Author: Alka

From Tanmoy Chakrabarti

Long back, nearly seven years ago, one of my very close friends who was elder to me asked me, � Why do they ditch? Why do they promise and enjoy the privileges that come with those promises and then their preferences change after sometime? They come back and say -I feel suffocated by your love now, I want freedom, but then I do recognize your feelings, promise me you would never leave me, and continue this one-sided affection towards me- only to hear the YES, so they can use another person again as the doormat whenever they want to in their lives?�

Then I did not have any answers to those questions. I understood her pain in asking such questions to me. And that sort of pain could not be minimized through philosophical jargons. I could not even ask her to forget him, I could not ask her not to develop suicidal tendencies, I could not brand her as a coward because pains can�t be assessed. As a friend I could just give her a patient ear, a shoulder to cry and probably be dogged and determined myself to wipe her tears by spreading some smiles. Sometimes I was even rude to her, but yes it took me long to help her realize that she is too special and important to feel left out by just one man.

She wasted nearly two years of her beautiful life to gain back her confidence that comes with her family, her academics, and her appearance. She did.

But who would give back those days of tears that she shed for nearly two years? Who would give her back those days where the feeling of being cheated and used put her into a shame at times and angry in some others? Who would give back those times where she kept on justifying to herself that actually she was the one who chose to continue that one-sided relationship of non-committal friendship even when there were words of love exchanged from both sides at a certain time?

I have had many such experiences of offering my shoulders to people. It is just another thing that many of them forgot me, when they became happier but I don�t forget anyone with whom I have ever been in some sort of contact.

I have seen most people who don�t keep commitments are mostly people who offer the first friendship, who propose love first, who try and be unnecessarily emotionally attached during the first few days of the relationship, and who sell their emotional grief not to share but to use that to gain sympathy. And they come in any sex. It is not a unique attribute in males or females.

For me these attributes make them more disgusting and I feel like spitting on their faces when they say- oh dear lets keep the friendship alive- when most of the times they ditch you, go away and again come back and again go away.

Ditchers are a parasitic sub-set of human beings who destroy the norms of happiness. They don�t dignify themselves to be called even animals because they don�t have any confidence which even the animals possess.

If you ask any ditcher he or she would tell you things like- he or she was confused, circumstances won over him or her, but these does not stop them from being the biggest cowards and parasitic non-achievers who cling onto people just for their own benefit.

These people give rise of to a long chain of depression. First they come to someone with their bag of depression with the hope of sympathy from the other, then they offer love and hope to get love in return, then when their job is done they go away gifting the depression. Now this sadness of yours get transferred to your family and friends through you who love you and care you. It gives rise to cynicism all around.

The life that ditchers lead can only be termed as attempts to ruin someone else�s life, and I am sure they would not ever be happy, as they have lost the art to make others happy too.

Yes, I get angry at such people and some angers I prefer keeping because I am not a messiah of love who goes about saying �Spread Love�, �Talk Love�! I have seen many of friends, males as well as females, in pain and I have seen the pain affecting me too. And since I respect anyone born as a human being I hate to see humans in pain for someone else�s whims.

I would just say to those people who feel sad because of these kinds of people, don�t ruin yourselves for such parasites in the name of something as pious of love. If there is love for a certain someone special- there is love for your parents, commitments towards your friends and more than that there are greater commitments towards yourself. Love does not require one to ruin his or her life for someone who can�t keep commitments. I somehow believe even if they come back (with the clich�d, this time I am back as your friend!) still they would not keep those commitments- they would just use you, because they know you are genuine but they can�t ever be.

If you want to see something positive out of it, then just give yourself a pat on your back for being a person who is much above in every aspect than these sort of people. And trust me, the happiness that you would get would be much much greater than the happiness they can ever attain.

The breed of ditchers don�t know what is happiness, as they are shallow and you know what is happiness because you are privileged enough to sustain the depth of feelings. I know it is tough but still- sometimes try listening to songs like I am listening to right now- Dillagi-Dillagi!

And for the ditchers-

Don�t use the words like friendship, love and promise if you are parasitic enough not to understand the meaning of them. At least gather some bits of goods beyond your shallow academic pursuits and stupid job that can make you feel honest and proud in front of your own mirror. You would not ever be able to, I am most certain about it.

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I love reading Tanmoy’s posts. The most astonishing thing I find is his clarity of thoughts and the way he is able to pen it. Certainly one day, he is going to be a good writer. Then I will show off this post. 🙂
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I was watching a programme on TV. The producer of that programme has already concluded that we, the masses, don’t know how to lead our lives. So from time to time they educate us on what to wear, what to eat, how to decorate our house… They don’t stop here. But who cares.

What caught my attention was a guy telling very proudly what he was wearing. He recited all the known brands of the fashion world such as Armani, Gucci, Rolex, Adidas, RayBan… You had to witness the whole thing to see the proud, happiness and what not on his face.

But I kept on hoping against hope that sooner or later I would come to know his name, hobbies or profession. But my optimisim left me when they started interviewing another person. Why he didn’t find it appropriate to reveal his identity? I am still searching for the person among those brands. 🙂

His arms encircle me,
I feel like a pearl enclosed in a shell.

It seems the ship,
Has finally reached its destination.
I put my face against his chest,
Loving the feel of
His heartbeats,
Seemingly firm, steady & dependable.

I lift my face to receive,
His kiss.
A voice whispers,
Have you forgotten,
Ships never stay at one place?
Journey is their destination.

You fool,
Thinking of a transient array as a destination!
Oh! His kiss is divine.
Again, I choose to press my trembling lips
To his.

I was watching a Talk show on some channel. The issue was corruption. They had roped in the most upbeat officer of that time as the guest. The show was moving on smoothly. Nothing new was being said. Everyone was being politically correct. Two guys in the prime of their youth, were arguing, “Nothing can be done. Corruption is so widespread. Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah!” Suddenly the chief guest, the same upright official, remarked, “You don’t have any warm blood left in your body. Tumhara Khoon Thandha ho gaya hai!” The guys blushed and remained quiet throughout the whole programme.

I could not forget that remark. Who will like to subject oneself to such an observation.
Recently one of my acquaintances has locked horn with an ex-maharaja (I have seen the ex-maharaja’s palace in a glossy magazine. Just to get a tour of that palace, many will feel fortunate and blessed.) on the tax matters or rather on evading taxes. Maharaj’s CA was dumbfounded that a girl (who has forgotten to complete her full five feet height) fresh from civil services exams has the guts to refuse to meet His Majesty! I kept on pondering what separate those youths from that girl. The trios probably have the middle class background and completed their schooling from some Kendriya Vidayalaya! She too can be sane, practical, down to earth, amass wealth, float in luxury like other bureaucrats. She too can be like the rest of the herd.

I thought secretly, that that’s just the jest of a young recruit; she will toe the line ultimately. But no, with each passing year, she is becoming more ferocious without any sign of slowing down.

I often keep asking question to myself, why most of us are not like her? Sometimes, I think it’s her upbringing that has made the real difference. She has never seen her father getting rich by hook or crook. Casual flow of money (read bribe) was not the done thing in her house. Right from the childhood, she has seen her parents, living within their means and not being ashamed of it. They lived how they wanted, listening and trusting their mind and not the mob’s. Making and breaking their own rules, not going by what are “in things” and “out things.” I remember one incident. Her father was eating out at some restaurant, and as usual he was using the best fork, the nature has endowed the human kind, his fingers. The waiter was from U.P. and his fellows were making fun of him, “Tere yahan log fork, knife se khana nahi jante”(Your folks don’t know how to use fork and knife). The waiter felt humiliated and isolated. He came to his guest’s table and pointed out politely, “Sahib, the forks and spoons are here!” The sahib was listening to everything. He replied, “Go and tell your friends, I have used these God given fork in London, Paris, Italy, Geneva and in Hamburg too! What do you think, I will imitate Firungis in India?” No doubt, waiter’s day was made.

I think her parents taught her not only to be an independent thinker but to stand her ground too. But I think every one is not as fortunate as she is. Most of Indian youths have observed their parents to offer and accept bribe as daily routine. Some of us never purchased stationary. Most of the time, Papas bring it from office. If we want print outs or Photostats, ok go to daddy’s office. Mamma herself don’t know how much money is there in the safe. How Mamma’s trunk is full of clothes? That doesn’t matter. What is significant is her trunk and jewellery boxes are full. Means to fill them can be damned. It’s difficult to keep track of liberal donations for “Chai Paani.” Most of our youths grew up seeing daily, “Chalta hai” attitude followed religiously by their parents. Day in and day out they watch parents resorting to unfair means, be it telephone connection or applying for a passport.

HOW CAN ANYONE EXPECT FROM THAT CHILD that abruptly he would change into an honest, upright, no-nonsense attitude donning youth? How can he shake off all those formative years speedily? How can he / she be able to transform completely? Isn’t it too much to expect from him/her? When the entire generation has failed to throw up able leader of national and international stature and transform India to a great power, how can they blame today’s youth? By this, aren’t they masking their own failure? Their parents had given our parents an Independent India. And what they did with that country? They put India ahead in corruption list, communalism, nepotism, and giant government enterprises, which ultimately proved white elephants. What was that generation’s most serious failure? A particular mindset, that if we are electing a particular government, then we are entitled to free power, free irrigation, all our credits should be waived off and everything should be subsidized. They imparted that mindset to poor and needy. No need to take initiative. Everything should be taken care of by government.

Previous generation put us in denial mode that nothing can be done, they have made the system too rotten and stink is everywhere. At least, current generation knows how to work hard and play hard. On and often, many of us contribute for some good cause too. We don’t waste our time in looking for government jobs. We don’t hesitate in venturing out and trying something new. Well, in that process, sometimes we fall flat and hurt ourselves, but we know how to get up and fight again. Hopefully we will prove to be a better example to the next generation.

Panchayat asks husband-wife to become brother-sister!

Is it a joke that they will force a lawfully wedded husband and wife to live like brother and sister? That too, when the wife, sorry “the sister” is pregnant with the child of her “soon to be brother.”

When we agreed for the Panchayati Raj, we did not bargain for the perpetuation of rotten customs and social evils. They have passed this verdict claiming that their marriage was “Sagotra Marriage.” The husband and wife belong to the same lineage. It means they have descended from the same sage born eons ago! They are hell bent of this logic then why don’t they dig a bit deeper. To their horror they will find out, we all are brothers and sisters, because according to Hindu mythology, after great destruction, only Manu survived. And he started new life on this earth with the help of a very beautiful nymph “Shardha.” If this logic is applied, none of us can ever marry because we are all brothers and sisters basically and Panchayat members themselves are culprits of propagating the same offence. They too should treat their wives like sisters!

When we were studying management, each and every professor highlighted the importance of “decision making.” Some went to the extent of declaring that “decision making” is not an ordinary capability. Everybody is not vested with such an exceptional ability.

But those who are not confined to one company but govern the whole nation, don’t realize this fact. Day in and day out, we read about the atrocities committed by members of Panchayati Raj. Here I am not raising questions about the relevance of Panchayati Raj. I am not advocating that this institution should be done away with. This will only result in piling of more cases in already overburdened Indian Courts.

There must be a mechanism and it should be strictly implemented that if they dole out punishments like hanging lovers belonging to different castes, parading a woman naked in front of whole village or something similar on those lines, they must be made to pay and pay dearly. It should serve as an example for the other Panchyatai Raj institutions. What’s the harm, if onlookers too are booked under punishable offence!

I have yet to come across, where delegation of power is used and abused in such a manner. According to the constitution, 1/3rd of the total number of seats are reserved for women candidates in Panchayati elections. But in most of the cases they prove to be proxy candidates. All the power is exercised by their husbands and in-laws. We Indians as a nation has become expert in exploiting the loopholes, be it remixing of old songs, cracking competitive exams or criminals fighting elections! Soon we will start consultancy firms, “How in best possible way, you can exploit the loopholes in our/your system” In fact we can regain the status of being the world power again in such consultancy. No power on earth can surpass this capability of Indians. Our consultancy firms will be considered best on this planet. So maybe in one more area, we need to inform others where the real experts can be found.

Once I read somewhere, “Professional credibility is like virginity, once you lost it you never get it back.”
But during this disguised Behenjis and Bhai-sahibs era, the author has to think of some other simile. I was reading a leading weekly. As the sun comes out and the darkness has to hide in a corner till the evening returns, same was happening with me.

I often read surveys and different opinion polls. These opinion polls made me accept that India is really changing. I almost believed that today guys don’t care whether their bride /partner is a virgin or not. They proclaim proudly if I can have a past life, so can she! But some anti hero is always out there in one form or another to jolt me out of my reverie. The guys are refusing to grow up. Nothing beats the feeling to be the first!

It’s not one of my wistful thinking, but I chanced upon an article on “Hymenoplasty.” They introduced it something like this, “Hymenoplasty (reconstruction of the hymen) can repair the hymen as if nothing ever occurred.” Wow! Kudos to the ostrich mentality of both the species of this earth.

I thought the guys have reconciled with the fact that what they are getting into. But no, some males savor the conquests! So this surgery to fool them entirely and massaging their ego! Due to them the business of such surgeons are burgeoning.

But these are not the issues. What prompts me to write this post was, do we have to resort to cheating and forgery to establish the foundation of a solid, loving and lifelong relationship? If we place such a high virtue on virginity then why not take hold of our bio-chemical needs? Why fooling around? And if we like what we are doing then why not accept it and be comfortable? What is the need to be a Sati-Savitri, if you can’t be one? But it seems we Indians alone can’t lay claim to the copyright to hypocrisy. We have so many counterparts. The surgeons specializing in hymenoplasty are spread all over the world.

I was walking fanatically and was not satisfied with my pace at all. I didn’t have time. Come on, increase your speed!
I saw a child sitting on the road, sulking and weeping at the same time. The road was deserted. No! it was not, I found out when I browsed the roads. Across the road a little girl of five or six years was standing, puzzled and confused.
I asked, “Why is he weeping?”
She replied, “He hit him.”
“Who is he? And where is he?” I scanned the road again, failing to notice another child.
“He is hiding behind that tree?”
“Do you know both of these boys?” She seemed related to them.
“Yes! Both of them are my brothers.”
I went near the girl and whispered in confidential tone, “Ask your he-man brother to go near him, help him getting up, and then both of them should shake hands.”
She agreed.
I remembered, I was going to do some work. I must hurry. Others were waiting for me.
I finished my task in time, was returning home with a satisfied grin.
Again I spotted the trio. This time they were together. What a stamina their mother might have possessed to produce them barely at a gap of one year each and what a remarkable professional she might be to leave them on street and devoting her time to sell vegetables.
“Well, tell me have they shaken hands?” I quizzed.
“Yes! They have.” She answered, looking amused.
“How?” I was not satisfied, “Show me, how both of you did shake hands?”
They reproduced the gesture for me.
“OK! Have they embraced each other too?”
“What is gale milna (embracing)?”
“Come near me. I will show you.”
One of the daring types came near me. I taught him using demonstration method how to hug his brother. Now it was their turn to show me how they learnt this art. We all were ignoring curious passers by.
Two little figures hugged and I made them remember that in future whenever they are going to fight, after shedding all the tears and anger, they must shake hands and hug each other. They promised me to do exactly that. I didn’t the have the feeling of preaching anything to anyone.
While returning home I was walking at a leisurely pace and had a wider stupid grin on my face.

My (old) poem is a day late.
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Expectant faces,
Fearful faces,
Peeping out of windows.
Office hours had JUST begun
But how could life be over?
Suddenly, definitely, precisely
And clinically for everyone.

We were just balancing
The morning coffee in one hand,
And files in another?
A lightening struck,
To plunge everything
And everyone in darkness.

Would we melt together
With concrete and mortar?
Was it our destiny
To be one with steel girdles?
And not with mother earth?

What had we done
In our lives,
To not deserve a few feet
Below the earth?
But to evaporate
With the vapor of morning coffee?

What the self styled Hero and Heroine of Bihar are doing? Nothing much!India’s National Anthem is being played on, and it might be their way of showing respect!

Thank you Sandeep for letting me publish this picture on my blog.

I was more or less a typical teenager, snorting at everything that belonged to my parent’s era. I took special delight in ridiculing “their” songs, terming them boring, dull and too slow. But with time, I grew up. When I encountered the real emotional and mental upheavals in life, I realize the raw beauty and timelessness of those good old songs. It was obvious how much effort the lyricist, composers and singers had put in those songs.

I was just delving into the psyche of remix makers. Where will they stop? If one day, they discover that Meera, Kabir Das, Sur Das and Tulsi Das’s creations are the latest fads, will they manufacture remixes of these poet’s creations too? Doesn’t their attitude match with a rapist or sodomist? Just like rapists, they violate the sanctity of a song. At least, in India, they never ask for permission, and simply force their “noise” in the original song. What motivates them? What is their inspiration? Can they better the original creation? Can they bring more appealing visuals than the bygone era? What will they think? If skimpily clad bunch of ladies will perform Brownian movement from here to there, will they overshadow the sensuality of original ladies on whom the songs were picturized? I fail to see if they have achieved a single purpose.

But I have forgotten to analyze the biggest motivator, the green bucks called money. I know inspiration is very difficult to hit these mercenaries. By hook or crook, they just want to laugh all the way to bank. Nothing is wrong with that. But they can earn money without committing rape (or sodomy, if some of them are gays) to these original songs. Why can’t they restrict themselves to item numbers? Everybody enjoys the beat, the music, the mood and the ladies gyrating to the song. At least some effort is required to create these numbers from scratch. You don’t lift someone else work, paste it with your stamp and claim it as your own.

The other section that can discourage these sorts of creations is generation X. But when their guardians don’t have time to stand and stare and smell the roses, even for themselves, it’s too much to expect from these producers that they will take quality time out from their busy schedules and introduce their wards to real things. Their schools and colleges also make sure that students don’t have time to explore anything on their own. The latest refuse of the parents is to enroll their progenies in the personality development classes and think smugly that their responsibilities are over. The shoulders of the grooming instructors are too slim and pretty to bear this burden. The child will emerge out as a good “product” from the grooming classes. This product will walk, talk, eat and dance in the latest customized fashion. Individuality of the child can go to hell.

So it is left to this generation to discover the old magical songs. It is their sheer luck or chance, if they stumble upon the original creations. None of the TV channels broadcast these songs for a considerable duration of time on daily basis. That seems odd. Why they don’t broadcast these songs? Are music companies playing a role in policy making of music channels? Afterall if people are so enamored with remixes, what’s the harm in broadcasting old songs on daily basis for a while? What fear factor is stopping them?

I don’t know if remix manufacturers have conscience and it bothers them when they sleep. Maybe when everything evaporates with time and they have none of the glitz and glamour left to cling to, they might realize what they had done with the timeless creations. But that’s me being too optimistic. I think someone with right kind of zeal will file a PIL against these THEFTS and it would be left to judiciary to correct this anomaly. Remixes will not disappear but manufacturers might have to take permission from the rightful owners. A law might be enacted to offer a portion of the royalty to the real inheritors. This will minimize the remix manufacturer’s profit margins and curb this blatant tendency of theft.

I used to watch Olympics with avid interest. I even watched all the Badminton, hockey, football and basketball matches, because our house was near the stadium. The public in my city is no mute spectator. I remember, sometimes the organizers tend to have one special prize for “best hooter.” If a team had earned a penalty kick, someone from the public would contribute “Acch choo…” The guy who used to do this had a fine sense of timing. He did this when one was about to attempt a kick or a throw!
I cherished watching games and matches, even all the four grand slams of tennis, on T.V. The first reason was, only sheer hard work, grit, determination and stamina of any player is rewarded, irrespective of his/her caste, creed, fairness, darkness, being convented ( I read this word for the first time in matrimonial columns) or non convented. Unlike the corporate world, on a playground you can not “project” yourself as a good player, or build a right kind of image.

But how could things seem so bright and positive? There must be something sinister lurking somewhere in a dark closet. I was not supposed to live in such a make believe world for long. I had to grow up. I remember the race of the century Ben Johnson Vs Carl Lewis in the Seoul Olympics. Even Steffi Graf was trying to find a good place in the stands to witness this clash. My heart was racing fast. Secretly I was wishing Carl Lewis to win. But no. Ben Johnson was way ahead of him. He had even broken the world record. He finished the race and started raising his fist in the air. Lewis was chasing him, after finishing the race. That seemed a bit odd to me. But it was nothing; he ran after him, just to congratulate him and then turned back, probably for his loosening up exercises. But the real race unfolded a few days later. Ben Johnson had failed his doping test. He was caught cheating. Johnson tried to brush this off by saying, someone had spiked his drink. But they keep a second sample of the urine to recheck. He failed this test again. Now Johnson’s medal had to be taken back. The Committee had scraped his world record too. The same medal was handed back to Carl Lewis in a crowded hall, but the ceremony was simple. Carl ultimately won the coveted race of the century, but it made all of us sad and suspicious.

I used to keep track of Greg Luganis. He was competing in diving and about to win the gold in diving. But before finals, in one of the attempts, his head hit the diving board. He bled. But still won the gold. My heart and mind paid a silent tribute to human guts and determination. More growing up was needed on my part. My myth had shattered after a decade I think. Later on Mr. Luganis revealed that he was suffering from AIDS at that time when his head hit the dashing board. THE BLOOD flowed from his head to the swimming pool. But all his coach and he cared about is an Olympic Gold medal.

U.S.A. and former U.S.S.R. vied for the first place in Olympics. I don’t remember who was first in the medal tally, but a player of a rival country commented, “Oh! This time their biochemists are better than ours!”

Something snapped permanently in my heart. I find it very difficult to tolerate manipulators and self centered a****. Now I don’t know who holds the current world record in sprints, hurdles, middle distance or long distance. Earlier I could have told the timings too. Now instead of watching Olympics, I prefer to curl up in the bed with a good book.

Warning! Long post…read at your own risk.

When we were being taught about management skills and principles we generally snorted at team work, coordination and cooperation. I have often seen government officers following autocracy, like they indulged during colonial rule. I have seen software professionals; some of them are capable of doing the work of three to four persons alone. I have never seen them staying in office beyond 5:30. Sooner or later they are given the recognition due to them. That they meet the deadlines without overstaying. Where does that leave for team spirit and team playing? Most of the time, a PL or GL are hovering on your head, asking, “Hun, now what? How much progress?” If this PL or GL is satisfied with you, your requirements are taken care of. Otherwise you will be doing insignificant projects, your PC will not be updated and what not……..And the less is said about HR people the better it is.

All this made me very skeptical about team spirit. I never knew, watching a programme on TV will leave a positive impact. I was watching “Moonwalk” on history channel. They were showing Neil Armstrong and his walk on moon, and then they followed it up with the story of “Apollo 13.”

Apollo 13 was launched on April 11 1970. It was the third mission aimed at landing two astronauts on the Moon. After 55:55 minutes into the mission, the crew reported hearing a loud ‘bang’. This was followed by a rapid loss of oxygen and power. From this point onward the mission was no longer about landing men on the moon; it was about returning the three astronauts safely to earth in a spacecraft that was slowly abandoning its friends.

It seemed the crew members were about to be condemned to a journey till eternity, orbiting the universe, just like an inanimate satellite. But what unfolded in front of the TV screen was the finest example of team spirit, courage, cooperation and coordination. The very concepts I kept ridiculing till date.

I felt a little guilty and ashamed of myself. If there were not hundreds of engineers, flight controllers, programmers………………what would have happened to the crew members? What we know and see are few astronauts!! How each and every one was interested in the safe landing of the crew. How the whole of America’s technocrats were putting their heads together to find a solution to the problem. (After that “successful failure”, some of them asked, “Don’t you have a suicide capsule for such situations!?”) Most of the ex-NASA staff was there, just to ask if they could have been of any help.

They were determined to maintain the record, that NO American life was lost in the space.”

What the leader of a country (a sworn enemy of USA at that time) did and said? “Premier Aleksei N. Kosygin sent a message saying: “I want to inform you (U.S. Government) the Soviet Government has given orders to all citizens and members of the armed forces to use all necessary means to render assistance in the rescue of the American (Apollo 13) astronauts.” And here, what our own Foreign Minister is doing and saying! Its another example of team work perhaps!

What I read in “The Asian Age” about out esteemed Foreign Minister Mr. Natwar Singh.
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New Delhi, July 26: India has been singled out for a strict warning from the captors of the seven truck drivers, including three Indians, not to make any irresponsible comments against the mujahideen battling US occupation forces in Iraq if it wants to save the lives of its nationals. The warning is a clear reference to external affairs minister K. Natwar Singh’s statement on Saturday that the kidnappers did not appear to be a political group, “but some irresponsible persons who are doing it for monetary gain.”…………………………………………

The brother of hostage Sukhdev Singh told The Asian Age in Chandigarh on Sunday that the family had become even more concerned about the safety of their kin after Mr Natwar Singh’s statement that the captors were petty criminals. The brother asked, “To what purpose is the mantri making such statements?”

At a time when our minister should tread every step very carefully, by his irresponsible (but when does he act responsible?!) utterances he is not only making the task of the negotiators difficult, he is also jeopardizing the lives of the hostages.

I see this plant,
Made up of non natural fibers,
When I switch on the light,
It starts spreading its beauty.
People call it a fancy lamp,
But it�s my nylon tree.

I plant it in an electric socket,
Instead of soil.
When the connection is exact,
It sparkles and circulates
Romantic dim lights,
Lulling me into a sedative slumber.

Last night,
I had trouble sleeping.
I looked up to this synthetic tree,
To soothe me.
Welcome me, entice me into a sleep.
But it had done nothing.

I looked at it accusingly,
Quelling the strong urge to fight
With it, for not fulfilling the promise.
Its antennae picked up
My infra fighting signals,
And it laughed aloud,
Mocking me openly.

I glared at its audacity,
But he answered my unasked question,
�Listen Lady, have you ever asked questions to yourself?

�What?� inquired my eyes.
�Why you never say –
I am bored stiff of this blue sky?
I am tired of the wind.
I am sick of that banyan tree?
I am weary of that river?
This moon has lost it�s glory?
That rose garden has become irksome?�

�Why you very easily say,
I am fed up of this TV.
I feel nauseous of this DVD.
I am bored to death of this lamp?�

BECAUSE…….
�I am the creation of a mere mortal, Like you.
I AM NOT THE NATURE�S CREATION.
Go back to the lap of
The good old MOTHER NATURE.
SHE will sing you lullabies,
AND LURE YOU INTO A CHARMING SLEEP.�

I have gone for shopping. I have purchased my stuff. I am about to make payment. Just pulling out money to finalize the deal between a shopper and shopkeeper. But wait, someone, from my Goan (village) spotted me, and started canvassing, “Didi, please purchase these things from my store. I provide better deals in the same price.”
My heart melts. What if he is unmindful of the professional ethics? He must be benefited if I belong to the same place.

When I was reading this, “Italians push AJT sale even after Hawk deal signed”, New Delhi: An Italian company Aermacchi has written to defence minister “Pranap Mukherjee” offering to supply the M-346 state-of-the-art new generation advanced jet trainer to India even though New Delhi has signed and sealed the deal for the British Hawk. Indian pilots are already in the UK for the first round of training but Aermacchi, in a letter written on June 22, is given to “understand that a decision on the acquisition of an AJT has not been finalised yet.”

My heart went out for Italliwallah. He must gain something. Shouldn’t he?
Don’t worry if it does not happen even in a street’s Paan shop. Central Government should not be questioned on from where the Italians derived such audacity to canvass when the Indian pilots are already in England to get the training ? Shouldn’t they be called back and sent to Italy for training? That is the least, we Indians can do for a great family, who had made so many sacrifices for us. And still, they are ready and willing to serve us, the mere mortals.

I watched a movie few days ago. Suddenly I remembered reading something very good on Pinocchio. After few searches, located the article.
==============================================
Heartwarming Tale of a Puppet’s Search
By Marguerite Theophil

The magical, almost otherworldly streets of Florence are lined with shops selling Puppets. Pinocchio is everyone’s favorite. Wide-eyed and long nosed, his fixed bemused smile suggests he is not too sure of his much-publicized desire to become a ‘real boy’ – he seems to beg you to take him with you. And many do. Over a hundred years after he was ‘created’, Pinocchio’s dream of being wanted, of belonging comes true – again and again. What is it about this simple story that has caught our fancy?

Disney’s version of the story begins with a lonely carpenter Gepetto, longing for a child. He carves out a wooden puppet-child for himself. The book itself starts out somewhat differently, with the carpenter discovering a block of wood in his workshop that talked, laughed and cried like a child. According to psychiatrist Gaylin and Lorenzini this beginning is simpler, yet ultimately more sophisticated: a metaphor for a parent who is given a newborn with potential within, but still hidden. The Disney fantasy of the human creation of life parallels the everyday miracle that is human development.

Margaret Blount, an authority on children’s literature, points out that Pinocchio “fall from grace with the monotonous regularity of most humans”. His failings and blunders are allegories for the slow and painful process of ‘growing up’. The underlying theme of Pinocchio’s desire and attempts to ‘become human’ replicate every human being’s journey. He has to learn to hear the voice of conscience and ignore outwards distractions, which are symbolized in the story, by the character, Cricket.

On his journey, Pinocchio, learns his limitations. There are moments of helplessness – he sleeps too near a fire and his feet being wooden, get burnt. He learns the value of work when he turns into a donkey and must work like one. His nose, which grows uncontrollably whenever he tells a lie, teaches him the power of lying as well as its painful consequences. The environment acts on him as much as he acts on the environment, and the exchange slowly provides him with the clues to becoming truly human.

The blue-haired fairy plays a very special role in Pinocchio’s life. She teaches Pinocchio about love in its many forms. The wooden one first meets the fairy when assassins are pursuing him. He sees a house in the distance, runs towards it and knocks wildly with fear. A window opens and he sees the fairy, in the guise of the beautiful child. She, however, shuts the window and the assassins capture him. Her role is not that of rescuer here; she leaves him to fend for himself so that he can learn to be independent. She later takes on a more maternal role, and acts particularly tough when it comes to his lying. Though she seems to forgive all, and her compassion serves as a model for her charge, she still has to get him to learn that being loved is only one of loving. He must still learn to change enough to love in return. Pinocchio wonders why fairy changes so much from encounter to encounter but he never seems to change. The fairy tells him that it is people who grow; puppets never grow, they are born as puppets, live as puppets and die as puppets. In one particularly poignant moment later in the story, the puppet recognizes the fairy despite her unfamiliar appearance. When she wants to know how, he says, “It was my great affection for you that told me.” Pinocchio too, it seems , is changing.

It is Pinocchio acquisition of a ‘good heart’ that brings about his transformation. Pinocchio continues to do good and bad, because he becomes human, not a saint, but his newly developed capacity for love and empathy, and above all, hope, is what finally makes him real.

Showering his transitory love
On anyone,
Who catches his fancy,
For a while.

Methodical enough,
To divide a whole into
A pair of Lips,
Whose touch captivates him.

Another whole into
A pair of Eyes,
Which enchants him.

Another whole into
Brains,
Whose intellect baffles him.

Another whole into
36-24-36,
He cannot get enough of IT!

Another whole into
A pair of globes,
Those tempting lumps
Drive him wild!

Very innocently
He says,
My body belongs
To anyone,
Who has nothing to offer,
Except good looks.
My heart to you and only you.
And my soul to someone else!
A cherished one!
Yet he declares
The presence of great harmony
In his life.

I was returning back to a place you crave for when you stay away from it for long. My legs were moving to a destination called home. I was jostling with crowd at this big metro station. Heat and tiredness was killing me. The pollution in the city makes sure that if you pick up somebody at the airport, take her home, and then see her off at the railway station again in a short span of few hours, you don’t look as if you have been breathing the Alps air. I could visualize my room and a very inviting bed from the railway bridge. This imagination hastened my steps.

Suddenly, I spotted a child. She was wearing a cute orange dress, sporting a Mickey Mouse like spectacles and her cheeks were totally pink. A sudden smile played on my lips, but not for long. I froze on my tracks, if it could be called my track with thousands moving at the same railway platform bridge. She was crying horse, “I want my mummy! I want to go to her!” She was running like a caged animal, though the whole bridge or platform was open for her to roam free — an exciting option for her in totally different circumstances. But she was sprinting making a cross, not leaving that self inflected short space.

I took a few steps towards her; a small logical part of my brain cautioned me to mind my own business. Just like others, who were minding their own businesses and moving ahead. My legs tried to obey that voice for a while, but soon I lulled that logical part into sleep. But my heart was heavy with grief; why my legs listened and obeyed even for few seconds? But at that time, I was not allowed that luxury to delve into the depth of reasoning. But I was late by a fraction of a second. She was being talked to by two strangers. One can be termed smart by this world’s yardstick. He was wearing the right kinds of clothes and shoes and sporting right kind of hairstyle. His complexion was right too — it was sun-kissed brown. Another person, who was asking her something, was looking horrible. He was dark-complexioned; his hair was curled in every possible way. He was wearing glasses with dark blue lences. I was afraid, suddenly.

The trio started moving. In the meantime, the child was howling continuously, but it could easily be mistaken for pushiness for a treat of candy or ice-cream, unless you were close by and could hear clearly, “I want my Mamma.” A wish that might never be fulfilled, if she had chosen a wrong escort.

It was hard to keep pace with them in the vast ocean of humanity. I was trying to match steps with them, and continually wishing to catch sight of an RPF personnel. But like endangered tigers, they preferred to be invisible that day. But I needed one desperately. What if they were part of a gang and howled the child in a waiting vehicle. What would I do then? Ok, I could hardly afford to be a disappointed tourist of Corbet National Park and blame it on my ill luck that I could not get a glimpse of a tiger. I was making mental note that I will shout with all my might and jostle down the number of the vehicle. Now we were descending the steps. And the man wearing the offending spec was taking two steps at a time, swinging the girl in his left arm.

We were on platform no 1 now. It seemed as if I had been taking a walk since the time immemorial. But it ended and when I read “Service Center” I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I was at par with them now. The two guys were not part of any evil design but were concerned for the safety of the child. A great wave of relief engulfed me completely.

I took hold of the girl’s delicate arm and asked about her mom and dad’s name. Sensing a female presence and hearing a female voice distracted her for a while. I was greedy enough to fill in the baby’s head with some soothing talks like everything will be alright and her mom and dad would be here soon. I asked about the train she was supposed to board, and it turned out to be the same one by which my cousin was traveling. I rang her mobile immediately and asked her to talk to the guard to delay the train. Meanwhile, I patted that fellow wearing “nice blue colored lenses” verbally. The hunk was asked by the RPF personnel to wait. The fellows sitting at the reception were not the usual insensitive type. They offered the little girl a chair and a glass of water. The announcer was relaying the message regarding that beautiful small wonder.

I could not keep track of the time. But sometime later a decent looking but haggard fellow, slouching slightly, appeared inside the announcing booth. Before saying anything he spotted his apple of eye. I could sense the unshed tears and relief in his voice. “Beta, I was looking for you everywhere.” But she was distracted by something and could not listen those magical words, she was dreaming to hear. An officer immediately restrained him. He could not go near his own child. In this deceitful world, he had to furnish some proof. By some mystery his girl turned and gave a delightful cry, “Daddy!!!” It silenced the need for further proof. He immediately hugged her close to his chest as if to never let go of her.

I don’t know where I kept the hidden reservoir of tears. They were threatening to spill out. But that would be stupid. So I controlled it. But it was not a good idea. My body started shaking, as if it were a bitingly cold December night, and not the start of June. Someone asked me, “Are you related to her?” Shaking my head I came out and starting walking to my destination. When I was within the safe confines of my boundary, I cried to my heart’s content, remembering my mother, her scoldings and threats that she would slap me tightly, if I tried to let go of her hand in any crowded place. How I scoffed at her then!

Why couldn’t I keep pace with the rest of the three? Was it a male strides and female strides thing? NO. I am not a slow walker. But that day, I was wearing yellow sandals with high heels, like a totally stupid person. All of us can witness true India on a railway platform of any metro city, including its great asset: the human resource and the greatest liability too – the population SIZE. I was hoping a smooth and speedy sail in that turbulent sea called humanity. All of these factors made a speedy walk with those high heels almost impossible. I made a silent promise to myself, “ I will NEVER wear high heels where I am supposed to walk so much carrying not so light a luggage.

I have written this poem “Identity” and received many interesting responses in my comment box. Those responses prompted me to write another post.

I don’t have any problem with different cultures and people assimilating these cultures. In fact this assimilation opens our mind and enriches us in many ways. This assimilation is happening since time immemorial in India. We even embraced our conquerers and ultimately they lost themselves completely and became one with us. India had been invaded by the Greeks (Yavanas), Huns (Hunas), Shakas and Kushanas. These invaders were completely absorbed into the existing Indian society. Even the memory of their ever having been foreign
invaders was wiped out. Today if we try to hunt for Kushana, or Shaka blood, we will not find a single trace to begin with. So my poem was not against assimilation of different ideas and cultures. That SHOULD always be WELCOMED.

What makes me wonder is in eating habits, we prefer to be “seen” eating in McDonald’s or Huts or Dominos. We stop being an American after tasting theirs food. Is this America all about? What about their civic sense and cleanliness? What about their observing traffic rules? Oh! Here our Indian-ness leaps in every corner of the road. How many red lights we jump is machismo in purest form. So very Indian, so desi! We felt like a man when breaking speed limit. We are proud of our ignorance of Zebra crossing. These are minor things for us.

When we are choosing girlfriends/boyfriends, Mumma / Puppa, PLEASE don’t interfere. It’s my life. But when we are getting married, please arrange for the dowry, we want it desperately. All my life, Mummy/Daddy, we fought you. But if you want to arrange my wedding on lavish scale, please go ahead. I am your docile daughter/son. I will be obedience personified. I don’t care to be an American here. They spend their own money in their wedding dinner and functions. But NOW, at my wedding my heart is dying to be an Indian. I want all the bridal / groom’s accessories from you Mom and Dad. My McDonald and hip and happening image can go to hell!

We got admitted in fundu, expensive, private MBA colleges. Please Pappa, come forward to deposit few lakhs as fee. And leave one of the expensive cars at my disposal. With this college campus and car, I will have good time JUST LIKE AN AMERICAN COLLEGE STUDENT. What? They work side by side to fund their college education? Oh! I am a cute Indian kid of my Mamma and Pappa. When they are alive, what’s the need to be independent? They will be ready with finances, whenever I need them. With their money I will have fun, just like an American.

What about hard work? Punctuality? Honesty? They put newspapers on pavements. You have to pick up one and insert the coin where it is required. In India, they dare not introduce this scheme. We all know where will be newspapers, and the destination of coins. Those pennies definitely look adorable in my pocket.

This is how I want to represent myself. It’s a matter of convenience for us, Indian yuppies. Whenever the need arises, I switch sides from American to Indian and vice versa. All over the world, people can be Vegetarian or Non- vegetarian. But I am very comfortable, being “Mauka-tarian”. Oh! My Mauka (opportunity) is knocking. I am going to don Indian mantle right now. It would be immensely profitable. The scene is given below:
=======================
I know my mind, I love doing my own things, but if I am in trouble due to my own actions, please Dad, bail me out! I don’t know how to lead an independent life, without your support! Here is your little baby calling out!

Hi Alka,

I cannot vouch for the integrity of these statements, but can get them verified, if u need to.

Here goes:

An Appeal on behalf of the residents of the slums of Delhi

The brief facts are as follows:

· The manufacturers’ associations of two industrial areas in Delhi, the capital of India, had petitioned the High Court of Delhi in 1994 and 2002, for the removal of slum clusters from their areas.

· These slum clusters were, in fact, created to house the labour working in these industrial areas because there was no provision for workers’ housing.

· However, going beyond the ambit of the original petitions, the Court ruled in November 2002 that all those who had settled in slums anywhere in the city after 1990 should be evicted and not given any “free” land for resettlement.

· This ruling did not consider the available evidence that the government had provided only 35% of mandated housing, and that each “resettled” family was paying Rs 7,000 for a license to a tiny plot of land for 5 years.

· Consequently, there was a public uproar after this ruling and the government was forced to approach the Supreme Court, which stayed the above order in March 2003.

· However, in March 2003 the High Court held another hearing in the original matter and, frustrated by the Supreme Court stay, it decided to issue another order directing the authorities to remove all unauthorised constructions along the banks of the river Yamuna that flows through Delhi.

· One of the grounds for the above order was that the Yamuna bed was being encroached upon, but the order was selectively directed against the slums while ignoring the elite (but illegal) structures such as the Akshardham temple, the Metro Rail headquarters, and the Commonwealth Games Village.

· The other ground was that the slums were polluting the river. This, again, ignored the available evidence that the total discharge from all slums in Delhi is only 0.33% of the sewage being released into the river.

· There have been four subsequent appeals against this order in both the High Court as well as the Supreme Court and all have been summarily dismissed by the Courts. In not a single case has the Court acknowledged the right to be heard by the slums dwellers as the most affected party.

· In the meantime, demolitions and ruthless evictions of the slums from the banks of the Yamuna have begun and almost 3,000 families have already been displaced. At least 16,000 more families have been targeted for eviction before the elections.

· Of these families, less than half are eligible for “resettlement”. The rest are cast out on the streets, while voluntary groups have documented that even those who are resettled have been denied the fundamental Rights to Livelihood, Shelter, Education, and Health.

· Appeals to the National Human Rights Commission against forcible eviction have been registered in February 2004 and the Commission has issued notice to the government and the police, but no further action has been taken.

The Election Commission had stayed demolitions in all slums until the elections were over, but it has now selectively permitted them to be removed from the Yamuna banks. The Commission has not responded to appeals to restore the status quo, even though documented evidence of violation of electoral rights has been presented before it.

The hurry to vacate the land along the river is being ascribed to a prestigious project that the Union Minister of Culture has revealed of a national tourism-cum-cultural complex in the area.

Please write, or email to the following authorities demanding that:

# Due process of law should be followed by the courts to give a fair hearing to the affected parties.
# Forcible eviction should be immediately stopped.
# Full resettlement facilities should be made available to all those whose huts have been demolished.
# The government should fulfill its constitutional responsibilities to provide livelihood, shelter, and services to all the people.

President Of India

Rashtrapati Bhawan
New Delhi – 110001
presidentofindia@rb.nic.in

Prime Minister of India
Govt. of India,
South Block
New Delhi – 110001
pmosb@pmo.nic.in

Chief Justice of India

Supreme Court of India
New Delhi – 110001
supremecourt@up.nic.in

National Human Rights Commission

Sardar Patel Bhawan
Sansad Marg
New Delhi –110001
chairnhrc@nic.in

Election Commission of India
Election Commission
Nirvachan Sadan
Ashok Road
New Delhi – 110 001
tskrish@eci.gov.in

Chief Minister of Delhi
GNCTD
Player’s Building
Indraprastha Estate
New Delhi – 110 00
jtscm@hub.nic.in

Take care,

Ajay.
Kuch Khayal