Rape is “Forcing Me to Set a Boundary”

Rape is violation of my bodily boundary which patriarchy forces me to set...

So Vogue is “Magazine of the Year”!!

How many of us have heard of the Ellies awards (interestingly named after elephant shaped trophies) being given every year in America...

Chasing Charlie Hebdo Dream

Exploring god in small things is nothing new but it sounds ridiculous if one reverses it....

The Last E-mail

It is my last day at my present office where I have spent....

What Adult Movies Has Taught Me !!

I always had this notion that geniuses don’t watch porn but this idea of mine shattered when I observed during my MBA days that...

Monday, September 14, 2015

Educating the Oppressed

Pedagogy of the OppressedPedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Pedagogy of the Oppressed begins with the process of humanization and dehumanization and in turn humanizes the left ideology fraught with not-so-occasional violent revolutions. Actually, it turns the epistemology of whole education/development/revolution discourse upside down and gives an insight which is more humane and understanding and at the same time not entirely inimical to the oppressor class. But more significantly, it critiques the prevailing scenario of education which he calls “banking model “and proposes a “problem-posing” approach. However strange it sounds but despite the establishment of the authority of what Paulo Freire asserted in such a vivid clear terms, it appears it has not been turned into praxis. The area of education still remains largely driven by rote-learning, information sharing and promises of making money. The student- teacher dynamics has remained still unchanged and has not graduated to what Paulo envisages teacher student-student teacher. It has much to do with a reluctance to relinquish a position of power and undue authority. Same can be told about the oppressor class who are responsible for creating, managing and perpetuating an unjust social order which dehumanizes the oppressed class and stop them from realizing the potential of a full human being. Due to their comfortable position of authority, the oppressor class cannot be expected to destroy such order and organically it should come from the oppressed class. But the centuries of exploitation of the mind and the body has rendered the oppressed unwilling to take up the cause of revolution. A fear of freedom has gripped them. They have inculcated few traits of the oppressor themselves and this duality is hindering them to initiate the process of development. So, from where to start transformation which will lead to development? Paulo suggest cooperation, organization and cultural synthesis to start the revolution. But this revolution does not intend to be violent or retaliatory against the oppressor. Rather, it must be informed by the love for humanity and nourished by the fruits of true education. In a world which is growing more and more materialistic, mechanical and self-centred, Paulo takes us to an ontological inquiry and shows path for a deeper engagement with society at large. Personally, I feel that the categories of the oppressor and the oppressed is very fluid and one may become both simultaneously. However, there is no denial of the fact that there are few absolute oppressed lots (tribals, Dalits, females, minorities to name a few) who are victim of a world order which is not conducive to them. And to inquire why it is so, maybe we will have to introspect ourselves whether an oppressor is situated deep within us without our own awareness! Undoubtedly, a true education will help in this self-inquiry.

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Monday, August 31, 2015

Serious Stuff and Some Gossips

DurbarDurbar by Tavleen Singh
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Tavleen Singh, the writer of Durbar, emerges as a brave journalist with high contacts and privileged access to high profile drawing rooms and she generously used these capabilities to make the book an interesting chronicle of the time when Indira and Rajeev ruled the country and strengthened the root of dynastic politics. Many of the events described in the book had already taken place when I was born and many of them happened when I was too young to make any sense of them. So, there has always been a curiosity to get some first-hand account of incidents like emergency, operation blue star, sikh riots, assassination of Mr. Gandhi, Bofors scandal and of course gossips of those times. The book offers them all and even more. It is her memoir of political events and being a political journalist of vast experience, her portrayal of the characters of those times appears quite authentic and believable. She does not shy away from putting Mr. Gandhi and Sanjay Gandhi in dock for the extremities of emergency, holding Rajiv Gandhi responsible for not being able to contain the riots post the assassination of his mother. Few gossips like - Sonia Gandhi was fond of fur coat and used to purchase them from Soviet Union but did not like the stitching and used to send them to fashion house Fendi to get it re-stitched- and many such juicy drawing room discussions provide comic relief in the book and give an insight into the human frailties of the high and mighty of Delhi Dynasty. But it does not mean that author spares herself. On the contrary, she is brutally honest about her own ignorance of the Indian society and how she was part of the same high-class social circles but her journalistic engagements enabled her to see the real India long hidden by the high-walled building of Lutyen’s Delhi. On the expense of sounding hyperbolic, let me tell it anyway, Tavleen Singh appears to be a character from the novel Midnight Children, her fate and presence always crossing the epoch making moments of her time. Incidentally, her own personal story is very interesting especially her relation with irresistible suave Mr. Salman Taseer ( our own charming Simi Garewal also dated him) and a very well-known author came to this world thanks to this brief affair- Atish Taseer who later based his bestselling memoir cum travelogue on this personal story.

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Monday, August 3, 2015

A Rebellious Heart

The Reluctant FundamentalistThe Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

“’The reluctant fundamentalist” is everything except about a fundamentalist. I have read first time a book written by a Pakistani about a Pakistani in America. Only reading few pages was sufficient to take it off from the shelf and get it issued on my name and it did keep its promises till the last page. Narrated by the central character, entire novel revolves around him, his love interest, his American job and even American dream which gets fulfilled only to get unravelled afterwards due to that atrocious-notorious-whatever-you-call event in at least the American history: 9-11 attack. How the attack subconsciously and consciously affect an individual is what Mr. Mohsin Hamid, the author of the novel, strives to depict through his work and in such a believable manner. Changez, the central character, is a brilliant guy who has come to America to realize all those dreams he cannot do being in his own country or if I may say so in his own continent. American official stance of either-you-are-with-me-or-with-terrorists alienated many of his liberal supporters and planted the seed of mistrust among youths like Changez. As an Indian, I empathize with him when he invokes Asia, the mother continent and he ruffles few feather when he appears to be a bit more biased against India. But as a neutral literary reader, the novel provides enough moments to entertain us, educate us, engage us and above all help us grow neutral or even more positive views towards Pakistan, a country we are taught to loathe.

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Heart and Soul and Love

गुनाहों का देवता  / Gunahon Ka Devtaगुनाहों का देवता / Gunahon Ka Devta by Dharamvir Bharati (धर्मवीर भारती)
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I was proved wrong; "Gunahon Ka Devta" is not a crime novel, on the contrary, it is about more tender feelings and kinder characters. It is the story of love and sacrifice, societal norms and self-imposed boundaries, generational gaps and bridging them. For how long, lovers will be condemned to perpetual pining and sobbing on the altar of arranged marriage and respect for elders? The novel raises many such questions and strives to answer even few of them. No more such situation is prevalent in our society except enforced by few khap like institutions and hence the events do sometimes appear anachronistic. But the softness of unspoken feelings is timeless. It is there in the heart of Sudha and Chandar and this is what makes them memorable characters, ones we can relate to while we were their age. Dharmveer Bharti is a master of his craft and his prose is poetic, just like his poetry. In his foreword to the novel, he confesses inadequacies of this novel but we as a reader can afford to overlook them because of many of its positive aspects. Plot is taut and apt is the narrative style, never deviating from the core theme. His characters read Shelley and Browning and Keats. You can guess from where come all those romantic idealist thoughts to them! Understandably, his take on caste-based discrimination is very progressive. The landscape of the novel is dotted not only with lovelorn characters but also with pragmatic ones and counterbalances each other. I won’t say it is a must read but it is indeed a good read if you are interested in Hindi literature and are fond of the pursuit of the concept of an ideal love and the roads of Allahabad.

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Monday, July 20, 2015

Crossing the World of Mundane and Magical

Sputnik SweetheartSputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

On the surface, Sputnik Sweetheart is a study of sexuality, one of different types and shades – lesbianism, asexuality, heterosexuality and maybe more which might have escaped my notice. Like other works of Haruki, this one is also situated in cosmopolitan Japanese landscape which occasionally crosses boundaries and reaches Europe and other places but the most frequent trip is to the realm of fantasy, seemingly unreal, the other unseen side, beyond or inside the mirror. Together in the trip are music and books and exploration of what remains hidden behind the unconsciousness and sub-consciousness. Startling one may find it but the characters in the novel come to terms with it taking it as the way the cosmos operates! Be it Sumire or Miu or the unnamed narrator. Name is not even important. Just like when in the novel, a security guard shouts his full name, it does not generate any response whatsoever. Murakami has a command over transforming a mundane occurrence or event into something totally surreal and dream-like and vice-versa. Even an act of looking at your palm does not remain too familiar a thing to let it go. And this is what makes him different and makes us crave for him, pages after pages, and books after books.

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Thursday, July 16, 2015

More than Being a Media Adviser

The Accidental Prime Minister : The Making and Unmaking of Manmohan SinghThe Accidental Prime Minister : The Making and Unmaking of Manmohan Singh by Sanjaya Baru


“The Accidental Primeminister “ is a light read and even engages those who are not very much fond of politics. Who would not like to know the gossips and manipulations in the well-lit power alleys of Lutyens' Delhi! But the book offers more than that. It goes beyond the projected image of and public perception about Manmohan Singh and delves deep into the complexities of decision making process at the highest echelon of power. As it is well known that such processes are always convoluted, expedient, involving lots of risk and potential rewards, and above all often guided by politics than principle. Manmohan Singh had a more tough time because of his perceived lack of political acumen and diffident nature. Despite all this, he managed to lead the government for two full terms, first one relatively smooth than the second one. Mr. Baru served as Media Adviser at PMO in first term and hence discusses at length about the events of that time. He was also supposed to return in the second term but as hinted in the book, could not do so because of his disgruntled ex-colleagues, political leaders and ministers. Obviously being in office and working so closely with PM lends credibility to his claims and gossips and to a large extent gives us account of the behind-the-scenes of events like Nuclear Deal with USA, negotiations with Pakistan on Jammu and Kashmir. Personally, I wish that some other officers serving at that time in PMO also publish their memoir which would help us to connect the dots and make a sense of the stories untold or half told in this book.

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Tuesday, June 30, 2015

The White Shirt

(A super-naturalized, fictionalized and tampered account of a night at a friend’s home)



It was a strange night; it was not supposed to be but turned out to be one. It all started with a benign, in-the-heat-of-the-moment invitation by my close married friend to spend an evening together. I have gone there many times and had no reason to say no and so just said yes. He stays with his wife, he and she, only two members in entire two BHK flat. We were supposed to discuss monotony of a modern existence and ways to ignite and sustain creativity. It started with all possible mundane activities, I took a city bus to suburban Ahmedabad right after my office got over and it brought me exactly where he lived. I had messaged him about my catching bus and did not bother to see the reply lest he makes some excuse and solves his crisis on his own. I desperately wanted to be part of the solution, I was so so keen to pontificate, show off my skill of navigating through tough phases of existence through some clever talks.

The moment I entered room, things welcomed me more than the host couple. Copper flower vase was holding some more flowers. A very small all plastic flower vase with small plastic plant and tiny leaves wanted my attention. I just ignored and went ahead to shake hand with my friend and his wife. We sat down and slipped into small talks as if to make background for coming greater reflection on existential dilemma and such lofty ideas. Lady of the house offered some snacks and I don’t know why but it felt there was a breakdown somewhere, a landslide or maybe a major earthquake. When I gathered my consciousness, it was a different place. We were in a small village of Orissa. I, though, chose to ignore this sudden change and kept myself busy in snacks and small talks.

My friend’s wife told us to go to a village pond nearby. If she had any ulterior motive to send us off, we were not aware but anyway our supposedly intellectual discussion demanded an apt location. It appeared to be a good proposition and who can deny a stroll around a pond in a village of Orissa? The next moment we were talking and laughing and acted normal as if nothing unusual is happening. Just Robin Sharma happened to pass by. I maintained a calm demeanour and did not go to take his autograph on “Greatness Guide” written by him. I had long read this book and was waiting for this moment when he meets me somewhere and I totally see through him just to make him realize how bad his ideas are on self-help. May be they might have worked for others but surely not for me. To lighten the moment, I told my friend I would rather read him (my friend) than any famous writer. He was busy with Kafka. I was so much overwhelmed with this writer and his complexity that I did not dare go near him and ask for his autograph. My friend chatted for a while and then they both parted. He asked me whether I liked Kafka. He is such a big writer, it is impossible to pass my own judgement. He understood my dilemma and gave me word to express myself. Yes, I am so much in ‘awe’ of him that I cannot say anything. On the way, a young plump lady with his plumper son passed by. My friend exchanged greetings with her (of course in Oriya) and gave a warm pat to young boy’s back.

On the way, there was an open shop of hundreds of magazines and books. I just took “The Newyorker” from the bunch of magazines and started showing it to him. He even offered me his favourite monthly “Harvard Business Review”. I was elated seeing “Granta” on the rack too. It was a special issue on India. All familiar Indian- English writers were there on the stall. I did not have time to meet all of them. I just smiled at them and they smiled back at me. In the far corner was Sitakant Mahapatra, my friend showed me. We had not much interest to go to him. With Mahapatra was another Oriya poet who writes in English. I could not identify him, his poems I have read in my graduation and loved them. After a while, we were tired and sat on a nearby bench. We had taken a toll on the monotony of life. Everything seemed afresh. We promised each other to take more such strolls, if possible with more of our like-minded friends who were willing to read magazines, books and meet writers and write themselves. I am damn sure no one knew here at this pond is such a big display of magazines and such writers come. Why on earth do they come! Are they not supposed to go only to big book launch parties and fancy literary festivals. They might be getting tired and what can be more salubrious than a moony stroll on a pond of a small village of Orissa.

It was getting late and we were almost sure that the lady must have finished cooking and we don’t have to move even a single potato and hence right time to go home. Though, it was not to be. She was still unfinished and two minds what to cook. Okra and potato sautéed in the morning was still lying there on the kitchen platform in a big uncovered bowl. She prepared food alone while we pretended to carry on with our high talks. Actually, we were ogling at some Pakistani women with big eyes and shampooed straightened lustrous hair. Isn’t it strange! Pakistani women in an Orissa village!

She served us dalma, rice, roti and the same sautéed okra and potato. We ate to our heart’s content and afterwards I licked my finger as if not to let the flavour wash away in the basin.

I was anxious to leave early so that to reach Gandhinagar on time. I was doing my mental calculations. Isn’t it too far from Orissa to Gandhinagar! If I start early night, might reach in morning. And then I will attend office in fresh clothes otherwise will have to go in the same dirty ones. This idea of going in same sweaty shirt nauseated me and I was fully determined to leave. And then, the unexpected happened again. Audrey Hepburn was there in her floral design knee length frock, all her slender self and narrow waist. She held my hand and made me sit on the faux leather sofa. My friend greeted her and made a request to take a seat too. Closely followed Gary Cooper too with his broad shoulder and sharp jaw and sleek suit. Lady of the house was suspicious towards Audrey. She had reasons too. My friend was gazing at Audrey continuously. To the extent that Audrey sometimes felt uncomfortable. I think that is what prompted my friend’s wife to retire to the bed so early. Usually she is all awake and talking, giggling with us till wee hours of the day.

I completed left the idea of going home. Going directly to the office was my plan B, even in same last day dirty clothes.

We all chatted till past midnight, me, my friend, Audrey and Gary. They shared how they met and fell in love and decided to settle in New York. It was love in afternoon being narrated at midnight in a small village of Orissa. At around 2 AM, they took leave and we were all tears. I was sure Audrey was going to appear in my dream. My friend was totally overwhelmed and I even teased him saying he was getting too melodramatic.

Early morning alarm of the mobile phone waked me up. And lo and behold, it was again the same suburban Ahmedabad flat of my friend’s house. I reluctantly got up and washed myself. Maid was knocking at the door. My friend’s wife opened the door. I proceeded to wake him up. He was too tired and sleepy but nevertheless came to drawing room. I chatted with him while he ritually kept sliding his mobile screen, back and forth, up and down, left and right. Relaxed was I now as had no hurry to attend office from Orissa to Ahmedabad. Morning air had stopped. After all, it was not the same village we were at night. I took milk and stuffed my tiffin with hurriedly made roti and cabbage. It slowly dawned on me that normality had been restored to the last night’s upheaval. But it was not to be. I noticed the last evening small all plastic flower vase with small plastic plant and tiny leaves had grown big, quite big and bloomed and was full of white flowers. Just to be part of this magic or maybe to break this spell, I plucked all those flowers and wore it. Now, was not in my sweaty last day shirt. I was ready and confident to attend my office. 

Thursday, April 30, 2015

The Last E-mail


It is my last day at my present office where I have spent more than five years of my checkered life with people who have become more than family, family in the sense of spending so much time together, sharing laughter and tears, working on assignments- complicated and easy and monotonous. Coming every day and looking at same faces have never stopped mesmerizing me. They are all sorts of people –fun-loving, practical, idealistic agnostic, serious, religious, garrulous, reticent, and what not. They all got skills and personality traits of different kinds. Whatever be their inclination and preferences, every one of them gives a new insight to life, a novel perspective to see things and an inspiration to acquire what they so authoritatively possess. What would be life without their presence, without their magical touch, without their warmth and without their support! I am what I am because of those wonderful people whom I met as a stranger and gradually became inseparable. And still it is moment to part our ways. Seems unbelievable that we won’t eat together during lunch hours, won’t have tea during dull moments, won’t laugh over silly stuff, won’t talk on phone incessantly over some grim matter, won’t argue over what course of action to follow to make our programme more successful and much more. It has taken some time to dawn on me this realization and had a tough time reconciling with it.

Environment has become an easy scapegoat on the name of development and now we as the vanguards of watershed programme are in a more demanding situation where we have to strive more vigorously to restore balance between the seemingly two opposite but actually complimentary wheels of human survival.

An efficient organization is where knowledge does not flow only horizontally but also vertically. Suggestions are sought not only from people at upper level of the hierarchy but also from the ones who are at lower level. This process of demystification of knowledge has so palpably happened here in our young organization. I am witness to this process where our MIS coordinators are not busy only in data crunching but have also intricate understanding of the programme. Our young lanky and sweet peon knows how to classify files just like a skilled clerk. Our driver knows which EPA activity is more suited to watershed programme. We are never tired of sharing a story of one of our messenger who used to work at one district and he was more capable than many of us in many areas. A matter of satisfaction and a reflection of the truth that it is people who make the organization and not vice versa.

We together have traversed unknown terrains, experimented, piloted and miserably failed and gloriously triumphed and have scaled new heights. In the end, more than our triumphs and failures, its journey with all its excitements and anxiety which remain with us to tickle in the moments of solitude when none is around, yet we don’t feel lonely.

This wonderful journey is coming to a halt but it has shaped me to a hopefully better person and a better professional. However much people tend to criticize the government, there is no denying the fact that working with it gives us a chance to understand the age old systems, procedures and processes and people involved in different capacities. Without letting my sense of judgment getting blurred, I am now more considerate to its errors and failures. And more aware of the magnitude of the implications of those errors and failures on public at large.

It is time to seek your forgiveness, your blessings and your promise of never putting the carpet of oblivion over our shared memories.

One may term it my wishful thinking, but my conviction murmurs me firmly that we all will cross our paths more often and more pleasantly. After all, world is such a small place and its getting smaller day by day.


Saturday, February 14, 2015

The Politics of Love


I am dealing with three separate cases of my near and dear ones who are trying to cope up with the repercussions of their broken heart and home, reason being ostensibly love, pyar wala love, calf love, mature wala love as well.

One of the most basic instincts, love, has triggered epoch-making events and turned the course of history. It is way beyond what biology textbooks would like us to believe and hence nothing surprising if right wing nationalists have seized it as a weapon to wield power over the masses and have forced its own version of “what love should constitute” and strived tirelessly to determine how it can be indianised and expressed. Ends and employing means to achieve them, both have found little resonance with today’s youth except few indoctrinated ones. Reassuring as it may sound, the recent dictat of VHP have met few takers. Few state actors have tried to provide their backing and announced Valentine Day as Matru Pitru Diwas (Parents Day).

At times, I wonder why there is so much public outcry, real or staged, over such a tender and intimate feeling. Is not the path of love is already so complex that these bloody fellows are hellbent to make it more so by their stupid ways and turning it more meandering and narrower, So narrow that not even being one lets u pass through the highway of love and thereby proving proposition of Kabir false:

प्रेम गली अति संकरी, तामें दाऊ न समाई |
जब में था तब हरी नहीं, अब हरी है में नाहीं ||
(The street of love is very narrow, two can’t pass through it at the same time
When I was, there was no God(hari), now there is God but I am not)

Giving every incident a stupid religious undertone has assumed ridiculous proportions. “Love Jihad” is a case in point. As far as I know, this so called love jihad has enabled some of the most beautiful love stories I know. People involved have braved all odds and overcame all obstacles and finally emerged lover in the true sense. One glance at them to make any heart melt, one tale of theirs is sure to change any heart. They are no less than our own legendery Laila Majnu and Romeo Juliet. Only pairing is novel: like Laila Romeo and Majnu Juliet.

Let love find its own path, grant it its innate fluidity, make society break manmade artificial barriers and embrace love in its myriad forms: be it between different religions or castes or between same sex, be it between rich or poor and be it between people of different colours!

The one who are so opposed to the idea of love are themselves not immune to it. Cupid (ok ji kaamdev) must have struck them some time somewhere someway too. Is it Freudian repressed suppressed feelings that are rearing  ugly head in the form of meaningless protests and violence!
Commercialization in its crudest form has gripped not only the concept of love but many other joys of life. So for that reason only, should we stop loving and expressing. Should we stop buying cards because its origin is foreign and company is American! Choose not to buy them if you don’t wish so but why to stop those couples exchanging such cards with a sweet little peck if they believe this is how love is expressed!

In a time where bonds of romance is being often smashed by money and power and nihilists are appearing to be winning the fight of life, there is more the need to reinforce feeling of love among ourselves.

So when the day of valentine is coming to a close, it seems nothing untoward has happened as such but their nefarious designs have succeeded nevertheless, design of engaging public discourse and claiming space more than they deserve. Would they care to help my near and dear ones overcome their lovelorn heart or will they keep causing more such cases, choice is theirs.


If love is so liberating, why try to shackle and limit it! On this Valentine Day, let us express our love to everyone who is opposed to the idea and way of love. Just I wish they try to change themselves a bit, be a bit more tolerant and accommodative. 

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Mufflerman has Swept Delhi Clean with a New Improved Broom!


My chance encounter with an auto rickshaw driver, who took me to my meeting venue, had foretold me the Delhi election verdict in August, 2014 itself. He was all praises for then disgraced and seemingly hopeless arvind kejriwaal post Varanasi debacle and predicted with dead certainty that Kejriwalji will return to power. I listened to the Autowallah, maybe because I was stunned by his pronouncements of declaring a spent force to not only take note of but also emerging as a winner. Blinded by the BJP onslaught of everything AAP did and stood for, I, like many, chose to downplay and almost laugh off the the Autowallah.

As it stands, the Autowallah has proved more correct that he sounded that time. AAP has caught not only the imagination of aam janta by its ubiquitous and soon-to-be legendary muffler but has set a new standard for political parties in all areas like canvassing strategy, leadership projection, perception building, manifesto making and everything related to Indian election. The canvassing approach of Mr. Kejriwal has the ring of a familiar style of an apologetic yet sincere next-door guy who comes to us after a tiff and says: Yaar galti ho gayi, ab jaan loge kya (Bro! I made mistake, would you kill me for that!). It seems this style has worked on Delhi electorate. The landslide victory of AAP, as newspaper headlines would scream, has cleansed every single sin of Kejriwal and the electioneering of Yogendra Psephologist Yadav has been vindicated.

Amit Shah, the Chanakya of BJP, must be wondering what went wrong when almost everyone saw the writing on the wall for BJP in advance from the moment Kiran Bedi was foisted upon the party. This self-professed master stroke of his has turned into a reason of stroke for many leaders within the party. Delhi electorate, disappointed by the ever increasing communal voices of wayward leaders and failing in promises made by BJP, has spoken and spoken loudly and clearly. BJP would not have thought that even leader of opposition post would become such a distant dream! What a mirror image of Loksabha election of 2014 in Delhi election of 2015! Has the magic of Modi fizzled out or is it Bedi who could not take the heat of either television interviews or election campaigns. In between her campaign, she lost her voice literally and post election, she has lost her face as well.  How prudent a decision of Bedi was to decline the one-to-one debate offered by Kejriwal. She appeared to be constantly avoiding a direct face-off with Kejriwal. Voters must have taken it as her fatal frailty and not as feminine modesty.

Ascendancy of AAP can find its parallel only in the downfall of the Congress. It seems the hidden agenda of both AAP and BJP was to take congress down to zero which they have achieved without much effort on their part. Certainly, Grand Old Party has refused to learn its lessons but Ajay Maken and Kiran Ahluwalia must be congratulated for taking up the gauntlet and keep trying to turn a clearly bilateral fight into a tripartite one.

Short period of forty nine days was wasted in staging Dharna, tackling alleged prostitution ring, lamenting over non-cooperation of opposition parties and scoring brownie points. AAP will have to be cautious not to repeat the past mistakes and be diligent in implementing its transformative agenda as pledged and not indulge in political posturing and non-significant issues. It has come on the tall promises of lowering electricity rent, ending corruption, promoting liberal politics, reining in corporates-politicians nexus and so forth. It is right time and bold opportunity to meet those promises. No more hanky panky, please.


Listening to Aam Admi does pay off as it has done for AAP Party. I would be now more willing to pay heed to my autowallh Bhaiya, they clearly are more clued-up on the pulses of Aam Janta than Chanakya surrounded by too many wannabe Chandraguptas. 

Thursday, February 5, 2015

So Vogue is “Magazine of the Year”!!


How many of us have heard of the Ellies awards (interestingly named after elephant shaped trophies) being given every year in America. Not many I guess in India. At least not as many who know about the Oscars and Emmy. So, when some random browsing on the internet landed me on the page of American Society of Magazine Editors (who sponsors this award), it was a pleasant surprise. So, at least there is some institution which recognizes the worth of printed words somewhere, somehow. But the next moment, this ephemeral satisfaction was gone. Vogue has been chosen the magazine of the year (2015)! There was a boring unanimity in the shocked response across the board. Is it not the same magazine which unabashedly promotes fur and anorexic models? And what is there to read except looking at photoshopped models in their weird haute couture and giving a blank stare. 

Whatever be the responses, I was thrilled by the fact that Americans still have some institution to show their solidarity with magazines and I started wondering if there is a corresponding arrangement here in India! Perhaps we don’t have. And my immediate proposition was: can’t we handover the charge of awarding our poor magazines to one of those multiple award dispensers who are too enthusiastic to honour the pampered Bollywood fraternity. Come January and every second guy appears to organize glamorous extravagant Nights for our much derided yet exalted Bollywood industry where awards are fixed just like our cricket matches!

My-magazine-awards-in-india Google search threw obscure printweek India awards which was entirely off the mark for my intended search. I was just expecting that there must be some wannabe Indian version of this award in India just like The Caravan is that of The Newyorker.
In an age which is witnessing growing apathy towards reading in general, it is heartening to see people recognized for their contribution towards the promotion of magazines. Mode of entertainment has seen a topsy-turvy. Who knew just few years back that WhatsApp would be so much claiming and shaping our life for better or worse? The emergence of “10 most wonderful shits to worry about” format of articles has also perhaps contributed to less of reading and more of couch potato type instant impatient entertainment where we have more to look at .gif images with oversimplified generic pronouncements well tailored to make us agree while our attention is divided between silly pictures and ping of WhatsApp.

These awards, however much rigged and fixed it may be, act as a guide to fish best piece of writings from the ocean of worthless ones and saves our labour which we can put into use by reading the already chosen ones. There may be probable dangers in this approach though. In already chosen piece of write-ups, we may miss out on equally deserving but somehow not awarded works. But, let us have faith in the judgment of the jury of these awards. Won’t it be worth spending our time in relishing some of the best pieces rather than puzzling over what to read and what to ignore. Anyways, who stops us to have a look at those works which have failed to impress the jury! We cannot give award to everyone anyways.

At a time when reading is on the wane in USA, there are still a number of quality magazines being published there. More importantly, they influence and shape the public discourse. Does this proliferation of magazines because of America being a rich nation and full of resources and can afford to publish these many magazines despite their untenable circulation. May be this is one of the factors but it needs a deeper introspection to analyze the reasons of existence/survival of so many quality magazines in a single country.

So which are the other countries which have such award? Not many and this may be matter of dubious relief for us, but if looked holistically, it is not a good trend. Almost every country worth its name will have some kind of award for its film fraternity, so why this generousness is not extended to the wordsmiths of magazines? If not for any other reason, Canada and America must be congratulated for felicitating their magazines which I guess must be one important factor in making this industry flourish there.

I crave for a magazine like the Newyorker or Granta in my country too. Perhaps that’s the reason as well that Jhumpa lahiris, Upamanyu Chatterjis and Hari Kunzrus prefer sending their write-ups to The Newyorker and Granta than a desi magazine. So even if I am not elated at Vogue being declared magazine of the year, I m glad that there is something called “magazine of the year”! More power to them. 

Saturday, January 31, 2015

What Adult Movies Have Taught Me !!


I always had this notion that geniuses don’t watch porn but this idea of mine shattered when I observed during my MBA days that many typical intelligent guys were also fond of watching porn while holding books of managerial economics! Equally shocking was the fact for me that well known personalities have depicted sex in all its grotesque form galore and still they are considered indispensable academically and otherwise for their intellectual integrity and sheer talent. Vladimir Nabokov, D.H.Lawrence, Vatsayayan and Marquis de Sade are few of them who come to mind immediately.

In present times, porn has been mainstreamed and credit goes to Suuny Leones and James Deens and actors like them. Majority of people have at least some level of exposure to porn materials in their life time. I have heard how it is distracting and few have even grown addicted wasting their time and cursing those who make and act in such movies. All this cursing has never stopped us to avail this guilty pleasure once in a while. The more conservative a country is, more they consume this forbidden fruit. Pakistan and Middle Eastern countries appear in the list. All religious repressions, it seems, get manifested in devouring as much porn as possible although discreetly and furtively. With time, people have grown tedious to watching same stuff and onus is on such moviemakers to keep renovating and presenting fresh lot on a daily basis. This cannot be possible without the efforts of the actors involved. Every grunts and thrusts counts as they say!

Personal lives of these actors are least explored and kept under wraps under the pseudonyms such as Sunny, Pistol, Stryker and the like. How ironic it sounds that they expose everything and become part of our filthy fantasy but we don’t know them in true sense of knowing someone:  How they joined this profession? What their family thinks about being in this industry or does their family even know! What their take is on companionship? Are they going to get married, are they in relationship or have they ever been in relationship? Do they perform out of pleasure, compulsion or fame or all combined! Do they subscribe to any particular political ideology and economic system (Recall “no bush campaign” by some actresses where they shaved off their pubic hair to register their protest against George W. Bush!)?

Let us accept that actors of these movies get exposed to risky behavior/profession. Unsurprisingly, many have contracted STDs and have met untimely death. Can we see a parallel between their life and those of soldiers! Professionalism has taken a toll on their sexuality but they have met the professional demands nonetheless. Of course perks of porn have made them swing both ways and be at giving and receiving ends in equally graceful manner.

Porn is a gendered commodity. It is a generally accepted belief that it is largely a viewing experience than a reading one. However studies have established that men like watching and women like reading.  It has helped “Fifty Shades of Grey” gain a cult status among women.  Men are from Mars and women are from Venus because among many things, their porn experience differs. Very few males would like to pleasure themselves to the beauty of printed words if they have access to some nasty videos. It seems that decision to turn this erotic novel into a movie has been taken because Men cannot be kept out of the experience of reading it.

Many countries including India have been understandably hypocritical towards this issue. In India, watching or possessing porn material is legal but distribution, publication or production of such material is illegal. Does it not sound a bit irrational? One cannot possess porn until someone produces or distributes. So, it means that one can watch only foreign produced materials distributed by a foreigner. It runs contrary to the ethics of “Make in India” campaign, does it not?


I don’t know how porn has influenced me but I would remain indebted to it for making me know many new terms hitherto unheard of for me like BDSM, sadomasochism, etc. It has played a part in my spiritual awakening and I respect those actors who are literally bending over backwards (and forwards) to cater to our senses! Over the years, they have spread their outreach and captured the imagination of uncommon segments. This explains why James Deen is a heartthrob among teenage girls!    

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Crimes against the Father of Man



Is our world turning into no-go zones for our little ones! If Stories around the world are to be believed, existence is getting tougher for the children. Crime against children is getting grislier with each passing day. Boko Haram has made a business out of kidnapping and forcing them to do all kinds of inconceivable acts. Pakistan hogged headlines for failing to protect its young population from the bloodthirsty Talibans who devastated Peshawar army schools and killed over hundred school children. Many separatist militant groups have been deploying child soldiers against their so called fight of liberation1. Even staunch supports of their supposed noble causes could not condone such barbarous act. These accounts cannot be ignored as a sordid deed carried out by terrorists and the uncivilized. The civilized world has not been far behind in perpetrating and perpetuating crimes against our future generation on the name of enforcing discipline, maintaining law and order, facilitating development and creating competitiveness.

How many have introspected after watching viral photographs of children subjected to worst kind of training regime to bring glory to China have surfaced. It is all forgotten under the impressive Olympic tally of China at being number two giving tough competition to USA supremacy. Just recently, McDonald’s refused street children to provide access to one of its outlet in India. Many times our children are not given access to this world even; they are killed in the womb itself.

Kenya had perhaps fewer strategies to deal with its problems and hence came up with a unique one when it fired teargas on its own children. And for what! Those poor fellows were protesting against the land grab of their playground. If they can’t play, what they are supposed to do? Perhaps, our civilized world is more pleased to see them, working in the mines, slogging in the hazardous industries or more ubiquitously begging on the streets. They are being subjected to worst kind of treatment, be it being trafficked for sexual gratification or making them carry machine guns for shooting the innocents. At the stage when they should be at school, they are at every odd place except there in classes. If some mange to reach there, they are shot down! When we will realize that our effort to save Malala is not one of saving a single child only, but to save entire humanity?
Many societies have colluded with religion to wreak havoc on the life of the innocents. They are made goddess at an age where they don’t know what this goddess is all about 2. Good sense has to prevail to ensure that they are given at least the status of a human being. Only exhorting one particular religious community to produce four/ten children3 each family does not suffice. Are these self proclaimed religious leaders (they have become elected leaders as well many a times) will ensure that all those children produced on their sage advice gets basic amenities like education, food and shelter. Therefore, it comes as a pleasant surprise when Pope proclaims that Catholics don't have to breed "like rabbits" and should instead practice "responsible parenting."
                                               
Though, it is not a totally bleak scenario; many praiseworthy steps have been taken to improve the condition of the children like stringent regulatory legislation and creation of support mechanism. It is high time, we act on those laws which we have drafted so meticulously but failed to enforce. We have to go beyond symbolism of awarding Nobels to our young victims and child crusaders. It is time to take punitive action against those who use children as a political, economic and religious instrument to serve their own sinister ends.  Let us bring our babies out of the rat race and make them see from their own eyes, not our eyes.

References:


Sunday, January 18, 2015

Sleazy Seven Star Lives


Getting a chance to stay in a five-star hotel is not one of my most memorable moments but comes handy while I try to make a feeble attempt at understanding life of people who checks in quite so frequently in a seven-star hotel. Here, everything is within your arm’s reach, just stretch your hand and get it or sometimes you don’t have to stretch even, just push a button and people will bring it themselves. It feels as if every arrangement has been made here keeping in view of the requirements of an invalid. However, more often than not, invalids are out of bounds until they have their pockets full. Things in these extra starry hotels are lustrous to the extent of appearing more a decorative item than those of utility, be it glitter of crockery or twinkling of the commode. I had a tough time deciding whether I should take a shit or not, lest I would be accused of sacrilege. But rest assured, affairs at these places are often far from being sacrosanct. One never knows in which elevator lurks a molester who never gets tired of pontificating over feminism and ways of creating utopia. One cannot guess that someone has died or (have been murdered!) in the adjoining room just few hours back. Or worse, a bollywood hero has beaten a senior citizen black and blue in one of the restaurant of these fancy hotels. Such Incidents are not few and far between but the influence and money of the concerned makes them so.

Slums are notorious for their trigger happy depraved life style but may be because slums are so open that they cannot hide everything in their underbelly. Behind grand closed doors of these hotels, machinations are hatched and scheming are executed. No doubt, they are our modern palaces with old day intrigues and plotting. Now we understand what they mean if they advertise in those glossy magazines- “feel like a king in our hospitality” and “tryst with royalty”.

I won’t agree with those old age movie depicting poverty as virtue and rich people as evil incarnated. However, recently it can be observed that trend has changed and prosperity has replaced poverty as a sign of virtue which is equally misleading. Popular culture has shown the life of the ultra rich in a way that we often start aspiring to be like them never realizing the flip side of such lives. After all, they are also human beings with same mortal frailties. Putting them on high pedestal puts unjustified pressure on them to project a larger than life persona.

Our society is in dire need of a role model. Role models who are not assessed by their net worth and fashion sense but by their contribution to the efforts of holding up our time tested ideals. Ideals for which our ancestors did not hesitate to sacrifice their lives.  Ideals which enriches our life in ways that material wealth cannot ever do. Ideals which inspire us to shun the luxuries of starry hotels and keep us contented with bare minimum amenities.


I want to envisage a time - however much impossible a dream it may seem- when one checks in a seven star hotel not because he can afford it but because he is so incapacitated that he really deserves that much assistance and assurance irrespective of his wealth and influence. 

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Chasing Charlie Hebdo Dream

Exploring god in small things is nothing new but it sounds ridiculous if one reverses it, that is, if we start noticing smaller details in a bigger, nastier and ghastly events. The atrocious attack on Charlie Hebdo magazine was one such event. When whole world was condemning the nonsensical bloodshed, I was taking pride in the fact that I could figure out what “je sui Charlie Hebdo” meant literally. I was also smirking at the wrong pronunciation of the magazine title by our desi reporters. It made me sad to notice such petty things and missing out on larger picture. I tended to indulge in self-condemnation and self-loathing but then it struck me that have not such attacks become part of our damned daily life? Every day, newspapers shout from their headlines and social media do so from trending hashtags. A strange kind of inertia has engulfed us. We don’t know how to react back. I appreciate those who still keep faith in symbolism and sometimes protest in person too. Because many of us don’t display even that symbolic solidarity and worse, we can’t blame ourselves squarely. How can one keep registering one’s protest in any way possible if something becomes everyday affair? How long we have to keep mourning? Just few days back, Peshawar massacre, and then Syria attacks, Boko Haram continuing relentlessly, ISIS is hell bent on turning whole world in god knows what kind of state, and then this magazine attack. And then in between our own India-Pakistan border skirmishes, Naxalite fighting,  family and societal woes! Can one complain if we have turned a bit cold and grown a thicker skin? “Nothing affects us” is an understatement. But does it not make us wonder sometimes what affects those perpetrators of worst crimes of humanity to commit such crimes and what their source of inspiration is! Does not same sense of ennui also prevail upon them? Does not same quest of small happiness engage them? Does not the same mode of entertainment keep them entertained as it does us? My theory of explanation would be that these fellows fall in two categories. One who are struggling with everyday survival issues and are lured by the indoctrinators with the promises of food and salvation both at same time. Second category has everything to the extent that he gets fed up with that and desires a larger sense of existence and survival. These fellows are co-opted on the promises of Maslowian self actualization and a larger purpose worth fighting and dying for. Maybe it is too much of a simplification of an issue troubling whole humanity but it does give some relief that we can see some pattern in these acts of terrorism and if we do so, it can lead to some kind of solution.

Solutions that do not rest upon the superiority of one civilization over another as it has become usually the case. Why those misguided youth can be reformed by feeding only the ideals of western civilization and not the inherent goodness of their own faith? Solution lies in restoring faith in mainstream universal principles of equality, freedom, and democracy without any racial, gender and class discrimination. A solution that makes those ill-advised people believe that someone sane also listens  to them, empathizes  and tries to address their problems. Lets also create a conducive environment so that our modern age produce its own Qurans, Gitas and Bibles to seek guidance from! Sincere efforts ought to be taken to contemporize our ancient sacred texts so that they do not remain ossified and a thing of manipulation in the hands of fake saints. First step would be removing their prefix of “sacred” and giving freedom and access to everyone to have their own liberal interpretation and decide utility based on their requirements.


In the meanwhile, my quest of happiness ends when one of our pretty sisters makes gobi ka kheer (cauliflower pudding) and one of our friends brings ticket of PK for me. 


Saturday, January 3, 2015

Delusions of a Diseased Mind


Lying on a diseased bed  and thinking about time –past and present, an essay comes to mind. In that piece of writing, writer is also ill and wonders how everyone is enjoying the spring season except him. Illness has crippled many and economists have calculated how it hampers productivity. For an adult, single and employed individual who
is staying away from his family, it can affect on multiple levels.

When I was young, illness was such a luxury and rarity that we waited to fall sick eagerly. Falling sick brought a much needed respite from school and scolding. Attention and affection was showered upon us on the expense of other siblings. Mother used to stroke my hair and rubbed oil all over body while I daydreamt about going to field and play with my little friends. Not playing was the only unpleasant aspect of being ill. And of course popping those bitter pills and tasteless biscuits and bland food. At that time, I wondered why these biscuits tasted so bad whom I loved eating otherwise. As soon as I grew up, father got harsher it seemed. He blamed on my eating wrong and staying awake too late for my illness. Mother was still the same and gave me her usual dose of affection and concoction.

Employed life brings money, independence, sense of responsibility, discipline and few sick leaves. There are two kinds of people in this world. One who exhausts his sick leaves and one who does not.  I belong to the latter category.  It is strange how everyone jeers at you when they come to know that you have fallen sick. Hardly anyone believes. They think you are only feigning to get a day or two off from work which you don’t like anyways. They call you not to know your well being but enquire about the whereabouts of files but sometimes they do ask about your health in passing. In the meanwhile, my mother somehow comes to know about my bad health and grows restless and its gets reflected in her calls after every ten minutes! 

Being single has many advantages (we are free to choose shirts and shocks we like) and some remarkable disadvantages like it is difficult to trace those shocks we like or any for that matter. On a somber note, living a single life means one doesn’t have someone to count upon when he needs it badly as when you are ill and need a caring hand and reassuring talks. In this digital era, we take recourse to facebooks and twitters and the likes. Friends posting their honey moon snaps and updates about joining new offices pose strange question before me. Do they not fall sick while taking those tiring seven pheras and learning nitty-gritty of new job! Rarely do people update about feeling sick and if they do, it is metaphorical sickness and not literal one. Often they feel sick over larger things of life – pasta in red sauce and coriander leaves sprinkled over pizza, how tacky, feeling sick! No doubt bad food is largely responsible for our bad health. Living alone forces us to eat outside and makes us prone to getting an infection. And perhaps that is how I got one. I cannot determine which lorrywalah food made me sick. I doubt on that fancy cuisine from the five star restaurant where I go once in a blue moon. I chose not to spit it out lest my friends will come to know my not-so-sophisticated upbringing.


And now when I lie on bed reflecting upon my sick state, I try to find out what is troubling me most – my sickness or indifference of my near and dear ones or over-concern of my mother and few rare fellows like her!