And It Rained

I look out of the window of my jerky bus and see torrential rain. I also see beautiful trees… green and beautiful. The fruits are bountiful. I also smell a stench…powerful and guttural. A little looking around and I zero in on garbage dumped in a quiet corner - Invisible to the careless eye but prominently conspicuous to the sensitive nose. The scenario was beautiful and appalling at the same time.
Is emergent India being epitomized through this visage of nature? It’s a pertinent question and one with many justifications. Yes it rained…is still raining elephants and horses if you please. The bull was, at one point in time, running through the bear’s china shop and the people were cheering it on. Flyovers and highways are still coming up left, right and centre. Multiples and malls are becoming the order of the day. People are earning more; people are spending more and people are saving more. The bankers are not complaining nor are the customers. The rich are getting richer…yeah damn right they are. But what of the poor? They are definitely nose-diving into the throes of poverty.
What of the ordinary farmer in Maharashtra? A certain Mr. Minister would ask, “Yes, what of him?” -Well, its not been raining in his backyard for sure. The poor blokes realized that they had been shortchanged by their weather god and the self-assumed god (politician). With no help from any quarter and a speedy descent into the quagmire called debt, they decided to cut through the very fabric of their lives. Can you feel the stench? Is it the rotting corpse of a very dead farmer?
The air is suddenly dense with a suffocating stench. The scents are many and different. But its characteristic foulness is common. The rain suddenly does not seem so enchanting anymore; the greenery starts moving to the background and the offal comes into full view. Can it be that when its rains it also pains? Can it be that we have become so monomaniacal and unidirectional in our pursuit of economic excellence that we have forgotten to use all our senses in conjunction with each other? Are we eschewing our responsibilities towards each other by looking through blinkers?
I look outside again – And it rains again.

A Growl A Day Keeps The Delays Away

Have you ever felt that most of the people around you respond to force only? Have you felt that probably a frown, on more occasions than one, came handier than a smile? Well, if you do, you are either me or it more like a pandemic happening around here.

I’ve noticed, from under a raised eyebrow, if you please, that I am most effective when my normally polite voice turn into a low growl. No, I can see what you are doing…please don’t try that at home. The moment I am nice to someone, he/she (mostly she) tries to take advantage of me. Imagine, being nice to ten people a day! It’s like a circus. The moment they (the whole wide conniving world, I say) realize that you are a softie at heart, they queue up to use your ‘soft’ heart as a dart board. It’s an exciting game they say, after all maximum points are scored by the closest hit to the centre.

Sir Rajesh – The Backbreaker
Let me take, for example, Mr. Rajesh. Mr. Rajesh, or ‘Sir Rajesh of the Nighthood’, as I like to call him, does visualization for me and a few others. While he is crude and disrespectful with the others, he is extremely prompt with my work. Why? No I don’t bribe him…I just give him a ‘hot’ time. Every breach of deadline is rewarded with a “long pause…Why?...long pause” in a low growling voice. That is succeeded by the eye-brow samba punctuated with rhythmic grunts. By the time he is at the climax of his explanation, I am already sounding like a boar that has smelt sweet potatoes! He considers himself lucky if he escapes with an extension of deadline. If you are going to continue with that accusing gaze, I’ll indulge you with the other side of this story. The story of Jake, the smiley. That’s right – me. Mr. Rajesh was the same chap I used to go to, with a smiling face and a low, encouraging voice, so that my work got done in the given time frame. He gave a shit for all that. All of six months I tried to be this whole other person – gentle, friendly, smiling, protective…blah, blah, blah. Then I decided to play turncoat. Three days. Three days is all it took to get him back on track. For the first two days he could not believe that I was the same person. You know the funny thing? He does not even report to me!

Ms. Chattopadhyay – The Godmother
Cut to Ms. Chattopadhyay. Now she is something. You would consider yourself lucky if you completed a whole day’s work without seeing her drag her lipids around the block. Now, her attitude is a real bummer. She thinks that god created her in all her enormity so that she could get the lion’s share from everyone else’s success. It just does not matter what she does, she’s got to get benefits that others deserve more than her…all in the name of a few months of chronological precedence. Now, every time I spoke to her nicely she made every attempt to make my life a living hell. I am from a family where women are treated with a lot of respect. Big mistake. I just could not bring myself to tell her off. As a result, she kept at filling my chief’s ears with fiction about me. This went on till finally my patience gave way. Big mistake [Never piss off/on Uncle Jake – Old jungle saying]. I just shifted gears into overdrive. I am ready to wager that even when she mulled on the Cold War and its fallout in Std. VII she never expected to be in the middle of one! I created a hostile environment without being rude and whenever the two of us were part of the same discussion, the air conditioner would also have to be turned off. Subsequently, I metamorphosized this cold hostility into erratic bursts of sarcasm in public. All of one week and she broke. Now we share a very fierce, healthy and respectful relationship. I am fierce while she is healthy and respectful LOL!

Ms. Diana – Reverse Sweep
Now, this is a class act. Seriously a class act. This is probably one case where the lesson was learnt in reverse. I used to really keep Ms. Diana on her toes…yes, the growls too. She was good, fast and efficient. I always praised her in front of the bosses and recommended her for bigger activities in the corporate circus. But, true to my nature, I never let her know that I was her promoter in ‘The cabin’. Over time, I eased out a little on her and resorted to smiling and joking and other disdainfully ridiculous activities just to make myself more affable. Within mere days her efficiency came down, excuses were born, deadlines were being stretched and blunders were being committed. I realized that my ‘charming smile’ LOL was my undoing. Well, what can I say, I wielded the stick and all was well again.

You might be thinking that I am a crazy demonic taskmaster who has screwed up ideas about work and pathetic people skills. I am not in a position to comment about that. However, one thing I can say, with enough conviction is that if you prefer to be the country-club type, people are, more often than not, going to sell you tickets to your own circus.

Fast, Faster, Fastest?

Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi realized a pugnacious truth long ago - In a nation of a billion hungry people, fasting was the easiest and most natural action to comprehend and identify with. There were no complications that you would normally associate with michils (ask the Bengali dada lok), picketing or any other form of protests; also, everyone understood the implications of a fast. Then again, for a well fed British empire, fasting was an incomprehensible idea. History bears witness to the tremendous success that he enjoyed in selling the idea to the populace. It was an act of defiance - non-violent but self inflicting. The person fasting was granted heroic status for the rare virtue of self sacrifice while the incumbent authority had the hero’s blood on its hands. It was the perfect recipe for an emotional national unification.

Well, dieting days are here again. I speak not of the womenfolk fasting (on milk and fruits) during Navratra but of the singularly abhorred breed - politicians.

The battle over the Narmada dam, a symbol of 'progress' and beacon of hope for the waterless, has been raging for the past twenty years. However, it always went down as a distant fifth or sixth among hot issues, getting piped by acts of communal indiscretion, cricketing debacles, ailing national leaders, malfunctioning wardrobes, publicly smooching film stars and other ‘important’ issues. Finally a fast unto death forced the whole nation to sit up and take notice. Even those who thought that Narmada was just the pretty girl next-door, let alone the fact that it also flowed through 2 other states, voiced their 'opinions' on national television. The Chief Minister of Gujarat, Mr. Narendra Modi, in retaliation, also fasted for 51 hours. While that be as it may, this opens up some ‘fast’ questions. Why are people fasting away competitively? What is the significance of a fast-unto-death in the post independence days? After all, isn’t that why we achieved independence, so that people with a cause to defend would not have to fast to be heard? If after half a century of self-rule, the people still have to fast unto death to get justice, it is not anything short of insulting the memory of our independence and the way we achieved it.

My personal view on the NBA and its strategy
The question is not whether the dam should be built or not. That is entirely rhetorical. The dam is essential to the progress of people from 3 states – lets first accept that as a truth. However, progress that is writ with the blood of the very people it is meant to alleviate is regressive. It defeats the purpose of sophistication and civilization. The answer to this is not to stop progress but to provide for the displaced people. It seems unfortunate that even after having heavy weight intellectuals like Medha and Arundhati on their side, the displaced people could not manage to put their finger on the fulcrum point of the issue. The bottom line is this: Stopping the construction of the dam is improbable. If the displaced do not get their demands in order, they could well be steamrolled and have no one to blame for it but themselves.


On a lighter note, more politicians should take up fasting as a means of protest instead of ‘rathing’ around in Toyotas or screaming nasty slogans in the pouring rain. The positive effect would manifest in different ways. Some people would get more food for consumption, some leaders might reduce their cholesterol problems and, if we are lucky, we might just get rid of a few extremely rotten netas!

Rang de Public Protests

I have, in the past too, been impressed by the all-consuming social influence of some of our cine superstars. Although each of them has left their characteristic mark on the social behaviour and outlook of the people of India, none has been as significant as that of actor Amir Khan. Amir Khan has almost always picked roles that define the way lives should be lead; idealistic and difficult lives. Through the role of the tough cop in Sarfarosh to that of sepoy Mangal Pandey, he has always conveyed strong messages to the people.

All ‘standard’ movies showed corruption, defilement, rape and a billion other vices. Then the hero came and single handedly took out the motley bad crowd. Amir Khan’s Rang de Basanti changed all that. True, it had its own share of controversies – prime being the use of violence to weed out social evil – but it impacted the youth like never before. For the first time a matinee idol was able to convince the nation that when evil threatens to take over your country, your hands should not be in your pocket. The candle light march held for the fallen pilot in the movie then became the avant-garde of the neo-enlightened public protests.

“Sarfaroshi ki tamana ab hamare dil main hai
Dekhna hai zor kitna bazu-e-qatil main hai
Karta nahi kyon dusara kuch bat-chit
Dekhata hun main jise vo chup teri mahfil main hai
Ai shahid-e-mulk-o-millat main tere upar nisar
Ab teri himat ka charcha gair ki mahfil main hai
Vaqt ane de bata denge tujhe ai asman
Ham abhi se kya batayen kya hamare dil main hai
Khinch kar lai hain sab ko qatl hone ki ummid
Ashiqon ka aj jamghat kucha-e-qatil main hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamana ab hamare dil main hai
Dekhna hai zor kitna bazu-e-qatil main hai”

Jessica Lall, Meher Bhargava, Priyadarshini Matoo, Meerut fire…the modus operandi of lodging protests remains the same. As soon as the facts are tabled before the people, they decide and their verdict is then out on the streets. In fact the intensity of such popular public protests is such that for the first time since India got independence, the incumbent authorities are being forced to sit up and take good notice. The highly inflammable but mute public has finally found its voice. The authorities will do well to understand that protesting by way of expressing public solidarity with the victimized is not sporadic, platonic or toothless. It has now become the oppressed common man’s way of saying “My country, my people – I care!”

My Reservations

Fifty nine years ago a few good men decided that the great caste divide deserved to be erased. While at it, they thought that the great communal divide also should go. All held in good faith, it should have yielded fabulous results. The problem is just that today, so many years later, the wise men seem to have lost the plot.
Fifty nine years is not a small amount of time by any means. Why is it that after all these years reservations for various castes and communities (minorities) are still holding this country’s future hostage? Which civilized country can afford to say that their best brains are in some other country because they could not give them enough attention or encouragement? Why should it be that the mediocre go to the best schools at the expense of the rest? Fifty years should be more than enough for a surgical removal of the “downtrodden caste” bug. Any more than that and you are bound to believe that some people just don’t want to come out the crap-hole they are in. An objective view of the whole situation convinces us that no backward community was actually encouraged to do well for themselves. The people from minority classes/creeds who did well for themselves were self motivated people. What reservation did Dr. B.R. Ambedkar get? The entire focus in the past fifty nine years had been to completely cripple minority communities (caste/creed …actually I am ashamed of using the caste word so many times) in a fashion that they would never be independent of the politicians - Hence the security of the vote bank.
The worst insult you can heap on a people is labeling them “Backward” as part of OBC. It is the biggest failure of the quota/reservation scheme that 59 years post independence the concept of backward classes still exists. The very existence of a political party based on class lines belies any progress in the direction of an uplifted tomorrow. What has any government done to ensure that “backward” classes get better basic schooling? Why is it, then, suddenly their business to ensure that people from a certain community went to the best colleges in the country? What is this if not political melodrama?
And what the hell do they mean by the word “General”? Who is general? Generally speaking would that be a Malayalee Christian or a Gujrati Brahmin? Would that be a Bengali Muslim or a Ladhaki Buddhist? Is it our fault that some of our forefathers broke the chains of the caste system and made education the foundation stone of our lives? Do we have to suffer because our forefathers foresaw progress fifty years ago? For most of these questions our esteemed leaders won’t have answers or they will supply us with some punitive underdeveloped argument. Either way, in the wake of passionate arguments for and against reservations I hope our national leaders see sense and build the nation with the best available human resources and not shallow dreams and empty promises.

And They Call Us Names!

Yesterday I met Dr. Moolamkuzhi Lambodaran Shunmugam Nair. Aah, I can see the smirks…Some chaps must already be holding on to their split sides. I admit, it does sound funny to someone who does not know what it means. Blunders borne off ignorance can be forgiven. That, however, cannot be the case with English (often confused with Christian) names. Ask me which is funnier and behold I give you these to sample.

Mankind has always been fascinated by colours. Green leaves, Black night, Brown bark, White milk etc. All great except for say, “How do you want your coffee Mr. Black”…umm…“Damn right I want it Black!” or “Are you feeling jealous Mr. Green?” or “The defendant Mr. White has been charged with racial discrimination.” Dude, his very name is racial!

Somehow, people love to name themselves after their private parts. I mean, imagine being called Dick! How funny is that? “Dick, get back into the house”. “Is our Dick home as yet?”, “My Dick is at the baseball game!” Its humiliating man. If you thought that was bad, imagine the whole world comment, “There goes Bush and his wife Laura!” (Indian brothers…please read it with the tonal effect). I was just going through some research papers written by a certain Prof. Kunt. Seriously, I would pay to sit in his class and listen to his students call him “Excuse me Prof. Kunt, does this oscillation equation hold for a body suspended in vacuum?”

India may have its fair share of Seths, Chowdhurys and Munshis as titles but that is only a handful compared to what the evolved Americans have. Obviously, Mr. Sebastian Smith loves to fashion tools, Messrs Abe Miller and John Baker run a confectionery, Mr. Thomas Taylor stitches and Mr. Edward Walker…um…walks the dogs? No prizes for guessing what Mr. King does! The list is long and the occupations are endless.

What kind of names are Pitt and Cruise? Imagine being the butt of mailing jokes because your Dad was called Letterman or the total agony of a 75 year old senior citizen when the young attendant repeatedly calls him Mr. Young. Then there’s the violent variety also. Mr. Gore would take the first prize in that category.

Prosecution of The Condom

* Caution...Satirical Adult content ahead. Please read at your own risk!


Okay firstly...what are condoms? Like an educated friend of mine once put it, it’s a helmet you put on to touch third base safely. Fantastic. So it’s like a helmet eh? Which is the safest helmet? The one that has a strap that buckles it up…right? Does your favourite condom have a strap? Further, the best helmet would have about a 5.5 mm polycarbonate retractable visor. This is to protect both eyes. Imagine, your condom does not have a visor and it has to protect the ONE eye!

Next, what is your regular condom made of? The material does matter dudes. In case we are still discussing about latex condoms (rubber), it’s the same material that tyres are made of. JK puts their tyres through the following tests: 75 degrees Centigrade temperature, 2.5 bar of pressure and the worst roads of the country. What test do you think your average condom is put under? Let’s face it; anything that can be blown into a balloon for a birthday party cannot be used to stop an eight pound baby. Can it? Also, the pressure, heat and rugged contours of your condom’s intended destination are far worse than those on Elgin road in Calcutta. By the way, if you are trying khadi condoms, you’d better start thinking of a name for your yet unborn child.

Did someone mention ribbed or dotted or banded? Boy…the makers really lack imagination. Any of you guys have taken biology lessons in school? You guys heard of a certain...ahem... arrest? Self explanatory and VERY, VERY embarrassing. Imagine a pipe with bands or ribs being put into a socket whose width is just as unpredictable as the depth increases. Yup…you get a pretty fair chance of getting arrested…

Flavoured maal eh? Is it like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans (Harry Potter)? The flavours…banana flavoured protection (mosquitoes are highly attracted to bananas)…apple flavoured, cherry flavoured…the list goes on. How many of you have passed up a fruit salad? If you are not prepared to pass up your fruit salad, what makes you so confident that your girlfriend will? Imagine the scene- you’ve put the damn implement on crunch… Safe?

Condoms cannot help a certain percentage of people at all. The condom needs to put into its place at first. Many chaps are so overwhelmed that it’s all over even before the packet is opened…I mean…high tide! What in hell can a condom be used for in such a situation except as a balloon for the first child’s birthday party?


The above argument was entirely satirical and is not meant for meaningful consumption. All you guys should use whatever you get…I mean, whatever rubber you get. Play safe…

A condom a day keeps little engineers at bay!

The Wrong Side of 25

What does it feel like to be on the wrong side of 25? It’s a bloody good question…at least one that I was left pondering on the night of Jan the 4th. I’ll be true to you…it really scared the living daylights out of me. I’m normally not worried about aging per say. I mean…appearance-wise it does not concern me at all. However, I suddenly realized that I was closer to 30 than ever before and still far from what I would define as “successful”. 30 has always looked to be the halfway mark – the kind of age by when people are at the helm of their enterprises. The worst part about being 25 is not that you are not 20 anymore but that your countdown to 30 has just begun. It’s a dicey age…an age where you are expected to have the aggressive energy of a 20 year old and the mature perspective of a 30 year old. In fact, this is the only facet that I found endearing about being 25 – the challenge of being two people in one!

Nature's Conundrum

Once upon a time very, very long ago, there lived a young naval captain. This captain had the favour of the king and was selected by him and his advisors to embark on an expedition to discover an ambiguous land form. Nothing was known about the land… just that it was an island and that there was a direction to follow. Evidently, the king wanted to establish a settlement on that land as it was rich in iron ore – something that his kingdom could do with. The young captain made the journey braving the various hazards of the rough sea. His being an amateur did not make the job any easier. After months at sea he reached the landform and after a day of exploration found that the land already had inhabitants.

He clearly recognized that the land could not be claimed forcefully as that would be only taking the soil and not the soul. Although he had the King’s men aboard the ship, he refrained from using their protection and went ahead to understand the ways of the land on his own. His boldness won the trust of the chieftain. However, the younger men of the tribe were less than enthusiastic about the captain’s visit. Out of the blue, an enormous spear almost claimed the life of the captain. The king’s men, on seeing this swung into action and, even against the pleas of the explorer, ran in to clash against the aborigines. Legend has it that the blood-red sunset saw 2,000 fallen aborigines before the king’s men finally left the island.

The land mass soon regained from its bloody state and went on to prosper and become a greatly industrious nation.

What happened to the explorer? Some say that he went on to discover the greatest land mass ever. Others argue that he left the King’s service to become a much feared pirate. Yet others say that he renounced the sea and took to a monastery.

Although it did seem so to the naked eye that all was finally well, there was a critical question left unanswered - Who was responsible for the events that took place?

Was it the captain who unwittingly stepped on property that was not meant to be? Was it the regalia that forced him into the mission? Was it the men who meant to protect their captain? Was it the aborigines who wanted to defend what was their own? Was it the island that stood back and watched as disaster struck…unable to indicate either an inclination or an affiliation? Or was it nature…in all its trueness – a two faced conundrum.