Arrival of the expected

My wife and I waited for ten months. The wait was rather too long, we thought. Especially when we had no idea for whom we were waiting. A He or a She? Not that it mattered. But not knowing indeed increased our anticipation by several folds. In the evening of 21 July, after an eighteen hour wait at the hospital, finally She arrived.

The many tests we did to ensure the 'positive' results was positively positive only increased our joy by that many folds. It is hard to forget the days we saw her tiny heart beat and heard her heartbeat for the first time. Interestingly, adding more anticipatory elements to our case, seeing and hearing her heart beat were on two different days separated by about a week. Both days are equally memorable. It was the moment that brings humility in front of the omnipotent nature. Heart - an organ that runs our lives - starts its action when the foetus is only few centimetres long is beyond my imagination. Incomparable to the many gods we create. Abundant magical moments every time we went for a scan. We witnessed her grow through months. Technology even gave us a chance to realize how she might look like with the help of three-dimensional imaging. Nature and technology, while one is a blessing the other is a gift.

When the big day arrived, it was yet another day of waiting. We reached hospital at ten the previous night. The long wait started then. Even the previous thirty-nine weeks seemed to have gone as breeze. Eighteen hours is the longest I have ever waited. She just doesn't want to come out by herself. Later we came to know that the cord was knotted around her neck. Our wait ended at four O'clock on 21 July evening. Sitting outside the surgical room, I heard her first cry. When I walked into the room, I saw her lie on a table and a neonatologist performing a routine. She was all pink and the doctor announced that it's a girl. A proud moment. And I am a father from that moment on. I saw my wife being sutured. She smiled. Her smile meant that she is a mom from now on.

The journey was quite an adventure. It all started when arrival of the little one was confirmed towards the end of last year. My wife started a journal to document important happenings which she meticulously updates till date. When she started documenting this journal little did I know about those many moments that made our life together worth. What a wonderful gift would this journal be to our little one when she grows up.

Being nature and wildlife enthusiasts, we chose the name 'Prakruti' - a Sanskrit word for 'Nature'.

The fate of a nation

I am not doing justice to this bog since I became a fan of television debates. Watching political lunatics and clowns somersault between two sides of the same argument on daily basis is like I am on a joyride in Disneyland. Sheer amusement.

Public speaking is a skill. For many Indian politicians, politics is the ground to master that skill. I strongly urge anyone who is interested in mastering this art to tune yourself into one of the political debates that happen everyday on two television channels. I learnt how not to speak in public.

It is the fate of our nation to choose one among the following three in May. I have made up nicknames for these three lunatics - especially for those readers who are tired of hearing their names day-in and day-out.

1. Mr Kills-a-lot
2. Mr Coughs-a-lot
3. Mr Cries-a-lot

I am sure it is straightforward from the nicknames who is who. I don't have to explain further. Should I?

Mr Kills-a-lot, a radical lunatic. Undoubtedly killed two thousand people about ten years ago. As the saying goes, "If one kills, it is murder. If a mob kills, it is revolution". He created a revolution against people by not acting against crime. Only because they belong to a different religion. A perfect example of action in inaction. An efficient administrator, as loyalists claim. A tea vendor, as he claims. A 'ruthless' idiot, as I claim.

Mr Coughs-a-lot, an immature clown. Surfed on a wave of anti corruption. Overthrown a fifteen-year old government in the capital. Only to give subsidies. Creates more poor in the streets of Delhi. Has no knowledge of economics. Absolute lack of intelligence on how things work. Stages protests against the centre. Self-proclaimed Gandhi'an - only in outfit. The day will come when he sits in front of his own office to protest against his own government. Surprise surprise. An 'uncorrupted' anarchistic fool on deck. A disgrace to common man. Premature death is around the corner.

Mr Cries-a-lot, a mama's boy. Riding on a surname that has nothing to do with his family. Scores brownie points from time to time by going against his own party men. Men? Sorry, men-of-straw. Nothing else to talk about except that he can climb on to roof of any vehicle. The climbing clown.

The fate of a nation lies with one of these jokers. Tragic, isn't it?

Choosing one among a 'dictatorial' tea vendor, a severely 'sick' anarchist, and a 'thumb-sucking' kid is trivial for common man. Bad among worse on the polling day. What happens next is the cause of concern.

Whatever happens would unmistakably translate into common man's blunder.

The accident

My wife and I met with an accident while driving around in our car today. The word accident undoubtedly 'understates' what happened. This understatement holds good only for reckless traffic in India. Of course, reckless defines not the traffic but behaviour.

I was behind the wheel in traffic for about two hours in the afternoon with couple of breaks during the drive. Our last stop was at a mall. We got out of the mall at 4 PM heading towards home. Being stopped at a junction, I was waiting for the vehicle before me to give way. Since I drive an automatic, I usually keep the gear in neutral with handbrake on at any signal. Today was no different.

While waiting for the signal, I failed to notice a two-wheeler - a moped to be precise - with two children trying to sneak in front of our car. The man who was riding the two-wheeler was not only utterly foolish but also extremely temperamental. The girl child's leg who was riding pillion came in contact with our 'parked' car's body. Fortunately, no damage caused to anyone. The man was anxious. His intention, it seems, was to blame me somehow irrespective of his mistake. He asked me to take reverse in a crowded junction since our car was on his way. How someone can be so preposterous is beyond me.

I rejected his insane idea of taking reverse as there wasn't any wrongdoing on my part let alone no space to drive back. It was now that he started making a scene. He stopped his two-wheeler in the middle of the road and came to my door. He gave a blow to my door's glass. I only prayed that I should maintain my cool and I did. He even opened my door and started all kinds of hand gestures. But he wasn't able to reach me. Had he hit me things would have been very different. Being foolish and unreasonable at the same time in front of your own children only teaches them how not to live. I am certain that they learnt this lesson.

Although he tried enough to gain sympathy, people around knew that he was wrong. With no support, he eventually had to leave. Curtains fell on an unwanted drama. I too learned a lesson - never to keep the doors of the car unlocked while driving.

Riding with children doesn't provide with rights to be reckless. On the contrary, it should cultivate responsibility.

Many Indians learn common sense through hard ways.

Eulogy: A Life As I Knew It

There is no exaggeration in accepting that I have been anticipating this very moment for quite sometime now. Writing an eulogy is no easy task, let alone for someone who has been a role model for about three decades. A mentor, whose eighty-seven years of life when I read and understand now provides leadership lessons.

I have known him for thirty odd years. He was known only for his honesty. An honest civil servant in a country that is notorious for bribery and corruption. Yes, undoubtedly, he lived a nightmare. An essential leadership attitude. Stick to your principles come what may.

He hailed from a poor farming family. The third among five children, he was put up for adoption by his father - a decision his father would change later because of his son's determination not to leave. Whilst all four siblings are either priests or home-makers with minimal education, he went on to become a government officer - a designation his father felt more proud of than himself. Chasing the dream alone when all odds are against you is not enough. Make the odds proud of you.

Both his parents lived with him till their last breath. Rather he wanted them to be looked after by him and his family. A morality that is fast diminishing - if not long forgotten - in today's stereotypical world. Integrity and compassion make the world whole. During the initial stage, he wanted his parents not to give up on him by putting him up for adoption and in their final stage, he did not give up on them. Be the change you want to see.

As a young boy, he used to sit outside one of his well-to-do friends' house. The lady of the house would call her own son inside for a snack while keeping him wait outside. A hungry boy awaited his turn for a snack everyday only to realise that his turn would never come. An incident that he amusingly narrated on several occasions. He never let the disappointments of one day dictate the other. It is not what happened but how you took it matters.

He was a voracious reader. He taught me how to read newspaper, how to write letters, how to deposit and withdraw money, and even how to argue in the court of law. His day would invariably start with reading 'The Hindu', a leading English daily that I still subscribe to. When I struggled with new words, he brought a dictionary along. In later stages, he would ask me to explain the meanings of words that are derived from modern English. Someone who taught me also wanted to learn from me. Never be hesitant to learn. The first lesson a teacher should know is how to learn.

He never had enough for himself. Never wanted anything that was beyond his reach. He owned a television set only after his retirement, bought from his benefits. Only a couple of years ago he started using a mobile phone. He was curious about technological advancements. He had an acute sense of comprehending any language film without subtitles. My love for animals was a result of watching National Geographic and Animal Planet with him. Contentment and curiosity are the two equal-yet-opposing forces that keep us in balance.

Even after retirement, he had an active professional life for about fifteen years until he had his first cardiac arrest. He was a life insurance agent. He persuaded many to insure their lives without having any thoughts about securing one for his own. His only thoughts were to marry off his unmarried children at that time: five daughters and a son - an Herculean task he accomplished in a span of ten years. During this period, he lost one of his eyes to a medical malpractice. He started seeing the world with a different perspective. This time with only one eye. Perseverance is the light that glows brighter day-by-day. Where there is a will, there is a way.

He was a fighter all through his life. When he was hospitalised for the last time, he fought bravely for fourteen days providing doctors with hope. He neither spoke nor ate. Just fought and only fought to be in this world again. Wanting one more chance to accomplish whatever was left behind. Never give up.

In the first two days of hospitalisation, I visited his bed in the Intensive Care Unit when he opened his eye to look at me for the last time. The intensity only represented the spirit and struggles of eighty-seven years of his life. A look that I could never forget. An eye that always watches me over. That gives me strength to fight, to stick to principles, and to accomplish. Always inspire.

On 27 April 2013, I walked to his bed again only to find him barely breathing through a ventilator, and absolutely zero motion in his eye. I called him several times and asked him to fight as usual consoling myself that he was listening. Ten minutes later, at 3:05 PM, he ceased to fight. For the first time, his will power was broken. He was no more. I kissed him goodbye for the last time only to realise that I never kissed him before.

It is not the death I am worried about but the loss. I lost a friend, a mentor, a teacher, and above-all a grandfather who is responsible for what I am today. Although appropriate, never did he claim credit for that. He was always a spectator of my growth detaching himself from what I am. A perfect gentleman.

I struggled a lot to address him in past tense. If there is anywhere in this eulogy that I addressed him in present tense, it may not be a typographical error. It is only my wish that he is still with me.

 

कर्मणि एवाधिकरस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन ।

मा फलहेतुः भूः मा ते संगः अस्तु अकर्मणि ।।

Seek to perform your duty; but lay no claim to its fruits. Be not the producer of fruits of karma; neither shall you lean towards inaction.

-Bhagavad Gita

Seven days seven flights

Flying from south east Asia to the far west America through Europe has always fascinated me and at the same time driven me crazy at times. This post captures some of those moments during my recent travel. A perfect blend of horror and nightmare.

I was scheduled to travel around the globe for two weeks when hurricane Sandy hit the eastern coast of the United States. Not having much information on weather, I started for the airport in Bangalore. Upon checking in, I enquired whether connecting flights from Europe and Washington are on time. About the same time, I received the text message on possible cancellations of both connecting flights. Having no other options left, I had a subway sandwich at the airport and returned home. That was by far the most expensive sandwich I have ever had. One consoling reason for having been to the airport.

Rescheduled the flights for next week. Now I have to cover both USA and Germany in a week. Totally seven flights in seven days. One common thing is nightmare.

The horror started while leaving USA for Germany. My flight to Chicago was late by two hours - the duration I planned for transit before boarding next flight for Germany. The flight landed ten minutes before my other flight's departure giving a hope. I ran, ran, and ran. After about two miles of running - with nothing eaten earlier for four hours - got to see my flight taxiing for take off. I can only wave my hand and wish others a safe journey.

It was already 11’O clock when the airline rescheduled my flight for the next day. Had to call my company's travel centre to book a hotel in Chicago for that night's stay. General fact is that travel centre people hardly travel. They know nothing about journey. Map-idiots is the term. They put you on hold no matter from where and at what time you call them. Travel centre booked me in a hotel that is forty minutes away from the airport. But ensured that it is only two km away from the airport. Two km drive can take forty odd minutes only in Bangalore.

A Chinese cab driver was to my rescue. At least that was my thought until he took me for a ride metaphorically and literally. He was carrying a book that had street addresses and directions in text. No TomTom. A Chinese guy with no respect for technology and carrying around a paper book was indeed weird to me. Having driven for more than half-an-hour, I see nothing on road except darkness. It was a highway. The driver was easily irritated when I asked him twice whether we are on the right path. Asians, by nature, are good at annoying and very good at easily annoyed. After ten more minutes of drive, he realised that we are not on the right path. He turned around and was leading me towards airport.

Reached the hotel that was near the airport runway. First time in my life, I thought, I touched my nose from behind my head. The hotel had the same name as the one that my travel centre guru had booked me in. At the reception, I was told that I am at the wrong hotel. Have to travel forty minutes west to reach the right hotel. Already traveled east for forty-five. I had no eagerness left in me to be a Columbus rediscovering the promising land. I asked the receptionist to cancel my other booking and check me in there. He graciously agreed. After they are hotels run under one umbrella. I drove away the Chinese guy without paying his hundred odd bucks. I was in no mood to pay. When I think about it now, I feel that I should have gifted him with a GPS instead.

When I hit the bed, I knew it was the hard earned sleep that awaited. It was approaching midnight. Why do all bad things come on the same day? A perennial question.

There were many first times for me from this incident. My first flight miss. My first two mile run. My first time in Chicago. My first Chinese cab driver. My first one hour ride without knowing where I was heading to. My first time in not paying a cab driver.

What I learnt is simple:

Never trust a travel agent!

The Bribal Shower

I got my passport reissued!

The feeling I get upon writing the above sentence is inexplicable. Why is that so? Is it that hard? I think again. Yes, it can never be described in mere words. Especially when you are a part of corrupted democracy. I don't think it would be the same feeling when you get your passport reissued in any other part of this world - developed countries, in particular. I am a blessed one in this regard!

By the way, what I didn't explicitly mention before is that I got my passport reissued without bribing the policeman despite his demands. I cannot believe that a policeman treats bribe as his birthright. When I denied paying it, I simply know how Alexander the great would have felt when everything was just under his feet.

I realised something during this episode. In India, things should not be done just right. They should be done right politically. If I were to deny the bribe straightaway - although morally correct - I might end up being on the wrong foot. Unfortunately, today morality and politics avoid taking the same road. So I went to the policeman with a trick. In India, I go to police station to verify myself and my residential address. How a policeman verifies my home address by sitting behind his desk is beyond my comprehension. By the way, I only have a PhD.

After being asked to produce several documents that verify and vouch for my existence on earth, policeman signed my application and stamped it as verified. Now the fun part begins. He used an amusing word for bribe. The service charge. I wanted to ask him whether there is any tax on that service charge. But I controlled myself. After all I need my passport. I politely asked him for a receipt for his service charge instead. He jokingly asked me to collect the receipt later. I stood up, thanked, and asked him to give me a call as soon as the receipt is ready. He blushed and can only do that. After a month, I received my new passport.

How easy it is to tackle bribe and corruption. No fasts. No hunger strikes. No threats. Just common sense. Same as what Gandhi's life teaches - awareness. Please be aware:

Receipts, not fasts, are our birthright!

The Big Brother

This Big Brother not only watches you but also pokes his nose into your privacy. He proclaims that he is well-mannered and civilized. He seeks solutions externally to its internal problems. He trades war for peace.

You do all you could during the year. You get into a room with your manager to review your annual performance. Invariably, every manager would have at least one point for your development needs. Their imagination rockets beyond mine. At least they do their job once.

Connect the dots between above two paragraphs. In this blog, I am the manager. Wow, what a feeling to be at the giving end for once. Undoubtedly, at the receiving end is the self-proclaimed superpower in terms of nuclear weapons and war - the United States of America - the big brother and bully of the world.

Why is USA an acronym of "least admired" in my dictionary? My answer is simple, honest, and to the point. Because it is.

USA, in the simplest terms, owns the world according to its political leaders. Every president of the United States - no matter black or white - considers himself to be the messiah and dictates policies for all countries. All of them undoubtedly know everything from how should Iran use nuclear fuel to how China should reform its economic policies to how India should not interfere in Internet screening. But when it comes to America, they simply are a failure. Failure in understanding the American needs. Deaf and dumb towards healthcare. Blind towards credits and loans. Careless about gun culture.

Alfred Nobel alone is to blame. Peace prize for war is the first time in the history of civilization. Killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people elsewhere because few thousands lost lives in your country will bring peace to none. Agreed that a life is a life. One life is as precious as many. But an eye for an eye will only make you the president of the United States. Money spent in wars could have easily earned jobs, security, and healthcare. But who wants solution to our problems. We are America. We always want to create one outside.

The election is around the corner. President Obama is expected to win despite his failures. Only because the opponent is a disaster. He will make an astounding speech again upon his victory. But everything stops there. Nothing moves afterwards except his dog.

The Verdict.

America, the developments are much needed not in your infrastructure but undoubtedly in your outlooks. Nobody has conquered the world without conquering self. And you are "nobody". Before you dream of owning the world, own yourself first.  Please keep in mind the following corporate mantra:

The developed always needs development!

Unknown Angel

My wife has asked me to write this blog on the quality time of two weeks. Oops... I might have fallen for a prank here.  In any case, I dedicate this to her.

Today is farewell to my short-lived bachelor life since the wedding last year. My wife was traveling for two weeks on official business. On hearing about her official plans a month ago I was overjoyed. Had gotten myself ready, as if, to welcome a long lost friend with countless things to share.

The big day had come. I sent off my wife that morning. At work, thoughts about being a bachelor for the next two weeks brought sporadic smiles on my face. I couldn't wait to invite freedom. Freedom from answering the same question more than once. Those who know women - especially wives - will certainly agree with me on this. Answering tricky question is not my cup of tea. Husbands may have practiced and be certain of answering the question. However the talent that wives possess is unmatched. Wives pose the same question in different ways until husbands give in and answer in a way that they regret later. At times, when we are taken care of and treated to an extent of mere five-year olds, the dream of being a grown up all though life has suddenly be proven meaningless. And wives don't understand that. With all due considerations, the two weeks seemed like a long time. A dream come true.

All joy lasted only till evening. When I returned home and opened the door, a rush of loneliness possessed me. Independence and freedom became pointless. My long lost friend was now a stranger. I had nothing to share. Who would share with a stranger? A day itself seemed like a very long time now. An urge to answer questions - no matter how many times asked - grew. Anything to get my married life back. All of a sudden, my mobile rang. Yes, she was the one. Geared up with questions on what I ate to what all I did. Giving away free advices on eating fruits and drinking water. For someone who lived most part of his life alone and outside, this turns out to be a little annoyance. But undoubtedly worth it. My IQ did improve in one year.

Thanks to technology - voice and text - two weeks flew away without my felt lonely. Awaiting eagerly to be imprisoned again.

Bachelor life is an unknown angel. Who would trust an unknown angel against a known ___? The blank is for my wife to fill out :-)

Adverse Pervertisement

If and only if I were Shakespeare, the word advertisement will be re-defined and re-coined to sound like the title of this blogpost. In a country that is obsessed with "parental" guidance at every stage of life - needless to mention no matter how old you are - marketing takes its own road to glory. More often than not, the product itself is overshadowed by the very idea of advertisement.

Unlike the past, today's advertisements are hardly a source of amusement. But most of them are certainly bemusing. What strikes me harder is that all those substandard ads are derogatory towards women. None of those groups that fight for mere 33% reservation choose to fight against male or perhaps product chauvinism. Probably some of these ad filmmakers are married to women heading those groups. Vent their anger out at work. Makes sense to me. However, the theme still remains unacceptable.

Angels fall from the sky due to Axe deodorant. Either angels are easier to get or Axe is anesthetic. After using one, I incline to support the latter reason. None of those angels that fall quite look to me as "angels". They look as if someone who never had used any whitening cream. Perhaps no advertisements in heaven, from our confident women who are in their 50s and do not understand aging, for Nivea or Olay.

After whitening cream, what? A guy will propose to the angel or at least angel-like Olay using woman. He will say it like Sid - during the convocation ceremony speech with Frooti in hand and support of the University's principal. He gets married to her with Skoda Rapid as his price.

Later in life, one day he comes back from work finds a Skybag salesman in his bedroom closet while his wife is lying on bed covered in sheet. Even a primary school kid will understand the scene today. But the salesman is shown to convince the husband that he demonstrates to his wife how good Skybag looks in their closet. The husband is amazed and wants to buy a Skybag. This one, in particular, is offensive to men as well.

What happens when both husband and wife don't trust each other? Simple. They buy Nokia Lumia mobiles. They can track each other on the move and show up in places as if they bump into each other by accident. Nokia is always a brand of trust.

When nothing works out, get Idea 3G. Being haunted in this life isn't enough for them. Be Certain of haunted in the afterlife as well. Good to know that junior B  goes to heaven.

I will stick to Airtel. Be happy in hell.

Not all those who speak Hindi are from Bombay

This happened today morning when I was on my way to work. Since I started late from home this morning, in order to escape the horrible traffic and crowd of Bangalore, I decided to walk up to the nearby junction from where I can catch a relatively empty bus. To diverge from the main topic - Yes, I take public transport to work. I don't have a car! Whenever I tell this to my friends or colleagues, from their facial expressions I could  understand that I just sounded like an alien. In a city like Bangalore without a car. I don't have to elaborate. The statement speaks for itself.

I was nearing the junction. Chaos. Everyone wants to go and no ones wants to wait. In India, when you notice carefully(?), the drivers honk even when the signal is red as if they beg the signal to turn green. Perhaps, signal is seen as a god to whom they plead on-the-fly and pay respects by honking. The signal was red. Two motorists came to a halt. However, the second rider was unable to control the speed before coming to a halt. He started yelling in Kannada (regional language) at the first rider for suddenly applying the brakes on seeing red signal. The traffic police who was standing few yards away was observing this. The first rider, in turn, asked the second in Hindi (National language) to pay attention to traffic signals hereafter. So far their yelling was all about road safety. I was not interested and started walking away. But the arguments that followed caught my attention and gripped me. The second motorist - guy from this region - a Kannadiga - got down from his motorcycle and approached the first motorcycle. In the highest pitch I have ever heard, the first motorist said the following in Kannada (regional language):

"This is not your Bombay. This is our Bangalore. Talk in Kannada. Or shut up".

The first thing that impressed me is the ignorance of first motorist. I immediately pitied him. Not all those who speak Hindi are from Bombay. This is textbook. Secondly, the words "your" and "our" are quite amusing in this context.

I fail to understand the underlying cause of such hatred. Although prevalent in India, Bangalore seems to display more of it than others. Logically, regional people population in Bangalore is less than 30%. Those who come from other states help build economy of Bangalore. Developments in and around Bangalore including Metro is because of those who live, work, earn, and spend here. Instead of being blamed, they must be praised and celebrated. Regional fanatics should understand where they failed. Blaming the successful is a typical quality of a loser. Failures never make us losers. Ever.

Shouldn't migration be a right rather than an opportunity? I mean globally.

The C-factor

I wanted to name this post "The C-men". Seems a bit more embarrassing than the content itself. So I stick to "The C-factor".

I have been traveling a lot lately. Business and personal. Mostly by air. The airport is about 50 km from my apartment. I am someone who would rather opt for public transport than a personal car or even private cabs for that matter. But circumstances of my travel often dictate my preference. I end up choosing private cabs. The title C-Factor is nothing but the "Cab" factor that I noticed - rather witnessed while being a victim of devilish rides - all through my riding experiences irrespective of the time and place of travel.

The cab drivers in general and particularly in Bangalore are overworked. At times, they work three days straight taking only naps in between assignments. As it seems they clearly work towards becoming millionaires at the earliest come what may - life or death. None of the cab companies that recruit them mind that. Why would they? They make themselves billionaires. Adding insult to injury, the cab companies indeed support drivers.

I was on a terrific ride from my apartment to the airport one fine morning in one of those reckless cabs. The driver was on his mobile phone from the moment he picked me up. After about ten minutes, I asked the driver to put the phone down and concentrate on driving. He was reluctant as he told me that he gets sleep if he doesn't talk over phone. An excuse I rejected straight away as non sense. Not for a longtime. After about 10 minutes, the cab was slowing down while moving away from the lane on a flyover in which other cars were over 100 kph. This happened twice before I noticed the terrible thing that I would have never imagined even in my wildest of dreams. The driver was falling asleep while driving. I had to keep the driver awake while looking to avoid possible collisions. My ride was a nightmare that morning. I later found that drivers talk to other fellow drivers in order to keep themselves and the other driver awake. Indeed a team work of destruction. It resembles the story of frogs that pull other frogs down from jumping out of well. I die. You die. We die.

After this incident, there is an irresistible urge in me to notice drivers on my rides. And it happened every time I travelled by cabs. No matter what, the drivers sleep while sitting behind the wheel. I travelled at all times during the day after that incident. I found drivers no different - all morons - no matter what time of the day, no matter where. All nightmares I am trying to forget. I pay them for the ride but end up being a humanoid google map that keeps them awake, aware of directions, and away from possible accidents.

I am going back to basics. Choose flights at appropriate times. Use public transportation. Keep an eye on drivers while traveling in cabs. I started asking them for three things before I hire: no mobile phones, no rash driving, and no naps during the journey. I only have control over my driver. But who is keeping an eye on other drivers who drive alongside my cab?

I would rather be a passenger in a car than a TomTom.

God's own Country

Padmanabhaswami alias P. Swami alias “one of the Gods” hit the headlines of all leading national dailies last week. For the very reason that we have been aware of. Acquisition of wealth. So far US$ 18.5 bn. This is nothing new for us. It has become an every day event. Unlike A. Raja, Kalamadi, and Kani, P. Swami did not ask for it. Very strange for an Indian god to act this way. It raises suspicions about His nationality.

History unveils the fact that someone looted wealth from people and dumped it on P. Swami. That is exactly what A. Raja was trying to say for him as well.

Earlier, when this news of wealth flashed, a revengeful Karunanidhi wanted to sue P. Swami for wealth acquisition with a misunderstanding that He is a brother of Subramanian Swamy. The infamous duo of Lokpal Bill – Anna Hazare and Baba Ramdev – are also considering agitation against P. Swami’s wealth. Anna, as usual, plans to fast and Baba is already looking for outfits at Lifestyle – women’s section. Honestly, I have trouble relating any of their deeds to Gandhi’s principles. Both are only an inch short of becoming opportunistic terrorists who threaten democratically elected government to do things in their own favor. To my understanding, fast unto awareness and not threat is Gandhian. Apparently, modern Gandhians don’t seem to understand.

Now the important question crops up. Who owns P. Swami’s wealth? Duh, P. Swami of course. Interestingly, Indian law – no wonder – recognizes Idols or so-called Gods as Juristic. An entity other than human beings to which the law, by itself, attributes a personality. It doesn’t stop there. The Supreme Court adds that Gods hold rights and duties. They can own and dispose of property, receive gifts, sue, and be sued. As if Gods have nothing else to do. What would P. Swami, the God, do with US$ 18.5 bn? Would he spend his wealth for a cause? Or would he become a mortal being finding pleasures around the corners? Or all His wealth will again be back into the vaults like that of Sai Baba’s?

I am going to keep my eyes open in airports, resorts, shopping malls, spas and liquor boutiques. I am likely to run into P. Swami any day from now.

Are there any other better ways can a man spend his newly found wealth?

The King's Speech

I have not watched but only heard of this movie. Because I am in India. We always get good things either late or never. Good things would have vanished without a trace had they been early. This is India.

A very simple plot based on a true story. A speech impeded King of Britain, with the help of an unorthodox speech therapist, overcomes stuttering and delivers the speech of the last century. The King in subject is none other than Queen Elizabeth II's father.

Although the title is misleading (at first it gave an impression that its about MLK Jr's "I have a dream") , I am happy and excited to know about this unique yet informative movie – surely one of its kind. Such is the seriousness of the plot that the story was made to wait for thirty years by the wife of the King as the events were still bitter and painful.

Being a stutterer myself – I am far better now than what I was ten years ago.. thanks to a speech therapist! – I always and always came across Indian movies that make fun of speech impediments. Sadly, this is one of the reasons I avoid watching films even at home along with others. Often I avoid meeting new people and socialize. A bad movie plot demotivates individuals and ruins confidence.

I will not be surprised if the King's Speech doesn't win Academy awards. In fact I will be happier to not see this movie alongside Slumdog Millionaire in the winner's list. I like realism over fiction even in movies. Indian filmmakers don't. The reason being Indian filmmakers "dream" of their movie plots. And that is why winning Academy awards for Indian movies is always "imaginary".

There is an irony in the King's Speech:
A speech impeded King but an eloquent story!

India - The tour of Mr Obama

Title of this post should be "Mr Obama - The tour of India". At least that was what Indian media seemed to have established.

Obamania gripped terror-struck Mumbai.

Media talked non-stop about his visit from publishing pictures of Air Force One on Mumbai skies to landing to receiving the presidential brigade. All with running commentary. Thanks to internet and jobless journalists.

Once landed President Obama's charisma indeed won the hearts of billions. We should thank him. His visit created a chance to know about the families of those who lost their lives on 26/11. The extent of which could be seen in dedicated articles on family members who shook hands with him, who are otherwise invisible to the eyes of alert journalists. Sad to note that neither Indian politicians nor media got them to limelight. It is understandable. Politicians were busy planning their corruption tactics for the next scandal and media were busy with their next season of Bigg Boss. What a shame?

Had President Obama stayed a bit longer, the pronoun that represents him would have been capitalized despite where it appears in the sentence.

India celebrated PM Cameron more than President Obama. Mainly because the PM didn't possess diplomacy. He was very casual. He was also the first British premier to openly seek help from India. Kashmir and her problem creators were a major part of his speech. On the other hand, President Obama blurred the issue by not emphasizing it. Still he secured 50,000+ jobs for Americans. History indeed goes around in circles. Now Indians can proudly say, Americans steal our jobs.

President Obama: You have always been on the line that separates failure and success. Having known for our 'strict' grading system we give you a 'barely' passed grade although Americans have failed you. Congratulations. You must be proud of your achievement now. But, with this grade you may not even be able to secure a job in Indian call centers in two years. We often raise the IQ levels for jobs in India. Your Nobel will certainly not help. Work harder. India need a change in American perspective on economy, trade, security, and terrorism, together with a tiny backbone.

Change we can believe in, Can we?

The Goddess of Small Things!

None other than Arundhati Roy.

Taking things for granted and assuming that you are always right even without facts are the two qualities that grip you when you become an acclaimed writer. There is no escape. Ms Roy is no exception.

Since last week Ms Roy has become an unofficial spokesperson of Kashmir militants. Spreading 'peace' across Kashmir by criticizing India and standing up for the independence of Kashmir. However I failed to understand her point. Independence from whom?

Of late Ms Roy travels across the 'divided' state and interviews local people in an attempt to understand their miserable lives. Of course with a secretive intention to collect fictitious data for her next book "My baseless assumptions" (on India's atrocities in Kashmir).

Two things that caught my attention from her recent article defending her "independence for Kashmir" comment. Obviously, she unsuccessfully tries to project herself as a savior of:

Muslims in Kashmir. All her recent writings or interviews on Kashmir had at least one story of a tormented Muslim family. Without clear facts I find it difficult to be for or against anything here. For the same reason, blaming Indian government and demanding independence of Kashmir is incomprehensible. I did read in history that there are Hindus too who live in Kashmir. Have you seen and interviewed any of them, Ms Roy? Probably not. Because they are almost extinct today in that part of the world. Are you aware of ethnic cleansing? Maybe not. After all it is a fact.

Lives of Dalit soldiers. By the way, the word Dalit is now a valid adjective. Can be used in front of anything and everything. Even soldiers!

In her own words,

I spoke about justice for the people of Kashmir who live under one of the most brutal military occupations in the world; for Kashmiri Pandits who live out the tragedy of having been driven out of their homeland; for Dalit soldiers killed in Kashmir whose graves I visited on garbage heaps in their villages in Cuddalore...

Ms Roy: your comments do successfully project you in a third way. As a publicity seeker. Realize the gravity. There is a difference between politicians and writers. Writers certainly need facts, even the fiction ones. Hope you understand. Get out of your fantasies. Otherwise,


You are the Goddess of NOT small BUT cheap things!

Thought-provoking

Whilst I indulged in writing my next sarcastic post, I had a thought-provoking discussion with one of my friends. Since it is neither easy nor frequent for me to be provoked thoughtfully, I chose to write this post first. I hope that Ms Dixit and Mr Kalmadi could wait till my next post as they are already tired of CWG and at present busy with CBI and ED.

Our discussion started with an unusual question: "How do we know that we fit well into various roles we play in our lives?"

I remembered Shakespeare. He must have had the answer. After all he did manage to affirm that we are all players on a stage. To my disappointment he didn't seem to have measured the fitness of each role. Hardly a few would have the guts to criticize themselves. Shakespeare didn't belong to that 'minority' group. He seemed to have comfortably left the question untouched.

Why is it a thought-provoking question? Usually I call anything thought-provoking if I am really excited but unable to answer. And most importantly I do not wish to think about it again. Adding to my excitement, this question indeed made me think. How on earth am I going to measure the fitness of my roles as a son, brother, husband, father...? For some time I thought the question was purely rhetorical. Later I realized it certainly was not. For the first time I started to question myself: have I understood the question correctly? It doesn't happen to us often. By 'us' I meant 'researchers' in general. We always assume that we got the question correct no matter we understood it or not.

In professional terminology it seemed to me that I was given a self-assessment form. Only that the form could not be filled. It brings back the memories of my examinations. Sitting in a hall with all the restrictions in the world and waiting for the bell to ring. Only that there is no bell to ring here. I am forced to think and analyze.

Analyzing the thought-provoking question further leads only to not-so-conclusive answers. No matter whether this question makes complete sense or non-sense, the answer lies with the audience that the question was intended to. Finally I understood that I am the one who sets the question. I am not required to answer; let alone know the answer. I jumped in joy. My days are back. The bell has rung.

If you want to know how well you played your role, ask your audience! Ask your parents, siblings, longtime friends...

I appreciated the "power of asking" when I was watching a documentary on The Fall of World Trade Center. We all felt for and consoled the loved ones of those who lost their precious lives on that tragic morning. A fitting tribute. But, have we ever asked or at least thought about the engineer, Leslie Robertson, who spent months designing those towers, whose office overlooked the "once-stood" towers, who watched all his efforts vanishing in rubbles on 9/11. What he must have gone through when the towers collapsed? We don't know. Because we never asked.

The only unanswered questions are those that are never asked. Better late than never.

Men in White

Approximately fifteen-million pounds for a four-day visit. Utter lavishness. Whilst the Christ carried the cross on his shoulders and walked a long way to be crucified, His man in the Vatican city needs a specially designed bulletproof car. Modernization at its best. Church and modernization? Wealth overpowers principles, you know.

Sadly enough the Pope's tour is a State visit. I didn't realize until I figured out the meaning of State visit. David Cameron has to pay 20p from British tax-payer's money even for "His Holy Pee". One of my friends asked me innocently: "That won't be bad. How much would he pee?"

Pope's embarrassments usually start and progress during the tour. This time it came a little early. One of his advisors pulled out of the entourage quoting that UK is like a third world country due to its multicultural society. I personally don't bother about all this. Why bother a bunch of lunatics running a wealthy asylum by misleading people in the name of religion? But, do they realize that Jesus was a brown man from a third world country? I am sure not. They may even ask: Jesus, who?

Traditionally, the Vatican understands neither religion nor politics. It clearly didn't come across David Cameron's "Please save our butt" column in the Hindu when he visited India. Had they read there wouldn't have been a third world comment.

In his speech, Pope, not withstanding atheistic protests, compared Nazism and atheism saying Nazis were also atheists trying to abolish religion and God. He has a humor side too in spite of being a man of God.

Two more days left of his visit. He is yet to address the parliament. Lots of fun due. May God bless the Pope for bringing fun all the way from Vatican. I now rank Wimbledon second only to him.

While I write this I wonder: Is he really the God of men or just a man of God?

In Dependence Day

The title is not a typo. It is meant to be so. Today we are still in dependence. If not, Narayanamurthy will be jobless and bankrupt.

First I came to know about this I-Day only yesterday. I read somewhere "The PM's address to the nation". Although its the same old flour ground by "old" men time and again, thanks to the media. Every year I gather that August 15 is approaching only from them. They have a dedication to national service. They always publish this speech, come what may.

Every "proud" Indian wishes a "Happy I-Day" on FB, Orkut and wherever there is social networking. Isn't it rather an irony that Happy and I-Day are next to each other in the same sentence? Even more irony follows: those who wish on FB/Orkut are non-resident Indians. Of course they are happy abroad enjoying the western life-style and start cribbing about India as soon as they land here on vacation or for permanent settlement after being sent back by their adopted countries. This "Happy I-Day" from NRIs seems a little sarcastic to me. I am reminded of Cartman's "Screw you guys; I am going home" in Southpark.

Feeling independence is rather tricky especially when we don't actually know what independence means. But we can always list what happiness means to us in a typical Indian way.

Things make us happy only when:

• people from outside our state do not settle down in our state
  
• we steal jobs in other countries while we support the above point rigorously at home
  
• politicians loot as much as they can and on retirement pass on their power to their children
• there is a tax reimbursement for everything we buy including condoms and sanitary napkins (after all we spend a lot on the former only to help government tackle growing population)
  
• the elected members discuss important issues through their footwear
• media confuse us to the most possible extreme that we do not even understand who they target
• vote for color TV-sets
  
• we talk for hours about Indian democracy abroad and take pride in it without fail when we have not even voted once in general elections
  

I don't understand our proud Indians who adopt western culture and waiting for years to become a citizen of the adopted country and one more year for the passport. Some of them even seek to start families abroad calculating that its a shortcut to speedy citizenship. I am not complaining. I am just frustrated that I am not able to understand "Happy I-Day". Maybe I am overqualified to learn. Only that we depend a lot on adopted country 'theory'. Today we are still in dependence. In my opinion, I-Day is In Dependence Day!

I would like to extend my wishes on this day: Screw you guys, Happy I-Day!

A Fool's Journey

Destiny was the British general election. It was one of those bitter and tiring journeys that made me lose my way. From shocking to nothing. At the end, I am the fool.

On the road, I noticed two very interesting facts about British elections.

One. Elections are held only on Thursdays since 1931. A God-set day? Darwin in my ten-pounds note frowned. I understand his disapproval. So, Thursdays are either auspicious or lucky. As in Fridays and Pakistan.

Two. The Queen can vote, but in practice it is considered 'unconstitutional' for the Monarch to vote in an election. In case you are wondering, squandering public wealth doesn't fall under 'unconstitutional' category in Britain. Anywhere for that matter, I suppose. But here its legal. We pay tax to prove it too.

Many of the queue-forming British were sent home on the voting day while forming queue outside the polling station. Even before they voted. The reason was lack of ballot papers. Yes, the developed nation still use ballot papers. Indian villages use electronic technology to choose the bad among worse. I wish Mr Churchill be alive today to reconsider his 'men of straw' comment. What the heck? Let us dig him out.

British media have been partial since the day-one of Mr Brown. He had too many negative qualities to lead Britain. Scottish, media-'un'savvy, inarticulate and most importantly his illegible handwriting. Dominant British culture speaks for itself. Outfit over outlook.

British, rather English, Prime ministers in the past were eloquent. And 'only' eloquent. Mr Blair, the most charismatic PM was very loyal to the invader, Mr Bush. I would not have been surprised had Mr Bush said he has a cat, a dog and Mr Blair who would obey his commands swiftly. In contrast, Mr Brown was calm and composed even during the recession, toughest in the country's history since WWII. Of course, he proved us that he was technologically behind with his 'bigoted woman' comment on his microphone. Well, who isn't? No one is perfect.

The most 'nothing' thing in this journey was Mr Brown's offer to stand down. As someone rightly pointed out, the decision has to be admired. An example of how tough a calm guy can be. Britain need a man of action. Not mere words. By action, I don't necessarily mean arrogance. And they have lost one today.

Promiscuous quakes

A note above, for a change. Thanks to Pamela, who suggested the topic for this blog.

Last week marked an incredible discovery. Scientists all around the world bowed down before an Iranian cleric. Yes, the cleric has discovered something that scientists have toiled so many years for. It was an absolute outside-the-box thought. Scientists would have never reached that point anytime soon. On the first read itself, his proposed idea seemed fascinating and would certainly solve all mysteries behind the unpredictable earthquakes. Only that we lose all the fun. Who wants fun? Earthquakes are indeed disastrous.

A close look at his theory. He predicts that only promiscuous women are responsible for earthquakes. And the reason he unveiled was even more interesting. Men lack self-control under the influence of such women. If it was that easy, how many women are needed to take control of his President and his nuclear ambitions? Iranian cleric and women. Never go hand-in-hand. Not in public. Undeniably, the cleric has spent much time researching women, needless to mention promiscuous.

Not surprisingly, this theory attracted supporters from India. Of course, clergymen. Who else would? Of 1.2 billion, we do have substantial insanity in the form of clergies. One of them defended the cleric by giving a new perspective to his theory. By earthquake, it seems, the Iranian cleric meant social earthquake. The aftershocks have now been shifted to society. Where the hell is 'social earth' on this damn earth? When does it quake? I hope the Pope will clarify this soon after the pedophile cases.

Women, all around the world, did rise to the moment, rather insanely. A Facebook campaign asked women to dress promiscuously on April 26th. Demanded an explanation of his theory from the cleric. Having proven to be unpredictable, what if there was an earthquake? Women should have given up their outlook. Luckily it didn't happen.

Indian women are no bystanders to this. Scrupulous reactions and support for the genuine cause everywhere.
"I will definitely wear such a [promiscuous] t-shirt tomorrow to show my support" and "I don't know how effective it will be but why not do it anyway for the fun of it all?"

My response and request to them.

Are you 'supported' in such a t-shirt first of all? Please take a look at not-so-long-ago-'Swami' Nithyanandha. A notorious victim of a 'promiscuous' fun. Social quake-hit victim.

Please do not create more earthquakes. Earthquakes are not fun ;-)