The Dark Side of Business

Wired News writes upon another booming outsourcing industry in the article A Nation of Guinea Pigs. Here's the dark side:

"Are patients here more vulnerable?" asks Brijesh Regal, CEO of the New Delhi-based firm Apothecaries, which runs clinical trials for pharmaceutical companies. "Obviously. They're poor. They're illiterate." Nonetheless, he argues, most of the problems can be attributed to the growing pains of a new industry. He points to the thalidomide fiasco in the 1950s - women who were given the drug for morning sickness delivered children with severe birth defects - as evidence that every developing industry has problems. "Why are we so concerned about India?" he asks. "If problems happened everywhere else, they will happen here. We are a massive country without a lot of regulatory infrastructure."

I had expressed myself upon another Wired news article on the same topic, over here.

Musafir

dagmag dagmag
tamanneyan machal padeen
ki machalna unka dastoor tha
phir kabhi dil ne ek gujarish ki
ke patton se hawa ki guftagoo sunoo
musafir bechara
tamannaon ka sang chod na saka
dil se moonh mod na saka
kabhi tamanaoon ke sang chalak pada
toh kabhi dil ki rah bahti nadiya bana
kabhi labzon main bayan karta chala
toh kabhi aankhon se kahani kahta chala
main musafir chalta chala
main musafir chalta chala

And They Want Me To Get Married

*This is an attempt to be humorous. Please take it literally*

When sugar-high, I run around in circles, walking around jumping sideways.
And they want me to get married.

When I remember I haven't forgotten anything, it is most certain that my cell phone is misplaced, keys are not in the pocket, and wallet is lying unattended, somewhere, amongst brazillian other forgotten things.
And they want me to get married.

As a kid, I used to have a handkerchief pin-tied to my shirt pocket, to remember to wipe my nose, mouth etc.. which I never used. And so goes the story, that every day I would return home with the pin-tied handkerchief still neatly tied to my shirt pocket, and ironed shirt-sleeves neatly crumpled with enthusiastic wiping. Handkerchief has just moved to the pocket, nothing else has changed.
And they..

In 5th grade, I started working on the craftwork for exam only at midnight, to be submitted next morning. I still do my taxes on april 14th evening.
And they..

My favorite song is "Somebody shavvvve mee..."
And they..

People still ask for my id in bars-clubs when serving Coke..
And they..

I read Calvin and Hobbes most devotedly..
And they..(Actually that is ok for a grown up too I guess..so)

I keep telling people two year olds jokes like
"Two teeny-weeny mice were sitting on a tree
And elephant passed under the tree
Trembling a mouse fell on the phant,
Trembling the other yelled
"Daba De Bahadur..Haan Haan Daba De Use"
(Crush him Braveboy..Yes Yes Crush Him)
And they..

Child marriage is a crime
And they..

I can enlist tweeentyyy-one other things (sometimes I forget the count after that..)
And they..

Sigh.

Occupied

A carefree sun reaches in through the blinds, dispelling the chill of february winter as miles of snow spreads outside, sparkling white in the bright sunlight. It has been chilly and snowy past few days, here in boulder. A concert by coldplay was watched yesterday, and a sumptuous lunch was had day before, as a treat to a parting friend, in an upscale Italian restaurant. A vegas trip fills the next weekened, and work fills the between. Over the passing hours, some self-searching discussion was had with friends, about the perspectives on life, desire to move back to India. Opinions were hurled at each other, sides were taken, and reason and emotion were made to clash, as consensus remained ever impartial. Aha the pleasures of expressing, relating, searching, working, playing, listening, hanging out (not by a rope, mind you), in the company of good friends. It seems all minutes lie accounted for, all seconds are occupied, life is full, happening. And yet, there are questions that mind no busyness, interrupting every now and then, sneaking like traitors, pointing to the unpainted landscapes inside, where miles of snow spreads, sparkling white. And where I eventually wander, chasing the infiltrators to their homes on the snowy expanse, these questions, upon the meaning of life, my existence, love and compassion, desire and misery, fear and death.

Anokhi Sunwayi

yahan se door
bahut door ek baagiche main
aaj raat raat ki rani ka darbar lagega
phoolon ke baithak hogi
gulab dahaliya sang aayega
mogra mahak mahakayega
aur bhi kai aayenge
aaj baithak main gulab ke dard ki sunwayi hai
kai saathi pyaar ki bhenth chadhe hain

ab raat dheere dheere nikher rahi hai
sitare bhi jhuk ke dekh rahe hain
akhir majra kya hai
gulab fariyaad le kar aaya hai
mujhse aur dard dekha na jaata
o raat ki raani, pahle bhanvre ne loota
phir maali ne chaanta
aur ab bhale maanas ne dilwaloon ke liye kaata
kyun yeh mera jeevan hai
kisliye mera rang hai
kya meri khata hai
kyun itna dard mujhe mila hai
ji main aata hai kyun khiloon
kyun na murjha jaoon

Raat Ki Raani Unchai par virajmaan hai
Chanda Maathe ki Shoba badha raha hai
Sitare ab kaan laga sun rahe hain

Raani kuch is tarah se boli
Priya gulab
dard toh har jeevan main hai
par isliye hum jeevan nahi thukraya karte
main tujhse kahti hoon
tujh bin soona bagiche ka aangan hai
tu nahin toh nahi jeevan hai
tu jeevan ka darpan hai

tera dard hamara dard bhi hai
manas ne hame bhi kata hai
par subah ki dhoop main tera khila rang dekh
hame bhi hosla aata hai
ke jab tak jiyen mahak mahakayen
jaise tu khila khila kat jaata hai
waise hi hum bhi mahak mahak kat jaayen
ji jaayen
haan ji jayen

Bhatakte Kadam

mere kadam dhoondte dagar
chalne ke liye
bahakta man kai dishaon main lehrata hai
ke jindagi mohabaat ke naam kar jaoon
ya bandigi main doob jaoon
ke gagan ki ucchaiyon par aankh lagaon
ya mitti main hath rang daaloon,
seva-shram ki jhopdi banaoon
par phir sawal uthte hain
yeh mohabaat kya hai
bandigi ki dafa kya hai
aasman ki unchai main kya hai
mitti mai rangne se mera kya bhala hai
dehko is aadmi ki vidambana
ke kadam toh hain par
dagar nahin
Khwabon ki imaaraten toh hain
par roshen koi manzil nahin
Is par kisi ne kaha
Ki Dost, Kadam chalne toh de
dagar Khud-ba-Khud mil jayegi
Maine poocha mitr, dagar hai bhi
ki bekar hi dhoondte hain
Mere kadam
Dagar Chalne ke liye
Yeh toh Maskhari thi
Par Sach main yeh lagta hai
ki bhatak rahe hain kadam
dagar ke liye