:00.000-07:00

You enter the lab to fetch the forgotten lunchbox from the otherwise empty bag and here they are….doing the assignment that has been assigned in the lab just preceding lunch….u feel “ boss assignment to agle week submit karni hai naa”. The next week ,the same day ,someone from the majority mob has their assignment in hand ….standing in the photocopy shop………..requesting, ”uncle is red right par aur signatures par white paper rakh ke 7 set photocopy nikal dena….” And someone shouts from the back ”abe oye…..2 set aur bol de yaar”

Accessibility to them and possibility of getting a response is directly proportional to your aggregate percentage…and inversely proportional to the row no of your seat[counting starts from front to back….gosh! had it been the other way round!!!!!]. They are like seasonal vegetables….we eat these brains only during exams. They are like chief guests….centre of attraction and away from action[action of course takes place in the backbenches]. They eat books ….drink ink…..and breath chalk powder on the first bench. They are toppers !

Toppers. They are a rare species. They are the lions of the jungle. The beast ! These carnivorous living beings eat out your head until you succumb and your grades die out in the viva. Lioness is better at praying than a lion. Following this analogy, the toppers also predominantly consist of the fairer sex. These Hermoine like girls always give other scholars [err, losers] a run for their money. They are peculiar, Identifying these people from a distance requires one to have a look at their attire….if somebody seems like first year ragging-afraid student, with a book , file ,or assignment pages hand-held , then there is a high probability of him/her being a member of this elite class. Other necessary and sufficient symptoms for identification are: spectacles[myopic of course!] , raised hand in classes, marks in midsem>=20, and-band beautiful handwriting, and variable x tending to 100% where x denotes attendance. The surroundings of these geeks is comparable to quinine…..good for health , bitter , and avoided in cheerful health.

Humour creeps into the situation when these are nominated as class representatives, while the rest of the class is classier [I am biased….can’t help it!]. They are also student representatives….rightly so, coz they probably are the only ones who can be referred to as students. The others better be referred as attendants [;)]

Attendants. The crowd ,the mob , individuals working in perfect harmony of an unbeatable team whose one and only aim is to survive. To Survive the hailstorms of shortlists [of attendance] , to survive the dreaded dragons in form of teachers who spit fire in words when an innocent attendant comes late to attend the massacre, and to survive the unnecessary semesters that somehow always manage to fall in between the prescribed sem-breaks [;)] . They have survived and they have flourished as a race, casting spells over upcoming innocent students and comminating them to expand their own race. Outside the classroom, they are the kings, living life on their own terms , obeying no one but their selves. Over the years they have outnumbered and outclassed the toppers but still they could not make their rivals extinct. The toppers still rule and continue to pass on the throne among generations.

Teachers, have the perception that toppers are god sent and attendants probably must have grown out of wild shrubs mushrooming down the road side. If topper commits a mistake, its perfectly human! If the guilty is an attendant then he better shield his butt…coz a kick is just coming in! Teachers are mentors for toppers, they are gods …second to none. To attendants they are like vampires that suck fun out of their veins. Teachers are biased ! For an example If someone inks into pages an answer that has already been penned down by the author of the book then what good is he? But still he[sorry to the she-toppers…U r gods too :D] gets the grades .On the other hand the innocent and morally correct [so called farzi] attendants who do not copy the text thus abiding by the patent agreement of the publisher get low grades because they follow the rules. Not fair!! [:)]

Thus ,with the referee[teachers] on their side, the toppers have dominated thus far .But with the arrival of newer and farzier teachers[छर्रे !! ] ,the tussle is getting more fierce day after another .The war between the two races will probably continue till eternity, and the farzis will just hope that some day they have their own king….The king of attendants. That day engineers will rule the world and the era of knowledge will doom!

Little things work big !!!

2007-09-09T03:17:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning, morning stroll, cold and somewhat wet breeze…..thele ki chai. These are perfect settings. We guys have a seat discussing how Robin Uthappa made the day the last day by hitting two fours in the last over, and how exuberant young blood adds to cricketing excellence. Meanwhile, shaun[a friend] shouts out “chhotu ….teen chai” and I am left wondering how this whole species of waiters across uncountable chai-thelas got the name chhotu. My friends discussing crappy newspapers with such interest slowly faded from my thoughts and I started observing chhotu.

Three fingers partially dipped in tea, and a feeble support of the thumb enabling him to hold on to 3 tea glasses in each hand. He served us tea. A worn out shirt, followed by dirty knickers and bare feet was the output of my head-to-toe scan of this lad standing waist high. I got the answer …the name chhotu seemed justified. I though, was amazed to see how cheerfully that child was doing all what he does. He serves tea and poha, cleans up everything , collects the emptied glasses and when you offer him money he redirects you towards the owner of the thela . And in the process, he seems perfectly at ease with no regrets at all.

Sipping tea, I had a look at children playing cricket and football on the playground stationed opposite to this chai-thela. Little brats kicking the ball for a few meters and some others chasing a ball down to the boundary somehow seemed extremely ecstatic , rejoicing every moment of the Sunday that comes after 6 days of toil in their respective schools. “Schools, which chhotu might not have ever been to” This thought was about to brush me , but before that I thought of something else. I thought of Sundays he had missed, I thought of friends he could not make and I thought of this ecstasy which he could not experience. And then came the lessons he could not learn too . Had he invested all that enthu he has into something more fruitful , it might have helped him and his family more in the time to come. But then when today carries a much bigger question mark over their survival, how can he afford to go to school or learn something that is not of any immediate use. At least, he is not begging .He is helping his family, if any, to survive in this forest of much stronger animals.

In India we have growth, not development. Growth is vertical and development ,on the other hand , is horizontal. And that’s why rich are getting richer and poor are getting poorer. In such climate, Children belonging to the lower echelons are bound to get suppressed, hence when they grow up, the next race is poor too. Its a vicious circle. The government provides them with midday meals, but what about them once the bell rings .Reality strikes them once they get out of the premises. And then we find these young but matured blokes doing an over time on Sundays to make up for the time they wasted in schools for one meal a day.

My cousin is working for an NGO that works for child labour , she keeps talking enthusiastically of how they are helping children break the shackles and pursue a better life. But the enthu gives way to disgust when she talks about her visits to slums, where half naked malnourished people demand for money and food even before listening to them. In these slums , the she-child goes begging or helps her mother out and the he-child finds himself something to do. Books supplied by schools or NGOs find uses which they are not meant for. Hands that should be holding a cricket bat look out for screw-drivers or empty glasses and dirty plates. But, still the child is angelic on his or her end. If breathing and learning are two options….I would choose breathing!

The next time I visited the thela,I heard chhotu blurting out hindi slangs [gaaliya] to someone,and instead of despising him, I tipped him. His hard-headed give-it-in attitude at this tender age made me exclaim “Hats off!”

The God Of Waters

2007-08-13T13:05:00.000-07:00

Water ,One of the divine panchatatvas according to Hindu mythology and one of the major necessities of life. A necessity for photosynthesis and a universal solvent, this sacred liquid is of unexplainable importance to sustenance of every living being on earth. Specially my family and my neighbors .I do not believe in the mythological phenomenon of reincarnation [life after death or rebirth], but if it is true then it is no exaggeration to say that all these people must have been aquatic species in their last life looking at the way they crave for water. And god of death Yama must have said “Vatsa! you have done enough sins in this janma , now you won’t get enough water in the next birth” And he sent them all to my locality.I can imagine all of us chanting “ trahimam trahimam”.
And then Yama must have added with some benevolence “Your sins will be washed off in this janma ,and for that you all will have to chant the name of the god of waters”.
It was only two years back when the nebulous enigma of his statement unveiled to us and we had no choice but to laugh at the satire within. The god of waters he had mentioned was not the rain-god Indra ,it rather was the substituted dummy god of kalyuga, “TankerWala”.

Our small little nest is much like an apartment of 8 families. Eight dehydrated families at that. Hitting ground-water in our locality while digging a bore in dry dust enveloped by a coal tar road has the same odds of success as that of finding a mosquito-less region in the same locality during the rainy season. Talking of seasons, opposite to the general perception, we are happier with the supply of water in summer as compared to the rains. The reason being, the god of waters “TankerWala” goes on vacations in the rains. Opposite to other localities which enrich their water tanks through the divine water- rechargement shloka in the rainy season ,our recharged water probably drains down the slopy land that we are living on, leaving us in sheer disappointment and no option but to cherish the memories of good old wet-summers ;). Others who are not of the locality feel pride in ridiculing us unfortunates, but we give them the reply in the summers with the blessings of our newly found GOD.
Just like Santa rides his cart cheerfully and distributes much aspired presents to children. In the same manner here comes our tankerwala on his divine ratha called tanker, with presents in the form of water. The day he arrives is no less than any Christmas as well.On Christmas people wear new clothes, but the day the tankerwala comes, we wear washed clothes.

The tanker is a phenomenon in itself .It defies all the established definitions of a machine or a vehicle. The thing has thousands of creaking and squeaking components with the horn as the only silent one amongst them, all these loosely held by some hallowed binding force of magnitude assumedly of the order of the nuclear force which binds together repelling protons in the nucleus. Meanwhile, the nucleus of this supernatural phenomenon, known as the engine in the unsophisticated and naïve language of lesser mortals, can be initiated by only some godly touch on the keys which can be provided by who else….the god himself. Just like the lord Rama is surrounded by a luminous and radiant aura around him, the TankerWala is also surrounded by an invisible aura which can not be seen in the absence of flies, but can definitely be smelled in his divine vicinity which increases at exponential rate until a time period of about 7 days ,after which this hardworking creature probably finds free time to take a bath himself. If the tankerwala appearing in your locality is a senior pro ,then along with the sweaty odour, you may even be able to inhale some smell of the local daaru better known as khamba . Just like we pray to god and leave some coins in the daan-peti of temples, this god is also bribed by all the devotees so that he does not get angry over them. The only difference is that, mere coins won’t serve the purpose here.

I have been reliving the mythology for the last two years. I have relived the Mahabharata. All by the grace of lord Krishna in the form of tankerwala who is the driver to cart[tanker] with Arjuna on the other seat. Arjuna , whose arrows never missed the target and caused incurable wounds, materialized to me in the form of the the tankerwala’s assistant. Yes he has an assistant too. But this Arjuna of Kalyug does not have arrows ,he has the pipe of the water tank in his hands and the people get wounded by his words .His amazing vocabulary of slangs in hindi [I mean presumably hindi] can not be explained to any degree by allegedly cultured people like me here.In the mahabharta I saw on TV,krishna intiated the battle by blowing his shankha. This mahabharata is initiated by tankerwala not by using the horn but by the creaky sounds[which still somehow sound melodious to us] of the brakes of the just arrived tanker. And then all the soldiers of our locality enter the kurukshetra with weapons in the form of buckets and water tanks. Arjuna, takes out his water pipe and lawfully distributes the water to all the aspirants .if anyone tries to cheat then Arjuna takes out his bhramastra ….his words. In the mean time, the Krishna ,or the driver of the tanker, finds time to light up a beedi or to intake a pouch of vimal gutkha. At the end of this distribution of prasaad-roopi-jal, if there are any confusions in our minds then the tanker- wala gives us the brahmagyaan from his geeta which is his small copy which carries the information about when he will come the next time.

And then all of us enjoy the day by the blessings of this GOD of ours. We celebrate by bathing and washing our vastras and the utensils, not even worrying about storing water for the time to come. Such is the trust we have on this almighty god of waters.

Reservation :Got any answers?

2007-07-30T09:12:00.000-07:00

"I ain't scrach my head untill it itches,
and I ain't dance untill I hear some music" blurted out an arrogantly adamant Denzel Washington with great vigour.

What Attitude man!
I tried to relate this attitude to someone.And then it clicked.
Honourable Mr. Arjun Singh !
Under normal situations I would have preferred to see this celluloid affair instead of flexing my brain muscles owing to my lackadaisical appraoch. But this issue was one which was quite intriguing,it won't let me breath easy.I paused the movie,and my memory cells processed all the screwed up experiences ever since the first blow.

"Arjun singh " shouted the boy who was taking the charge of the rest of exasperated lads.
"hai hai" shouted them all, including me.We Bhagat Singhs and Azads of 21st century were not to give up.Only the thought of what we were opposing filled me with frustration.Frustration over the system.Frustration over the inability of having a say over the matter.I can't help but remember my teacher who told me in my school days "Democracy involves a government FOR the people and BY the people".Do we have the power was the question I had when I saw policemen watercanoning the IIT and AIIMS fellas. And then some highly learned [pun intended] politician spokesperson comes and addresses these elite minds as unreasonable.Thats shit! If we can't listen to the best people of the country then where is democracy.And where is the ramrajya we boast of, where is gandhi's idealism,and then suddenly all out of context I thought"and where are the mediapersons?"
I interrupted a guy standing besides me in between this passionate chanting of"hai hai".
"No media people to cover us?" I asked.
"Bad luck dude.Got to have at least 50 odd guys around"
And then I had a look around.There were about a 25-30 of us.And the Bhagat Singh inside me went berserk.Don't know what went wrong ,but the ritual had failed miserably. The only purpose it was serving was to attract the attention of pretty girls passing by. As soon as any such ravishing creation went by , the boy[the leader ;)] again shouted with renewed vigour "Arjun Singh....".

Then after no such processions took place in Indore.But still we were emotionally attached to the thousands of IIT ,IIM and AIIMS students and aspirants ,and the protestors all over the country.And somewhere everyone of us knew that something was terribly wrong with this fuss.
Everyone but Arjun Singh.

The guy belongs to Madhya Pradesh.And so I had an admiration for him from the begining.And the admiration swelled into idolisation everytime he played dumb and deaf before student representatives and media personnel .It was so frustrating for us but this man was a man of steel. Stainless steel rather.
The journalists used to flood him with questions and this man had a solution for everyone of them.It was as if he had found a master key to all the locks. "Its a court case now and I have full faith in the judiciary" was his answer to almost all the questions. For the others ,it was"No comments!" Wow ,He sure knows how to tackle.
Once someone asked him about 'his own thoughts' over the issue and he obliged."my thoughts do not matter, its the government's dicision" was a real modest answer.As diplomatic as they come, I thought ,gasping angrily over the same.
"Thats why its called an idiot box"and my friend swapped the channel to see dharam paaji playing an angry young man who singlehandedly sanctifies the system.
Such an irony!

One year down the line , the public has once again succumbed to the politician's will.For a country which took 200 years to crawl out of slavery just to transform into a gerontocratic galore of cultural mess, this is no suprise.

Few days back ,I met my friends' bro .He was so ecstatic with his performance in the pre engineering exams,and my friend was happy for him too.As was I,but the happiness evaporated soon. "I just have to score 55-60 % marks"he told me.
"And I will reach that easily."
Why on earth shall he be aiming for only 60% ? I thought.And then it struck me.He belonged to a category!
"How wrong APJ Kalam was when he asked the indian youth to aim high" I thought.
The beauty of friendship is that I had never thought of my friend as someone of a lower caste, but this not so sweet event reminded me of this undeniable truth.

The brighter minds belonging to the so called lower echelons are getting crippled by such "facilities".They need not score a 9 on 10 now. They just have to show up a caste certificate and may be a 5 on 10.And the general category students now have an excuse for not doing well.They can now use reservations as a shield for their own faliures.Those who make it, will fly away because they won't ever want their children to undergo the same partiality.
"Survival of the fittest" no longer fits in "secular" India.

I am not going to discuss all pros and cons,It has been one year now doing the same.What we need is an answer to the question.Let me think...do we need another belligerent Dharam paaji, or do we need another DJ from rang de basanti.Do we need a Bhagat Singh or may be another Gandhi.
Whatever be the answer,the million dollar question is

"is upliftment on the cost of caliber justified?"

Hey people ,please take the pain of commenting.If you are not of the same thinking,then too please have your say!