Honesty is the best policy....so they say!

Right from my childhood, I had been fed with stories from mythology about honesty and how it works in one’s favour, even though one has to face innumerable hurdles in life. So impressed was I with those stories that I decided I will remain honest in my entire life.  Honest people always went to heaven, you see, and the dishonest ones were deep fried in hot oil in the hell! (Imagine fried politicians sprinkled with coriander leaves and topped with chilli sauce). Ok, so my mission in life was to be honest at all times, even on the face of adversity!

So carried away was I with the ‘be honest’ policy that I never thought that I would fall out of favour with most people. I remember the day when my friend had bought a brand new dress. In her excitement she wore it and showed it to me. According to me it had very gaudy print and loud colours and to be ‘honest’, it did not suit her a bit. I blurted out the truth, and I had to face her wrath for days to come. She stopped talking to me. ‘How dare you behave so rudely with me?’ she questioned, when I confronted her. ‘Is being honest akin to being rude?’ I wondered.  After that incident, she became very careful of showing me anything, lest I, in my zest for honesty, tell her something that she does not like. Yet the scatterbrain that I am, I refused to learn a lesson. I believed that ‘honesty is the best policy’ and such incidents are just a hurdle on the way to heaven.  The traffic cop does not like me. I insisted on a receipt. The passport officer does not like me. I refused him his chai-pani.  Friends are a little wary of me.  Things came to a high when an acquaintance accused me of being an egotist.  

Strange are the ways of the mind!  We want to hear only good things about ourselves, even if it is far away from the truth.  We don’t want to know ‘what is’. Rather we happily slide in the cocoon of falsity and wrong notions about ourselves and remain there for the rest of our lives. The moment someone tries to gently remove the cobwebs from our mind, all hell breaks loose. We curse and accuse that person of being too frank.  Slowly things started to dawn upon me. I realised that by being honest I had made more enemies than friends. Though this realization came in a tad late, isn’t it better late than never?  Things like honesty, truth are values that exist only in mythologies. I should have known it!  To expect these things in actual life is like expecting to have the moon all for you. It is not that it does not exist, but it is a rare breed. Is it a wonder then that honesty is never appreciated in this country?  So when the innumerable chamcha hoardings, heaping praises on a politician’s ‘achievements’ adorn our public places, it is just a way of showing how honest is an enthusiastic wannabe to his boss. Saying good things in public definitely is a way to garner more support, isn’t it?

So, I realised that just being point blank honest is not good for my emotional health at all. Calling a spade, a spade, is not going to help. I need to call a spade, a spear, sometimes. I need to speak what others want to hear. It is just an art of serving the juice of bitter gourd in a beautiful silver cup. I might as well learn this art fast or else be doomed to be faced with resentment, and also be branded as arrogant, ignorant, stupid fool. People don’t like honesty in its stark naked avatar. Honesty be damned!  

So now, slowly but surely, I have learnt to talk in the manner everyone wants to hear it. All those talks of having true friends, if you are honest, is humbug.  I want friends, true or false. Now I make it a point to praise everyone I come across, whether I like it or not. And the results are here to see! People have started liking me. They now call me very friendly and warm. I am finally learning the ropes of the trade. So much for honesty! Well, I had been a fool to believe in all those stories. But surely the heavens by now must have understood the way the earthlings work and pave my easy passage there. After all I was once a keen believer in honesty!

The unquestioning Indian

History says that India, in the past 5000 years has not attacked any country. On the contrary, it has been time and again invaded by foreign powers, only to have got absorbed in this melting pot of diverse cultures, languages, customs, cuisine etc. Poets have sung paeans in praise of this land. The song 'jahan daal daal par sone ki chidiya karti hai basera, woh Bharat desh hai mera', is supposed to be aptly describing this country. But if we close our eyes for a moment and go back in history, we would actually be struggling to find this 'sone ki chidiya'. Then have we been taken for a ride and made to believe that such a time did exist? Have we been betrayed? We might fumble for answers but one thing becomes very clear that this land is no more a land of great virtue and morals that we are so used to hearing. In fact we find ourselves staring mutely at corruption, scandals, black money and other immoral activities that are so unbecoming of a land that takes pride in its glorious past.

So what ails this nation? Why is it that we are steeped in corruption? Where is the country that our freedom fighters had envisioned for us? If we look closely we'll find that the answer lies in the fact that we have, for centuries, been trained to accept things unconditionally, because questioning is a serious offence here. The land subjected to so many attacks by outsiders has weathered it and made it submissive to its fate, so much so that we do not question even if there is violation of our basic right. One is not supposed to hurt the ego of the person in power. As children, how many times have we been asked by the elders to do a certain thing in a certain way without asking questions? The same attitude has seeped into us as adults and we go about the grind, without questioning. We are not encouraged to ask. We are encouraged only to act.

When we grease the palms of the officials, our main priority is to get our work done. Damn the others! Do we stop and question ourselves whether we are doing the right thing? We talk about morals and ethics that our culture teaches. But where does it go when the wrong doing is from our side? The answer is simple - we are too scared to fight for what is rightfully ours. We seriously need a reality check before we preach others what our culture stands for. How many of us can say that we haven't bribed anybody till now to get our work done, not paid donations to get our children admitted to school, not paid black money to the builder while buying a house? I am sure the numbers would be just a handful and these people would be still going around in circles in frustration. We know that we are safe if we turn a blind eye to what has been happening around us. Who wants to get involved in these problems? Survival itself is a headache here. Who has time for the society? The roads are ridden with potholes, but we do not question anybody where our tax money goes. Corrupt officials loot this country, but we do not question how they amassed such a wealth. Cheaters and murderers are our politicians, but we do not question, how they got to fill the nomination papers. Whistle blowers are killed, but we do not question what is being done to bring the culprits to book. Statues are being erected using people's money, but we do not question why the villages do not have proper roads, electricity, schools and basic medical facilities. Farmers are committing suicides, but we go about our work as though they are not a part of this society. We have just become unquestioning Indians stuck in a vicious circle of lies and more lies and the situation has reached such a level that we are now unable to face ourselves.

On what basis do we say 'Mera Bharat Mahan'? We are only reveling in the past that is dead and gone. We have cleverly wrapped the stark naked present in a coloured cloak of glorified past, because that is only way we can feel happy. We are actually scared to face the truth. This is because if we speak the truth all of us will be affected in one way or the other and nobody wants that. We are a society full of frightened individuals and rightly so, going by the history of people been killed who dared to challenge the fraudsters. This is the reason why we have a laid back attitude. We are very well aware of what is happening around us, but we have chosen to remain helpless. The system is becoming rotten by the day and we are the ones responsible for it. But we do not want to accept responsibility. What we do is simply submit ourselves to fate and look heavenwards for a messiah to come and hand over deliverance in a packet!

Then is there hope? We can affect change in the society only if we resolve to change ourselves. Of course it is easier said than done. Coming out of this never ending circle of lies and deception is going to take enormous effort from our side, but it has to begin somewhere. The movement of Anna Hazare has no doubt gained momentum; the reason is collective frustration of the people, which has been boiling in the insides like lava and threatening to erupt for a long time. Yes, we need to express this frustration and in Anna we have seen that messiah. But unless we resolve to change ourselves, no amount of Annas could bring about a change in the society. There is a general feeling that Anna has a golden sparrow in his hand; and the Jan Lokpal Bill is a magic document. Now, everybody is riding on this new found wave of patriotism. But if we do not get what has been promised, then what? Maybe we'll just go back being our old selves. And even if some version of the Lokpal bill is passed, would we stop for a moment to ask if things are working smoothly? We need to come out of this mold of being an unquestioning Indian and start looking within us, questioning ourselves, and search for answers within. Until then we do not have any business saying 'Mera Bharat Mahan'.

Narcissist fare

Narcissus, the handsome youth in the Greek mythology, had never seen himself in a mirror. So when he happened to look into a lake, he fell in love with his reflection, not knowing that it was his own image. So obsessed he became that he died pining for it. Little did he know that in modern times, his very name would denote a personality trait. We all have a little narcissist tendency in us. Well, that's normal. It is not a crime to love oneself, but a sane person would never allow it to become an object of obsession.

Now, in these times of incessant media bombardment for products ranging from diapers to cars, how can one escape from not being attracted to them? We come across people in our daily lives, highly pre-occupied with self-admiration, and mask their lack of self-esteem, behind a veil of boisterous talks, to the point that others might find it irritating, tiring or even hilarious. This obsession is further fuelled by companies who go to any lengths to portray an unrealistic picture, to push their sales. So in such an environment, how can one remain unaffected? The pester power that children wield has greatly helped the advertisers to laugh all the way to the bank. The pressure to possess the latest gadgets or follow a latest trend is immense. Or else there is that fear of being branded as outdated. And nobody likes that! So is it my fault if I become a narcissist? Why, even the friend's pet dog wants to go to the salon for grooming!

How is easy it has become to be obsessed with something! It feels nice to wear a brand, but to become a slave of brands is something else. The page 3 scenario is abuzz with activities and excitement. How can I help if it makes me feel left out, incomplete and unwanted? The celebrity culture is thrust upon us. If an actress repeats a dress, it makes headlines as though the economy of the country depends upon it. Every celebrity has jumped into the charity bandwagon. What would've happened to all the orphans, mentally and physically challenged kids, without the celebrities making an appearance with them? Aren't they really blessed? Whether there is a launch of a certain brand, or a film is about to be released or for the sake of publicity, these celebrities seem to don many feathers in their hats. Sigh! It makes me aware of being a lesser mortal. The air-brushed photographs of 40 something actresses make any twenty some things feel ashamed of themselves. The cosmetic surgeons have never had a better time. So who is to be blamed if the acquaintance’s daughter wants that Angelina Jolie pout? Certainly not she!

And then how can we leave out the politicians. Any road or a bridge cannot be thrown open to the public, without the local leader not inaugurating it. After all he was behind the very construction of it! And then how about taking credit for anything and everything that has turned out well and washing hands off something that raises concern? How many times we find people in power throwing their attitude around even if they have committed a mistake with a ‘you-don’t-know-who-I-am’ look? Well, you should know that they survive on the staple diet of flattery. Are they responsible for their behaviour? We all know the answer

Still unaffected by all the things happening around you? Great! Its time you went to the forest to meditate. After all, this world is maya (a highly misinterpreted term)! And for all those who would like to survive this game called life, here is the secret recipe;

Ingredients: 1 cup arrogance, 2 cups exaggeration, 1 tablespoon indifferent attitude, 3 tablespoons non-empathy, shamelessness as required, thankless attitude for garnishing.

Method: Mix a little arrogance with exaggeration, add to it an indifferent attitude, grind these with a non-empathetic stance towards others, and sprinkle it with talks as though others are waiting only to listen to you. Stir well. Finally garnish it with thanklessness. And voila.... you get a perfect narcissist fare. Serve it to others with a shameless attitude. Can serve any number of people.

Psychology of anger

"Aaaa......eeeee", a shrill sound pierced the air. The woman in blue had caught hold of another woman by her hair, who in turn twisted her tormentor's wrist. Some came to separate the two, while others just watched the scene out of curiosity. Verbal abuses flowed freely. No, this is not some film shooting, but a real life scene in the 9.30 a.m. crowded Mumbai local. Anger, being the dominant mood at this hour of the day, no one has the patience or time to listen to others.

So we come to our question, ‘what makes us angry?’ Are we angry because of fear? Fear of losing a beloved one, fear of losing a job, fear of not having achieved something bigger, fear of losing money, fear of complacency, fear of facing tomorrow.... we have no idea of what all we fear from. The list is endless. Or are we angry because others have achieved more than us, others seem happier than us, others have more friends than us or others seem to enjoy life more than us? Or is it because we cry over missed opportunities, over life having slipped away from our fingers, over wrong choices we make? Or is the anger directed on someone whom we squarly blame for the situation we are in? Whatever the case may be, there is some anger in everybody which manifests in different forms. Everyone is supremely engrossed in his or her own life and the stress associated with it.

Generally we come across two categories of people, each on the opposite end of the poles. There are the ones who are perpetually angry and make a noise even if the speed breaker is just lying there, mutely. They don’t make it to an event on time because their speed was rudely cut short by that dumb wall-of a speed breaker. They are angry because there is too much or too less work in the office or their assistant is not capable enough. They are also angry because the Indian cricket team did not win the match or that the players are spoilt dirty that they don’t deserve to win. They are angry at the government policies, the bureaucracy and red-tapism, the corruption at the grass root level and its general apathy towards the betterment of the country. They are angry at the lackadaisical attitude of the people of this country to take-on the government head-on and teach a lesson. They are angry because the mosquito bit them! The mosquito had no business behaving in this manner. Phew..!! That makes for a long list. Such people are forever angry and antagonize others with their behaviour.

Then there the people who can hardly be provoked into losing their cool. For them everything happens because it was predestined to happen. It was designed that way. They have no control over it. So nothing pretty much affects them. These are the ones who are so calm that it makes others around them furious, because Mr. Cool is never angry at anything. Even if they are treated like a foot mat, they don’t bother. Only when the cauldron is full, that the anger comes flowing out like red hot lava. God forbid if that happens! For, hell hath no fury than a calm person scorned!

And then there is this justification for anger. It is always the other person who is wrong. But when we are wrong, are we bold enough to accept our mistakes? No! This non-acceptance gives rise to more anger and we see everybody around us seething with fury. When we take the larger picture, anger has been responsible for the destruction of civilizations.

Anger or ‘raudra’ as a 'rasa' is given a predominant importance, in Sanskrit dramatics, by Bharat muni, in his treatise ‘Natyasastra’. Thus we find anger in creativity too! All said and done, anger is the mainstay in humans, for it is anger that needles us to achieve those seemingly impossible tasks. Constructive anger does lead us to glory but destructive anger is all gory. 

Paranormal activity

Has anybody seen ghosts? There are people who say that they have heard about some unnatural incidents happening in their vicinity and credit it to be the handiwork of a ghost. Yet most of us draw a blank when asked to describe a ghost. The imaginative ones give descriptions like a ghost with sharp teeth and claws, spitting blood, or a face that is ugly and scarred beyond recognition. The more conservative ones generally like to believe that ghosts look like the ones portrayed in Hindi films- white saree, loose hair, carrying a candle and singing a melodious song. But no one knows it for sure, whether ghosts are for real or not. Still the fear remains.

This incident happened when I was in class X. Burning the midnight oil had become a norm as board exams were approaching. On one such night I heard a faint humming sound which became more distinct in a couple of minutes. I looked at the clock. It was 12 midnight. My heart skipped a beat. Ghost! That was the first thing that crossed my mind. I shut my eyes and held my hand tightly over my ears. Within minutes the humming sound had subsided, but it was enough to give me the creeps. Distracted from my study routine, I went to bed. Next day the same sound made itself heard at the same time and this continued for another two days.

By the fifth day I had gotten used to it and mustered enough courage to find out who was behind this nocturnal activity. When the humming sound began doing its rounds, my curiosity got the better of me. I tip-toed near the door and without making much noise, opened it, very little. To my surprise and horror, the sound almost immediately stopped and I could not find anyone outside. I was gripped with fear. Shutting the door quickly, I ran inside. Now I was sure that it had to be a ghost. Why else would the sound stop? I was shivering at the thought that ghosts really existed and that it had come to haunt me. Having heard from all my known sources that ghosts generally venture into human civilization at midnight, I had no reasons to dismiss this as a baseless phobia. To add more fright to my already terrified mind, my neighbour said, “Be careful. Do you know that some years back a lady staying in the opposite building was charred to death? Her stove had burst while cooking. People say that it could be she who could be going around.” That was it! I panicked. From that day on I refused to even go to the other room without anyone for company. The fear of the unknown is far greater than the fear of the known! 

Humans, for ages, not understanding why certain things happen, have attributed it to ghosts and resorted to many rituals and practices to keep them at bay. Vampires, Draculas, demons, witches, magic, and every paranormal phenomenon have been looked upon as something which exists in a world not known to us. This fear of the unknown has captured our imaginations. Every civilization has its own belief. There is voodoo practice prevalent in Africa. India has tantrik babas swearing by their wizardry to drive the ghosts away. In recent times, we have the Harry Potter and the Twilight series. They are such a hit, as they take on magic, ghosts and everything unknown, with a great aplomb, that one seriously starts wondering what if such a world really existed. But then reason starts denying it. We know that our fear is our ghost and as long as this fear exists, ghosts will exist. We do not know of any world other than this terra-ferma, but our mind still keeps imagining things. We are only muggles, after all!

Any incident beyond our comprehension becomes a ghostly act. So this humming sound became a ghostly melody. By the way, coming back to the sound I had heard years back, did I tell you that it was actually an old Nepali mountain song that our night watchman was humming, before going on his hourly rounds?

Chain reaction

"This year July has 5 Fridays 5 Saturdays and 5 Sundays. This apparently happens once every 823 years. This is called money bags. So send this on to 6 friends and money will arrive in 5 days. Based on Chinese mythology the one who does not pass this on will have money troubles for the rest of the year. It won't cost you much for that 6 text."


This is the text of an SMS; I received from a friend, who apparently seemed to have been taken in by what the message had to say. Immediately I got a call from her telling me not to break the chain and forward it to 6 people, except her. I decided to check the facts myself. Yes, the calendar showed that the month of July in the year 2011 indeed has 5 Fridays 5 Saturdays and 5 Sundays. 'Hmmm....', I thought, 'so this happens every 823 years.' So what? "Do you know that this spells luck? You could become rich," she said excitedly. Really? I'm blessed! No thanks. I don't want such riches!

But then, does a little more money hurt anyone? Of course not! Now 823 years is a long time and who knows maybe I'm the chosen one. Maybe there is a windfall in store. And imagine it is just on the finger tip! Well... no harm in sending the message. Who knows, I might just end up with some riches in 5 days flat! So I sent the SMS to 6 'fortunate' friends. Maybe, just maybe, I could now dream of something big. Like what? Like.... ummm.... ok let me get the money first. I don't want to get too big for my boots. Hehe....Moron! But what the heck! Who is going to come and peep into my dreams? My dreams are my own, isn't it?

But the question now popped up - How is the money going to arrive? Ummmm... let's see. Maybe a lottery is the solution. In came a bundle of lotteries of different sizes and varying prize money. I hid them under the bed, lest anyone sees it. See... if I hit the jackpot, I'll announce it proudly. If not I need not tell anyone about it, and throw it out, quietly. In fact, the door bell now did not irritate me, as it used to before, inviting suspicious glances from family members. What? Can't a person be in a cheerful mood, for a change? Never mind them! Secretly, I was expecting a will from a distant departed relative, bequeathing to me, a large fortune. I also thought about digging up the open patch in front of my house. Ok, ok, I know that it is too much of an inconceivable idea.

Now, I actually began to look forward to gaining wealth. In fact the suspense was beginning to kill me. I could not wait for the 5 days to pass. But what if.... I don't get anything? It is ok. I just tried my luck! I am not losing anything. Anyway, the stipulated time passed and nothing happened. I checked and rechecked the papers for my lucky number. 'NO LUCK', screamed back the paper. And neither did the expected will arrive. What heartbreak! All my dreams were shattered to smithereens! 'Control yourself', I told myself sternly. 'You did not believe in this hocus-pocus, initially, right? Now throw those goddamn tickets, before you make a fool of yourself.' I just did that. I knew it! It is the handy work of those crooked mobile service providers. They must have triggered this chain reaction to earn good money. "How could I have fallen for this?" I thought loudly. Shhhh.... not so loud. Someone might hear this!

Peace interrupted

Imagine there's no countries

It isn't hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion too 

Imagine all the people 

Living life in peace 

You may say that I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one 

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will be as one

I can't get the lyrics of John Lennon's song 'Imagine' out of my head. Beautiful song. Catchy tune. Yes as long as it is a song, we can enjoy it. But can we really imagine such a world? A world without boundaries or religion? A world where life does not come cheap? A world where there are no fights and hence no killings? A world where only peace prevails? Very difficult, considering the fact that even though man is a rational animal but more often than not acts out of instinct than out of reason. How else can one explain the wars fought in the past, the atrocities meted out by one on another on the basis of beliefs and the loss of human lives due to bigotry?

Does Lenon's song ring the bell? Isn't it an echo of the thought 'Vasudaiva Kutumbakam' (the world is but one family) found in the Hitopadesha, the Panchatantra and the Mahopanishad? The Cynics and the Stoics of ancient Greece too propagated the idea of cosmopolitanism. Socrates had famously said "I am not a Greek or an Athenian, but I am a citizen of the world." Yet if we look into the history of mankind, we find it ridden with wars, killings, oppression, either due to religious dogmas, borders defining territories, hatred towards a race or simply to prove ones' supremacy. We have clear cut demarcation of ours, mine and yours.

There is chaos prevailing everywhere and in this melee where does peace stand? Has mankind ever given peace a chance? Every era has been a witness to some insurgency or upheaval which has sometimes lasted for generations. The end of every violent act brings with it a hope of a new dawn, only to be brutally cut short by another act of aggression. Thus we can find Ram Rajya only in the mythology. We can only live 'Ram bharose'. This is what the persistent terror strikes in Mumbai have to teach. The day we run out of luck, we could be the next target. The fighting spirit of Mumbai sounds too cliched. People have no option but to go to work. Over the years people have become too used to such attacks. Life just goes on. They say time is the best healer and as time passes, everything just becomes a blur.

The question then remains, 'Are we anywhere close to 'Vasudaiva Kutumbakam' or to being a world citizen?' The answer is a resounding 'NO'. Actually its sound has a good resonance to it, hence it is used by orators while giving a pep talk and the word peace is a fantastic topic for the wide eyed school kids' projects or seminars. In reality it might take eons for it to materialize, and that too is highly skeptical. There is some disturbance, hostility, aggression in every part of the world. Mankind needs to go into an introspection mode which seems highly unlikely in the near future.  Till that time we can keep wondering what this peace talk or being a world citizen all about is and enjoy Lenon's song for its sheer beauty.

Retail Therapy

The wet spell had stopped for the time being and the roads were soon getting dried up. After two days of  incessant rain and dull weather, the life giving sun chose to show its cheerful face to the earth that had been bearing the brunt of the rain god's wrath. But it did nothing to lift up my mood that was as gloomy as the dark clouds.

Suggestions started pouring in from all quarters - ranging from watching a film, joining a cookery class or eating out. Nah!  I didn't seem to be interested in them at all, when a dear friend suggested me to do some shopping. "Retail therapy", she declared proudly. "Psychologists vouch for it. It is the best mood up lifter. Why not just try it. You won't lose anything." Hmmm.... Interesting! I quickly jumped to the idea of the 'retail therapy'. Armed with cash and the indispensable credit card, we trotted to the nearby mall. Yes, I'm already feeling better... and this is just the beginning!

Our first stop was the garment store. The waif thin mannequins had some lovely clothes on and I wanted to buy the ones that had dressed up the figures. 'Wait', said my inner voice 'it won't suit you. And it is not worth the money'. I brushed the voice aside. It has this bad habit of interfering when least needed. So I picked up a couple of dresses and really felt like a queen as the staff had been excessively cordial to me. After all, the customer is the king.....er queen.... whatever! Our next destination was the shoe store. I drooled over some lovely pairs and picked up three beautiful ones, something that I had never done before in my life. 'You don't need so many', the voice protested. 'Aw.. shut up!'.  Three pairs at one go!  Wow! My morale had reached its zenith and how! And then how can we just leave out the bag section? I zeroed in on two good looking ones. I was pleasantly surprised not to hear any voice this time. I was filled with optimism. Life is beautiful and I wasted some precious moments in a sombre mood. Well....I more than made up for it, didn't I?

Weary but happy after the acquisitions, I thanked my friend profusely for her idea. Once home, I wanted to try out everything that I had bought. Out came the blue dress. Yuck! It had a gaudy colour and big designs to the boot. It had looked so pretty in the store. How can my eyes deceive me? I kept that aside and chose to try the yellow one. 'My God', I thought,  'I wouldn't dare to wear this monstrosity.' I looked hideous! Two more to go.. the pink and the black ones. The kids screwed up their noses, "Are you really going to wear this? Then not today, please. Our friends are coming." What did it mean, eh? I realized that the heels of shoes were a tad too high. My heel problem would not really allow me to keep them on for long. How come it did not dawn on me while buying? And the bags.... oh my gosh! It looked as though I had pinched it from a struggling star out to make a statement. I realized I got carried away too far.

After spending so much I could put a single buy to my use. I straightaway called up the friend, "What! You want to return them? No way! They will not take anything back. You brought everything from the sale. Didn't you read the board - No refund. No exchange", she said with a voice of a seasoned buyer, who was wise enough to only accompany me. "I'll sue them. I've paid for it", I said in a trembling voice. But I knew that I could not do anything of that sort. The only choice I had was to gift them away. I was distraught. I wished I had listened to the voice. And it was back to square one for me. In fact the mood became gloomier than before. It had reached its nadir.

Now I'm pondering over the idea of writing a book. The title would be "How to deal with life after a retail therapy".

The 'Serial' killer

"Where is the remote?" asked my friend's harried mother, "I don't want to miss the 11 o'clock serial". This, on a fine morning when my friend and I had decided to relax with a reality show, after a long time, was most unwelcome. "But amma", protested my friend, "it is a repeat telecast of what you saw yesterday." Amma turned a deaf ear to her protest call and smugly settled down on the sofa. Since we had nothing else to do, we decided to watch this one serial.

"Daily soaps make no sense to me and I always avoid watching them", said my friend, making a wry face. "It's so easy to get addicted to mindless and meaningless stuff in life. I am of the opinion that they never portray the real lives of people. The characters mouth dialogues that could make a sane person cringe in disgust. What I never understood was how could a villager possibly get hold of designer wear, jewellery and flaunt neatly ironed tresses. The good and the bad characters are clearly cut and dried. There are no shades of grey! The scheming men and women have a ball while the ever suffering ones do no wrong. They always suffer quietly and their heart is big enough to forgive even the most wicked ones!" said the agitated friend. Yeah, how true, I thought. Yet I was not able to let go off the remote after 9 pm.

"Tamil serials take the quest of conniving and vengeance to a new level so much so that there is a constant hostility and rivalry oozing from the word go", she continued with a passionate fervour that would put the grandest orator to shame. "The characters hardly ever smile, leave alone laugh, as though they know instinctively that laughing would  attract some evil news. Women are constantly at each other's throats, screaming revenge, for some reason that is actually forgotten. The makers, it seems, are fascinated by the 'other woman' syndrome, as they seem to make their presence felt everywhere to create havoc in others' lives.  The vamps get to wear the best clothes, best jewellery and also manage to steal the man from under the wife's nose. Whereas the good wife just becomes a mop of the house, even as she stays put with a gritty determination to win back the philandering husband! The nerves are made of steel!"

Phew!!! That was some speech, I thought. "Tell me, do you watch these nonsensical stuff?" she asked with fire in her eyes. "Me - nah! I don't think I'll be able to handle all those emotions", I said playing along with the mood of the moment.

"Emotions! There is only one emotion and that is of bitterness. See how they depict mothers? The not so well off are more often than not portrayed as this chest beating types, crying at the drop of the hat. The saree pallu comes in handy to wipe off the teary face. The rich ones do not have anything productive to do in life and their entire existence seems to be revolving in plotting murder or revenge. What a waste of resources! And the protagonist waits patiently for her moment of retribution, which comes in the form of divine justice." Okay, okay. Enough for today - I wanted to say, but could not gather enough courage. Amma and I quietly exchanged glances.

"Amma, do you know where audience like you fit in? You are left to face the retarded stuff and you enjoy lapping them up. They make so much money and what do you get in return? I think the audience should be paid as well", she said calming down a bit. I thought the storm had died. But the climax was yet to come.   "And when the going gets tough, the makers spice it up with a rebirth, plastic surgery, fourth or fifth marriage, ghostly encounters, death etc. I'm sure children will now start complaining that the serials are corrupting their parents!"

After I returned home, I thought about her speech. Yes, I actually need to introspect whenever I get time. But as of now, it's time for the 9 O'clock serial to begin. The mother in law has just devised a new plan to ensnare the 2nd wife of her step-son...

Dear Diary....

'Grrrr......', I know this is what you would say, if you were present in flesh and blood. But then I know that you are not and hence I have this audacity to take advantage of your quiet existence. I know that I had to dust you off from the pile of old books and also know that I remember you only when I want to share something with you. In spite of this callous attitude, I know that you will not complain. I know that my secrets, deepest desires, happiness and sadness, my regrets and disappointments are kept buried in your bosom. You are my punching bag and every time I take a look at you, it is not without a purpose.

You know Diary, as kid, I always thought that Aladdin's magic lamp existed, and I wanted to get hold of it to fulfil  my wishes. I imagined having the genie at my beck and call. Only I did not know where to search for it. I  wished  that I got the pot of gold whenever I saw a rainbow. I wished to see the chocolate house in which Hansel and Gretel were locked. I wished to meet Cinderella and Snow White and the seven Dwarfs. I wished to be the most intelligent student and be famous when I grew up. I wished that I could sit on the clouds and see the world from above. And when I used to see patterns on the sky made by these clouds I wished I could catch those fluffy cottons and take them home. I wished I were a bird and fly up in the sky, free, unbridled. I wished I had this magic brush with which I could paint the sky. I wished I could spin webs like Spider man and reach places easily. I wished I was a cuckoo and sing the whole day long. I wished to go to the moon.

But then I grew up, and I dismissed all those wishes as juvenile outbursts that held no water in real life. And I realized that the magic lamp was only a myth. The land of cotton candy vapourized into thin air and now I feel that my wishes have become more real. I wish I had more money to buy more comforts in life. I wish there were no worries to tackle with. I wish there was lesser noise everywhere. I wish the trains and buses were not so crowded. I wish the weekend had two Sundays. I wish that I can mend broken relationships, iron out the misunderstandings that drive a wedge in it. I wish humans had lesser egos, so that life becomes much easier. I wish greed takes a backseat; I wish anger is toned down. I wish people understand each other better......... and yes, I wish the magic lamp really existed.

But why do I have this strange feeling of being snubbed again....? OK OK, I know I've gotten too philosophical today and before you spring to life, I might as well shut you and keep you in the secluded corner, hoping that if not all, at least some of the wishes get fulfilled.

Yours truly,

Wish not, want not

Rambo

He had a smooth skin... light brown in colour, deep penetrating eyes and a swift and agile body. He was not very tall, and not exactly handsome, yet he had this inherent capacity to attract anyone who came in contact with him. Vying for his attention was our favourite past time, which he reciprocated magnanimously. He was fiercely protective of us and disliked any intruder who happened to try and take away his moment of.... well, bliss. For the uninitiated, he was a street dog named Rambo.

Rambo was christened........Rambo by the people of our building, who took it as their responsibility to look after him after he was found as an abandoned puppy on a rainy weather, shivering under a big mango tree inside the  compound. He was this adorable little thing who was separated from his mother, for some reason, which we knew we would never able to find out. Nevertheless, all were happy to have him. We used to take delight in bringing biscuits or some leftovers to feed him and see him gobble up the delicacies. He always seemed hungry and never refused any food. He used to enjoy all the attention showered on him and seemed very happy frolicking about with us. But I had always noticed a tinge of sadness in his eyes. They always seemed to be searching for something....his mother? Siblings? We'll never know. 

Rambo never had a home of his own. He used to make himself comfortable wherever he found a cosy place, whether in the building corridor, or near the electric box, or under a tree. He used to follow us wherever we went and we had to shoo him many a time, lest he discovered our secret places and showed it to our enemies. Of course, we too had enemies, with whom we fought and refused to play!  Time flew by and Rambo became er.... a dog. We had become accustomed to his presence and used to wonder how he managed to look clean. No one ever gave him a bath! He still considered our building compound to be his home and even if he was not to be found the whole day, he would dutifully return to his home in the night. We all slept peacefully, knowing fully well that he would bark down the guts of anyone who dared to sneak past his vigil. Rambo had made a place in everyone's heart. Or so it seemed!

One fine morning, we heard a shrill whining sound and recognized it to be that of Rambo. A small crowd had gathered and I too ran down to see what the commotion was all about. What I saw was unbelievable! Someone had poured boiling water on Rambo's body scalding his back to the extent that the red flesh under his brown coat was visible. He was understandably in pain and even though people gauged who the culprit was, no one said anything. After all, it was only a dog and not a human being, right? Human life is precious and who cares for a dog's life! The elders then put some turmeric on the wound and busied themselves for the day's work, strictly forbidding us not to go near him, lest we catch some infection from the wound. Rambo slowly retreated to his favourite corner. As days passed and the wound did not seem to be healing, they shooed Rambo away from the building. There was this huge open ground right in front and Rambo made  this ground, his home. He used to eat if someone fed him or go hungry as he was too weak to go in search of food. 

After some days, we heard that Rambo had passed away and the municipal van would soon come to pick up his lifeless body. To this day, when I see a street dog with a wound, I am immediately reminded of Rambo, who lived with us and served us, but died a....well......dog's death.

Fifteen minutes of fame

Everybody wants their share of fame and the strain to be seen and heard is more apparent than ever before. And fame, that elusive mistress, has always been an enigma for those on whom she does not choose to smile. The world looks for ways and means to get her attention and bask in the glory of her tempestuous gaze. Ask any child what he or she wants to become on growing up. The answer in all probability would be a want to be a famous actor/actress, Miss India, cricketer or any profession that guarantees glamour. Even babas and yogis are not immune to the adulation that comes with fame. And the common man... where will he go to for his share in the pie? In this small world, we all look for some means to massage the fractured ego and satiate the never ending appetite for self exaltation! If fame wouldn't touch us with a barge pole, reflected glory always comes to our aid.

The other day at a concert, I heard this lady sitting behind me, talking incessantly of how she knows the performing artiste through a friend. Her animated chatter at every given opportunity was driving me nuts. My exasperated looks had no effect on her, whatsoever. However, the initial annoyance turned amusing, so much so that I was all ears to what she was saying. Till today I wonder who she was because once the crowd dispersed, she became one among us.  Such an exercise, I think, gives us tremendous satisfaction for the time being, unmindful of what others think. A name dropping now and then is a great morale booster! We remain undaunted in our search for that moment of triumph.

A friend of mine excitedly narrated to me how a famous cricketer had come to attend the wedding of his uncle's sister-in-law's son's friend. "Wow!" I exclaimed, presuming he was there too. He replied in negative but not before adding, "Well, my uncle told me this." He then proceeded at length to talk about what the cricketer wore, what he ate etc. And the pride on his face was there for all to see. Wherever I go I find someone who knows some famous person. An acquaintance enthused about how a famous Bollywood actor has just shifted to his friend's cousin's building.

With so much going on in everybody's life, I'm feeling left out. After all, I'm human and I too feel the need to be recognized, even if the recognition rides on others' accomplishments. I think I need to talk about the connections that some friends or relatives or any remote acquaintances have so that I can earn my fifteen minutes of fame!

The Yoga class

'Lazy' had always been the word that describes me best. This laid back attitude follows me everywhere like a shadow, no matter how hard I try to shrug it off. I always start off something with a great excitement, but lose interest somewhere in the process and end up leaving the task incomplete. I used to get frustrated initially, but now it does not affect me anymore. I have learnt to live with it minus any emotional outbursts. One kind of becomes thick skinned, I believe.

I've always admired people who go for walks, exercise regularly, eat healthy food and take interest in the general well-being of their existence. I tried to make friends with these fitness freaks, so that their quality rubs off on me. But the lethargic being in me refuses to budge. I console myself by saying that its all in their genes. My genes are the culprit. They don't allow me to follow an exercise regimen. Am I to be blamed for it? You cannot select your genes, can you? Well, the friends were tired of persuading me to join some gym, aerobics or yoga class. A friend who had recently joined a yoga class, extolled its benefits over the mind and body, so much so that I started feeling guilty about not doing anything. "This is the 'me' time and nobody can take it away from me", said the friend, making me feel like a sacrificial cow at the altar of familial responsibilities.

A little voice in me, suppressed for ages, too weak to even get up and talk, said, "Please do something now." I made up my mind to act immediately. After all, we all need 'me' time! I accompanied the friend to her class. "Inhale....exhale out", said the teacher and the students followed suit. "Practicing Pranayam gives inner peace." I enrolled immediately. Quite excited that I was, I went in the evening, shopping for some yoga gear. The mat, the yoga wear, water bottle, towel, the works. Finally, the being in me is woken up. Or so I thought!

The first day, and I wanted to create a good impression. The teacher said that we will begin with meditation. "Close your eyes and let the thoughts flow. Do not be judgmental." Well, I let my thoughts flow, taking care not to pass any comments. But hey! Why has the flow stopped abruptly when I thought about the kitchen? Did I or did I not turn off the gas? I could not concentrate. My mind was racing fast. Fearing the worst, I excused myself for the day and rushed back home. By now a small crowd would have gathered around. But I  was surprised to see none. And more surprised to see that the gas was turned off. I was sure it was still burning. Oh hell! I wasted the day.

The next day, I checked everything properly, making sure that there is no room for doubt. The teacher began, "Take a deep breath.......". I breathed deeply........ hmmmm.... the aroma of some delicious food being cooked pierced my nostrils and I found myself salivating. I felt hungry all of a sudden, when a gentle tap on my shoulder rudely shook me off from the world of culinary delight. "Please pay attention and follow my instructions", said the teacher sharply. I felt ashamed. I decided to stay put and give it my best shot. I made a firm resolution to be a good student and learn the art of concentrating.

Yet another day dawned, and I awoke with a new vigour. After all, a resolution is for keeps. The teacher said that the session will begin with exercises. "Stretch your arms and slowly bend from your waist!" I did as instructed. And all of a sudden someone remembers me desperately and wants to talk to me. So sang my mobile, loud and clear!

I had told that it's all in the genes. But I did not pay heed to myself. Now, someone try to motivate me to join Yoga again!

The sacred and the profane

India's barefoot artist, Maqbool Fida Hussain, is no more. The maestro died in a foreign land, as a Qatari citizen, longing to come back to his motherland, a wish that could never see the light of the day. An artist, whose freedom of expression was curtailed, wings clipped and was made an alien in his own land.

Hindus revere their deities with a religious fervour, unseen in any part of the world. This is their sacred space. Hussain was accused of invading this sacred space, by depicting the deities in the nude. The so-called profanity of his expression invited wrath of the moral guardians who cried sacrilege. The atmosphere became vocal with protests and disapproval, all fueled by the political parties with an agenda. An acquaintance who was very vocal in his protest said, "How can an artist take the liberty of making such obscene paintings? This is not our culture." I wondered what this person was talking about. Since when did nudity become obscene in the art world? The stone sculptures of Khajuraho are a mute testimony to the fact that erotica was never viewed with contempt or prudery. These sculptures have stood the ravages of time dates back to around 10th c CE. And Hussain belonged to this era!

So why was he sent in exile? Was it because he was a non-Hindu who dared to paint the Goddesses from the Hindu pantheon? Or was it because the political parties, starved of ideas, got some issue to take up? Either way, Hussain's exile was coloured with a political hue and the parties in question managed to throw him out of the country. For centuries, Lord Krishna has been depicted as amorous hero. Even the miniature paintings show him not hiding his carnal desires. We then have the Tantra literature representing the erotica and of course Vatsayana's Kamasutra. Yet, the so-called moral guardians influence the public, create an uproar, condemning the freedom of expression in the name of morality. Morality, I feel, is a grossly misunderstood term in every century. Little wonder that Hussain's painting was dubbed amoral. As our logic professor had aptly pointed out, "What we have today is Victorian Hinduism."

Now that the voice has been quietened forever, a certain Raj wants to build a museum in his honour. Reason- Mr.Hussain was a pucca Mumbaikar and the museum should be on this soil. How more hilarious can this get? We have suffered the ignominy of an irretrievable loss. All we can do is pray for his soul to rest in peace. Amen.

Cutting chai

"Ek cutting", how many times in a day does the chai vendor hear this! Chai or tea, the humble beverage, has such a pull that even the high and mighty succumb to its charm. And talking of chai, in Mumbai, no one can escape the lure of its aroma emanating from a nearby street vendor's stall. Fondly known as cutting chai or simply cutting, when one does not want a full glass, this hot concoction peps up a lazy day. Any average Mumbaikar would vouch for it. At times I wonder what Mumbai would have done without these chai tapris. They are such life savers. It offers the common man a break from his drab existence. Whether it is simple conversation, friendly banter, serious talk or striking a deal, the unassuming chai has seen it all.

Be it a station, outside an educational institution, markets, offices.... you name it, the chaiwala will make his presence felt. His omnipresence is all the more strengthened by people yearning for that cutting. His important looking assistant, always seem to be scurrying everywhere with a hot kettle in one hand and a couple of glasses in the other. The paraphernalia consists of an old stove, probably brought from a second hand vendor, or inherited from his forefathers, a battered vessel, an old creaky table and of course, the magic ingredients, to churn out the never ending flow of chai. You ask for a cutting and what you get is not half a glass, but almost three-fourths of it, poured by the large hearted seller. The enterprising ones throw in a couple of worn out benches, spice it up with music from an old radio to give that complete experience. At any point of time these kitschy joints are crowded by people of all ages, enjoying their sip. The much needed respite for a normal office goer comes in the form of a cutting. How else would they beat the monotony of figures to show the required profits? So, in a way the chaiwalas are responsible for the economic growth of our country. In fact, all our netas should be given a 'cutting allowance'. This would help them from falling asleep when a parliament session is on.

Monsoon sees a spurt in their sales chart. The piping hot tea, with rain droplets falling into the glass, make it all the more divine. I remember the chaiwala outside my college who used to serve us such great chai, that the taste still lingers on. Years later, on one such wet day, I decided to pay a visit to his stall. I hoped it was still there. It was, but something was amiss. The vendor looked up but could not recognize me. And did I notice it right? He had become blind in his right eye. I inquired about his missing assistant. It seems some years back, the only stove that he had owned had burst. He lost his eye and his assistant in that accident. All his savings gone into his treatment, he had to wait for a long time to pick up the threads of his life. I groped for words. With a heavy heart I said, "ek cutting."

Of women and driving!

"Women can't drive", declared my cousin with an air of superiority that belied his short frame. Such a sexist remark from a person who himself could not drive without getting nervous, came to me as a surprise and shock. I distinctly remember the last time when he drove me down to the market. I was almost sure that he would knock down somebody. Well, even today I thank my stars that nothing untoward had happened that day. My  reaction, predictably, was that of anger. I wanted to know why he thought so. The reply that I got not just left me numb, but also gave me the taste of the general attitude of men towards the fairer sex, when it comes to driving. Yet, I am no feminist and I don't dismiss all of them as biased. With a smirk on his face, he said, "oh, they just don't know whether to go left or right. It seems cutting lanes is their prerogative. I'm sure women cannot differentiate between accelerator and brake."

I let out a mild protest, "but I drive too". "Yes, God save others", he chuckled. "Statistics show that in the number of road accidents that take place, more often than not, a man is behind the wheel. Road rage, drunk driving, over speeding, overtaking and simply for the thrill of speed has become the order of the day. How many women are caught for such reasons? I don't deny the stray incidents, when women are in the driver's seat, but the count is negligible", I said with indignation. "Oh, but how many women drive?", he asked in mock concern. Such talk was not only unwarranted but also bordered on being preposterous. It is a sheer waste of time to lose sleep over such a non issue. And anyway it is the thought of a minuscule population of the civilized society and not a general attitude, isn't it? Or is it?

A nagging thought just crossed my mind. Was my cousin's thought a representationt of a sizable number of the population? Yes I have seen people giving me angry looks, when I back my car or take a wide for a U-turn. I have also noticed that honking becomes incessant, even in a traffic jam, almost deriding my driving abilities. In fact the other day when I offered my friend a ride to the station, he politely refused, citing some silly excuse. But I insisted. On further probing, he let the cat out of the bag - he was not sure how competent a woman driver can be! Once I dropped him, he said with a guffaw, "I was worried whether I'll reach the station in one piece or not". Very funny, I thought. Well, such comments are just the work of a parochial mind, I consoled myself. Yet I found myself saying 'you are yet to come a long way, baby....'

Mobile woes

Consumerism is on a all-time high. Never seen such dedicated indulgence in commodities. Why, the other day when I was doing some window shopping to kill time, my eyes caught the fancy of a sleek shiny black beauty of a mobile, perched prettily on the window. 'What a seductress!', I thought. I wanted to possess it immediately. The salesgirl quoted an obscene amount, yet my mind was overpowered by the thought of owning the gadget. I could not sleep that night and the next morning, I let my vanity take complete possession of my modesty. I shelled out my savings to get hold of the latest arrival in the market. Finally, I should look trendy and very happening, I thought.

Well, I was bang on target! I had become a mini celebrity. I reveled in the glory. My friends and acquaintances wanted to check its features. The kids wanted to try the games and the husband wanted to check the latest apps. My neighbour's college going kid wanted to know if he could borrow it for a day to impress his friends. Even my building watchman, who used to ignore me earlier, wishes me now after he spotted the mobile in my hand. That was the last day, I actually used it. I always found it in others' hand. I was allowed only to take calls and check messages. I had to make do with the land line to make calls. I despaired. But there was more woe to come. The maid now wants a raise in her salary. Reason? If I could afford such an expensive gadget, I could surely afford her a raise. After the initial high, reality hit me hard on my face. So much for drooling over this innocuous looking beauty!

Not only have I burnt a huge hole in my pocket, but also I have lost my peace of mind. The kids tease me mercilessly for being so outdated on its functions. "Why buy when you don't know how to make use of it?", asked the wise husband. 'Enough is enough', I thought. "Phones are just meant to make and take calls", I proclaimed mightily, "why have an all-purpose phone when you have other gadgets to cater to your every need?". I decided to return this piece and buy myself a cheap basic model. I took the creature to the showroom where I had fallen in love with it. The salesman clicked his tongue and said "madam, this piece will not fetch you much now". "But I bought it just 10 days ago!", I protested.  "Yeah, I saw the bill. But don't you know the company has come up with a new model?", he asked, with a how-outdated-you-can-be look. So here I am - outdated and old fashioned once again! Even after much protest, the salesman would not budge and with a heavy heart I had to bring back the little monster home.

Now, it lies somewhere in a corner of the house. And every time it rings I could feel it mocking me in a different tune. And yes... did I tell that I am yet to learn to make proper use of it!

Paper boat

The westerlies are here! Wet roads, wet cars, wet trees, earth's distinct smell, hot tea and pakoras..... the list goes on! The lashing of the rains bring back the bitter sweet memories of childhood days, when we used to run out to get wet and come back drenched to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. The most prized possession-our paper boats, used to compete with other boats in the race. Predictably, there were no winners-all the boats used to get washed away. Yet, it was fun to fight over the best boat. And along with all the fun, cold and fever announced their arrival. But that was never a spirit dampener! Being a born day dreamer, I could sit near the window looking outside, lost in thoughts, even if confined to bed.

Years have passed by so quickly. Nothing much has changed - street children still huddle together under a big plastic sheet, their big bright eyes making you feel somewhat guilty of having a roof over your head, couples still sit together, vegetable vendors still sell their wares, dogs still find a cozy place.... only the rains have become more furious, power cuts more common, trains stopping due to flooded tracks more frequent and new diseases having made inroads, taking a couple of lives, more often. Yet there is one thing that I sorely miss! Paper boats! Where have they disappeared? The blue, pink, yellow artwork that dotted the gutters and little streams and floated away like magic, seems to have faded away from everyone's memory. The once ubiquitous paper boat have made way to computer games where one can sail a yacht, PSPs, various activity clubs that structure the child's activity, leaving no time to indulge in creative pursuits. The well-heeled parents (and not the so well-heeled ones) compete for a place in such clubs, for their tykes. And in a city like Mumbai, where latest gadgets are a fad, who has the time to make paper boats and watch it disappear? Reminiscing about this, walking on a wet road, I suddenly find myself face to face with a young street vendor, selling activity books for kids. I take my pick and open the first page. It reads, 'how to make paper boats'.

Oh god!!

My friend, a staunch atheist, once asked me if I pray. "Why?", I wanted to know, knowing fully well that an affirmation or negation to this innocent sounding question would inadvertently drag me into a full fledged argument. And for obvious reasons, I wanted to avoid it. But the friend persisted. Very cautiously I said that I may not be religious, but as a matter of upbringing, and also to drill some cultural sense into the kids, I do pray. Instinctively I knew that I had dug my own grave. So much for trying to sound intelligent!

"You know, when I was a kid", began the friend, "I believed that Santa Claus existed. But as I grew older I began doubting. And now of course I don't believe that he exists. So we can safely infer that when a child begins to doubt the existence of Santa Claus, he is maturing. But when a child questions the existence of god, why is it not considered maturity? Why is the child reprimanded for asking such questions and dismissed as being silly?". Fumbling for an answer, I said that maybe kids require belief in god to be moral, not knowing that this innocuous answer would spiral into something big. "Really? Oh come on now!" the friend continued, "I don't agree with you that kids need god to be moral. Morality can and does exist without god. I think that it is psychologically devastating for a child to grow with the belief that one needs to do good, not because it is good, but because god says so, or because god is watching or because god will punish. Now it is up to the parents to justify why something is good or bad. Parents, I believe, need god to escape this justification."

I did not know what hit me. Not the one to give up easily, I persisted that man requires god for solace and even if it is a primitive concept, god still has a very strong hold on mankind. The  sermon became louder now. "I am not concerned whether primitive man required god or not, but in this century, we do not require god for morality or any other explanation. Rationality is the only key. Primitive men, to an extent, had an excuse. We don't!" I was standing there dumbstruck, not knowing where to look. Words were finding it difficult to flow out of my mouth. In a bid to change the topic, I muttered, "its looking cloudy. Do you think its going to rain?" The friend shoots back, "God knows!!"

Ramdev Baba's Sat(thi)yagrah

Yesterday I got an SMS which read " 40 lacs people  have registered for Bhrashtachar mitao Satyagrah with Swami Ramdev Ji, so far. What about you?" It further mentions a toll free number on which you are supposed to give a missed call to support  the cause. Of course, it is quite fashionable to support a cause, whether you really care or not. (I still have not given a missed call. Old fashioned me!) And even more fashionable to start a cause! Looks like everybody is jumping into the Satyagrah bandwagon, after Anna Hazare's success. Its like a sudden enlightenment or I suspect (how mean I can be!) it is a trump card for getting more popular with the junta. And the poor common man! His hopes and aspirations rise, only to nosedive after the brouhaha ends. For the time being it looks like we are geared for change. But then its back to business after the uproar dies. Well.... what can poor you and me do? We are aam junta after all, who has forgotten how to vote!

Coming back to the SMS, my funny bone was tickled after reading it. Why? I could not quite understand how Ramdevji is going to tackle or lessen corruption by holding Satyagrah. Let me make a wild guess. Maybe, this andolan will prick the conscience of our netajis and they'll swear to come out clean; Or maybe they'll donate all the wealth they have fleeced from us, for the betterment of the nation; Or they'll give up their crooked ways and lead a spartan life; Or the corrupt person at the grass root level will give up this life of sin and become a yogi; I can rattle off a long list of guesses.

But then I was rudely shaken when my friend yells "shut your trap and give a missed call to that goddamn number. After all, this is a golden chance to do something for yourself".
"Yourself!", I muse.
"Yes, you know what? Participate in this Satyagrah of Medha Patkar......,"
"Ramdevji", I correct.
"Yeah, whatever," says the friend, carelessly, "click photos, take video and upload it in a social networking site. Just imagine! how popular we will get."
"But there'll be many like us", my ignorant voice blurts.
"Arre, just create a small controversy there, and the media will be after you for some sound bytes. Isn't it a good idea?", asks my intelligent friend.
Good idea or not, I don't know. But all this has given me a bad pain in my neck. So I'm off to the nearby mall to buy Ramdev Baba's DVD for tackling neck pain.

First time blogger with no excuses

Hello! I am a first time blogger and I am just learning the tricks of good blogging. I've been itching for some time, say around 100 years or so, to write, but not been able to. There are a list of excuses which I would love to share and also play the blame game. Sharing eases the burden off your shoulders and blaming makes you feel so good. But some sense that is still left in me (good or bad) prevented me from doing so. So here I am, writing, without unloading the weight i'm carrying, without complaining.... phew! Tough job, I must say. My alter ego is fuming! "Just one teeny-weeny nasty remark", says the devil. I chose to ignore. But for how long?

Well, psychologists say that it is a general tendency in humans to look out for some excuse. It keeps one sane, brain in perfect working condition (to come up with new excuses) and promotes the general well being! So, with all these benefits in the offing, I must be crazy! There is no dearth of excuses one come across each day. Late for a meeting? Stuck in a traffic jam... Lost a bet? Lady luck is angry... Cannot complete a work? Was busy with something else.... Cannot do something in life? Its my fate... can't fight fate, you know.......... Isn't it amazing how the human brain works up innumerable excuses, each one a shining example of original creativity? If only it is put to some other use, humanity would be doing a lot of constructive activity. "Well then", asks a friend, "why didn't you start writing blogs before?" "Well..." I say "I am so stuck with house work, kids, their exams, social obligations.....  blah! blah! and more blah! " The friend understands. But God knows why the devil is smiling!