When the Gods caught Fire

“Jay, go and wake Tauji, it’s time for the aarti.”

“Coming Ma!”

Jay went to his uncle’s room. His uncle always slept on the folding cot, even though there was a perfectly good bed in the room. He never quite got his uncle’s logic.

“It helps with my back pains,” he said.

“Then let me remove the mattress from the bed, it will be the same.”

“But the cot is closer to the window!”

“I can move the bed wherever you want”

“Oh bacche, let’s go do the Aarti first. We can decide on the bed later.”

“Tauji is coming Maa!”, Jay shouted, then went upstairs to turn on the lights. The entire house lit in red as the Chinese lights flickered to life. He came back to the mandir. His mother was arranging all the diyas, putting the money between them, and making the swastika.

“That is the wrong swastika. You made a straight Z. It’s the opposite.”

“You correct the swastika then, I’ll go see where your Tauji and father are,” his mother said.

“They are coming! You just correct the swastika, I’ll go get Guddu.”

After around half an hour of hustling by Jay and shouting by Guddu, she finally came to the mandir. It is not easy getting kids away from crackers, especially when they have a bucket full of them left.

“Can I eat that?”

Guddu’s first words when coming to the mandir was to ask if she could eat the Milk and Jalebi prasada. Mom didn’t allow it, so she threw another of her tantrums.

“Jay! Jay!! Turn off your phone now and take Guddu from here!! And find your father and Tauji!” Mom clearly had too much to handle.

“Hey Guddu, I’ll make you a deal. You go and find Tauji, then when Mom isn’t around, I’ll let you have a piece of the prasada before the Pooja,” He offered her. It wasn’t his first time controlling his sister, and he knew how he could tempt her. Eyes sparkling with a prospect of sweets earlier than others, Guddu ran to find her father and uncle. Jay went back to his phone.

“Meena, take this photo too. Add it to the mandir,” Ramesh gave his wife a photo of the three gods, Ganesh, Lakshmi and Saraswati,  taken from a newspaper daily. He had carefully cut the sponsor’s ads in the bottom.

“But I can’t tape it to the wall, there’s no tape in the house. Besides, we already have a picture of all these three in the mandir.”

“Yes, but I spent half an hour trying to cut the ads from the bottom! Jay, come here. Keep holding it so it won’t fall on the diya,” Ramesh gave Jay the picture, carefully setting the picture between the Pooja Thaal containing the diyas, and the wall.

“But dad…”

“Shhh…. Here, See? Now the photo won’t fall if you keep this corner tucked in your shirt’s cuffs. Come on now, start the pooja Meena! Where’s that pamphlet with the different aartis?”

“Athshubhb Samvat Shri NripatiVeer Vikramaditya Rajya Samvat 2068…”

“Dad, you are reading today’s calendar date from the pamphlet! This isn’t an aarti!”

“No that’s okay. I saw punditji read the date before he starts the Pooja. Now don’t disturb me.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“…Shaka Shali Vaha Nasya 1933 Maso Tame Masya Kaartika Maasya Krishna Pakshe Amavasya Budhwar 46-50 chitra nakshatra 27-35 pal vishka yog 29-28, pal choh karan 21-48, tula arka Kaartik parvishthe 19 tadanusar Budhwar 26-10-2011”

“That is the date of last year’s diwali dad!”

“ Yeah I know… now Budhwar, no Mangalwar, what is the date today?”

“13 November 2012”

“Right… Kaartik parvishthe 19 tadanusar Mangalwar 13 november 2012. Shubh Dipawali.”

As the Aartis kept going, with his father stammering on the long Sanskrit words, his Tauji filling the diya with oil at every chance he got, Guddu sitting quietly in her mother’s lap, and his mother keeping his father motivated by reading alongside him, neither Jay nor the rest of his family understood much of the Aartis. Soon his mother grabbed a diya, put it on her palm, and started praying to each god with it. His father followed, and then did Tauji and Guddu.

“Jay, take this Diya, and there is a photo of your grandparents in the living room. Go and pray to them.”

Jay stood up and put out his hand. Guddu placed the diya on it. Suddenly, his Tauji started shouting. Then his mother quickly moved forward, his father stopped her and took her place, trying to grab something near Jay’s feet. He looked down, and saw that the photo of the Gods taken from the newspaper had fallen on one of the diyas, catching fire.

There was no water in Mandir. Guddu quickly grabbed what seemed like a water bottle to her. Tauji quickly took it and jerked her away.

“That’s Gangajal bacche. It is pure, not to be wasted here.”

Meanwhile, his father was trying hard to put out the fire with his hands. By the time the flames stopped, Goddess Lakshmi had vanished, and God Ganesh’s belly was reduced to half. Tauji calmed down, and his mother stopped looking for water.

Jay stood stunned, not quite understanding what had happened. Tauji put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, let’s start the Pooja again.”

“But Bhaisahab, he is always so careless, never…”

“It’s okay Ramesh. Bacche hain. Give me the photo, I’ll bury it with the Tulsi plant. Let’s start the Pooja again.”

Tauji took the photo from Ramesh, carefully folded it, and put it in his shirt pocket. Guddu, who was silent till then, whispered in her mother’s ears, “Will I get double prasada for double Pooja?”

“Okay sweetie, you take double,” her mom replied.

“Then can I take half of my double now?” she asked innocently.

Tauji was overhearing this. He lifted Guddu in his arms, took the bowl of prasada, and fed her a spoonful.

“Don’t you worry bacche. You don’t have to sit for the second Pooja. You and your brother can play outside, while we elders do the Pooja again.”

Ramesh kept looking dumbstruck at his elder brother. Meena started arranging the diyas again. Jay went back to his phone, and Guddu to her crackers.

And the Diwali celebrations continued....

Dexter

How would the story of a serial killer (and a real close look at his modus operandi) make you feel? Disgusted? Nauseated? Enthused?

Dexter is now in its 7th season. But buried in all his kills, the only time I felt the show potent and piercingly strong was when Rita was killed. I have seen many episodes, many series, and seen them multiple times. Save the episodes of Dexter with Rita in them. Seeing them once was a drop of heaven. A salutation to the good in the world. After she died, they became a cursed memory. Every thought of her now reminds me of her final scene, of her son Harrison sitting next to her. She was sitting in the bathtub, silent and serene, may be sleeping. Harrison was crying next to her. There was blood filling the bathtub, blood spilling out of it to the floor, to Harrison. She had gone.

I was in shock for a full day. After I finally got used to the thought that Rita was dead, I could concentrate. But going to the next episode took me a whole year to accomplish.

I couldn't talk of it to anyone till today. It is still painful.
I can't watch her episodes still.

Killer Queen

Hard to believe the same person wrote the lyrics of Killer Queen, as well as Bohemian Rhapsody.
Stumps me every time!


Killer Queen Lyrics
She keeps Moet et Chandon
In her pretty cabinet
'Let them eat cake' she says
Just like Marie Antoinette
A built-in remedy
For Kruschev and Kennedy
At anytime an invitation
You can't decline

Caviar and cigarettes
Well versed in etiquette
Extraordinarily nice

She's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, guillotine
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind
Anytime

Recommended at the price
Insatiable in appetite
Wanna try?

To avoid complications
She never kept the same address
In conversation
She spoke just like a baroness
Met a man from China
Went down to Geisha Minah
Then again incidentally
If you're that way inclined

Perfume came naturally from Paris
For cars she couldn't care less
Fastidious and precise

She's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, guillotine
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind
Anytime

Drop of a hat she's as willing as
Playful as a pussy cat
Then momentarily out of action
Temporarily out of gas
To absolutely drive you wild, wild
She's all out to get you

She's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, guillotine
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind
Anytime

Recommended at the price
Insatiable an appetite
Wanna try?
You wanna try

Debates and Indian Elections

You have to give in to the American system sometimes, even though the calls to despise it are overwhelming. This time, it was the Presidential Debate in Denver, where Mitt Romney and Barack Obama fought over their own disparate views about the same goals and in Obama's words, how the difference of budget choices demonstrates differences in personalities. Critics of both, Obama and Romney, as well as the moderator, Jim Lehrer, are now judging their performances and pointing out the fallacies in their models, in their claims, and their allegations. Surprisingly, the whole time all I could think about was how different this point to point and factual representation of views was from the platitudes of abstract statements that our own politicians make when they stand up for elections. Everytime elections come up, auto rickshaws fitted with megaphones that should have been obsolete by now, makes round of residential colonies announcing that the Government has promoted Gunda-Raj, and all their policies are aimed at securing profits for big industries and their own commissions  if they are the opposition, or how the government has benefitted the poor, and made the middle class grow, and provided new industries and jobs, if they are the government. One would think such claims would be bolstered by facts in the many rallies the candidates have. Instead, the candidates focus on personal vendettas besides reiterating these claims again. A modicum of facts are presented, and much like the show with the chair presented by Clint Eastwood at the Republican National Convention, almost everything is aimed at entertaining crowd at the expense of the opponent. Humor is surely a good thing when addressing people but a trifle overview of your own plans would always be welcome along with it. In the few times that debates were actually held by news channels, the candidates sent their representatives instead of themselves, and the direct personal allegations again obviate the needs of facts. The best and perhaps the only informative "discussion" happens when the candidates are interviewed separately by news channels. Though we get a small look at the respective policies, these interviews are neither impartial, nor structured to allow for a fair review of the options presented before us. If Obama would be contesting in India, he would spend the entire debate on foreign policy, while Romney would spend it entirely on the present economy. I don't think I have ever seen equal weights given to Sonia Gandhi's views on development as well as her views on the secular credentials of Narendra Modi. Similar is the case for Modi, he would repeat again and again the 'Amul' model that was in place and succeeding even before him, but not comment on the recent conviction of his party members in sedition case. The fact that the only source of information on these candidates is these personal interviews, choosing one among them is far more difficult than I had hoped for. Each candidate here claims to be the better choice, but all we are presented with as evidence are bits to sniff.

I have been over the voting age for three years now, but this could be the first time I get to vote, come 2013. I wouldn't want my vote to go just on these obscured facts presented by the candidates. We have a system in place, that has been running for far too long. We also have a system that seems a better alternative. Is it so hard to make a choice?

The video of the Obama-Romney debate is shared. See for yourself, how stark the contrast between the two different approaches at campaigning are!

Innocence of Muslims

A friend of mine, fretting over the maelstrom of news in media over the violent protests in Islamic nations, as well as our secular state of India, came to my room and started his tirade on the irascible temperament of Muslims, and the rationale of violent protests when their Quran proscribes it. I only had to point to his own affections towards his girlfriend that fueled a cataclysm of emotions whenever any derogatory or lascivious comment is made against her. How then could he expect a silent response from every member of a massive community whose entire faith has been mocked? It seems that placated his anger, but I don't expect his doubts have permanently subsided. Though put in abeyance for now, with the continuing surge of anti-Muslim articles in the media, it is definitely laying the groundwork for revisiting Islamophobia, in India and the world.

It seems it all started with the Channel 4's airing of the documentary, "Islam: The Untold Story"(ITUS). Protests were made, both online and in rallies, but this academic work was soon forgotten, as a new video, "Innocence of Muslims" (IOM) surfaced with scenes that intentionally deride the Prophet and Islam. In ITUS, the narrator expresses his doubts over the morality of his endeavors  Over and over he asserts that his conclusions are meant to be taken as an outsider's account and analysis of the Muslim history, and not of doctor prescribing a remedy. But with the ITUS being the harbinger of dissents, and the rapid dissemination of IOM, to an outsider like my friend who hasn't seen either of the movies and is only following the current affairs, the credentials of ITUS seem admixed with the derogations of IO, and thus the misgivings of the latter seem well founded. These aspersions seem so legitimate to him that he wouldn't heed a logical reasoning even if it danced around him naked. And I am afraid he might not be the only one!

All religious groups in an effort to protect and spread their faith engender radical cliques. Be it the Crusaders or Zealots of old, the Khalistan militia in the 1970-80s or the recent Kandhamal riots by Hindu hardliners. With the large followings of some religions, it becomes imperative that some of its members would take the violent path to sustain themselves. The importance and media glare given to the Islamic faction of this extremist collage has started to serve as a self-fulfilling prophecy, with more protests being fueled and by the causal existing ones. Endorsing such violence in any religion is disparaging the beliefs of humanity, and thus no religion does that. But it has to be understood that the Muslim anger, even if aggravated and incommensurate, is not entirely misplaced. The death of the US Ambassador in the juvenile democracy of Libya is the work of an opportunistic terrorist group. But to portray it as a generic Muslim reaction is preposterous. Just as the US filmmaker has taken shelter under the broad definition of freedom of speech in the US Constitution, the protests against the movie should also be covered in the same category. Over the years with the continuous depiction of the violent protests of Muslim hardliners, such a response has become synonymous with any outburst of anger from the community. The media can help allay this pain, but it doesn't. When news of protests comes from every Islamic nation, the Muslim organisations in India also jump on the bandwagon to encash the sad affair. And these violent protests, no more than a mere political stunt, are mislabeled as encompassing a wider public belief. My friend came to me seeing such a protest in Srinagar take a violent turn. When I said it was called by Hurriyat chairman Syed Geelani, he refused to acknowledge the connection. To him a political agenda is a derivative of populist motives. To me such misgivings are partly the reason why religious fanatics even with their sad opinions are able to sustain their lives in the public glare, because people like my friend don't understand that these high religious and political leaders are alone in their tirades.

The recent turn of events has been regrettable. This obtrusive destruction of property and the loss of lives is certainly against the canons of humanity. But to perceive and blame the whole Muslim community, just because they protest is unfortunate. The real culprits are the opportunists who strive to disrupt normal life and foment masses for their own personal gains. Such people are not Muslims, not religious at all. But when media portrays them as such, it only helps to elevate the situation. As a complete outsider, it all seems much like how the fictitious time-travelers live in the same timeline they help create.

We have to stop these generalizations  these misappropriating events to the entire community. I believe in the innocence of humanity, no matter what is being portrayed!

Notepad Doodle

Artistic people doodle. Indolent people like me, type on notepads!

I have a tendency to watch two to three movies in a single day. Not because they fulfill 'some void' but because it is hard to let go of the inertia once you have been sitting on your ass for three hours and picturing a virtual world. But by the time I reach the third movie, I tend to get restless. This was my attempt at developing my endurance.

I open a small, minuscule window of notepad on the corner of the video, and start typing the dialogues in it. This is I suppose one such day, when I watched Hugo, The boy in the stripped pyajamas, and some F.R.I.E.N.D.S episodes continuously. Normally I don't save the texts, but this, I did :D.

was one big machine i couldnt be an extra part i have to be here for some reason and that means you have to be here for some reason too. get back i'll bring tabard tomorrow night at 7 are you sure about it not really but i think its the only way to fix him thank you so much if he is who has been winding the clocks if he us deceased then who has been winding the clocks this was sir come in come in isabelle please dont the be mad mama we found out who papa george is i will immediately he hasnt  please let me express to you the profound debt of honour i am so pleased you remember my husbands films with such fondness but he is so fragile i was another person would you like to meet her again that's not possible they are gone one of george's films but we did have fun madame melies we painted it by hand frame by frame  mama its you ues beautifule she stull is is that it is very hard to make this world a better place i can still  well they are different ralph you promise how was i to know he could see from our window there was one of them in our kitchen fed upp you say the same playing with who rachel how sitting around being miserable wont make things any happier one thing is for sure sitting around being miserable wont make things any explorings like what come back in now and we'll think of somethings i even miss school i've arranegd a tutor so we're not going to school school's coming here on an old bicycle i gather genocide it's a bird without a infatuation good morning well you can ask an old one spare tyre he's vey you're only 12 a swing that does sound exciting here now move take this boy there's some tyres in there well little man what are you waiting for some tyres in there bruno why fdo you wear pyajamas outhouse swing are you hurt sir where's my mum she's out when's she back but i ight bleed to death no you won't it's only a small cut it's not that bad there all better what's your name pavel now you'ce got to i think she's going to see for herself it isn't you're not a doctor now you peel potatoes i practised you couldn't have been much good then how do you know that farm nice is it nice what i fell pavel here he carried me in and put a bandage on it go to your room thank you but pavel said that i its not fair i'm not swapping i think more recent i read bruno have you been reading newspapers adventure books  mainly this is why i am here to help time to start learning about facts time to learn about the real things and this should be good start. yay die die explore die die what kind of a farm is that it is a farm is it not why are you wearing pyajamas hello how old are you i am exploring what are you doing we're building a new hut but we fight a lot i can be on my own shmuel that's your name no one's called shmuel i live in the house back there have you got any food on you are you hungry how old are you eight me too its not here me it's just my number then what happens it was nice to meet you bruno its not fair me being stuck here football it will be in one of your cupboards my dear cellar for your football have you looked in the cellar can i have a chocolate a piece yes damn mum rachel i've seen all your dolls it's not right to play with silly toys while people are risking there lives for the fatherland. my people's destiny is my destiny it's my pleasure the termination of the lecture is for the tutor to decide not the pupil i'm going to the town for an hour do you want to come can i ask you something they took all our clothes away i do quite but not the sort that takes people's clothes away he's a watchmaker it's like pavel he used to be a doctor but gave all up to peel potatoes i saw the chimneys my ma says its old i can't can i because of this are you not allowed out why what have you done i'm a jew i think i should go now will you be here tomorrow i'll try little present sweetheart thank you mummy have you seen bruno outside on the swing i think yes thursday is perfect did you smell that horrible smell from the chimneys father she is ill yes i can hear yes we look forward to it is grandma did you smell it dad that horrid smell look what gretel hey thats not fair ralf this tutor you well do we know what he's teaching them gretel's become all sorts the jew corrupt everywhere his influence was corruptive the jew if it were there is such thing as a nice jew is there i think the aim of the jew is to be the ruler of the humanity thousands of germans would be no it's none sachel i'm going out to the swing to to read i told a lie i've just got adventure books go on off you go then now maria there's two extra for supper tonight commodore's father is coming too here what's the matter don't throw it back it's dangerous do you not like playing just not we just all have numbers shmuel ell me how the number game works bruno what are you doing my ball went over i was just getting it back they smell the worlst when they burn don't they but surely you would understand elsa i was sworn to secrecy i took an oath upon my life you believe in this too you want this country that isn't war the fatherland we all desire you included cannot be achieved grandpa's here we'll be there in a moment who told you about this how's grandma she's under weather i hthink perhaps next time when she's she has been talking about this visit for weeks but he won't read any adventure books the work your father is doing here is history in the making well he was a professor of literature at the university he left the country some time ago about four years ago where did he go you father the professor of literature i believe it was just when we were were he tubucular i'm afraid i really don't know you would have to ask him unless of course he had disagreements presumely if that was the case you cretin jew ralf what did you expect him to do the jew deserved it you dont still think it's a farm do you about the farm it's a camp for the they're evil they're the enemy Herr listz has been telling us Dad's not incharge He's making the country great again. evil enemy vermin they're not really people at all. What are you doing here they wanted some tiny fingers to clean all these we're not supposed to be friends we're supposed to be enemies you want some what's your dad like you've never thought he wasn't and you're are you eating have you been stealing food he gave it to me no sir what little man do you know this jew i've never seen him before in my life come away he was helping himself do you know this jew genocide when we come back we will have a little chat about rats who steal you are now organised sport is not the only thing on offer occasional music other recreations include almost all activities a worker can wish for  is available inside the camp goodbye little man i dont understand and it looked so nice i saw i dont know why i did it been coming here for days but you weren't here i'm really sorry for what i did we are still friends aren't we where's kurt thse days i've not seen him which was his duty towards his mother when will pavel be back never stupid it's father they've been bombed grandma's dead kotler neither do i i dont want you to go away again you can't behave like this i can't if i cannot control my own family even your own mother couldn't love you are you happy here yes very and you gretel i do miss home you must miss those friends of yours not anymore really i suppose the real question somewhere safe all of us i must stay and complete my work here she just feels right now you need to be somewhere else this is not the appropriate place to be spending you childhoodit is time for you to move awayis everything alright he went on a different workduty with some of the men and he hasn't come back mum says this is no place for children yes wou will you i wish i could help find your dad look i could come over to your side if you just thousands of them i want to help find your dad dont forget the pyajamas your dad's not here bruno it's my last chance go on then bruno it wsn't easy to get away did you forget the sandwich would i let you down here how do i look right lets get going bruno thats enough lets go and find your dad come on master bruno can we go to the cafe maybe i should go home what about papa yeah we'll check our hut first come on papa we go on marches sometimes bruno he must have been outside somewhere ma'am move quickly get up you must which means our weekly capabilities would be almost tripled wait here come on move move join the queue come on you bruno's missing go on bruno bruno we're just waiting in here untill the rain stops no it's just a shower herr kommandent open the gates move move good morning father how is she a bit of a bloddy nose first william london and now come in please sit have a seat would you care for a cup is there sugar yes yes somewhere here i put in the thank you father we all love the what would be the point of a secular song which boy frosty the snowman has people would realise a lot like christmas donald miller the boy acted strangely when he returned from class how did he act strangely he laid his head on the desk and or this is what you wanna discuss the boy's well being is my responsibility did he say something i had a talk with the boy he is twelve years old this is not about my tone and you're controlling the expression tell me what happened in the rectory forcing her to marry bobby is gonna make that happen and bobby is going to be there the whole time how much easier you have made this for her you are my favourite guy in the  whole world and i want him to have his uncle

PS: You've got WAY free time if you managed to read this entire jargon! Get a life!!

The Great Indian Development Story

With the FDI in retail soon coming up, the allocation of coal blocks, even if stinking of misconducts and scams, already done, and the automobile industry booming, India seems set on its path to revamp its economy with plenty of reforms on its plate. But with these reforms, we almost forget the tacit compromises we make with the environment. The GDP we so desperately map today, measures productivity and inventories, but not resources.

India still relies on thermal power plants to satisfy a major portion of its power requirements. With the subsidies and externalities associated with the production of this energy, and the bureaucratic and maintenance hurdles associated with its solar equivalent, it seems coal shall remain the prime exploitable resource for the many decades. The coal reserves in India as per the latest Geological Survey of India are around 286 Billion Tonnes, of which 44 billion tonnes were allocated just in the period from 2004 to 2009 (not counting the de-allocations of coal blocks worth 6 Billion Tonnes before March 2011). With the data of pollution from these plants accrued with us, I do not even need to strain about the rapid coal resource depletion to exemplify the blotted inheritance we are leaving our future generations.

The Great Indian Growth Story runs concomitant to this depletion. As rightly put by economists, adherence to an environmentally sound policy might not augur well for our nation. Forget leaving the power generation to desuetude, with the way economy today is defined, even the prospect of de-allocation of these coal blocks has led to a decrease in the equity prices of these companies, and affected thousands of shareholders. Moreover, with the elevating energy requirements close on heels with the industrial growth, it becomes necessary to exploit the present resources to sustain the livelihood of the bottom billion, to reduce unemployment and to crawl towards the final goal of total poverty alleviation. Whether the path we tread on is apposite or the goal is achievable is a different question. Growth and resource exploitation seems central to any idea of poverty alleviation today.

The conflict thus in framing any climate policy, and the debates on the actions to be taken to mitigate the climate change risk, is how to pledge towards saving environment while uplifting those whose lives depend on the degradation of these resources. While many environmentalists advocate the radical changes in the functioning of the economy, and a primary focus on the resource utilization capabilities of the future generations, the question of whether it would be justifiable to the present one always arises. As Paul Krugman puts it, the market today does a balancing act. One can't develop without destroying the other.

Alas, even though this seems important, the main problem today is not development vs environment. It is skewed development vs poverty vs environment. Ramchandra Guha describes this with an ecological framework. There are three kinds of people today. The omnivores, who are the rich and the exploiters, the ecosystem people, who are the ones dependant on the local ecosystem to sustain themselves, and the ecological refugees, who are already facing the blunt of the escalated and assimilated destruction and have been displaced from their surroundings. The ecosystem people and the ecological refugees are the ones who suffer when the fisheries are over exploited, the wheat or potato is over produced, or the hurricanes and cyclones strike the coastal lands. But these still depend on the model of trickle down economy to live their life of hardship. If the present practices are continued, the future generations will suffer even more. We are facing a choice between the 2-3 billion people arriving on earth in the next 50 years, who would also contribute towards emissions while being victims of our affluence, and the poorest of poor today, who are already bearing most of the damage that the omnivores have done. One of these two has to be castigated for the other. This is the sad part. Most of us live in the illusion that a poverty alleviation program today could work while we focus on climate risk mitigation. That cannot be so. The number of poor, even though the resource exploitation and development is at full swing, has not reduced for the past five decades. While this remains a debacle of dysfunctional policies and corruption in place, even if the said resources were to be used to abate poverty, it would leave our country bare by the time we are successful.

Chandran Nair, in his book 'Consumptionomics', says the situation today is primarily the result of the rampant and leisure-born consumption mania present in India. It is the dream of the developing world, led by India and China, to match the level of affluence of its US counterparts. While the earlier imperialist economies crouched on the resources of their captured nations, the developing nations today have started to follow their footsteps. The only difference in this exploitation is that with nowhere else to go, these countries are looking inwards and destroying themselves for greed. With the omnivores in Guha's model gaining the power to frame policies; their affluence is being paid by the health, climate risk, resources and lives of the ecosystem people. This model is explained even more clearly in the "Story of Stuff", a small animation of the consumerist society developed by Anne Leonard. The resources of the locality get trashed, and the locals with no other options have to be subservient to the demands of the rich. While their resources are exploited, they suffer the burden of the externalities of what they produce, sideling their own growth. The system in place today, even though being advocated as one of development, does not help in correcting this warped distribution of growth. This argument is bolstered by the crisis being faced by the fisherman of Chilika Lake in Odisha, and documented in the movie "Chilika Bank$" by Akanksha Joshi. Chilika is a brackish water lagoon, which means it has a unique mix of salt (marine) and fresh water suitable for prawn development. The salt water comes from the opening Chilika Lake has to the Bay of Bengal. The lake which boasts of being the second largest lagoon in the world had a plethora of Prawns which sustained the fishermen in the area. But with the identification of this rich resource, and the subsequent globalisation of the economy, the lake began to be over-fished. The tourism also developed, and with this started the 'development' of the region. The forest cover was substantially affected. The sand eroded, and silt starting flowing and got deposited on the shore of the Chilika. Its mouth to the Bay of Bengal was choked. A new man-made mouth was created, which imbalanced the salinity required for Prawn development. The fisheries of Chilika have exhausted today, and artificial cultures developed by encroaching the lake are the major source of prawns. The irony in this development story is, even though the fisheries were exploited, the fishermen didn't get the benefit of it. They are still poor, and their livelihood today is pitched against the future of Chilika and the millions she will sustain.

We have reached an impasse today over where to go from here. There are two sets of victims, the present poor and the future children, with our affluence and greed being the main culprit. With the resources of the earth limited, this present growth paradigm will itself be challenged once the resources are exhausted. On one hand we have the ephemeral resources, and on the other the proliferating population. The exploding population has put a tremendous stress on the resources. The carrying capacity of the planet is far past. Moreover, whatever development trickles down to the poor, is always engulfed by the growing families to support. It is an inverse relation between how  much we exploit and how many we have to support. This rapidly growing population is what prompted China to follow its 'one child policy'. One may question the morality of the step, but with the omnivores of Guha still bent on increasing the affluence, it seems far suited to reduce both the future perpetrators and victims than to question values or principles. The only way we can hope to sustain the environment, and still uplift the masses is to control both our population and the affluence. Unless such an attempt is made, any development even if democratic and reaching the poor will remain inconsequential.

We do have to choose between the present and the future, but we can try to mitigate the damage that has been done and can be done.

The fourth pillar, or a potential weapon?

Reading newspapers is a habit I acquired early, and not because of some interest in national issues, but because of the stories. It was precisely the same reason that I liked history books too. Stories of people succeeding, people innovating, people motivating, erudite historians explaining war strategies, esoteric economists explaining market movements. Up down. Up down. Comes the pedantic orator, who decides to enlighten everyone with his views on these issues. But all of it made it worthwhile.

Slowly, the trend defining the print media changed. I liked the editorial sections, because they focused on opinions. Much like the pedantic orator. But rest all changed. The success stories of people transmuted to protests. Motivations converted to sedition. People raged, rioted, looted, raped, getting killed! The newspapers weren't worth reading anymore. I started to predict what the highlights would be. More graft, more scams, more protests. But what seemed even more fascinating was how the mood of different newspapers changed periodically over time. Once a praising session begins, it continues, and suddenly it is revealed that the government isn't doing such a good job after all, and the collateral criticism starts. In the recent past, a myriad of under table deals have suddenly surfaced. This sheer volume coming out in such a short time is astonishing, and when the media too starts lambasting the government instead of being impartial and putting both perspectives forward, it is hard to not be skeptical about the reliability of newspapers today. Even to the extent that would exonerate the government from various blotches on its image. In a movie of Hitchcock, he shows a similar fate cornering James Stewart, when public opinion accrues to charge him with graft, even though he is the one unveiling it. Just imagine, such a powerful force somehow pressured to follow a directive. And it is not hard to do so. In most of the country, with pronuclear arguments coming from people like President APJ Kalam, or the hard earned Nuclear treaties signed with USA, people are voicing in favour of the Kundankulam Nuclear Plant. Voices supporting the protesters are difficult to be heard. Or with the Jal Satyagrah just finished in Khandwa, the Madhya Pradesh government came out in good light even when it was culpable for the problems plaguing the people there. With the Congress bashing going on at present, there was no space in which to fit the plight of the Khandwa villagers, so the news remained elusive for 20 days. And it came out with the promise of Chief Minister proclaiming "Government flexibility for suiting people's wishes".

The tendency of a business to shift its products towards the consumer base is evident when newspapers skew articles to fit public opinion. When the public opinion is pro-government, the shortcomings of the rulers get carefully draped. This happened a while ago too. Indian government was lauded for the Copenhagen Summit. The newspapers praised the diplomacy of Jairam Ramesh, showed how the decisions benefitted India and made its liability for environment minimal. Then came the Wikileaks, and blew the lid of the act! The US supposedly scripted the whole event, sending secret wires to national representatives, pressuring, forcing them, and finally passed its own model. And as it came out, all the news reports became a sham, inconspicuously lured in creating a false public opinion without knowing the truth. And this is just the tale of one country, on government. There is an ensemble of governemt and non-government actors waiting to stage their acts. And the sad part is the truth remains elusive to most till a breach inside reveals it. The mood at present is anti-government, and with even the foreign elements now blaming the government for its indecisive and deriding policies, the sudden comprehensive surge in the anti-government sentiments overhauling the newspapers seems perfunctory. It is hard to believe that the forces are not at work again, that it is entirely true, and many crucial elements aren't hidden while the articles are construed to suit the public opinion.

Truthfully, since the WikiLeaks came out with their horde of documents, it has become hard to believe that a secret government, or anti-government channel is not functional to try and feed us the news it wants. And unlike Hitchcock's hypothesis of a single person controlling the entire faction of media, it is the secret information flows between the controlling group, which I think exists and we don't know about, that trouble me. Much like the wind currents in higher altitudes which mysteriously bring rain.

If I ever wanted to join politics, it was only to get a look at these secret information flows.

And be a part of it.

'Don't turn the Page'

An open letter published today in the Hindustan Times for the perusal of the Indian bureaucratic and political class. Adds to the numerous issues plaguing the country, which I know about but have incongruously ignored.


Dear Prime Minister, Chief Minister of Maharashtra & fellow countrymen,

Read this, don’t turn the page. I am a cotton widow from Vidarbha – yes, I know you’ve been hearing about farmer suicides in this region for years, but I really do need urgent help. Just yesterday, four farmers committed suicide while Ajit Pawar, the deputy chief minister was here for a janata darbar. We need you to pay attention. I live in village Huira, near Panderkawda, 150 kms from Nagpur. My husband and I were eking out a living, somehow managing two meals a day. I could only feed my son and two daughters dal and rice every day, adding a vegetable to the meal as a bonus, may be once a week, but we were happy with that. I’d say we were even content.

We are poor; a BPL family in government records but we had a pucca roof over our heads.  My husband, Chattar Singh Bass, owned four acres of land. He was happy selling the eight to ten quintals of cotton that he grew. But slowly, the costs started escalating. Seeds which were available for Rs. 300 per 500 grams shot up to Rs. 1000. The cost of fertilizers and pesticides also increased and the cultivation costs were higher than the returns. A bank loan was the only option.

One day in 2007, my neighbours barged into my house and told me that Chattar Bass was lying listless in the field. He had gone there, like he did every day, but the pest attack had killed our crop. My husband’s loans had spiralled to 70,000 in a two year period and the dal and rice that we had become so accustomed to – minus the weekly vegetable – appeared an impossibility. Dying had become easier than living.

I had told my husband, we could survive on roti and salt; I’d comforted him by telling him I’d work as a farm labour and bring in Rs. 100 a day but he had become a loan defaulter and the moneylenders squatted at our door. Consuming the pesticide was his way out of the drudgery.

Nothing new, you must be thinking, but put yourself in my shoes, or in those of most households in Yavatmal, Amravati or Wardha. I was perhaps lucky to get the compensation of Rone lakh from the government. After clearing the debt of Rs. 70,000, I was left with only Rs. 30,000, not enough to buy seeds, fertilizers and pesticides and pay the moneylender. Not enough to get back to eating dal and rice. I had to revisit a moneylender and now my son Ganesh is in debt. The pesticide bottle often tempts me, but Ganesh is only 18.

Mr Prime Minister Sir, you had visited us in 2006 and announced a package of Rs. 3750 crore.

Two years later, you had generously offered Rs. 71,860 crore worth of loan waivers for farmers across the country, but the suicides have not stopped. I hope your officials have reported the truth to you: large sums of money have been siphoned off.

Sir, I hope you know that the waiver was meant only for farmers who had taken bank loans but 75% borrow from money lenders. Relief packages were also restricted to farmers who own not more than four hectares but so many of us don’t have farms in our own names. Lata Rathod, who, as widowed this year on August 25. Her husband Hitesh Rathod killed himself but she won’t even get Rs. 1 lakh in compensation because the land is in his brother’s name. Hitesh has left behind a sorry legacy for Lata – debt worth Rs. 96,000. Where is she going to get any money from? Her family now says she might have to become a commercial sex worker.

So many crores have been spent but the number of suicides are only spiraling. More than cotton, we are harvesting death. I also need to let you know that the administration sometimes say that the death are due to excessive alcohol or domestic tiffs but can you afford to make us part of a statistical game. Does it not bother you’ll that our shrouds are woven from the same cotton that we grow; that we are the aam aadmi your government likes to showcase. Hitesh Rathod did not drink himself to death, but which official will believe that? They have developed immunity to a story that is more than a decade old.

Sir, do you know that 2012 has aggravated the crisis? We sowed cotton in May and June but the crop died due to lack of rain. We borrowed money to buy more seeds and the unseasonal rain has killed the second crop. This double blow has led to a spate of suicides. Vidarbha has already recorded 530 deaths.

Sirs, can I plead with you to repackage our future? Make water conservation a mass movement. Do not earmark more money for irrigation projects, for despite the crores you might spend, irrigation will not benefit a majority of us. Please give us a decent minimum support price. Increase it from the current R3900 per quintal. Just before the election in 2009, the loan waivers were announced. If you are planning another one, do remember that most of us are bank defaulters. Lastly, we are willing to diversify but don’t have the means. Help us raise greenhouses. We can grow flowers and send them to the cities. Sir, if nothing else, they will make your houses look prettier.

On behalf of the dead and the living,

Yours till I can hold on,
Baby Bassi
Resident of Yavatmal
Maharashtra, India

http://www.hindustantimes.com/India-news/Maharashtra/Don-t-turn-the-page/Article1-926787.aspx

Was Lennon a Communist?

Never mix spices and honey. You will ruin both!

I was listening to playlist I made a while ago, and suddenly it started to play Lennon, Imagine. The playlist had mostly SOAD and POTF's songs, so Imagine came as a pleasant shock. I closed my eyes, and started mouthing the words. But, perhaps it came so out of context, that I became overtly critical of his lyrics. Midway, I realized that someone else had also said similar things. Someone famous, who's regime was tainted with corruption and blood. He was Lenin. This was Lennon. Was Lennon a communist too?

I quickly pulled out my Laptop, and started searching, hoping to find someone who would ridicule my notion. Nobody did. Over and over the webpages I read. Forums on philosophy, music, famous critics. His lines in the song,

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world

were the first to make me realise how imprudent and stupid he was. He asks us to imagine a world of peace, set in a future without possessions, without a self? A life in a continuous oblivion, with no entity of one's own? What would such a peace pertain to? Each and every man working selflessly towards a common goal of institutional success, with his own life's measure no greater than that of another, or of no worth whatsoever? This utopian ideology, twisted to Animal Farm and 1984, was published years before Imagine by George Orwell. Other verses are no good either,

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

We can imagine there are no countries. Sure. But governance would require division of land into areas easily controllable. Any random selection is possible, but policy making would be efficient only if the local culture is taken into account. This should invoke a sense of belonging, and pride, and again a devotion to the motherland.
Unless.
There is no devotion towards one's self. So you can't appreciate or accept the traditions. This way, you wouldn't mind whatever policy the government imposes on you. You would neither have the will, nor the longing to preserve what you deem is yours. You are just living. You would be at peace, but you would survive as a living dead. It seems easy to believe such a brotherhood, but innate human nature is never accounted for. I don't think Lennon did that either. You would have to kill one's nature before you go on to implement a rule where habit would drive behaviour. In Life of Pi and A Clockwork Orange, we all see a Lion and the protagonist undergoing Behavioural Modifications to suit another's will. It doesn't seem a felicitous example, to quote from a work of fiction when trying to critic a great work of art, but it is true. A similar act on the part of the government would be required here too. That is perhaps the very thing Orwell showed in 1984. The act of thoughtcrime, to raise a spark of self even in one's thoughts, will have to be punished. It wouldn't be far fetched to say this song was inspired by The Communist Manifesto itself: From each as per his abilities, to each as per his needs. We all saw how it fared, when the mighty Soviet Union fell down in August 1991 (My friend always reminds me of this date. In the 12 years together that he has known me, he has never failed to remind me that it was on his Birthday that the great Soviet Union fell).

Lennon asked to Imagine a world with no posessions, no country, no self. So did George Orwell. But it is easier to believe Orwell's version than Lennon's.

Post Publishing Edit:  Found this online. It is taken from The Communist Manifesto, Chapter 2:
The Communists are distinguished from the other working-class parties by this only: 1. In the national struggles of the proletarians of the different countries, they point out and bring to the front the common interests of the entire proletariat, independently of all nationality. 2. In the various stages of development which the struggle of the working class against the bourgeoisie has to pass through, they always and everywhere represent the interests of the movement as a whole.

You may say I am a Dreamer, but I am a lucky one!

(Oh my bed!! I missed you so!)


Imagine yourself on a four hour journey to the airport, changing buses, fighting with smokers, screaming, hurling luggage at the conductor, bargaining with autowalah, running behind trains! And the next train gets delayed, the bus somehow gets its driveshaft broken, and the conductor on the next bus has to be assured of the legitimacy of your tickets.

Imagine yourself at the airport, wishing it didn't happen, but knowing that it doesn't bother you. You are going to board your plane, leave all this boring stuff behind. Even the guard at the security door knows you. All is starting to go well.

Imagine a tall beautiful girl, the kind that  would get a dimple on her cheeks when she smiles, waving at you. You start talking to her and decide to cancel your ticket and board the next flight instead. How good is that?!!


Before you ask, this is not a word for word account of my day. Exaggerations have been made to the level my imaginations can run naked. But the essence of my day is still delicately intact in this written piece.


AND, the talk, or let us say chat with the tall, hot beauty went surprisingly well. I tried to be a suave, debonair gent, and failed drastically. She laughed it off, and brought herself to the level of my stupidity. By my standards, this is a lot of improvement!


Expect details on the journey soon (unless I sleep on all this, or wake up before the dream ends. Depending on which dream level I am in). Don't expect details of the chat. Again, since you don't read my blog, this statement is moot anyway (Moot: rendered unimportant by recent events. Refer to TBBT S04E21).


(Oh my pillow!! Found it under the bed!)

All you can think about, after Ambedkar and Mamata cartoon row

I add a twitter panel to my account, and to provide uniformity, remove the About me section. When it comes to naming the twitter panel, Heisenberg motivates and I name the section "Uncertainly Yours". Now, as it turns out, there is no telling when the panel will show my twitter feeds, and when it will just stare back blank black!

Befitting!

Sinnerman and Crybabies

This is supposed to be just a fill-in post, as I had not written anything in a long time, and I feel too lazy to consider anything important to write about. Moreover, if I had even the slightest inclination to think, I would have spent that on my studies, with Majors approaching and every deadline possible surreptitiously declared by the Professors to be at the end of this week. Anyways, Sinnerman is playing in the backdrop. I don't know how or when it happened, but I have started liking Nina Simone! Had I listened to her in my school days, my first reaction would have been to search and delete her. But the more songs I listen, the more I appreciate the finer details, and not just the loudness and screech of metal or the lyrics and guitar of Blues. My initiation was Linkin Park.Their song Numb to be specific. But LP is long gone from my playlists. Their was no more space for them, with GnR, Bruce Springsteen and Pink Floyd coming in. And now my younger cousins have stopped asking for songs when I visit them. They want harsh Metal, or the crude melody of "Truly Madly Deeply". The intersection of our likeness is very narrow. I definitely like it. One more "elder brother" card to play when they are around. Maybe soon the set will be empty...

And before I forget to mention it again, I received a mail from my Modern Fiction professor. She liked my previous post, Cultivating the wilderness! Okay I had mailed her the link and her response was a single line, "It made a very interesting read, and I enjoyed it a lot!", but still, she read it and enjoyed it! And she happens to be one of my favourite professors. (Yes I have more than one. And no I am not your typical nerd). I remember being so overwhelmed by the response that I rambled about it to my friends till they picked up stapler. I think that was my cue to shut my mouth about it. And before I do it again, I will stop writing about it.

Before finishing this post (I may call it a fill-in, but it has started to look like most of my other posts) let me tell you about a particular cry-baby. He went to the supermarket with his friends, who bought him a bar of chocolate. He got it for free, and it was as tasty as any other chocolate bar, but the entire way back he cried and cried about a particular brand of chocolate which the supermarket didn't have. He didn't complain when his friends gave him the chocolate, nor did he frown when he ate it, as the chocolate was as good as any. But as was his nature, he couldn't shut up about how he never gets anything in life.

I don't know if I disguised it well or not, but I have met many such cry-babies this semester. And I would be more than glad to get rid of them when the semester ends.

Do good in exams, and if I don't write soon again, have a great summer vacation!

PS: Another step in the integration of my public profiles. I am going to add a twitter panel on the blog. Let's see how that goes.

Cultivating the wilderness

Sitting inside a lecture room, with a philosophy professor reciting his versions of life, the real world and its many epithets, I recalled one incident which introduced me to the brave affairs of the world. This was 6 years ago. I have waited till now to recite it, but I won’t wait any longer. With fingers aching to relive the daunting day, let me start my story of an incident which defined my beliefs as powerfully as a stone is smoothened by a river.

It was as the books say and the movies show, a hot and dry summer afternoon in the month of July. The sun was at its peak, and I was sitting idle on the bed, eyes fixed on the laptop screen. You can possibly perceive that I was a typical teenager, relishing the rare freedom in the house by carrying out all activities I was denied in the house. With my feet (with shoes on) up on the blanket, laptop in my lap, and headphones in my ears, it was turning out to be a marvelous day.

Suddenly, my idyllic world was disturbed by a noise outside. Though distracted, I let it go and went back to  playing with the laptop. I had possibly thought if I went outside, I would see a dog because the noise sounded like a whimpering. However, ignoring the dog seemed less and less plausible as he continued to whimper, and was now audible even through the headphones. I decided to catch the culprit, my spirits endowed by the possibility of a weakling to bully. (We can safely assume that what I meant to do was to shout and probably throw a few stones aiming to miss the dog, just to drive it away). And while I was contemplating plans for restoring order to my heavenly abode, I heard the whimpering again, louder this time. With blood boiling with rage, mind idle with nothingness, I laid low my headset, and charged out of the house looking for the would-be victim.

As I remember it, I didn't see any dog at all anywhere near the house. (Perhaps you fail to notice, but I am telling you this story in the cold month of February today, and the setting is in the month of July five years ago, so  there are at least sixty six months of memory losses embedded in this story). So as I was saying, there is no dog in my memory, but only a boy, who looked like a rag-picker, clutching his leg. It looked as if he was hit by a car. Thanks to the scorching sun, and the lonely roads thereof, the car driver must have vanished unnoticed. You would ask how could I hear a dog barking when it was a child crying, but the account is very old and thus not liable for small aberrations. But now it all came down to this. I was a proud teenager in front of the house, with an injured child and no elder at home to stress about the situation. I couldn't ask for help from the neighbors, who would take any opportunity to show me that I am still a child and need to be cooed. I had no obligation to finding an aid for the boy, and I wasn't the type to care too much about simple humane feelings. But the persistent crying of the boy was becoming quite bothersome for me and none of the neighbors seem to care. So I decided to take the boy to the Hospital myself on my father's scooter. I knew well how to drive, and the possibility of any policeman in this exorbitant heat was laughable. With the intention of dumping the boy there and letting him find his own treatment (and I doing the noble, angelic deed of transporting him there), I would come back to my room with the same laptop, and a great story to boast of when I am out with friends. But no sooner that I had picked the boy, he slipped out of my hands. I couldn't have placed him on the back seat of my scooter, with him clutching his one leg and unable to speak, so I decided to give him the rider seat and the leg space between the handle and it, and drove myself from the pillion. Luckily the boy, ill fed it seemed, shrunk to only the leg space and I carefully rode on the front, hanging my legs out trying not to stain them with the blood and dirty clothes. The hospital is not far off from our home so my heroic act wouldn't have taken much of my time. We reached the hospital in just a few minutes. My mind was perhaps occupied by the thought of my empty house and the possibility that I might have to battle robbers once I went back. For the crucial dumping part, I decided the usual parking pretext would be fine (“You stand here, I will go park” and then off to home!).  I stopped the scooter in front of the emergency ward, and waited for him to get down. But he never moved, just sat shrunk there. It was frustrating. I put my scooter on a stand, and decided to again lift the boy. When I was about to place the boy down (holding him as far from my body as my arms allowed it), I heard a laugh and a voice, ”Take him to a vet kid, they don't treat gutter waste here”.

I was shocked! I looked around to see the meddler, and located him behind a reception desk, 10 feet inside the gate with the typical desi look (bidi in his mouth, gamcha on his shoulder and red pan stained mouth). Defiantly, I asked, ”What?” He again repeated his line, a cynical grin on his face. Now I was confused, as something furry brushed against my hand. I looked down to see that what I had till now thought to be a boy was indeed a dog and my imaginations (hallucinations?) had got the better of me. Still, I decided to believe in the hallucination (imagination?) theory rather than shape-shifting-alien theories. It wasn't far fetched for me to think that I was too preoccupied with the thoughts of dumping the boy/dog, and with my eyes, ears and brain already “stressed” from planning my heroic act and the possibility of robbers in the house, I was imagining things. Not putting a big deal on the situation, I started to study my surrounding. There weren't any known people who might have seen what I did and reported to my parents. Carefully, I put the dog back on the scooter. It isn't very common to see animals being hauled to the hospital. I knew everyone was watching me while I started the scooter. Obviously they may be another figment of my imagination, since I had become extremely self conscious. So while I took off, my mind started to weigh the possibility of someone there accidentally knowing me and spreading the word to my parents. So I went to the vet and with all intentions of carrying out the good deed to the end, decided to stay there and let the robbers have a picnic at my house. Nobody would remember the hospital incident and I would gloat with pride as the neighbors will praise my wisdom and generosity. Too occupied with myself, I parked the scooter at the gate and picked up the dog. With a dirty bleeding dog in my hand, I pictured myself as a great, selfless God in disguise, taking away the pains of mortal beings. I pictured the news-van of our local news channel passing by and stopping at the marvelous, stupefying sight, and journalists running out of the van to take my photo. I would play the humble hero, running in the mean time inside the vet's office and locking the door so that the journalists never got to take my pic (After which they call a posse of reporters and break in and I become a celebrity) As you may have noticed, my accounts in this story have been very much clearer now that the initial boy-dog hiccup is over. You can assume it all to be the make-belief story of a teenager obsessed with superhero comics. That way, there wouldn't be much to forget about it over the years, it would always have been a part of me. As I said before, I was dreaming some imaginary reporters, and seeing that they are not coming, I finally landed on the first step of the clinic. He was a private doctor, and the fact that there weren't much people around, evening clearly being the preferred time for a visit to the vet, I went straight to the doctor's office. I must proclaim my sanity before I proceed further. I am an engineering student in a prestigious institute, 21 years old, with no background of mental illness, or any other major illness (except a chance malaria, and occasional flues), with completely fine social traits, never being accused of being mad except when friends are passing exaggerated judgments. I am as my education and my health perhaps now indicate, a completely sound mind in a completely sound body. Thus now that I have successfully proved my sanity, I am obliged by my duty as the narrator to continue the story further. I stepped in the doctor's office expecting accolades from him, now that my dream of the reporters pushing open the door had crashed. Preoccupied again, I was completely unperturbed when the doctor said, ”Oh my God! What happened to him? Did you hit him? Take him to a hospital, I won't treat him here. I am too busy. Shoo!” Still holding my hands as far from my body as I could, I could only reply with an “Uh” before he pushed me out of the clinic. When I tried to look at him again, I saw the closed door of the clinic, a reflection of me holding a small bleeding rag-picker with my arms stretched out.

I must tell you that I was only a small kid who was trying to master the ways of the world by imitating what he believed was the ideal worldly behavior, and trying to hold ground in whatsoever good reputation he could earn. The outside world was new to me. And I was eccentric enough to imitate and not be guided. This confession of mine would also act as a justification for my actions in the later part of this story, as you would see.

Summing my story so far, I was now stranded outside the Veterinarian’s clinic with someone who he (I think) described as a rag picker (and who I now see as a rag picker) after having been to a Hospital with the same one who (I think) was described as a dog (and who I then saw as a dog). All I could understand with my-yet-too-feeble-to-contemplate-the-world-brain (which still held enough imagination) was that whatever this creature was, he obviously could not be given the so obvious first-aid the by the veterinarian (and whose treatment wasn't as important as the vet’s conversation with the fat pet owner) and it was definitely unwanted at a hospital and could not receive a treatment there (like other normal patients). Both these incidents ruled out the possibilities of “it” being a human or an animal. I came back to my theory of shape-shifting-aliens. I reasoned that the possibility of an alien life form present on earth was possible, if not highly probable. Besides, only two forms of life were mobile on earth, humans and animals, and the creature was neither. Thus, afloat on the voice of reason, I declared it as an alien who was left alone on earth after its mother ship had sailed away. I again decided to be the humble hero, who decides to be modest about his deeds till he is defiantly betrayed into fame by a blabbering friend. I rushed to my scooter, put the “someone” who now resembled a green-bodied and injured alien on my scooter as before, and rushed off to home. I put him where the car hit him, parked the scooter back in the house, and ran to get a cotton and a bottle of antiseptic. My plan was to treat him on the road so someone would see me helping him and betray me out of my modesty later. While I was searching for the medicines, my mind exhilarated by my approaching fame, I heard a loud crash outside. Afraid of what might have happened, I ran out to find the alien dead after being run over by another car, while the receptionist and the vet were talking outside on the pavement just in front of my house. They both rushed to see the incident, and so did I. Very soon, a big crowd gathered and all of them were talking about the blood spilling on the road. Since the receptionist, the vet were the first ones to reach and thus closest to the body, someone asked them, “Did you see anything?”, and then all sorts of related questions. Both the vet and the receptionist denied ever having seen the dog/boy/alien before, or having seen the accident. Unaware and confused, I nodded with them, all the while trying to see what final shape the body takes.

But I could not see. The body remained hidden from my view by the receptionist and the vet, and then by the crowd, till the MCD Van took it away.

This was my first true lesson in worldly affairs. This was the day I understood the value of life. This was the day I grew up.

Which V Project- V speech Dubbed

Finally!!

It did take me a while, but the work is over now. 6 hours spent, figuring out what to do, doing, re-doing, finding errors, and then re-redoing it.
And the result:

The following video is a clip from the movie "V for Vendetta". What is special now about this clip is that I have recorded the dialogues of V in this clip, and then replaced the original with them! All else is retained, or I have tried to retain them, only that instead of V, I am saying these thunderous dialogues to the awestruck Natalie Portman. The sound quality isn't too great, neither is my performance. What the hell, I ain't a performer, and the sound is the best I could get from open source.

Cool, aint it?


I had known the V speech for too long. When I see a movie, the dialogues sometimes get etched in my mind unknowingly, but this one was special. It was better than the rest, more innovative, more vicious. But I loved the movie so much, I watched it a couple of times. And the result, one day I realized I remember most of the V speech. So I learned the rest, and lo, here I was, entertaining my friends in classes sometimes, and mesmerizing my younger cousins who had seen nothing of the like.

But It wasn't untill yesterday, when sitting in a particularly boring lecture with the professor ranting out the slides, I thought I could do V. In the movie, and not just the dialogue! So I started looking for ways to replace V. The first task was to set the timeline, and cut a video accordingly. Windows movie maker failed me, yet again! I couldn't view the picture, and only the audio was worthless. But Handbrakedid the task beautifully. I was even able to add subtitles to the video, so I could read the dialogues while delivering, and meanwhile also retained the original video quality. Next, I extracted the audio from the video, and Virtual DJ finally proved its worth. First I had tried the crossfader of Virtual DJ, but it didn't work too well. Not that it didn't offer me a way to remove the dialogues of V, I couldn't do it very efficiently, and traces of V stayed. But when it came to recording, it could play anything, and record in anything! Next, while surfing I came across Audacity, and left all worries aside. With a few youtube videos, I could remove V completely, record my voice, suppress noise from my recording, align the tracks correctly to the timeline, and mix the tracks to ensure the background score didn't go mute when I spoke. I didn't do a very good job, and I think you can hear what I mean in the "Madam Justice...." dialogue, but the overall effect was commendable.

So here it is folks!Presenting, as V, Rohan!

Time

Hola!
A free hour! And I don't have anything I can squeeze in one hour. So, what else, let's blog a bit.
A little feedback: 5 days into the new year, 3 days into the semester, and things are looking promising so far. Not perfect, but promising. Obviously I haven't been able to go exercising everyday, but I have 2 of the 3 days I have been here. And my winter project is soon coming to an end( Thank heavens for that, I wouldn't have survived it long anyways), I have started my Spanish episodes again. Destinos, it is an excellent source for learning Spanish by the way. Interesting enough to keep you going for a week at the least. It didn't me though. Last time I tried, I stopped after 3 episodes. But lack of time was more the cause than lack of interest. And seeing that I have classes starting at 10 three days a week, and also a resolution of exercising daily, I don't see why time would be a problem this time. But knowing me (as I do), one can never be sure when I will stop.
Let's hope I don't.
Still have 7 minutes left, and nothing else I can think of right now. Continuing regardless, I think I am becoming too addictive to Pink Floyd. Even now I have Time playing loud in my head. Not headphones, head. Addictions never did me any good. Hmmm... this might go in the resolutions list soon.
5 more minutes. Why do people not have anything to do online except Facebook and Gmail? The guy sitting next to me, He has been opening his mailbox everytime he shifts from Facebook, and then shifts back again. And the spell checker of this browser seriously needs a dictionary upgrade. It has none of these words in its list: online, everytime, gmail, or Facebook . Gmail and Facebook I can understand, but the other two? Pathetic!
1 more minute. I better go. It must take me a minute to signout. I never measured.
Bye.

The moment that stood out

Though there were more than enough events to talk about in 2011, the one moment, well, picture of a moment I will never forget is the couple on the streets of Vancouver, amid the raging rioters!

A little background: There was a hockey match, which the home team lost. And people lost tempers and started rioting. The riot police had to be deployed, and everyone was running away. But what no one noticed( well, our photographer did), was this deranged couple, right in the middle of the street!

And the caption:

Make Love, not War

Something to think about!

Happy New Year Fellas!

Post Publishing Edit Beautiful morning out today! And my resolutions? To do many new things this year, and start Exercising! Obviously, the second one broke the moment I got up. But As for the former, enough fumbling with the old books. I started the new year with LOTR in my hands, and have already read a fourth of the book-1. It only looks like a child's fairy-tale stretched deviously till now. Let's just hope the popular perception that LOTR is better than HP is true (I posted this question on omegle once, "LOTR, HP, or Twilight?". It would have been fun to post some of the responses).

Ciao, till I write next!