Untold Stories from my Russian Childhood

Those were the farewell days of Indo-Soviet romance (Soviet Union was to fall & disintegrate) and an entire generation of Indian would-be ‘intellectual’ kids was thriving on stories of Russian origin. As a part of its brilliant foreign strategy, KGB had successfully infiltrated India’s scholarly souk with Russian literature. Chacha Chowdhry, Billoo, Super Commando Dhruv were yet to arrive on the doorsteps of my mind and I had already found a dreamland made up of wood sunk knee deep in snow.

The book fairs had special Russian stalls which flared with stories of brave princes and beautiful princesses, of how czar was always the oppressor and how peasants fought him. Their socialist communism was beyond the grasp of my juvenile mind, nonetheless not too distant either.

I wished my name was Ivan and I lived in a huge palace, lofty towers in between with onion tops. I wished I could go on adventures galloping miles across the mountains, valleys, jungles and the rivers to fight the evil monsters and sorcerers to win my princess – her skin as fair as milk. And there was Baba-yaga, the witch croaky, ugly yet sensitive to the good. Her hut was always on the edge of the forest, standing on the feet of chicken! It had its back to the visitor and turned around only if the visitor asked for it. How fun would it be to make a hole in the ice on the frozen river and drop bait for a fish that would come out and ask its captor in human voice to leave it so that it could go back to its children. I would have a dog as fierce as a wolf for my pet and a horse with golden hair, falling to one side radiating royalty with every step. Stories of how magical instruments could guide someone to their destiny still magnetize me.

However, to think that Russian stories were entirely different from the ‘snow less’ world would not be true. In some of the stories there would always be a cruel step-mother, who would throw the good step child out in the snow left to die of chill and hunger. A simple village girl’s ugly step sisters would be jealous of radiance on her face. I believe they have a universal theme all over the world, the virtuous staying patient and eventually thrashing the malevolent.

It was a time when czar was still in St. Petersburg and Moscow was no more than a mere tavern for farmers and peasants. Kiev was the stronghold of rich and poor didn’t exist within the boundaries of the opulent city. Only in the more mature years of my life did I understand that the writers always reflected the real impression of oppression of the weak in the country which culminated in the Bolshevik revolution in 1917. In fact, I also read a book based on the mutiny inside the city spearheaded by a trapeze artist – Tibul, who fell in love with the innocent young daughter of the czar while dodging the royal soldiers in the streets. Though it was bustling with violence, writer made special notes to justify the justice brought to the oppressors.

The thick books are still one of my most prized possessions, their stories etched in my mind forever. I may never live in towers with onion tops but I certainly did try to name myself Ivan (unsuccessfully, of course). And that is why, it was through the Bolsheviks (and not Indian revolutionaries) that I understood why writers, poets and artists were in the center stage of any rebellious change; the history from the soviet snow however bloody, had already tasted me, much, much before the NCERT history did.

Soch Sukhi Meri Chhati Hai...

Harivansh Rai Bachchan

(Sadhanyawad)

Jo tum aa jaate ek baar...

Mahadevi Verma

(sadhanyawaad)

A Language Done For

It never gave me contentment – writing in English, at least not before the past couple of days. And since this ecstasy amongst the words, for which the writers do scribble characters, was missing I sometimes felt like throwing my laptop away. However, a Sony Vaio means more materially than some short lived feelings and hence my black companion was always saved.

The focal raison d'être for this dead vigor was a certain lack of ability in myself of expression in a foreign language that English is. More of a concern was my insensitivity towards Hindi for whom we Indians have developed maternal outlook (yet again). I must admit that I did try to learn Hindi typing (long left are the ages of paper and pen), but to no one’s astonishment it turned out to be a complete failure given the mammoth complexity of Hindi and the even mammoth number of characters. It was one feeling that I always grudged – betraying the nation. Of course, I am not the last surviving savior of the mother tongue, but we are all supposed to play our parts, aren’t we?

Funnily, every time these pangs of guilt bowled me over, I watched Chupke-Chupke, that Dharmendra-Sharmila Tagore flick in which ‘Bade Bhaiya’ says that Hindi in itself possesses such greatness that feeble beings like me can’t cast insolence on her even if we want to. It gave me a certain quanta of relief, if at all.

Ironically, I was most timorous of my own looming silhouette in the blank obscurity of my computer’s screen. Angular umbra of my own conscious slowly paved its way on the keyboard, its every move in English clutching Hindi by the throat making the grip more firm. Several times, I put it down derelict at fault. But today, writing this I am no more insecure. And I know for certain, English is not the only dagger stabbed in the heart of Hindi.

A mounting politician in Maharashtra is also gaga over non use of Hindi. Those who do not address his concern are severely dealt with – beaten in government assemblies (wow, that’s one helluva move) and may be driven out of state as well. And the only people who are expressing concern are from the prime Hindi speaking states, which may somewhere imply that sooner or later; similar vision may arise from the other regional states as well. Voila! I am not alone anymore in killing Hindi. I and those politicians surely have our differences too, my English was making India international and they are taking us to regionalism. But of course, such differences can be resolved with time. Who cares if the national language is being put on the death bed inching its way towards the gallows?

And thus, for the past couple of days, this credence of massive guilt is slowly but surely leaving my conscious. At last, I am without stinting writing this post in a ‘free’ country, my regional-cum-angrez India.

Dare to Contest Elections???

Suicide...is it

Another day of life means culmination of the pain.
I do not wish to see the cruel world around me.
The pain which I’ve bearing becomes unbearable.
I do not wish to mingle with others, they seems like
Floating corks on the vast sea, drifting away from me.

I agree I was normal, normal like any one of you,
But the fact can never be hidden, though it is.
This excruciating pain I’ve been bearing becomes unbearable.
I do not wish to come forward, for I fear
The worst to come if I come forward, to me to all I care.

The best option available to end my days was chosen.
I left no notes for anyone, no bills, no grudges, no harm.
But I’ve been harmed. Please note, I’ve been.
I am failed. I cry every night to sleep.
So, let me have a good night sleep and sleep that be.

(With courtesy)

The lost light

I did it day after day, almost out of habit – finding a ‘friendless’ spot in campus and watching the dusk lazily turning off its own self. Crimson, engulfing the sky, perhaps the sun reaching out its hand in the lone blue eternity sanguine that someone will rescue him from the darkness that was (and is) his fate.

Imagine the end of life, inching unhurriedly on its prey certain that none can escape its claws. And then the darkness, the end starts from right above you head, finding its path towards the golden sun that is giving out last of itself for the day. A dying man, pondering over his life in his last few days tries to carve out a niche for himself believing that the odyssey in after life shall then be much more tranquil and gratifying. Perhaps, ‘Ra’ harbors a similar unction gushing out all its energy in its dying mouthful of air.

And with its golden gloominess it takes away the jovial nature of life, every shade darkening until a perfect, blank black is achieved. Even the green that was till now swaying with every breath of wind, gets silent slowly but surely mourning its loss.

It was not always the perfect seen of loss, sometimes the clouds clouded my line of sight protecting me from the angst. Inconceivable silhouettes they fashion, heartrending over and above amusing, overriding the obscurity and the radiance that is beyond them. But none were as ingenious as human mind that unearths shapes even where there are none.

It was at one such time that I decided not to let the clouds parent me forever. For it was a low lying cloud, I felt that I could rise above it and as such embarked upwards on the hill behind the road that led to Gauchar. Silly mortal as I have always been, chased even the profound contemplation of melancholy. The top was an entirely new world rising above the pallid sea of clouds as if a bliss on itself. Numerous triangular, conical peaks rose all around extending themselves towards the heaven caging the sun beyond them slowly. The golden rays were still warm slowly losing their fleshy grip on the pinnacles of mountains. To look at the sun set from the top was a grief unfelt on the realm below. Perhaps, I had rose to stop it from getting anguished and the disappointment of perdition was so intense that I climbed down even before the sun decided to sink completely in the everlasting ashen sea of clouds.

The ascent of the mountain was my pursuit against time to capture the essence of the alchemy of the golden light. Known was the result, the failure and yet karma remains my solitary providence. For the destiny hung about unfulfilled, my desire to have the shadowy splendor smoldering, I chased the sun into the west.

Beyond the spiky bushes and barbed wires rose yet another mountain that veiled the final rays of setting sun. It was a mysterious path that I chose for my journey afar. I rose higher and higher as the sun galloped from over my head in the wake of the hill. The wind blew swiftly at the top, yet the time stood still as an endless succession of mounts lay beyond the one below my feet. The last of blood-red faded away slowly, folding unto itself, bloodier than ever. I sat down exhausted, agonized, to savor the flavor of distressed defeat, as the sun set yonder the seemingly endless sea of the peaks far away from my reach. The death of the sun that day left a lasting inkling on my vision, a gleaming reflection never to leave me even with my eyes closed. I had lost the light, but it was only in that darkness that I found the gospel of the destiny, of the sun’s and of my own.

Secular bombs

A couple of nights ago there occurred a blast in Goa which was claimed to be done by some Sanatan Sangathan (honestly, never heard of it). Apparently, it was not powerful enough because the news was reduced to meager single page (4”X2”)articles in newspapers and a 2-hour ‘breaking news’ run on the TV. However, it was sturdy enough to give wings to my imagination…

Imagine the members of this Sanatan Sangathan preparing the bomb, then putting it in the feet of Shiva asking for his blessings – Bhagwan! Make this bomb powerful and successful. With your blessings it’ll kill only the vidharmis and not touch the Hindus. If however, any Hindu might mistakenly come in its range, be benevolent to let him through the gates of heaven. And make us stronger still so that we can continue the good work of saving Hinduism.

I wonder if the Lashkar-e-toiba and Jaish-e-Mohammad guys would do same stuff before blasting a bomb - praying before Allah for the bomb to discriminate between Muslims and non-Muslims.

However, the underlying problem with both the bombs is its secular nature. Now when C-4 or RDX is developed, unfortunately the makers are incapable of imbibing it with religion specific nature, hence rendering it secular. And as such there is no guarantee of not killing the Muslims with a bomb planted by ‘Jehadi’ organizations or Hindus by a Hindu organization. Neither is there any recorded proof of any incident when a Muslim dying of a Jehadi bomb shall be sent to Jannat or so in case of Hindus. However, there are visible proofs that the very idea for which people fight and plant these bombs affects their ‘own’ people the most.

Hindus have always been killed by Hindus for wealth, power, women etc. Afghani and Paki terrorists have been killing a lot of Pakis and Afghanis (all Muslims for a Muslim cause); Stalin killed more communists than capitalists ever did and the real reason for the American mortality rate lies in its political interference in other countries’ affairs.

Amongst the entire hullabaloo, the RDX, C-4, Beretta, AK -47, weapons grade plutonium and even Hydrogen bomb have retained their secular nature. I salute them all!!!

Deepawali @ Government

On the eve of Deepawali, the congress HQ was full of government officials and some insignificant, negligible party-workers intruded the spaces left untenanted still. The major lot of them preferred to stay away from main stream of power-tails and cocktails but as always is the case the journey to pinnacle starts from the basement, not lofty echelons.

Keeping the general principles of success in mind, a couple of aspiring workers strayed from their conduit on the footsteps of those who were seemingly close to the ‘high command’. There stands the finance minister; isn’t he the secretary to the defense minister; look, look – here comes ‘Yuvraaj’ himself, they whispered wandering lone in the crowd, clutching each other’s hand like toddlers in an old-age home alien like, afraid of losing themselves.

“Abbe oye, where the heck are you going? Come here”, a voice rang obstructing their path with a force invisible. He was a major player, frequently seen tagging behind the CM of Delhi, almost one of them. “Don’t go there, not yet! Don’t you see they are busy, what good will you do there?” He carted his junior contender by heels; none rises ahead of me – the general yet unspoken law of progress in India.

It seemed that he had made a new party for himself, almost a fan following. Some 10 people gathered around him, all glaring at the new comers with fierce, burning hatred in eyes asking if they were better than others to try and barge into the senior circle before them. One of them coughed and the ‘circle-centered talks’ resumed.

“Bhaiyaji, aajkal aap dikhte nahin? Kahan busy ho? Kahin bhauji to nahin dhoond li humaare liye?” one of the shorter guys played, followed by laughter nearly mechanical.

“Arre nahin re, aajkal zara busy hain hum. CM madam ne Commonwealth Games ka saara zimma humein hi de diya hai na, issiliye.”

“And where were you two going? The way to higher orders goes through bhaiyaji’s feet, samjhe!” The latest in the group were suddenly attacked –again. A smile broke on the questioner’s face, so wide as if he had been asked to fill in for PM himself, his question had stepped him higher in party classes.

“Haan, haan, ask if you have any doubts. Bhaiyaji will clear them all” another tagged along on the express to success in party cadres. The youngsters with their minds numb went askew as to what would be the appropriate question. “Bhaiyaji, what is the best way to celebrate deepawali?” one of them asked, surprised at his own question.

Everyone laughed, veiling their disarmed self by the question mark. Only the ‘senior’ seemed serious (although artificially) which made everyone else quite.

“This is a good question.”

So says everyone who doesn’t know the answer. But somehow, he managed to say to it, more than that.

“The best way to celebrate deepawali”, he said, “is to make sure that our Ram aka Manmohan Singhji is worshipped everywhere along with Sita Maiyya roopi Soniaji and Lakshmanji roopi Chidambaram Saab; that we become as brave as Hanumanji (Pranab da) and continue to defeat the BJP’s Ravan, along with Left’s Kumbhkarn and Shiv Sena’s Meghnaad. The deepawali would be better if we manage to kills Mayawati roopi Shurpanakha. Also we have a duty to ensure smooth succession of our prince Rahul to throne just like Luv-Kush. Only then would Ram-rajya (congress-rule) would be established perfectly throughout the country (in all the states as well) and Deepawali will get a true meaning.”

Everyone clapped - the juniors, the not-so juniors and the latecomers while I was left thinking if I had been celebrating the true spirit of Deepawali all these 20 years.

Letter to Gandhi

Dear Bapu,

Happy Birthday!

I hope you are fine in your abode. With all the things that you have done on earth, I am sure the Gods must be taking special care of you.

I no longer sing patriotic songs and speak of your contribution to country (or debate it) today, as I am no longer in school. Sometimes I feel that this sentiment of jingoism is draining out of me with age, but I do not lament it because it makes me feel more customary with everyone else.

However, to celebrate your birthday and my flavor I’ll be baking a cake today in your memory. It’ll be, of course, a part of my Pre-Marriage Training (PMT, as my mom calls it) and Papa specially insists on making delicious deserts so that I keep my spouse happy (not that I am marrying soon). This is one difference in our ages, Bapu. You got married at a very early age while I’ll wait for some more time. Some will call this progress, some deterioration; for me it is change – evolution. But then, a lot of changes have taken place since your departure.

I asked Papa if we could use cream made out of a goat’s milk, but he said that it would be a gigantic task to get goat’s milk. So I am using the usual buffalo one, but I hope you are getting goat’s milk wherever you are. By the way, did someone warn you against the synthetic milk – it is adulterated, so please don’t use it. You’ll be wondering, obviously, why people are selling adulterated milk. The answer lies in their voracity, their hastened attempt to escape paucity. The mammoth task of salvaging millions of Indians from hunger and dearth is still unaccomplished.

If you are wondering what your successors in congress (and elsewhere) did in last 60 years, let me tell you, it was not easy for them to do all the hard work while there were paintings of you to be hung in office across the nation. I mean, how could they do all the work themselves, after all there were statues of you to be inaugurated, roads to be named after you and yes, the most important – printing you on every note in country’s economy. But you must not feel let down, there’s work going on in the offices – lots of money with you splashed on it changes lots of hands in offices right under your paintings. Some people showed a lot of vision – started institutions, organizations which is earning us good name and fame. But it is only in power that they can afford to accomplish their vision for the country, so most of their time is spent in exchanging blows for this power.

Have you heard the term commercialization? I wonder if it was coined when you were here. Oh, I remember suddenly, you were all for something(s) called socialism, equality, right? Well, now days we scarcely hear about equality and socialism has paved way for communism. Equality is now restricted in textbooks of mathematics and perhaps to some paragraphs in constitution. The balance is uneven now between the rich and poor and completely tilted socially. Those who were backward and ‘your harijans’ once, are now given special preferences for various educational and job opportunities. But this is perhaps our own fault – if we had gone to vote all these years, perhaps these leaders might worry about us too. But, you see, this is where the commercialization part comes into act. Over years, they have used ‘Mahatma Gandhi’ so much in their speeches, debates and manifestos (more for their own use, than anything else) that I wonder if you are still a Mahatma for them or just a figure of speech. You must be worth trillions of dollars (not rupee, because its values is less) because just your name has earned these politicians lots of money.

Perhaps, this is the reason why we cry your jai-jaikar three times for every one time that we shout for Shastriji’s, even though he was born on the same day. It was because of your sellable name that congress decided to portray you as the father of the nation even though there is no constitutional provision for anyone of such stature, and that is why I am addressing this letter to you and not to Shastriji.

Please convey my apologies to Shastriji for not writing him a separate letter, I won’t be able to bake the cake if were to write two letters. And yes, I’ll be writing his name on the cake as well – Happy Birthday Bapu & Shastriji! I hope you don’t mind sharing your cake with him. Shastriji, if I remember my textbooks clearly, is remembered for two main things – his being the second prime minister of the country, and his slogan – Jai Jawan, Jai Kisaan!

Both of them are in pretty bad shape, committing suicides under surmounting pressure. Neither gets the deserved return for their uphill struggle; however, the government keeps making promises for them in every election and every budget. Recently, a waiver of multi-thousand crores was given to farmers which left the nation wondering if our government really had such huge amounts of money in surplus. But we all know that this money gets raised by the different set of taxes and licenses that the government imposes which includes arms and liquor licenses as well. But don’t you worry Bapu, constitutionally, the state is still directed by your principles – Gandhian principles (Directive Principles of State Policy).

Neither for a moment you should worry about your quantum of popularity being constrained to politics only. There have been a lot of movies based on you or around you in Indian Film Industry as well. The most popular (and commercially successful) of them in fact, started an entire debate based on you and your principles throughout the nation. Everyone expressed their view about your philosophy, made up a new term – Gandhigiri combining you with our age hooliganism and then went their way. But you must be proud of the fact that the fanfare went on for months. Otherwise, in a billion strong nation with around 30 news channels issues get lost even before transmission. And then there are politically motivated writers (who are politicians themselves sometimes) who use your name to drag their titles into quagmire of controversy and thus, gain recognition. All in all, you still become headline of some national daily every other day.

Some of us may not be satisfied by you and your ways (which includes me as well), because they sometimes lead us to great losses – after all we can’t face terrorists with ahimsa! But the fact remains that you are remembered fondly all over – India and beyond. So please don’t lose faith in us, we may not be all truthful, sincere and ahimsawadi like you but we are not that courageous either. The freedom that you won for us was just the launch of an expedition, a foray into ourselves of the greatness that we had achieved and the duties that are strapped to us now.
I sincerely hope (for ourselves) that we’ll not let you down.

Arpit Bharat Gupta

P.S. : No courier service can take the cake to where you are, so I won’t be able to send you a piece of your own birthday cake. But I promise that I will savor every bite of it and shall make you one if they let me in to where you are, when I die.

Ravan(s) that Ram should kill

Tauji was unanimously voted as the treasurer to the Ram-leela committee this year which gave us a new topic for the table top discussion this season. Why do we need to stage the saga of Ramayan year after year and with an increased budget? Not that people don’t know already what the story is like, neither can we add twists and turns to it. Is it a meager reminder to us as to what our society and life stand for, and the values that should govern our lives?

Tauji made a simple answer, that even though a lot of city dwellers may find the staging obsolete, a lot of people from the rural areas still like to see the story staged on a magnanimous scale. Additionally, every year a new genre and generation is added to us, our ‘duty’ being to instill the set of values in our youngsters, that includes me, he laughed.

And do we succeed, in establishing the so called Ram-rajya, I countered.

And every elder thus told me that one of the values that Ramayana instills is of patience and the duties towards the society, which is precisely what they are doing. But one thing that I made them agree upon with me was the changing forms of Ravan and thus the need of flexibility to defy them.

During the discussion, I was told one more astonishing fact by Tauji that more money was spent on Ravan then Ram during the course of act. It is quite understandable owing to the fact that Ravan was a king at the time of his death while Ram was wandering in jungles having abandoned his kingdom on his father’s wish. However, the thing to note is that Ravan despite being villainous in character was applauded more by the audience then Ram himself. This anomaly is explained in Ramcharitmanas by Tulsidasji in which he has accorded Ravan with more opulent dialogues than Ram so as to portray Ram as serene, sagacious yet powerful king, while Ravan is more arrogant and self-righteous.

This self-righteousness or pride is one of the inherent features of Ravan as well as the desperados all over. Not that it comes naturally to them; it has to be nourished with external sustenance especially with the pride of those at levels higher than them. In his case, Ravan prayed to Lord Brahma and forfeited his head 10 times to Lord Shiva, accentuating their smugness – gaining favors. With his death a life may have ended but the idea of ‘Ravanism’ certainly did not. His 10 heads have evolved over time into forces much more appalling than his own, sometimes like Hydra – two heads growing at the place where one is cut.

Just like Ravan, the pride of iniquity is kept animated by asserting the righteousness of those a cut above. This systematic infestation allows freedom of wrong-doing at every echelon. The immoral is no longer confined to black; it has matured and trespassed its limits into gray. Fraudulence, sleaze, gluttony are steadily resolving themselves as the underlying prerequisites for survival.

These are the Ravans that Ram should kill not on a stage melodrama but on realms beyond it. The values that have been preserved in our culture for eons should not fall prey to this predator, for in their absence no staging of Ramayana alone could save us.

The idea of revolution

Revolution (Wikipedia): A revolution (from the Latin revolutio, "a turnaround") is a fundamental change in power or organizational structures that takes place in a relatively short period of time.

I disagree!

A revolution, I believe, is an idea that is implemented with or without the motive of fundamental changes but certainly as an act of assertion in one’s own values.
However, one of its effects may be changing the way of life for an individual or a community or a country.

If we limit our vision to history books, it may seem that in order to bring upon a ‘successful’ revolution one needs an oppressive ruler, a distressed population (community or country), lots of arms and ammunition (not so in the Indian case)and action! However, if one happens to peek thoughtfully in the pages of life the smudges of revolutionary changes can be found all over, guised as nothing more than the blots of ink. But since change is accepted as the underlying requisite for evolution, the vitality of the idea behind this change is forgotten. And thus the inertia that has to be overcome for this ‘revolt’ to succeed is elapsed just as old books are rendered useless once they have been read over and over.

Revolution, thus, is no legacy of history books but belongs to life as we see it and as we live it. It may be coined for the Boston tea party or signing the Declaration of Independence or for the demand of complete independence by Congress or Quit India Movement but that does not necessarily mean that it could not apply to actions and ideas of one man against and for a system.

It is a revolution, thus, when a man clings to the stem of trees in hills of Uttaranchal to stop them from cutting, when a young IAS officer goes to inspect a government hospital in the middle of night, when another of his breed dips his hand in a stinking naala to remind the municipal corporation of their work.

It was a revolution when my mother shed the traditional pallu and more of it when my grandparents supported and defended her. When a small kid plants a sapling in front of his house and vows to take care of it throughout his life, when a teacher goes beyond the conventional meaning of lessons and enlightens his/her students to realms of life, when a young woman in Noida breaks her engagement simply because her ‘would be’ in-laws were asking for dowry, it is a revolution. A teenager born in slums promising himself that he will not die poor is an idea that will change his life.

The change that this idea may bring upon in one’s life may simply not be the end of this revolution as the word itself may imply. The revolution is actually a process of evolution that may go beyond the actual process of change of principles and certainly the realms of time. And that is why though America declared its independence from Britain in 1776 but it was not until Abraham Lincoln that it truly became United States and for the same reason, India truly became a republic in 1950 though independence had come 2 ½ years earlier.

And for this idea is clad in steel of fortitude protected by the will of his impassive mind, it becomes impossible to contain this revolution even though the action that follows it may be shelved for some time. As they say, an IDEA can change your life…

To Sir, With Love

May be I should change the title – To Sir(s) & Ma’m(s)! But I continue to live in this world shamelessly subjugated to male psyche, where even those (all males & females) who herald the banners of women liberation suffer pangs of guilt deep inside consoling themselves that nothing is going to change in this hypocrite world of theirs despite all their valiant efforts.

But then that’s not what I was going to write about; the subject was my teachers who were desperate to pull me out of plume of ignorance and anti-social cataclysm throughout my span of life.

The first ones to teach me would always be my parents but like all infants I have no memoirs of the early days. The first lessons of walking, talking, drinking, eating, touching, identification etc. are so natural and inherent in nature that we refuse to acknowledge them as lessons at all. I disagree! Left alone, we all would have been Mogulis of Rudyard Kipling.

It’s only after a certain bit of maturity (I hope, I have that) that perhaps one admits the difference between education and teaching. While the former may be entirely facts – strands of formulae, loads of structures, reactions, laws, dates, maps-locations and other things, the latter is beyond all facts. (Though they may be facts themselves) If, may be, it was never said to us verbally; it was always between the lines - the codes of conduct, laws of world, laws of behavior, adjectives and virtues. And it is for this latter part, that I am most thankful to you.

When you told me that air exists beyond its invisibility barrier as a matter and has weight, I learned that there could be things where we see none. When you directed me in the laboratory, I concluded that rationality was the underlying principle of all things in world and if not then it must be questioned however blasphemous it may sound. In chemical reactions I saw the balance of nature; re-saw it in Newton’s third law and understood that to achieve a high placed goal I had to strive even harder because some energy was always lost.

After getting used to gravitation for more than 10 years (I was taught gravitation and atoms/molecules in class 3 because I found other concepts in the book boring, lolz), Einstein’s relativity was a blow for one of its points concluded that gravity was nothing but a byproduct of space-time warp and for this reason - hypothetical. And it proved to me that a man’s biggest enemy was Inertia – resistance to change. When I was introduced to algebra, I knew that the power of imagination was infinite. When I was taught the concept of system, surroundings and universe in my first thermodynamics class, I was literally told that a parallel existed between mechanical systems and the universe, between the creator of systems and that of the universe.

When Indus dwellers vanished along with Egyptians and the Chinese I saw how the things that once reached their zenith had to, willingly or unwillingly perish too. Rome followed suit with Constantinople and I knew that life comes a full circle. British ran across half the globe waving first the East India Company flag and then the Union Jack mocking the territories that had never heard of the concept of nation, sovereignty and union. Karl Marx propounded a theory and it became evident to me that success would always be incomplete if it was exclusive. A man in Meerut triggered a mutiny and I knew that a revolution had to be started by one man alone, if not more. A lawyer from Gujarat marched across the nation perspiring yet untiring, and I knew that leadership could do wonders to people.

But what you taught me was not in the books alone, it was and is in the world out there, glaring in the eye – acknowledged or not; for you taught me that ‘Truth Alone Triumphs’ and if for the greater good, it should be manipulated. That it was alright to feel depressed and dejected on having failed but was even more important to learn and rise again. It was almost natural to feel jealous but you were the ones who told me that I had to direct my anger the right way to profit from it. That even my friends could turn against me and I could find some where I never expected was taught by you. You were the ones who taught me that in a country where empty stomachs gave a stronger lurch than the mal-fed morality, corruption and crime were almost natural and in order to combat them a multi-pronged weapon was needed.

I love you all for those lessons that you taught me and even those that you did not because I went through them the hard way and know them by heart. For all the good that you did to us, you were always jeered behind your back and you kept on, still. Because even when you were firing all cylinders at me in the class, there was a fun in it (and I was silently laughing, face down); for I knew that it was all for a reason. Premchand once wrote in one of his stories that teachers see new batches every year, new boys and they forget them; but the boys never forget those who teach them, sometimes looking up to them as ideals.

Now that I am on a break from classes, I miss your voice ringing the classroom (and the figures that I carved on desks too). But then, you taught me that life itself was a continuous learning process. I may sometimes let you down, but please don’t give up on me for it is only on the citadel of your wisdom that I will ascend to the pinnacle of existence.

Abhhisht

(I wrote this one, when I was ‘still’ in search of a good job)

Anant neela aakash
Athah gehra saagar
Badalon ke woh
Bante-bigadte chehre
Sab tumhare liye.
Barkha ki pehli boond
Mitti ki sondhi-si gandh
Aam ka woh pehla baur
Sab tumhe arpan.
Apne ek abhhisht ke badle
Mera saara kanchan
Kya doon tumhe, jab
Sab tumhara hi to hai,
Mere karm aur
Mera dharm, sab kuchh.
Yun to main jaanta hun
Ki tum jaante ho…
Phir bhi, mere ek isht ke badle
Mera sab kuchh,
Tumhe arpan.

Jaspinder and her kids..s

Jaspinder meets a her school friend after 20 years and tells her how her life has been great and that she has 10 children.

'Wow!' says her friend. 'What are their names?'

'Mandeep, Mandeep, Mandeep, Mandeep, Mandeep, Mandeep, Mandeep, Mandeep, Mandeep and Mandeep,' she answers, smiling proudly.

Her friend looks at her dubiously. 'Really?' she says. 'So what if you want them to come in from playing outside?'

'That's easy, I just shout Mandeep and they all come running,' answers Jaspinder.

Her friend is not convinced. 'And what if you want them to come to the table for dinner?' she asks. 'Again,' she says, 'I just shout 'Mandeep, dinner's ready!''

'But wait a minute,’ says her friend. 'What if you just want one of them to do something?'

'That is slightly more difficult,' says the woman, nodding. 'Then I have to use their last names.'

Loser...(pardon the language though)

Do you know how it feels to be a fcuking loser?
To hate yourself, your skin, your soul, every min of your existence?
And to love it all @ the same time, to the same fcuking extent?

Have you ever felt so sick to your stomach, so disgusted @ your own being?
Have you ever wanted to kill yourself and felt ashamed @ your desire to live, even after having proved not just to your own self that you are a fcuking loser?

Have you ever cried your heart out, in silent sobs, in darkness, too ashamed of your defeat inlife, of your own uselessness?

Have you ever felt like you are a constant burden, walking this earth, shitting all over the place, leaving behind your stink?
And felt the world wrinkle its nose, look @ you with the utmost contempt and disgust for you are a loathsome being...
Felt it all even though you do not have the fcuking guts to turn & look for the stench is too bad even though it is your own...

Have you ever showed your finger in your mind, to "whatever it is that brought you into existence", for it is a fcuked up job and you know it well coz you are that job?

Have you ever felt like a fcuking loser, right in the middle of the world...
Blocking the path of everyone near and around you...
Making them hate you every min though they might not be able to say it all to you...

Have you ever screwed up every time, every time a person tries to clean you up, tries to make you over... And right at that moment when they try, you shit again, stinking more than before...


Have you ever ever ever felt like a fcuking loser?

Well...I have not!!!

Socialist Uniforms...

It’s a shame! It’s a blasphemous scandal!

It was more relief than shock when uniforms were imposed in my alma mater. And it felt good that I didn’t ‘live’ to see myself in those black trousers (of course, I love to wear jeans and I hate trousers)!!! Previously, uniforms were a part of college life only till the ragging period wasn’t over, indicating a tab on the freedom of freshers. It now seems that the teachers are hell bent on ragging the students for whole 4 years…

When in school, we were made to understand that the purpose of uniforms was to ensure a sense of uniformity irrespective of everyone’s background which essentially meant one’s financial condition. What they never told us (but was always between the lines) that no matter what we do, no matter how brilliantly we performed we would all always remain on the same level – uniform! Does it ring a bell? Does it click somewhere in your mind? Heck, doesn’t it sound socialist…one has to perform for the sake of performing and there shall be no rewards, until there’s time for everyone’s promotion!

They have put a tab on our creativity, on our freedom to perform. It is a violation of our rights, of our choices. The students who enroll in colleges are mostly of age and have a moral understanding of the facts and conditions of life. Never in my college life, did I witness one incident of misbehavior based on financial differences. Perhaps, we are more mature than the authorities think; perhaps, we are more mature than the authorities. If at all, those at the top realize their true duties than they should instill the sense of equality and morality on the primary level. To cut the wings of freedom when it aspires to reach the zenith, will bring the downfall of aspirations.

It instills them with a false sense of order, I believe. How beautiful it must be to look from atop the pyramid at your subjects – everything in order and under control. To fetch the true sense of evolution, however, a chaos will always be necessary. A chaos of choices – to make one’s own mistakes, to learn one’s own lessons, to achieve one’s own success – unscathed by the teething leeching rules.

However, the choice to shun authority and the choice to win their freedom shall always reside with the ‘subjects’! After all, it’s a free world out there…

Mohan ke Das Gandhi

Gandhi – Keshav! I sometimes feel jealous…

Krishna – Jealous??? Of me???

Gandhi – Yeah…they don’t make such delicious, mouth watering panchamrita on my birthday down there, do they? All they do is flag hosting and sing some songs…I mean what’s the use if you don’t even mean it…

Krishna – Haha…don’t let chitragupta hear you say that, he’ll put you in detention in hell! Always looks for a reason…and anyways, off late the quality of every panchamrita they make on earth has deteriorated, ruddy adharmis…so there’s no need to be jealous!!!

Gandhi – Hell…and we thought we were dying for a good cause! It’as all shown negative results – this freedom event, hasn’t it?

Krishna – I don’t know, all negative as it may seem, but there are still some people…what do they call them these days – old fashioned! Whoever tries to do some good…

Gandhi – If only, fashion had to do with morality…

Krishna – Don’t know what you are frowning about! At least, you spent good time on earth…and even made exit in style!

Gandhi – Don’t tell me you were not pleased with yours…I mean, you could have changed it, couldn’t you? After all you are perhaps the most popular incarnation of Vishnuji!

Krishna – Like hell I am! And people still won’t listen to me…Specially Brahmaji, tried to bribe him to write the script in a better manner, but no – I am Lord Krishna, my comforts are immaterial as compared to the process of infusing earthlings with sense of dharma and karma…

Gandhi – And wasn’t it? Remember those lines –
Sab Janm mujhi se paate hain
Sab Laut mujhi mein aate hain
Yeh dekh gagan mujhmein lai hai…
I mean, your choices are immaterial – literally!!!

Krishna – That’s ruddy unfair, trying to quote earthly words on me. But I expect no less from you – you used to quote and misquote me on earth as well…

Gandhi – Hey, anything for bringing people on the right path! And you yourself are mayapati – didn’t you use tricks sometimes to use situations to your advantage…

Krishna – I am allowed that, all for the well being of universe, you see (winks)!!!

Gandhi – By the way, what was the thing that you wanted to change about your stay on earth?

Krishna – Well…you know!!! After that hours long speech on Karma and Dharma (Read Bhagwad Gita), ‘least some one could have done is to offer me a glass of water…but no – (mockingly) Madhusudan to Vishnu ke awatar hain. He won’t need anything as simple as water. None of the idiots thought that even Gods feel the earthly needs when on earth!!!

Gandhi – Hahaha…why didn’t you ask for it? I mean, Arjun was there…All he needed to do was to shoot one arrow inside the earth!

Krishna – (Frowning) Vyaasji forgot to put it in script! So couldn’t ask for it…

Gandhi – Brahmaji should’ve consulted a better script writer…but anyways, it was worth every effort. Perhaps, only text worth following practically and religiously…

Krishna – Hey, what about the speaker? Will it kill you to praise me sometimes?

Gandhi – Frankly, you are too much Keshav! You are supposed to be above these common ‘earthly’ feelings…

Krishna – Doesn’t hurt you much to do it, does it anyway?? And would have been happier had people really been following it…I mean some of them really do, even partially doing it is good but such a miniature fraction…God!!!

Gandhi – Is that why this recession precaution? To bring people back to the temples?

Krishna – Not really actually, recession is just a temporary crest in the economic cycle. But it does test one anyways…

Gandhi – Hmmm…Its really taking the hell out of people to be precise (looks down) – people without water, electricity, swine flu to top it all…

Krishna – I won’t really care if I were you. They deserve it – all for Karma and Dharma…

Gandhi – You don’t mean it! Just flash your finger and it’s all gonna be good.

Krishna – No, they all have the opportunity to mould their fates. They should’ve acted when they had chance. I didn’t ask them to vote on caste lines…did I?

Gandhi – What ‘as it got to do with leaders?

Krishna – Everything, you see! Had they chosen a better leader, they would’ve got better living opportunities. And some of them are lazy enough, that they don’t even bother to go to polling stations. So much for the pains of remembering and then oozing every word of Gita. I lost a major quantum of my energy assuming that vishwaswarup, and they have forgotten it all…

Gandhi – Though, they all bother to go to temples regularly, offering sweets and lots of other things. What was the cost of those ornaments that businessman offered…1.2 crore! I wonder what the income tax people are doing…

Krishna – Wealth and offerings are the least that matter to me! If I were content with sweets, I’ld have told them…they are supposed to keep the karma cycle running – smoothly. Now, have they been doing it? If only, they would all do their work honestly…damn, these people!!!

Gandhi – I understand, it’s frustrating having to look at all these misjudgments, misdeeds…but that’s all we can do.

Krishna – Say for yourself, mate! I am here only till the paap ka ghada fills itself. Then, I’ll be off to earth, once again.

Gandhi – I do hope, it serves them good. Oh! And Bhagwan, Happy Birthday, by the way…

Krishna – (Smiles) Thanks a lot, dude! And a Happy Independence Day to you…

Gandhi – Independence!!! (rolls eyes…looking around) Yeah…

Dwarahat to Dilli

In the past two months, life has undergone a sea change. Till June, earlier this year I was in the process of becoming a bachelor, now I am one, with an additional tag of unemployed. And as if one and a half months of self-grating was not enough, I have landed in Delhi in order to see if I am really…employable. In between the calls (not that there have been too many) and a boring-like-hell schedule I have been eagerly noticing the sharp turns that my life here continues to take. Here, I try to gauge some:

• Unlike college, I am not the first one to rise from the bed – my partner has a class early in the morning and he doesn’t bunk it (yeah…KECians have started studying over here). He’s the one who wakes me up (and it’s a welcome change); I was the one who did that in college to him.

• The water supply is abundant, and one does not have to keep the buckets filled for ‘emergencies’!!!

• There is no more ready breakfast on the mess table; one has to get some from the market – an early outing ensured.

• The paranthas cost only Rs. 5 as compared to 10 back in college. Even the chai is Rs. 3 not 4 and almost double in quantity.

• Newspaper comes at 6 in the morning unlike KEC where by the time you really get to know the world around…it’as already moved by 180 degrees!!!

• No one charges Rs. 2 extra to keep the cold drink ‘cold’ and ice cream ‘iced’!

• A silent valley, occasionally echoed by the sounds of remote car or temple has given way to non-stop screams, cries and honking horns.

• What used to be a lonely walk in the campus is now a quest to reach one’s destination unscathed in the swarming ocean of people.

• Everyone knew everyone in campus and good evenings, good mornings of first years and the hi’s and hello’s of others were some things that punctuated the journey from Kailash to Mehra’s. Here, none knows any and even if they do – ignorance is bliss.

• The girls who wore salwar-kurtas and jeans tops in college would be hailed from Stone Age here. Tank tops, spaghettis and everything & anything out of the blue is ubercool and ‘in trend’ here. (Not that I am/was complaining)

• Spiky or long hair (low waist jeans too) were considered ‘stylo’ in the college and attracted reprimand sessions from the faculty. The one with short cropped hair, having a ‘maang’ on the left can be seen peculiarly seen in the crowd here, everyone else is ‘normal’.

• A 3 km journey from Gochar to Dwarahat that costed Rs. 8 is worth only Rs. 3 here…

• In college, you couldn’t see more than 10 cars a day (including the ones owned by faculty), here I see thousands including Mercedes, Bentley and BMW, Maruti, Toyota, Hyundai and Honda are more than common here.

• Shopkeepers are no more fretting if we go their shops, perturbing their solace, like they did in college. They are more than eager to have us inside and more eager to peep inside our wallets.

• Late night strolls and talks on the phones were the real time to find solace in college and occasionally I had the welcome company of the dogs and jackals. Well…this hasn’t changed much – I still am accompanied by dogs and jackals late nights, only they are disguised as humans. And…I find no solace.

I was ‘a known someone’ back in college and here, I am just another immigrant trying to keep up with the pace of bustling life in the capital, struggling to carve out a niche for myself- a career, a destiny, a life…

I miss you – KEC Dwarahat, I miss you badly!!! But, heck…I am too excited to be in the capital…

Laboratory failures and constitution

It was a famous joke in coaching days, hilariously told by chemistry teachers over the physics ones that whatever difficulty one may come across in the problems in physics – gravity, viscosity, air resistance…it is presumed negligible. Same is the algorithm of experimental analysis in almost all the sciences, an integral part of which is taking presumptions. It is only after these constraints that the ‘universe’ of analysis becomes a finite domain and hence solvable.

I bet, Dr. Bhim Rao Ambedkar (further referred to as DBRA) was of the same analytic mind. The assumptions in the constitution are bare and far too many. For example, the concept of no absolute power – the axis of decision making bodies revolves in multiple sects – parliament, bureaucracy and the president. Perhaps, DBRA assumed that no Indian will ever be able to develop an acute sense of morality and justice, so it would be better to keep a check and tab on everyone. Despite this decision making India a democracy in absolute sense, has kept us from many privileges.

A direct presumption of this assumption (read morality & justice) is that it will always be imperative to take decisions on a ‘public’ consensus, the fact that delays might cause quandaries remaining immaterial. Even the constitutional head of the country – the president is helpless when a bill comes to him for being passed the third time. He can only refer it back twice suggesting changes in it and seeking alterations.

But then technology which is the applied form of experimental outcomes is independent of assumptions. It is only when the experiments invade the domain of assumed laws and conditions, that machines and hence their real sense of work comes into being.

For every such change in the system, one again has to presume that the system supports change (it better do, because change is the only perpetual truth) in order to succeed on itself and evolve. It is time, that the guardians of constitution start experimenting – outside the domain of their assumptions.

Late Night AUTOcracy...

For once in my life, owls were not hooting through this late night stroll. Perhaps, they were busy keeping their nests and kids dry from the torturous downpour, or does Delhi have no owls at all???

The roads were clogged with water and people, scarce as I walked out of the PVR. 10:30 PM, I confirmed from my watch and had just opened my mouth for swearing when the torrent started slowing down, the drops slowly getting lost into oblivion. It was for the lovely company of friends I had and the debatable issue of a bad ending to HP 6 that I decided not to wait for an Autowallah and move on till we get one. Private transport was bustling still, obviously irritated by the jams and delays caused by the rains (Thank you MCD).

Saket itself was a long walk…at places we did get company from other people – beautiful girls accompanied by machos!!! (I just wish, all of them were their brothers) Though, we were not really tired, we decided to give yet another chance to public transport to fetch us to Munirka (the more accurate reason – we stopped ’coz the chicks stopped too). But hey, this stop had not the sparkling chicks only, an auto all covered in the glory of yellow, green and black was standing there too…
Unfortunately, we were not the first ones to get to the vehicle…A small crowd was already mobbing it. Apparently, the driver was sleeping after a hard day’s work; he woke up startled to find people all over him, poking fingers here and there. To the irritation of all of us (and perhaps more to himself) he denied every potential customer a ride in his royal auto including the ones who were offering two-fold money and more.

After a 10 minute wait, another of the autos passed us flashing its tongue at us mockingly. Had I not sensed the rising tempers in people surrounding us, I would have definitely laughed at our helplessness. Two more similar vehicles flashed through mercilessly ignoring the pleading cries of the crowd. One was actually empty but perhaps in search of a higher goal than a customer. Annoyed, we walked on (the chicks decided to stay and not follow us)!

Even the slightest screech from behind our backs made us crane our necks to right-back side in anticipation of a vacant auto. The back sides of the autos have a window sort of opening through which light steers its way through. Every time the radiance passed through, our hopes amplified; but as they came nearer we found someone sitting on the sides…damn!!! By the time, we crossed Saket I was all set to say yes to even a shared auto, although there were already three of us.

Fortunately, there was no mud (again, thanks to MCD) on the roads and it was a simple maze finding ones way through the water puddles and potholes. As the three of us followed another three guys in front of us we reached a CNG station near the NCERT office turn. There were 3 autos, none with a passenger but neither did they have their drivers. Out of the blue, one of the guys in front of us jolted forward and soon his friends and (we too) realized that there was an auto with its driver intact. They struck a deal but on the condition that they will have to push the auto for the water had clogged its exhaust pipe. As we walked, the guys started pushing the auto…1,2,3..it started and to everyone’s astonishment and to those guys astonishment the driver stepped on the gas and sped away leaving all 3 of the guys swearing and us, in fits!!!

Meanwhile, the autos continued passing us and without us. Yet another joker that we came across was so busy preparing and then chewing his khaini that he did not even bother to look at us. Finally a couple of steps before the gate no. 5 of IITD an autowallah took mercy on our wails and stopped.

Just like Amrish Puri used to make the most of the opportunity when the majboor maa/beti/patni/bahan came to him, the autowallah charged 35 Rs. for the journey that was worth less than 20. But finally we reached Munirka by 12:00 PM.

Next day’s newspaper had all the mud from delhi streets smeared on MCD only to the mayor countering that he was a hero and MCD had saved the day (night actually) and had it not been for his ‘able’ governance the situation could have been worse. Turn page 6, Mayawati had declared regions of UP ‘sukha-grast’.

Recession repercussions

Hail Procrastination

It is said that things happen by doing and not by dreaming. I am sure whosoever said that was not a man. A man knows the importance of dreams. How careful planning can help him avoid work, is an art which only men have perfected . Since due to unexplainable reasons woman failed to develop this ability due to which whenever they have an urge to clean their room ;they have to clean it.

Men on the other hand use their ability to plan and decide when the room will be cleaned and when the decided time arrives they have no urge of cleaning the room thereby proving that procrastination isn't a problem but it is actually the solution.

This attitude of men has played a very important role in development of civilization. Just think of the wars which were never fought because men were too lazy to wear their uniforms. And, the various accidents which were avoided because men decided to watch WWE instead of buying groceries (though it's equally intriguing whether their wives were good drivers or not).

However, there may be some people (specially wives)who always ask men to act. They believe in a saying that Practice makes man perfect. I'll counter them by quoting that "Nobody is perfect". So why practice?

Reflection

Walking into the sunlight filled field
With the weeping willow slowly dancing in the warm breeze,
The lake smooth on the surface even though
Underneath life flourishes,
Off in the distance there is a deer running back into the woods.
Always dreaming of the simplicity of that life,

Sitting in this picture perfect landscape thinking to myself.
Why must we make life so difficult?
Every once in awhile you need to stop and enjoy the scenery,
Because life isn’t about how much power you have
Or how many friends you have,
Life is about trying to find what makes you happy
And not getting caught up in the everyday nonsense.
This field put everything into perspective,
If you rush through life and never stop to look around
Have you ever really lived?

Lost

I’m not who I was.
I don’t know who I am.
Part of me I lost.
The other part doesn’t give a damn.

Things aren’t the same,
And they never will.
The parts that are gone.
I now must try to fill.

Through the years things were dropped.
Over here and over there.
I don’t even recognize myself
When in the mirror I stare.

Who is this person?
This man I’ve become.
Why is my outlook,
looking so glum?

What do I have to do
To become myself again?
Do I have to drop more pieces
Before finding myself begins?

I’m tired of feeling lost.
It’s taken quite a toll.
The pieces I will pick up.
Pieced together I will become whole.

From the eternal

Creative light

Guide me through

All that I

Never knew

All I need is

To feel through you

Prism rays like treasured streams

Clarify my healing dreams

From the seed of consciousness

Comes our souls

And light of our awareness

Tap this well

Of life's spirit

brings knowledge

only the ancients knew...

Of Mess Food & Mehra's

Of the four years spent in college, the topic that endured almost every discussion session was obviously the food. We all did miss the ‘mummy ke haath ka khana’, and were painfully aware of that from then on it would always be a rare show for us. However, it didn’t stop us from dreaming about eating sumptuous amounts of yummy food. And man, did we try to materialize those dreams to our dining tables!!!

After my mom’s scary lecture about the bad inedible food in the hills and of course, the mess I was frankly not very optimistic about the meals. But the meals served in 1st year were unbearably agonizing not only for the tongue but also for the stomach. And yes, during the initial ‘advices n stories’ session before college, someone told me that they make an awesome Arhar ki daal on the hills. It being my favorite in lunch (well, screw the time – I can eat good Arhar any time) I was looking forward to having it sometime on my plate. And they did make it in Aravali (my hostel in 1st year) pretty soon. And if I remember correctly, it was nice, not as good as home, though…! It was only later that I learned that the mess workers were given specific instructions by the hostel warden to make special food only till the parents were in the hostel, with their children.

After that, the quality of food consistently deteriorated, never to rise back again. But worth mentioning is the part that even the quantity of food consumed per student was strictly checked and the rare occasions on which they somehow made a meal worth eating, the amount of it served was so low that our tummies threatened with a hunger strike…

Since the ragging period was not over yet, none of us was frequent on outside visit late nights (courtesy stories of 1st years being kidnapped into 2nd year hostels during the night). However, optimistic as I always was and am, I longed to be in 2nd year, where I had heard and some others had tasted that the food tasted superb. But Nanda Devi Hostel (2nd year christened NDH in short) was again a no show as the control of the mess committee transferred into the final year seniors’ hands some of whom shared the hostel with us. This was where food tasted so great till last term and suddenly wasn’t even worth smelling this year.

Frustrated of the seemingly quality less food, this was when we became familiar with local restaurants – Adhikari & Mehra’s. They did serve food which was better than the hostel’s and perhaps much better than the hostel’s. Although it was rich in nature and costed us extra 200-300 bugs every week, but we didn’t mind it for the sake of our appetites which would definitely would have revolted had there been any more of those hostel meals. Only one time did I use to eat while in 2nd year in hostel mess, and that was the breakfast. It was partly because, I was habitual of rising early and the hot breakfast didn’t seem so bad. And yet another meal outside, would have showed badly on my wallet!!!

The aloo ka paranthas, chicken, paneer and mushroom were the regular stuff that we used to stuff our mouths with (and tummies too). The fast food was restricted to treats and the evening outings. And lord save the retailers there, the chilled packaged stuff was sold on rates more than MRPs!!! Once or twice, we encountered them with this cost situation and they calmly replied that the extra charge was for keeping them cold in refrigerator. As a result, the coke bottle for which I would have paid 7-8 Rs. at a normal place amounted to Rs. 10 and the ice cream of 15 Rs. was charged at Rs. 18 for keeping it the ‘ice’ cream…

Adding to our agony was another fact. By the starting of the 2nd year, the interaction with the girls had risen considerably (it was kept hush-hush till now, because of the ragging practices in college) and by now they had started enjoying and analyzing the mess food as well. They didn’t actually switch over to a new mess because the hostel for them remained the same. And now since they could eat food with their heads held high (and not watching the third button, as in ragging period sharing the same table with seniors) it was easy to develop a taste for food. So when they told us that the food on their side (Read Gangotri Hostel, where 1st, 2nd & 3rd year girls were and so it was the heaven, out of reach for us) tasted extremely good, it was like a kick in the guts for all of us.

The third year (Gomukh Hostel) brought a wave of relief for us, for now we truly were kings of the mess and in addition, the facility for cooking one’s own food in the mess using its resources was given to us. Well, it went good…the third year and finally the mess committee was working responsibly. To the dismay of the restaurants, their business from our batch dropped to an all time low. There were a couple of hiccups here and there during the menu making and management…but they were finally seen off. The students who managed the mess decided to cut the flab during the sixth semester and toned the menu a bit down in order to save some money for the students. It was met with fierce response from some of us like me, who were the self-confessed foodies of the batch but ultimately we decided to switch again to the Mehra’s and the battle subsided.

Final Years’ was supposedly the best mess in all college and I was more than eager to be in it. One more enchanting feature of the Kailash Hostel was the canteen juxtaposed to it. Much to my dismay, the committee for the final year changed (those who were in third year were tired and retired from the constant nagging of fellow students). And those who were in-charge in the final year never heeded to the response. One of them, when ever complained to, made a face so pathetic that even the others around him mould cry for his state. Yet another was so happy with his decisions and the state of food that he never saw a fault in what he did. So it was once again me and Mehra’s, lone companions enjoying night after night after night of meals. We never let the chickens flourish and new varieties of paneer were introduced on request. Even the canteen owner got a kick out of me and decided to start making proper dining meals in addition to fast food this year. I had to settle a bill in the order of thousands of rupees on my exit from the college.

And now that I am eating ‘mummy ke haath ka khana’, temporarily, I miss banging the plate with the spoon and shouting, “Roti lao, kaamchoron!” between the helpings of the chapattis. I miss those late night discussions of the food that we dreamt of eating and that still allures us and the things that we could do to the mess committee guys for destroying our appetites. Yeah, I miss them badly.

But utmost is another fear. In just a couple of weeks, I’ll be in Delhi, working and living on my own and unless I find a sasta-saaf-achha dhaba, I’ll have to cook for myself. Lord save me from myself, all I know right now is how to boil the water.

Life after Grad, my dreams and my...

I dream of hearing this after some time in near future, over lunch/dinner with college batchmates.

Batchmate 1 (earns twice as much as any of us): I’m depressed. Work sucks. Is there any job that sucks more than mine?

Batchmate 2 (recently quit his job): Mine did. I was bored every day. I’m applying abroad. Do you know how much you can earn there?

Batchmate 3 (confessed bum): Money isn’t worth your unhappiness. You should be dating more, I’ll set you up with a friend.

Batchmate 1: But how can I be happy without money? Great dramatic sigh, I’m having a quarter- life crisis. Who are you setting me up with?

And there it will be, the mystifying term that would have single-handedly captured our 22-year-old chaos. At first it would sound funny, but when the thought would sink in, we would all be quiet for an uncomfortably long period of time. Will we surely need to have it?

And then, I’d hear the phrase thrown around a lot. After graduation get-togethers would be surprisingly frequent. It would be a withdrawal symptom, we’d all be desperate to hold on to the certainty that we had in college. Now that everything would become so unstructured, we would cling on dearly to the people with whom we shared such carefree and sometimes careless days with. We would reminisce about how our lives used to be, and how they are now. Many of us would be in our third or fourth jobs. More and more would be leaving the country to “find greener pastures,” joining that ever-growing diasporas like spores drawn to more fertile ground.

There would be a shared sense of “lostness,” not because we would have nowhere to be. No, we would be all lucky enough to be somewhere, but most would want to be somewhere else. Everyone would tell us, we are meant to be great, or at least achieve a slice of greatness. We are of that generation the generation that has it all, the generation that never had to work for anything because it’s all instant and automated. The natural expectation to surpass those before us would pose an unnerving problem: What would happen if we don’t?

Maybe the pressure has been there for centuries, but never like this. The world used to be enormous, a planet of rocks we only see in science books. But now the world is shrinking.

Everything, everyone is within reach. The overwhelming proximity of it all has turned us claustrophobic. Wherever we find ourselves becomes too small a place. We are always looking for that something, the thing that will supposedly match our destined greatness.

Upon writing this article I decided to Google the term. Lo and behold, the omniscient Wikipedia had some interesting answers. Quarter-life crisis is a medical term for the phase following adolescence, usually for ages 21-30. Some “symptoms” include: (1) feeling not good enough about one’s job (2) frustration with relationships (3) insecurity about life goals (4) nostalgia for school (5) a sense that everyone is doing better than you. Furthermore, the stage occurs shortly after young, educated professionals enter the “real world”, when they realize that it is tougher, more competitive and less forgiving than they imagined.

So it’s not a 21st century thing after all. Ah, but Wikipedia doesn’t stop there. It goes on to say that today, “the era when having a professional career meant a life of occupational security has come to an end.” Indeed, it is no longer enough to get a well-paying job and do it for the rest of your life.

The lines used to be clearly drawn: you were a dentist, a doctor, an engineer, a businessman. Today, things are not as black and white. Our “real world” is now literally the entire world. We take our internships in multi-national corporations, study abroad on exchange programs, and attend art seminars in New York. We find worldwide options exceeding the imagination of those before us: techie jobs in Silicon Valley, trading in the Hong Kong stock market, even advertising for Google in hidden GoogleLand. I had a classmate who took up journalism in New Delhi, while another one graduated from a famous busines school in London. We are constantly considering so many options, debating which ones we can qualify for and which ones will ultimately help us define ourselves.

Older folks say this is generation me, me, me. We want it all now, now, now — even when we really have no idea what we want. So we end up wanting it all. They (my parents, friends of my parents, parents of my friends) shake their heads in disapproval at our inability to stay in one job.

They say we can’t stand any ounce of discomfort, any morsel of unhappiness. It’s true. We are impatient, always fleeing from one place to another — because that is what we grew up doing. Change has always been inevitable, but if there was ever a time when each year sees changes that used to span a century, this would have to be it.

One minute we were shrieking fans of the Backstreet Boys, and the next we were cult followers of Matchbox 20. We have no memory of dinosaur computers; to us everything runs at 100Mbps. Our shelves of Britannica have gathered dust; we only have to go to YouTube and streams of video would unravel. We had the networking craze Friendster, but even that didn’t last.

Soon we were creating separate accounts for Multiply, Facebook and self-blogs. We shop on sites of local strangers and order via cellphone banking. Oh yes, don’t even get me started on cellphones. They have rendered everything else useless: watches, cameras, music players, calculators, dictionaries, even mirrors.

Every time the world changes a part of itself, we’ve had to change along with it. I’m not saying we should go back to the era of I’ll-be-waiting-two-weeks-for-your-snail-mail. I cannot leave the house without my phone. Maybe we’ve become little brats of technology, the spawn of an age always trying to outdo itself. If patience is a virtue, then the remarkable deficiency of it has become our unconscious vice. Our adult lives are an extension of our adolescent years, when coolness was attained by downloading mp3s of a newbie rock band before everyone else did. We are always on the move. We are fickle-minded, discontent and extremely volatile — which according to Wikipedia, are natural to those in their 20’s. But to be in your 20s at a time when clients at work are Australians you will never see past email correspondence, then it becomes a world that gives you only two choices: move, or get left behind.

We are expected to march out into the world with iPod in backpocket, one earphone pounding against an eardrum. With our bountiful gifts from mother technology and our cross-cultural media grub, we’re supposed to find a way to make ourselves great. Now more than ever, we have to prove ourselves worthy of the time we were born into. So who can blame us, for wanting to run all the time? The pressure is immense. So much is running after us and worse, there is so much we are trying to keep up with. Like the reluctant monster Incredible Hulk, we are always growing out of proportion, our clothes tearing as we expand. And so we run, gasping for air, looking for a place that can contain us.

I’m grateful for being born in an era that constantly pushes itself forward. But we were raised in a period long past mere survival, where the worst blunder you can commit is not so much failure but mediocrity. And so we make this plea: don’t be so hard on us. It may now be less challenging to defy boundaries, but the world out there is still as tough as ever. Let us have our little crisis; spare us the time that we never seem to have enough of. Give us the chance to find our own corner, where we can dig and shovel and bury ourselves in. Because when the clouds clear up — when we can finally stop twiddling our thumbs and wringing our hands in restlessness — you will see what we have built out of our chaos, and you will be damn proud.

Graduation Speech : 'Speeched' to none

In honor of myself finally becoming respectable and earning my B.E. degree from the Kumaon University of Nainital, Uttarakhand, I felt inspired to write a graduation speech that I would give to those who have graduated with me and if there were anyone to ask me to do so. Part of what inspired me to do this is because the college that I studied in is yet to come up with my final result and they are damned enough never to arrange such lasting memories for us.

First I want to of course offer up my congratulations to you, the graduating class of 2009 (that includes myself), and to everyone who helped you and me achieve the goal that we are here today to celebrate.

Usually these speeches are intended to provide us with a glimpse into the future, the quote real world, and to give us words of inspiration as we set off into this world. Well, this isn't going to be one of those speeches, because let’s face it, the real world kind of sucks right now. I would guess that most of us know this already, probably better than I do, so there is no use going on with false platitudes about how there are a lot of opportunities out there for us because, well, there aren't a lot of opportunities out there for anybody. Instead, I hope to provide ourselves with some advice on how to proceed from here. Hopefully this advice will one day be useful to all of us, or at least will not put us to sleep.

Some of us may not care to hear any words of advice from me. You already know what you’ll be doing tomorrow and next week and beyond. All of our plans are set and maybe we are ready to go. To you I can only say good luck and god speed, with the knowledge that most of the graduates who feel this way are skipping this ceremony and have probably already left campus for good such that I don’t need to worry about finding something witty or profound to say to them.

No, my advice is for those of us who are not sure what we’ll be doing tomorrow or next week or beyond. Maybe we have a job or a post-grad school seat lined up, maybe we don’t. I would guess that we are feeling a mixture of emotions right now. Part of us is happy that we are finally done with college and will receive the degree that we worked so hard the last 4 years to attain. I would bet, though, that part of us is sad to see this day come, because we are about to say goodbye to the world that we have built for ourselves here and basically start all over again, and that can be one scary thought.

If you ever want to know what a ghost town feels like, visit the campus tomorrow. All of the buildings, quads, and sidewalks that just yesterday were teeming with students will be empty. All of the students will be gone, all of the faculty will be back home, all of the buildings will be closed and locked, all of the dorms will be empty, and only the janitors will be around to clean up after the ceremonies. It is kind of eerie and spooky, perhaps even scary, to be surrounded by all that emptiness. It perhaps mirrors the feelings that some of you may have now, the scary emptiness that comes with saying those final goodbyes to your friends, your classmates, your professors, and the campus community that you have called home. You hope that by staying in contact with your friends and professors that you’ll be able to maintain some semblance of the life that you have enjoyed here, but deep down you know that it won’t be the same.

And now we face the challenge of having to find a new home with new friends, new co-workers, new advisors, and a new life. This could seem daunting, especially with the current economic climate, but it is not as big of a challenge as it might now appear to be. For many of us our college experience was our first time away from home, the first time we got to decide what to eat for dinner or which roommates we lived with or even whether or not we were going to attend classes that day or which party to attend that night. Even if someone else was paying for it we still got to decide, or at least have a say, in how the money was spent. By surviving and perhaps even thriving in this environment we proved that we could make a life for ourself and that we could establish an identity of our own. The survival skills that we learned while being here will also help us establish a new life, a new identity for ourself, when we leave. And these skills are just as important as the technical skills and body of knowledge that we gained in pursuit of the degree that will be awarded to us.

I would also advice us all to be patient. If you already have a career path laid out for yourself that’s great, but don’t panic if you don’t have any idea what to do. You still have plenty of time to figure that out. I know we hear all these platitudes about living for today and only doing what you want to do for a living, but unless you are very lucky or very crazy this is probably not the live that you will end up leading. Indeed, chances are that the life we will one day have will be very different from the one we now think we will have. It may turn out that we’ll end up in a career that is different from what we studied. I know plenty of people who have successful careers in fields that were not the ones that that they studied in college. That is not to say that your time here would have been wasted. If you are patient and flexible you will eventually be able to establish a career for yourself no matter what condition the economy or the job market is in, and who knows, you might even one day get that dream job where you get paid for doing what you want to do.

Albus Dumbledore once said that we shall be faced by two paths - the easy one and the right one. The choice will always reside with us.

So my parting thoughts to you are this. It is perfectly natural to feel unsure and even a little bit scared about what will happen to you after today. Your life will be different and it will be a challenge to establish a new life for yourself, but the fact that you are standing here today is proof that you have the ability to overcome these challenges and succeed. It may take a while for it to happen, but if you were able to survive college and walk out of here with a degree in your hand then you stand a good chance to surviving life after college and walking onward into a successful career and a successful life. My hope is that this will one day happen for all of you. I wish you all the best.

Good Luck and God Speed.

The journey to the God...

The exhilarating mood after the end of the final viva of 8th semester never ceased, as long as I was in college. Although, it suffered the hiccups of end of 4 years of masti and endless joy, of 4 years of unforgettable night outs with friends and beginning of the temporary emptiness that it would fill our life with, it was soothingly satisfying that after a grueling 4 years, around 50 end semester examinations, 100 internal assessments, quizzes and assignments, I was finally getting something that I didn’t deserve.

However, the entire joyful mood, the emotional outbursts of sanguinity and specially the feeling of getting 4 years older would come to an end in no time at all. The shrine of Badrinathji is on route that leads to college. And so it was decided that my parents will fetch me from college and also make a trip to the sacred mountains. I had earlier thought that it would be me who would be taking my parents to the temple, but unfortunately it was turning out to be the other way round.

However, persistent as I was, I tried to cajole my other out of the situation but was as usual countered by the time tested emotionally blackmailing lectures – Beta, mummy papa ke saath bhi time spend karo; bhagwan ke darshan mein kya burai hai and all. And then the rest is a legend repeated in my personal diary many a times.

After snaking for around 110 kms. in the Rocky Mountains at 20-30 kmph, we reached Karnaprayag in the evening and decided to call it a day. The panorama and the environment were obviously quite cool; they did nothing but fuel mom and dad’s desire to reach the shrine as soon as possible. Next day was equally gruel some and yet another 125 km stretch awaited us. After a steep vertical ascent of around 1200 m. Badrinathji awaited us. The path was rewarding though, breath taking beauty resided in every corner of the mountains and each turn presented an entirely new scene.

A lot of area has already been covered by Hydro-electric power companies – NTPC, NHPC, THDC and the Jaypee group. Alaknanda flowing beneath the mountain that we were moving on is their prime target. Ceaselessly, they are harnessing the flow of water to produce electricity (and in course they sometimes added to the beauty of the hills, especially for the perspective of an engineer). One hill that my driver specially mentioned was Hathi Mattha and no points (or pints) for guessing, it was shaped like an elephant’s body. The hill brought me face to face with yet another cruel reality; 4 years of graduation couldn’t fill me up with Imagineering. I couldn’t make the head or tail of the elephant. There was just a slight depression on the top after a almost perfect curve and then again a curve continued till the end of it. Perhaps I was more interested in finding a small temple somewhere on its periphery, because it is impossible to believe that Indian pundits/sadhus could leave a mountain without a shrine. But then, there was this harsh reality that the mountain was so rocky and steep, that even if a pundit could climb it, find a natural Ganeshji formation and color it on the hill (Yes, that’s how temples originate in India), there was no way that a common, not-so-near-to-god man like me could possibly find his was upwards. Poor pundits, I bet they would find some space on the foot of the hill in some time.

And yes, since the signals (of mobile network) were rare on the way, I kept receiving messages out of the blue from people who I couldn’t meet before leaving college and some others giving instructions on how to properly ask the God for something.

Anyways, it was quite hot at the shrine even though the altitude was more than 3 kms! After parking the car, we walked towards the temple. As always, there were more beggars, hawkers and pundits than tourists. Local shops were selling precious stones, gems, lockets, Prasad packets and small deities. A larger fraction of them were Vishnuji’s and his avatars’. I finally realized that this was Vishnuji’s shrine (Gosh! Why couldn’t these people fix one proper good name, they always create so much confusion). The queue was around a km long but thankfully dynamic in movement!!! While in queue I kept watching the snow clad tops of the surrounding mountains and their small glaciers giving way to small waterfalls and streams. A couple of smart gals came around and I shamelessly ogled (Didn’t Krishnaji flirt with all those gopis???)

I was getting frustrated when the line didn’t move for some time and gave my mom an annoying look, but she countered with a stern look that said – Keep-standing-no-matter-what! Inching towards the main temple, I got a better look of its architecture which was clearly ancient. And the carvings that I thought were like Khujraho caves were actually Lord Vishnu’s incarnations depicting his various earthly activities. It suddenly occurred to me that this entire procedure of asking the lord for something was at fault and will never be fruitful specially in front of someone whose greatest speech enlightens about karma and its importance. I felt like laughing on the irony but kept myself from it because any public lecture on this topic would supposedly be suicide!!!

We got inside the temple just in time before his holiness gates would be closed for lunch (He doesn’t have to eat if you look at him as a stone, neither does he have to do so is he is a god). The dynamic nature of the queue was inversely proportional to its distance from the temple and as soon as we got inside the temple, the pushing and pulling started. The main temple is of stone (as it should be) and one has to complete a loop while watching the lord. Quite believable as he was in front of me, spanning a huge throne, he was made of silver. What was more, the throne, the doors to his room and his surroundings were made of gold!!! But before I could somehow enjoy the beauty of the deity, a wave of push came from behind my back and I was rushed out of the temple. Laughingly, I watched the temple behind my back and saw that even the top of temple was of immaculate gold. Wow! This was definitely one opulent god.

As I was crossing Alaknanda on foot on my way back, I realized two things:

1. Vishnuji would need Z+ security to protect his silver and gold, and

2. I forgot to make a wish for something in front of him.

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