The Color of Money

Indian social order is one which is fundamentally classified into various intricate echelons. The foundations of these stratifications are plentiful. Broadly the society has been divided on religion basis, and then re-divided on caste root, then again subdivided on economical factors. The term ‘Broadly’ verbalize that the list is not exhaustive, and given the umpteen ramifications and scriptures of the segregation it could never be. The most despondent divisor had doubtlessly been caste system. There is nothing so unique in India, nothing as all-pervasive in India as caste. A great deal has been debated over its genesis, and even more on it’s dismantling. But we still lack the fundamental information on how and why it was introduced and we still lack the imperative knowledge on how it should be brought to a conclusion (read end).

The Hindu caste system is based on an assumption that lies at odds with the assumption of Western democratic ideals: that all people are created equal. According to classical Hindu perspective people are born with different intellectual and spiritual qualities and capabilities. These differences dispose different people to different sorts of occupations and responsibilities in society. There are theories illuminating how the Vedas advocated the division of society on the basis of work in order to effect specialization which later on was restructured on birth basis. If that is to be accepted then given razor sharp specialization of todays highly competitive world we don’t need it anymore and should shorn it off.

The only purpose which the caste system seems to dole out in the 21st century India is to serve as a decisive tool in the hands of the valueless demagogue to divert the flow of votes. The Mandal commission and recent reservation hullaballoo are shining example.

The societal is such that even in a well educated family where the head has been taught that racism is an immoral concept the lessons of this system are tacitly passed to the younger ones. One is straightforwardly or circuitously made conscious of his position in the social hierarchy. One is taught what he should lay his hand on and what Untouchables thing one should avoid. Given the narrowing economical gap between the different castes (due to reservations) one is confronted with situations where you have to play host to an untouchable guest, so people developed the practice of maintaining separate utensils to serve them.

Everything alienated to avoid any physical contact. One marvels is there something which is above these social boundaries. Something such, which is permeable through the walls of these social barriers. Something which is not minded even it is being transferred from an untouchable. Yes there is one thing in my observation. We just accept it happily. We may mind giving it back to them. No its not respect or submission from there part and not any other abstract object. It’s purely materialistic. In fact it is the pedestal of materialism. Its polish seems to over shine any shadow of prejudice on caste basis or whatsoever. Its color is so glinting and lucrative to let you care about any discrepancy. Such is the color of Money.

Mind your grammar

Try out this rather unconventional yet esoteric joke.

A foreign tourist was swimming in an English lake. Taken by cramps, he began to sink. He called out for help: “Attention! Attention! I will drown and no one shall save me!” Many people were within earshot, but, being well-brought up Englishmen and women, they honored his wishes and permitted him to drown.

If you didn’t get this joke, don’t be embarrassed. Many won’t get it. Just go and check http://www.dailywritingtips.com/the-difference-between-will-and-shall/

If you did, I am greatly impressed.
P.S. Plz write in comments section what you understood.

Akram bowling for US

The title above for sure would have intrigued you. You perhaps possibly would be puzzled linking Wasim Akram and cricket with the United States of America. One might have wondered is he setting up to play in ‘The Super Bowl’, well as of now certainly he can’t. To end up your queries let me apprise you that the above title is a misleading or more fittingly it is deceptive. The US is not U.S., but it’s us (India) amid CAPS LOCK.

No. Wasim is not playing in any champions or premiere league. I am talking about his swing against Hayden’s statement of calling India a third world nation and blaming poor ground conditions for their series loss. Wasim hit back by calling Australians sore loser and stating that in front of the 21st century India Australia is no more than a village.

Though once it was media mogul Kerry packer, an Australian, who revolutionized the world of cricket by filling colors to this white pajama sport and made even gentleman like Imraan Khan be dressed in those T-shirts with double entendre of “Big Boys play at night”, but right at this moment it is India which defines the destiny of cricket and success of IPL despite the initial cynicism of ICC is a fine illustration of it. Australian cricketers in spite of being world champs are lesser celebrated than their rugby team.

Let’s not go into the veracity of Wasim’s remark. It was pleasing to witness a neighbor from Pakistan coming in straight support for us. Wasim had always been a well admired person in India and this is why his request to buy sugar free sugar appeal Indians and he is accepted by the public for judging the dance steps of our “Khiladi’s and Haseena’s”along with Sushmita. He is one among the very few players who played from the heart. His ferocity on the field is in sharp disparity with his affability and sociability off the field. Hat’s off to you sir.

Grow up kids

After two and a half tedious and lingering hours, of mindless scribing and arduous scrimmage with my newfangled awareness developed just yesterday, I finally called it a day and left the hall. Though still half an hour was left, I didn’t bother to have another look at my performance. I believe I am impeccable at vomiting down the otherwise worthless set of information’s which I have assimilated for the day. To add reason to my excuse I must admit that I just want to end the entire trauma as early as possible.

Right outside the hall I was forcefully drawn in in what I genuinely hate. Peers and few peerless strangers greeted with the “How was it boss? So brother you are fetching an O grade” chestnut and started discussing the questions. I nevertheless managed to skip the futility. On my way back to dorm I found few inhabitants of my nest acting as robotically as they could, holding the paper with stretched hands while keeping the eye either on questions or on the other guys (or gal) and vocalizing the answers garrulously. I noticed that the guy with guys sounded conceited on scoring more and the one with gal sounded pathetic as if he is responsible for her scoring lesser. Anyway they were enjoying the moment (I wonder how or why) not concerned to glance frontward as if they don’t mind whatever they might bump into.

Back at dorm my primary desire was to assuage my appetite, closely chased by the secondary wish to catch the highlights of Yuvi’s centurion innings against England and then to shape a long serene sleep. I was peacefully having my lunch sitting in front of the T.V. when those morons emerged there too and started examining, re-examining and re-re-examining their answers. At once the lunch which was till then palatable became insipid. Given my hunger I anyhow swallowed it and left immediately.

Finally I entered my room in hunt of solace only to locate the assiduous and diligent ‘maggu’ of my room busy analyzing his performance lively with few others. Now that was the limit. I couldn’t stand it any more. For sometime I doubted whether I was missing something by not being a part of it, Is something wrong with me for I am not able to even minutely praise what they so immensely pursue. I thought for few minutes only and the apprehensions evaporated. I re-realized this is so juvenile to be involved in.

I think somebody should soon ask these ‘kid Engineers’ around me to GROW UP. May be I should make them listen to Floyd’s ‘Another Brick In The Wall’ but I guess they won’t appreciate that.

What's in the name?

I and one of my roommates who also shares my first name are cheek and jowl when it comes to confer on generally social/political issues and sporadically asocial/apolitical ones. Many a times this discussion goes ad nauseam and many of our dorm’s neighboring colleagues join us in it. My second roommate, a pure maggu, habitually engrossed deep in his books and often reluctant to these enduring deliberations, at times gets thrilled by the nature of the subject matter and jumps on the bandwagon to place his outlook. Among all the numberless solemn and silly issues which we thrash out we recently had a debate on the significance of a persons name in determining his success.

He declared that name matters a lot and in this matter he is in doldrums as his name (Saurav) doesn’t sounds resembling the name of a high profile achiever with too many feathers in his cap. Given my name (Saurabh) and measuring my aspirational dreams I had to disagree. He then asked me to name a single incredibly eminent personality with a name as silly as ours. I instantly replied Sourav Ganguly, thinking that the discussion was over and all. But he argued that the surname Ganguly worked for him and he is better known by that name only. Well, there was a point. I tried my hands on few other names but all in vain. Though I figured out few silly names among small achievers, but not a single one amongst the crème de la crème.

I placed forward numerous optimistic points in favor of my ideology but my words of wisdom were falling on a deaf ear. We sustained this juvenile talk for few additional minutes and then came to a full circle. Having a semester examination the very next morning and still not having been able to conquer half the colossal syllabus we decided to end the conversation and toggled back to burn the midnight oil. But however hard I tried I was incapable to confine my thoughts to the Xerox in my hand and kept on thinking back over our plausible contemplation.Then out of the blue I remembered the very famous lines from Shakespeare’s masterwork ‘Romeo and Juliet'.

To Quote-
--“What’s in the name? That which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet.”

I hadn’t reflected much over these lines when I read it for the first time. According to my roommate poor Juliet seems to be absolutely oblivious of the intricate complexity of the real world. Only had she not been born in an elite family. His answer to Juliet would be 'A Lot. Trust me.'

Anyway, I still take a sanguine view in spite of my name. Don’t worry Juliet, even Romeo may defer but on these lines I am with you.

The Woody Allen View

Yes this is the same Woody Allen, the creator of some of the finest wacky comedy classics of all time. In fact there is no other Woody Allen which we can together talk of. Recently I had a lucky chance to enjoy his masterwork ‘Annie Hall’. The movie, considered semi-biopic, consolidated his signature cinematic style. Woody Allen himself played the protagonist, a fixated and neurotic personality who is unable to derive gratification from an in general happy life. The very nature of the character is set in the opening scene where Alvy (Woody) breaks the ‘forth wall’ and talks to the audience directly about his neurotic psyche. He quotes two jokes which instantly set the chords. According to him they together best describe his vision of life (And perhaps mine too, till this point).

First One: “Two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of them says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know; and such small portions."
Final One: “I would never want to belong to any club that would have someone like me for a member.”

Truly, such is life. Mostly: Intricately complex, raucously chaotic, scarily lonely, consistently demanding, terribly excruciating, awfully painful and at times acutely embarrassing. You may go ahead and add few more adjectives but yet you too regret how quickly it ends and are perhaps as fond of life as I am, cause somewhere between those entire derogatory annotations lie few heavenly moments which heels the soreness of the journey till that moment.

No matter how high one could have escalated age and experience wise yet they all can still count off the moments of exaltation and ecstasy that they would like to breathe again. But even then we are prepared to go through all the countless commotions of life for those few easily countable instants.

Hope Floats

Sometimes It appears to me that life has come to a momentarily standstill. Last five years have been so akin. The visages around may have altered but the similar milieu of mayhem prevails. They say ‘All it takes to win is a well organized solicitous mind’, but in my case disorder seems to be the order of the day. Nothing is at its place; a whole pandemonium is sensed in every sphere of life. Perplexed in all this mayhem yet fanatically desperate to win I try to nourish my plummeted desires, dreaming exotic tryst with destiny. Yes, I do believe everyone has a destiny. A divine providence which steers us all and anyone can arrive at what is destined to them provided they appreciate their fate before time plays it decisive character. The moment time outshines its limitation the destiny becomes the master.

A good number of stuffs in my case have gone really bad. I blame it to myself as it was always me who finally makes the choices. It is me who chooses my pals, my dreams and my path; so it has to be me who am to be interrogated. May be I was so sluggish that the itinerary seemed so demanding. Or may be the mark which I have set for myself is not an ordinary one. Nevertheless still hope floats, somewhere but where exactly I am not convinced about. Tenaciously I search for it in my gloomy heart, which in itself holds myriad paradoxical desires conflicting sporadically. But I know I will find its whereabouts. My conjecture at this point is may be this little hope is the one which provides me my oomph of life. But to quote Morgan Freeman from The Shawshank Redemption, 'Hope is a dangerous thing my friend.'

In the name of God

When they took him out of the ambulance he was tainted in so much blood that it was hard to speculate what was the original color of his shirt. The shirt, the stretcher, his visage and his body it was all blood red. There was mayhem all around him but he was motionless, so immobile that when he was carried to the ICU people in the passageway thought he was already dead. The stretcher was rushed through the corridor, lead by ward boys clearing space between the myriad pathetic and hapless incumbent of the place and followed by his panic stricken miserable family members.

Now he is struggling to cling to life or better say combating with death aided with numerous medical gizmos. His family has been told that his condition is sensitive and the next few hours are going to be critical. They are somberly crying, praying and waiting. His family consists of an old widow mother, a young unmarried sister and a soon to conceive wife. No other male but him. No other hope but him, who’s hope of surviving himself is right now abysmal.

He had a troubled childhood, one of abject scarcity and limitless struggle. His alcoholic father was almost lunatic and of little support and plenty of problem for family. In fact honestly speaking childhood never existed for him. His adverse situation turned him into a man too early than usual. In a man of constant sorrow and into a man of endless hardships. His mother’s limited love which was constrained by her own misery and his sister’s innocent affection was the only good thing which happened to him previous to he met the third of its kind, the adoring love of a wife. It’s nearly a year since they married.

Although his shop is a small one but is of great help to them. Just few days earlier he had said that he is expecting excellent sale in the coming festive season and will have adequate money to get his mother’s cataract operation done. Though there were other financial needs too, like wedding of sister, reimbursement of bank loan, repair of the dilapidated house among other, but this one was at the summit of priority order.

As a child he was always at loggerhead to the idea of God. His adversity made him an atheist by faith. At that time life had inadequate space and no reason to make him think of religion. Thought of endurance preoccupied his psyche. But as he grew financial protected and emotionally matured the atheist in him gave some space to the agnostic. And when his empty heart was poured with love the idea of divinity seemed more appealing to him. This would be the first Ramadan fasting for him.

To the transformed him religion meant a means to realize his soul, guidance in refraining from everyday evils and to purify him through self-restraint and good deeds. It brought harmony in his life. But the same thing can be so different concepts for different minds. Just when his life was through the commencement of happy days, today a group of self proclaimed religious guardian bombed the market while he was returning home after offering his daily namaz. It would have been just another serene day had not been done this act ‘In the name of God.’

Cultural hypocrisy

Yesterday while traveling back to college after durgapuja vacation, I once again encountered a malady universal nationwide. It was like this; I had one attractive young lady seated near by. She must have been in her early twenties and probably was a college student. She seemed decent and looked incredibly innocent. She was very expressive when she was along with her family at the railway station but right that moment she was alone and appeared bit nervous. She was the only member of contrary gender amid a herd of bachelors and few wedded middle aged uncle’s seemingly discontented with the women they had back at home and surely intrigued with this solitary lass. All eyes were gazing her and exploring each and every nuance of her body. Most fascinating admirers were a father and son each one constrained by other yet unable to relinquish her magnetism. I kind of felt sorry for her to be tangled in this awkward situation and a bit sorry for the bachelors around who were exceedingly excited by her presence yet unable to convey it. But I felt much sorrier for those discontented uncle’s for whom life probably had no subsequent chances. In such circumstances my policy is to act as if I am too engrossed in the journal or novel in my hand that I am totally oblivious of the scene around. But that was a journey long enough to confirm that I was a dumb imbecile, if I continuously trailed that policy of mine. So meanwhile I swapped my eyes from my book to catch her eyes and glinted mine eyes in a manner to convey her ‘Look miss I do understand the gravity of this uneasy situation you are going through and I am very sorry for you and also I hope you understand this that I am not in anyway involved in it. But at the same time I am not in any position to help it and I hope you understand that too’.

Finally after few apparently long hours for her and too short a time for her admirers the train arrived at her destination and she left. With her was gone the obligation of sham outward show of each and everyone present and all were back to their originality. Sooner people initiated discussing about things relevant to their life and then moved ahead to the irrelevant ones. Mostly craps, I tell you. Among all this crap some restless soul instigated the usual ‘U.S. superiority’ Vs the ‘Rest of world’ chat which soon turned into ‘Rest of the world’ Vs ‘India’ chat and which was finally diverted into the cliché ‘India’s rich cultural heritage’ Vs the ‘profane western culture’ chat. (It’s really amazing how much we love to only ‘talk’ about our true Indian culture and rarely pursue it). Now in order to keep discussions going on and to look modern and pragmatic thinkers few took the western side. One could tell by merely looking into their eyes how nakedly modern they were. While the loyalists were busy emanating their points and the moderns were busy pushing their meager modern knowledge, someone among the patriots brought forward the point how women always were and still are respected in India like nowhere else. Well at this juncture, I who was till now silent and appeared ignorant among those enlightened minds thought of interrupting them and to remind them of their behavior when that pretty young thing was around. But something inside me forbids me to do so. My inner intuitions were approved when even the pretending modernist espoused the idea of women enjoying respectful and dignified position in India like nowhere else. And thus I witnessed yet another Indian cultural hypocrisy

Overlooked middle class

That was a stage when dish TV was still a fresh experiment in India, and a rare commodity in small towns akin to mine where having a dish connection destined getting loads of undesired frenzied cricket fiend in your drawing room to track team India when they were overseas and no more accessible on Doordarshan (however watching gregariously helped to put up with the gloom of loses we consistently guzzled on foreign soil). I was privileged (still wary) to have it near the beginning. That was also the stage which I used up by and large watching no matter what on TV. It was a time when I was entirely eclectic and robotically followed the whole lot. Thus I have a reasonably first-rate experience of Hindi cinema under my belt. Though I am not proficient to keep track of it from past few years as for a while I was busy in preparation for highly demanding cutthroat competitive exams (though what I finally landed in makes me feel ‘Was that worth?’) and after that I was struck by Hollywood masterpieces (so you see, I take no lessons from life).

Now though I don’t watch them anymore, but few innovative and creative exceptions, still by following the trailers on TV and internet I observed that all most all the bollywood yield are either dealing with a same monotonous stories based in a high societies aristocratic backdrop or on underworld and criminals psychology. We have one camp of director, producer delivering feel good movies full of pomp and show illustrating all the exotic and striking locations, big mansion, costliest automobiles, sexiest and shortest attire, cosmopolitan lifestyles, latest trends, phoniest dialogues and exceedingly illusory characters (karan jauhar is a champ in this group). Then we have another camp delivering movie depicting criminal mindsets, filthy language, underworlds jargon, scrupulous politics, unwrap prostitution, intricacies of pervert system, crooked officials and one indomitable chap against all odds (Ram Gopal verma leads here). Then there are also some who are on the go creating senseless and irrational potboilers (Faraha Khan is the Queen in this genre).

If we leave aside some very rare exceptions than in past few years hardly any movie was made showing the simplicity of a common man’s life and the middle class way of affairs. Gone are times when a Hrishikesh Mukherjee touched the cords of entertainment with the fingers of an ordinary man to create eternal tone of art. Gone are the times when just an Amol Palekaer and Uttpal Dutt were all it needed to create a spectacular success of peerless comedy.

When I think why it is so that middle class has been omitted from silver screen in India I get few response. One is may be the geniuses of olden days have already exploited all the stories which could be possibly thought of as entertaining regarding this class. A second notion says may be the general mass itself is not much fascinated in paying to see the same melancholy of his day to day life on screen and perceiving this fact the directors are reluctant to make such ones. My third speculation is as mostly the filmmakers themselves are from the cream of the crop elite class and are not much sentient of the ramification and shade of life of middle class and are incapable to discover it now they vacillate to make a movie on it. Whatever the exact reason or reasons may be, indubitably (no may be) there is large interlude of absence of movies of this particular genre and thus creates a space which if proficiently exploited can ensure good returns to filmmakers. Now seeing that management gurus like Mr. Arindham Chaudhary and corporate houses like Reliance are trying hand in moviemaking may be someday they may realize this fact and we may be fortunate enough to witness few may be classics of this genre in our era and may reply our parents ‘See its not all crap, still we have lots of movies which make sense.’ Till then it’s only a lot of MAY be.