You can Scream

Hemangini Gupta of This is Mangs writes about a harassment experience and how she dealt with it. Years ago, twice in my life, I have encountered pedophiles, both in buses. First time, I didn't quite understand what was going on and was too shy to complain. Second time, I folded my sleeves up. Yet, now I wish I had complained, or done something, and hadn't let them go scot-free.

Love Marriage or Arranged

Somone recently asked me whether I would prefer love marriage or arranged.
I unfolded, "See, to me, there isn't much difference between love marriage and arranged, except for the risk factor. It is very analogous to investing in the share market. There are two ways you can invest in the share market. One is, do thorough research, explore different companies, their background, their market-fame, their family-name(read wealth, venture capitalist), invest somewhat for a while in a few, and then invest majorly in a couple for long-term. The other way is of the adventurer, who likes to trust the two sec instinct, and gets rest of the background-check grunt work by his agents (or the agents manipulate him, almost same), and then invests for long-term. Now where the risk factor is more, has always been a mystery because of the varied sample-space. The end goal you must understand, in both cases, is to get more and get good returns."

(To Be Continued, people take no-offense, this was in fun-faith )

Why not teach History like this ?

Excerpt from an essay on India's past, by Amartya Sen.
Discovered the link at MiddleStage.

One of the tests of the presence of a united perspective in calendrical terms, already discussed, is the identification of a principal meridian and a reference location (like Greenwich in Britain). It is remarkable how durable has been the position of the ancient city of Ujjayini (now known as Ujjain), the capital of several Hindu dynasties of India (and the home of many literary and cultural activities through the first millennium AD), as the reference location for many of the main Indian calendars. The Vikram Samvat calendar (with a zero point in 57 BC) apparently originated in this ancient capital city. But it is also the locational base of the Saka system (zero point in 78 AD) and a great many other Indian calendars. Indeed, even today, Ujjain’s location is used to fix the anchor point of the Indian clock (serving, in this respect, as the Indian Greenwich). The Indian Standard Time that governs our lives still remains a close approximation of Ujjayini time — five hours and 30 minutes ahead of GMT.

This makes me wonder, why don't we have such extra-curricular activities in our schools, where we are asked to explore the history and culture of our surroundings, write essays on it. Doesn't it make a much more interesting and inspiring history lesson, to go find what the state of learning was in my town, rather than memorize the date of Boston Tea Party ? Yes, it is important to know what went on in other parts of the world, but then, it should be equally important to know what transpired in and around the very place you live. In my schools, history lessons used to be a fixed number of chapters, and a fixed set of question answers. You miss a line and loose five marks. No one in my school ever taught me about the state of science, religion, politics, learning in my city in ancient times. Our history lessons used to be a bore, a period where you catch up on sleep, where the teacher made you stand up for half an hour to read the chapters aloud. And ofcourse it only gave us a sense of rote, and not learning !

Separately, We were only made to memorize that "India is a unity in diversity", but we never even learnt a percent of how that came about to be.

A Succesful Man's View

How Easy it all Sounds

Their Work

A better noon outside. Some clouds, mild sun.
A bunny family is at some serious work.
Their mouths nibble furiously at the grass;
and some food that a generous soul has sprinkled,
for them and the birds.
Two younglings look the most busy.
Sometimes they stop, hop and then their mouths disappear
in the grass again. So tiny.
I wonder what they talk when they take a break.
Perhaps something like "Phew, bro, lot of work
today. So much to eat. We'll play race in the
evening!"
A few birds fly in to join the merry eating.
All is harmony in their little space.
And the Sun smiles sweetly at them.

My Search

I shall not go looking for good men
I know they are rare to find
But I shall look for goodness in men
And I shall reflect it in kind

Pic Time

Discovered Circle of Death through Indian blog-mela hosted by POV. Also checkout other pictures and Mohib's Photo Blog

Silly Syndrome

Once my Mamaji were scolding my younger cousin.
He was in great anger, and he yelled "Kameen Ke Bacche",
My cousin replied "Aap hee Ka toh baccha hoon".

One day, dad scolds Simbu "Gadhe ki Aulaad !"
Couple of days later, Simbu has again been mischievous.
Dad goes "Sooar Ke Bacche !"
Simbu innocently asks, "Papa aapne animal kaise change kiya".

Simbu's mother "Shaitaan, aaj tujhe khana nahin milega !"
Simbu goes to Papa and says "Papa, aap pados wali aunty se shaadi kar loh. Main jab bhi jaata hoon unke yaahan, mujhe hamesha aacha khana khilateen hain"

Slave to Morality

I have a few vague rules for myself, for this life.
One of them is, never leave someone in the middle. Majhdhar main nahin chodna.
And here I am, at 8:45am on a bright Saturday Morning, in my office, fullfilling the precept.
Life I tell you, is hard if you are on the drug of morality.
My advice to you: never fall in love with your higher self.
And if you do Do, pray that there is after-life or karma and rebirth, otherwise, reason tells me, we are wasting our lives chasing useless morals, when we could be joyously committing sins, conceits and deceits

Human-like

Today for the first time in my life, I met a PhD in Computer Science from UC Berkeley. And I must say, he was pretty human-like.

Nothing For Him

Shantilal Kaka came today. His grandson must have come, I thought. I remembered, how excited he was on his last visit for checkup.

"Kem cho Doctor Saheb, Ben kevi che, ane tamaro dikro ?"
"Kaka vaddha maja-ma. Tame beso"
(How are you Doctor Saheb, how's your wife and your son ?)
(Kaka, everyone fine. You have a seat)

I didn't have any patients waiting upon me, so I called the peon to get some tea. I liked listening to him. He reminded me of grandpa. Today he looked a different self. Visibly silent."Kaka, has your grandson come yet ?"

"Yes. He has come"
"So everyone must be happy at home"
"Yes. Very happy"

"Doctor Saheb, Everyone has come to meet him. My daughters and their husbands from baroda and ahmedabad. My two sons and their families from halol. Everyone is very happy to meet him"

Tea had come. He continued "He has brought a lot of things. Toys. Lots of them. Choclates. Jwellery. Clothes"

I imagined everyone gathering around him, in anticipation. Cheering as the items emerged from the boxes.

"Yesterday night, after dinner everyone gathered around him. One by one, he distributed the gifts. They all laughed and cheered". He looked into the distance. Somewhere into the walls. Or the window may-be.

"Par Doctor Saheb, Mhara mate kachu nathi layo (He didn't bring anything for me) ". Lines on his forehead had deepened. Tea was cold now. He stared at the tea with moist eyes. I called for the peon, to get the tea warmed. He got up "Saheb, Aaje naahin. Have Hoon chaalish. Ghare Waat thase". (Saheb, not today. I will go now. People will be waiting at home)

He wouldn't have gone home. He would take the trail into the Khets. He would only return when the tears had dried up. I knew no-one awaited him at home.

Once Again

It has been a long day at work, mildly succesful. The day breathes its last and the mind has suddenly remembered the old addiction. Much to the chagrin of the tired soul, it conjures up a sad story, a mournful song. The little happiness is being killed, piece by piece, moment by moment, by the bemoaning of something lost. A character. A life. A love.

Misery never ends.

Just so that you know

Manu has an informative post on pirated songs in Indian music industry Here. Though (personally) it doesn't make Illayaraja or Pancham Da any less great.
I know a lot of people will jump uppp and dowwnnn when they first hear this (who pirated what), but I would gently like to remind, that "pahle pat-thar woh mare, jisne koi paap na kiya ho".
(But yeah, Anu Mallick does suck usually)

Past Glory

Forwarded mails like these, irk me a lot.

"I am from India. India invented 0"
(Controversial. Wrong may-be. Please read "The Nothing That is: A Natural History of Zero", by Robert Kaplan)
"You know India invented the decimal"
"You know India is a 5000 year old civilisation"
"The world's largest diamond kohinoor is from India"
(OK that is False! Kohinoor isn't largest by far. And even if it is, so what?)
"I am from India"
"You know Yoga is the invetion of Indians"
(Yeh tell me, how many Indians do yoga today ? Do you, who forwarded me this mail)
"You know we've had teachers like Krishna, Buddha, Mahavira"
(Yeh tell me, how many Indians today follow their teachings!)

Do you ever say "I ate such delicious food yesterday. So I am full today and will not eat today".
Then why say "My ancestors did something great. So I am great"

You get the point of what I am talking about.
I must remember that my past glory is for me to feel good about it and not to boast it as my achievement on my life-resume.

Irony

I like watching tv. Listening to music. Going outdoors and enjoying the quiet. Because then, I am doing nothing.

Doing nothing unnerves me. I cannot sit without noise. So I turn on the tv. Or the music. Or go outdoors. Or just do something.

I am listening to

Aaj ki raat Charagon ki lau Ooncheen kar lo
Aaj ki raat Charagon ki lau Ooncheen kar lo
Ho sake toh, dil ki aag aanchal main bhar lo
Apni aag main jalna hoga, Aaj akele chalna hoga
Andhere main chalna hoga, Aaj akele chalna hoga

~ singer Arti Mukherjee, lyrics Gulzar, movie Khamoshi, music Hemant Kumar

you can find it here Khamoshi

Ideology and Men

When a lot of men get together under the umbrella of an ideology, they usually create violence. A lot of it.

Confused mind, I think is better than the firmly believing. In confused mind, atleast, there are possiblities. The firmly believing one is a closed cellar, where light rarely reaches. You'll say what about belief in God ? Well, tell me if belief in God is different than belief in God for myself, for my dreams, for my pain, for sorrow ? Give it a thought. Belief in God, I think, is a way of life. Belief in God for myself, is like any other belief.

The Spin

(With imagination, the quality will be bearable)

(A morning one and a half years ago)
It is 7:13am and I walk out of my apartment complex towards the bus stop. I find the sun has come out. The mountains are still covered with snow. A few steps and I see the stream. The sun rays glisten and gleam and glide on the flowing water. The water has become golden. It is less dirty then yesterday. The cold is mild and there a gentle breeze coming from the mountains. It feels good when it touches my ears. The surrounding is full of trees. There is a sagely tree on my left. It is white in color and there is slight golden tinge on it of the morning sun rays. Its branches are spread and is quite tall. The branches tenderly wave with the wind. A few birds are chattering sweetly. They make all kinds of sounds. I look up to see the birds. I am captivated by the lake gulls. They are flying low today. Two geese swiftly pass by. My eyes follow the geese for a while and back to watching the gulls. The breeze has grown in strength and I find a gull flipping. It spins three-sixty once. twice. thrice. four and five times. This is the second time I am seeing a bird do the vertical spin. It fills me with delight. I find have reached the lights and I am walking with my head up. I wait for the signal still looking up. The gulls are doing all sorts of flight manoeuvres. There is a delicate quietness around me. And my eyes are on the split tree. From distance it is pure black against the sunlight. From this angle I see two halfs, the split starting from a few inches from the ground to very high in the sky. The branches on both these halfs are spread in opposite direction parallel to my eye. A bird is singing sweetly. She is of the size of my little finger. Her throat is orange. She sings and pecks the branch and sings again. I look at her and I look back at the split tree. It has become one now. It is nature's masterpiece. From this angle it looks a whole spread tree. And I have reached the stop. A guy is smoking and shivering. I look around. The shops, the shrubs, the trees, the cars passing by all are being caressed by the wind. I feel life. I want to share my joy. I want to describe this lovely morning to somebody. I come and write to you. Oh yes. My lonely companion is perched outside my window. I should get back to work now.

Intelligence

I can talk intelligently. But that doesn't necessarily mean I am intelligent. It just means you aren't that well read, or trained in the art of discourse.

Conversely, I shouldn't mistake your apparent dumbness for stupidity. It might just be my knowledge's arrogance blinding my eye.

Innocent Conspirators

It was the hot summer of gujarat, mum-dad were out for shopping, and bhaiya and I were free to play as we willed. (We must have been very little, for all four of us easily used to fit on dad's bajaj ). We settled upon flying paper-planes. Bhaiya was good at making paper-planes. This time the paper-plane turned out to be world-class, if I may say so. We cheered the silly heights, smooth glides and erratic turns our paper-plane took.

But destiny can never see us happy, can she ?

As we were enjoying our little play oblivious of the sithering outdoors, tragedy struck. One of us (presumably I, for I was good at spoiling things) launched the plane with such perfection, that it rose 20 feet high (yes, the hall was quite big and spacious, government quarters you see, or may be it was just our littleness that exaggerated the heights) and landed perfectly on-to the tube-light. Now what ? How coulde we let our precious go ! So we decided upon a pencil sharpener (remember those steel ones) for our rescue mission. Now what happens when you throw a sharpener at a tube-light ( I think it was I who convinced bhaiya that it will work). The inevitable happened after two or three rescue missions. In one perfect dash, the sharpener struck the tube-light; the tube-light broke with a thundering sound, creating giant fears in our little hearts. Tube-light shocked, we quickly recovered. There was quite some time before mum-dad would be back from their excursion. We put our innocent minds at work, to come up with a believable reason for the disaster. And after a while, Eureka !
"Mummy ko bolenge, ki chidiya apna ghonsla bana rahi thi, aur usne tuble-light todi"
"Teri mummy nahin manegi"
"Arre manegi. Bus chidiya ne tuble-light todi. Theek hai"
"Theek hai"
Mum-dad came and ofcourse, mum asked about the tube-light.
"Kya hua, kisne kiya yeh, jaroor anshul ne kiya hoga" (She asked lightly. She must have been in a good mood, may be because she got to empty dad's pocket that day).

Tense moments.

"Nahin mummy, maine nahin kiya. Chidiya ne kiya. Bhaiya se poocho"
Bhaiya meekly nodded, a yes.
(Ofcourse we had cleared away our sharpener, got our plane back, and removed any traces of mis-doings that might have caused suspicion)Mummy laughed "Chidiya ne kaise kiya !"
"Mummy such main chidiya ne todi tube-light"
"Accha theek hai, tum log dusre kamre main khelo, yahan kaanch hai"
So mission impossible was successfully accomplished. We had got our plane back, and blames away from our backs. We gleefully (and thank-heartedly) retired to another room, enjoying our conspiracy to the fullest.

That was when bhaiya became one of my best friends, a memorable time.

Post for Post's sake

I am chokingly disillusioned with fame fancy and fondness.
But I am a competitive person born and brought up in a competitive world, unfit for simplicity.
So I go on with my daily life, filled with obnoxious complexity.
What a tragedy !

Unrelated, I visited the ruins of Pueblo People in Mesa-Verde, Colorado.
I brought home the Kiva with me. And the Sipapu.