My Governance Wishlist..

Democracy is the worst form of governance but better than all other known to us- Winston Churchill

Some chaps dreading maths opt economics, supposedly art, and are soon baffled by the complexity of regression analysis into a regretful life. Intelligently I escaped that and choose electronics engineering to garner my regrets. But last night experience made me realize that its not an art-science conflict but rather lack of enthusiasm. I mean what sort of genius is a requisite to be an autorickshaw puller but if next to Adam Smith anyone else has understood the exploitative dynamics behind demand-supply driven free market economy then they are the one. More so on Bangalore streets at night. The mofo charged me 400 bucks for what in broad daylight was 25 Rs affair in an AC bus.

How I wish we had a socialist transportation system!!

All you IT guys don't be ridiculous in complaining your job futility, after all its really not that unproductive. As much globally recognized an asset social networking is, equally unpraised is the online payment stuff run by you fellas. Circa 2003, standing in a 50 odd headed queue to pay landline bill outside an office having shadowing provisions for only those triumphant 3 or 4 who had patiently survived the heat. Being a weekday most fellas were rural folks for whom landline still was a recent invention and so bills lesser than there cost of commutation. And there I was, with my dues being a substantial share for the entire days collection, at the far end. Forget I-pods even a Nokia 3330 was a luxury back then, so no music to appease my impatience.. and carrying umbrella was way too unmanly. I the bourgeois class of the queue representing real India thought of suggesting collection of fattest bills first. Just thought.

How I wish we had a capitalist payment-queue system!!

Back in school was an arrangement that when teachers left the class in the middle for short durations, citing rational urgency (which now I think were excuses to attend nature's call), monitors (M & F one sex each) were responsible to maintain silence. Any noisy soul was chalked on blackboard for the returning teacher to attend with vaccinations (that's what we termed for ears being manhandled). My co-monitor oblivious of power politics listed my friends name. The bro-code was swore and my manliness was put to question to save that fella. I under pressure illicitly added on redemption rolls 3 of her friends and signaled expected trade-offs. Innocently diligent that she was, so naturally failed to comprehend. We had an argument; she giving logics me replying with fervors.. the matter got loud and at the loudest moment the teacher re-entered.. In vicinity of the bigger crime names on board were ignored.. Brocode was lived upto but I ended up getting the vaccination. Who watches the watchman??

How I wish administration be single party dictatorship!!

Its a tragedy for nation's sports culture that media highlights only cricketing icons. I personally felt that during the cricket team selection for standard 6th, when for 12 vacancies there were 30+ applicants. Had meritocracy been a strict criteria it was hard to get a place as the 12th man of even a back up squad...but I had my connections. Each batsman was given 3 shots and fate sealed.. Last to be tried I had to score minimum 7 runs to quantitatively tie with three others for the single place left.. I managed 6 only..but as said I had my connections. Captain and vice captain, both my best friends, vigorously pitched to selectors the qualitative aspects of my defensive shots... A day Later I played 2nd down.

How I wish my love for democratic elections remains eternal!!

Democracy is the worst form of governance but better than all other known to us- Winston Churchill

Eskool DaeZs

This stuff initially I was writing only for my school group on FB but at the end found the effort worthy enough to be shared to a larger audience.. hence the post..

They say we live life twice, first in improvisations and then in revisions- the two states of cognition. Once in present, amalgamating deeds with our vision of future; and then later in present analyzing our memories of past. Infact their is no well defined time boundary separating one state from other but instead its like a gradual transformation into the predominance of later over former. Drawing an analogy I think of a river flow, innocent at the glacier's foot ebulliently tracing whichever direction with no preconceived notions of destination (infact unaware of its very existence) and then the mid-life crisis of stagnation, few trade-offs between vanity and external expectations here and there before the acceptance of........ Wait a minute.. Improvisation!! cognition!! Mid-life crisis!! Vanity!! Where am I heading to?? This is my school group not a herd of seekers who have reached fifth stage of Maslow's hierarchy.. I shouldn't be penning down a philosophical doctrine here... I can always save that for my blog.. so coming back to my age's audience.. here I go.

May be I'm getting old earlier than expected or may be I am too jobless these days to do nothing but dive in retrospection..(Or may be certainly its the effect of Katli posting a school time pic on FB).. In last few hours I have done thing as meaningless as staring a lizard in a game lets-see-who-makes-first-move* and after nearly 30 minutes I won.. (that explains how idle I am.. three cheers for that).. An industrious fella I am and hence thought lets create something of this unproductive-sentimental-retrospective plunge..and thus this post.. presently the best alternative only next to some imaginary dates with ample blondes on an island where I am the only male -alpha or omega. Too much intro.. I guess the stage is all set and anyway if you have read this long you probably will/should read till the end..

Yesterday on a public forum, KD instigated and baba endorsed the idea that I am good narrator..demanding that I must narrate something from St. Mary's day.. My initial thought was Bloody what ya think me your nanny?? But then the supposedly MBA guy in me thought of how companies invest hugely, re-engineer vigorously and advertise insanely for projecting a core competency.. and here they are gifting me one just for a mushy comment I made, so why not cash the opportunity .. (So Baba unlike your contri this is no samajseva.. and let me make it clear my samajprem is limited only to the fairer half of your samaj)

Thinking of what to narrate I remember a childhood friend from St. Mary's only, who of that era was probably the most dedicated narrator in the world.. I believe he almost got orgasmic sensations listening to his own voice..cause always fluid poured through the left corner of his mouth while doing so..(Yes Cheap humor I know).. Once he nearly peed in pants just because he was in the middle of a story in front of the whole class when the call of nature knocked down south.. but a devoted man he was and was ready to be remembered as a martyr for a cause than a man who absconded the battlefield.. and thus the call of duty triumphed.. Infact those days I was kinda his protegee and if you people are a kind listener may be the second best narrator of my age group... though my priorities were set little more on need-of-the-hour basis.. and i have successfully escaped many battlefields more than once.. (hey that could be my second core competency).

So here goes an incident between guru-chela..

Remember the rocket thing in our smaller ground??.. Don't think too far our school was no modern cradle of science and technology..I am talking about the structure next to the charkhi thing.. So one day it was us playing the astronauts and disgusting our social circle simultaneously.. I don't remember to whom and for what exactly i used the word 'Saaley'.. yes the plural form of the S-word for standard 3 students..(what a civilized world that was!!).. I knew an unspoken line was crossed.. then followed a few moment of silence in reading the situation.. before I changed the topic to latest comic editions.. He too kinda ignored that heinous crime.. Phew!!

But then it turned out as a political move to buy time for weighing his options as at the day end he took me to a corner and blackmailed.... I-know-what-you-did-last-supper moment.. the terms of the agreement negotiated.. me sharing half of my lunch UNCONDITIONALLY!!... wish I knew the term 'Fatass mofo' back then and could have offered him the whole lunch box for using it.. but in our times they showed Disney Hours instead of south Park (Alas troubled childhood!!)..This thing went on for weeks and by then it was a crime so distant in memory that no threat appeared till horizon.... and the agreement terminated....The best part was even his crime was never taken as one such and we remained guru-chela ever-after till one day he left the school in mid sessions abdicating the title for me..

That's it and that's all.. I sincerely wish this was some masterpiece which I could have dedicated to him -my guru..

P.S. : * The lets-see-who-makes-first-move game with lizards was invented by a dear friend of mine.. A thinking man that he is.. And I never fail to emulate such time tested exercises which might make me one some day.. You can follow his other experimental thoughts at “Thoughts Unfolded” 

[A/The] Wonder [Fool/Full] [Law/La]

SCENE 1: The Usual Onion

At company sponsored second excursion on expected lines yet again people indulged in Antakshari. Since, unlike the previous occasion, the pastime act started in a professional fashion with prepared set of singers it lacked element of innocence and hence didn’t last long. But then not to the relief of an isolated me – a 40 till I die spirited intern amidst cheerful folks. Someone suggested Dumb charades and without any seeming contemplation it was democratically accepted with full majority. Yes, considering that my opinion was not sought full is fully appropriate.

So there we were, able bodied intelligent grownups playing dumb and clueless kids. Serenity was lost anyway, though some silence was restored, but my attempts to fake detachment were betrayed by an intriguing curiosity; inquisitiveness sometimes takes toll on the quizzer. Full participation meant infidelity to the A-Silent-Types image I am married to, so I made an acceptable-explainable kind of trade off as an audience. Once much to my horror I was even made to play the dumb, and much to my surprise I did well. ByGod I did.

‘How I wish I was not me!!’ sometimes grow colossal.

SCENE 2: Peeling of Onion

After some 30 odd Kms we reached Wonderla, a thrill zone cum water park- a place even ardent critics can’t dismiss as yet another amusement park. Following easiest first rule we boarded a swinging boat. Couple of swings: That’s it??. Another few: Kids stuff!! And then came the real mode and leave others even the A-Silent-type was whispering ‘Fuck maaaeen’. Next we got on a seemingly circular ride. It was only when I was being thrown in multiple directions that I realised it didn’t follow the so thought Rutherford model and was the creation of some SchrodingerED engineer. Some 5 or so shouting-at-the-loudest minutes and the usually A-silent-type agnostic was grateful to heavens to be still alive and standing on his legs.

I try my best to carefully chart the way my probable biography is going to be, which at very first demands a life long enough (unless you are a revolutionary) and anyways “Jhuley se gir kar fool murjha gaya” is not a fitting end to even a fools life. But try explaining that to a spirit escalating adventurously with each impulsive stroke. Thus followed rides on drop zone, equinox, water wagon, twister tides, tubular falls, Sliding tracks, rain dance etc (explaining them is hard and unnecessary, if you too happen to be an inquisitive one you are on net help yourself ). The underlying phenomenon was the opening up. First whispering, then shouting, then howling and dancing and what not.

With every ride one layer each was shredded.

SCENE 3: The Shredded Onion

On the way back Antakshari was back in a modified way. The enthusiastic singers offered to sing the favourite songs of others. My turn was still away. Usually I would have forge a sleep but the defence mechanism wall was perforated. Anyways I was tired so closed my eyes and reflected back. I thought of Philippe Halsman and his jumpology... law that jumps cause masks to fall.. which at peak of acceptance made even the likes of Munro and Nixon fall for a photograph. Learning that first I had ridiculed it as yet another celebrity endorsed racket, now it did made sense. My turn was about to come. What to do remain so or open up? With a law to explain my behaviour I chose later. Not only did I make a farmaish but when it occurred to be something they did not know the lyrics of, I sang that too.

Had the onion been peeled to the center?? May be no. For the layers are the onion and there is no center.!!

Conclusion

After all ‘How I wish I was not me’ isn’t that colossal.

&

How I wish the second trip was not the final too.

An Indian Beautiful Mind

Jeevan Nath, the recluse strategy Prof at Kingston University and a cricket enthusiast is in centrefold of talks for his path breaking Game theory of cricket, which is expected to revolutionize the way the sport is played. Just a week before a largely mysterious entity in neighbourhood, quite an ostracized member amongst colleagues and openly mocked figure amid student circles; Prof Nath has transformed into an epitome of recognition.

“Prof Nath’s achievement is the result of sheer dedication and hardwork” says Gajhodhar, the watchman of ‘Infinity apartments’. “Nath, a man lacking half the helping of heart, since the debacle of Indian cricket team in last world cup had been behaving even more weirdly. He was often discovered talking to himself at lengths” said fellow professor Mohan Sen in an envious flavour.

“Since last three years he regularly observed our matches with religious devotion taking colossal notes and often irritating fielders by paddling his bicycle from deep extra cover to silly point” reported Vinod Ganguly the conceited captain of Infinity eleven. “On complaining he retorted that he was governing our dynamics and weighing it against huge samples of people ranging from those of Munaf to Raina” added Vinod.

“Since recently he was often seen sketching strange illustrations and scripting complex equations on window panels. Once a baffled him even tried breaking the glasses with headbangs but fortunately aborted crying ‘I can’t see it’ ” added Gajhodhar. “Previously when inquired about his mysterious research, Nath termed it as an assignment for a cricket coach Vinaysheel Parasher whose identification is yet to be revealed” said Prof Mohan Sen.

We tried to get in touch with Prof Nath but could only manage interviewing Mrs. Aleesha Nath who found some time for us while ironing dozens of old twisted handkerchiefs. She told that Prof Nath, eventful scripting his plausible Nobel acceptance speech, was struggling to blend the paradoxical equations of love and logic. “You Just can’t imagine how pissed off he is since his eloquent speech at Kingston’s felicitation ceremony was not appreciated in the similar fashion as was his theory by the crowd bleeding blue.

PS: Written with a space at Faking News in mind :)

Apology

As a blogger you often develop an insecurity to keep your blog updated and it gets difficult when you are running short of your creativity juice, and worse at times when you lack the thing called writing talent. So in that case like most bollywood scriptwriters and music director you tend to go for what they euphemistically say inspiration. On two different occasions, going through such phases I came across two brilliantly written blog posts I have ever read and couldn’t resist playing a plagiarist. Fortunately (yes fortunately I mean) author of one such post came to know this and that person is gentleman enough to carry no hard feelings for my mistake if I admit it and delete the post. I said fortunately because it will serve as a long time lesson. I already have deleted both of those posts and this publicly written apology is to make that gentleman feel that I am ashamed of it and this post here is a testimony of that. Sir if you are reading this, I hope you may forgive me for it.

Who is driving my car?

Ram Mohammad Thomas, a Dharavi teen, providentially wins a major quiz show transforming his fate overnight. … catchphrase “D: Destiny it is written”. Pleasant feel good fiction, as the artistic liberty settles on a joyful end. The imagination got moderately acknowledged but the adapted movie, though critically unworthy, was showered with awards. Seems like the exhaustion of protracted war-for-peace, fright of international terrorism, chained natural cataclysm, the greed driven financial panic, the looming climatic catastrophe; all so chronically synchronized to co-ordinate with the eschatological doomsday forecast, have created an imperceptible whirlpool sucking optimism to the depths of the globe. Action is defunct, assurance is the prerequisite. Consequently things promising hope are bestowed supreme attention, be it either a Slumdog endorsing predestined destiny or a relatively newbie politician orating excellent changes to be.

Inspite of following a joyful climax the concluding catchphrase “Destiny: It is written”… scares. If it is, then how come are we real? Aren’t we too characters of a fictional plot performing as per the whims and fancy exercised by the creator, hypothetically assumed as God? Where is the space for free living? “When all we are, are random variables fit into the equation of hope and fate then why pursue desires?” A friend said… good lines!!. Never been able to believe in the supposition of God, as always even then I thought of advocating free will, but we didn’t debate over its unenthusiastic connotations.

To free will, destiny thing is bullshit phrase akin to “Marriages are made in heaven” which is impugned by witty T-shirt answers ‘So are we here just to have sex? ’ But at times temptations subdue my all encompassing will… are these subversive forces the masters governing me? Individual temptation yet again is genetic instigation.. so is my life genetically coded in the 23 chromosomes… again prewritten…well if only I could decipher my DNA to match my will.

What if I say being pre-destined do I have anything to fear? .... precarious thought!! Fatal upshots of a written destiny were edited by granting an individual some say in his own destiny. The theory of reincarnation plotted by present actions came into folktales. Errr… a loop hole.. this present itself is already “Written”. A catch-22 situation indeed. Seems like neither destiny nor free will is the answer… then where to search… may be in some very elusive place between these two simplistic poles. No definite rules …the whole game is a flaw.

Saint to Devil

Endurance for momentary cheers,
and impulsiveness for sighing alas.
An year to see the Jesus,
a single day made me Judas.

Taking words as predefined terms,
I changed to devil from saint.
But my hopes of revival dashed,
learning there’s no difference ain’t.

No difference speaks of equality,
so are all we equals as if clones?
No forgiveness, some are more equals,
said the looted farm of Mr. Jones.

Nursery Rhymes Revisited

As the mighty gray clouds concealed the sun,
and the slow wind swiftly begin to blow.
Everyone in hiding is out on grassy streets,
expecting mild showers to come and go.

There comes young Cinderella from fairy tale,
carrying her single slipper waiting for a match.
She thinks it will be her lucky chance today,
But outside pleasant fables life is a dismal catch.

Here comes little Johnny carrying his baseball bat,
praying rain to go to Spain as he wishes to play.
He naively thinks it only takes a little sugar to laugh,
But let him grew up and ask a lot more someday.

And Jack descends tumbling down the steep hill,
breaking the crown and spilling a pail of water.
He painfully expects Jill coming after for him,
But she doesn’t as now he is not what she’s after.

Last Time when I died

Last night I had this very bizarre dream. It was that I was in a battlefield, holding my position in a bunker firing my Simonov on the opponent on the other side. Blood and dust surrounded me amid the howling of fire. After taking a few shots I wondered which battle is this, what is that I am fighting for? I examined my blood stained dusty uniform to find a swastika mark on it. Ok so I am a bloody Nazi, but which place is this? There is no sea around so it can’t be Normandy; neither can I find snow so it is not Stalingrad either, and since Germans had mostly air attacks on UK so it can’t be London too. I guess this godforsaken place is Sicily, where else? It means I must be fighting the bloody Americans. Good!! Where is General Patton I wanna directly shoot him and end the battle. But wait, I admire him. I also admire George Scott who refused the Oscar playing Patton. I admire both of them so why kill any? But hey I am a soldier, right? I too must be fighting for a cause, whatever that may be.

Oh Jesus fucking Christ I need to focus. I aimed my gun at an enemy. Shit man it is the face of my childhood friend. I don’t wanna shoot him. But what if he does? I can’t take any fucking chances. No No certainly I can’t. It was the bollywood effect that instead of hailing Hitler I shouted ‘Hail Mogambo’ and took my shot. Holy Arjun! It was perfect. Headshot. My childhood friend died, not much pain ahhh . Simultaneously I felt both a guilty sigh and triumphic ooze. Lord we men, what a basterd we are? We are more ethical then we think and far more immoral than we could probably imagine.

I don’t know whether it was guilt or triumph but I lost my focus. Consequently a bullet stroked me, piercing my chest, blood oozing out of it. It hurt like anything. Oh lord! How unfair I am goanna die, and die so young, how sad. But an inner voice explained me don’t panic, don’t panic! It’s just a dream, a play and nothing lasting. Yes and all of a sudden the pain was over. Hurray. I begin to think what should be my dying words. ‘Jesus Christ!’ or ‘Hey Ram!’ or what about ‘Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan’. Confused. I just muttered “Sorry mate! We are just a pawn in the game” and decided to die.

But wait it’s not over man. It’s a dream and I saw the aftermath too. The scene was my grand burial ceremony. Several guns were fired. Ohh Great! I must have been a high ranking officer and not just a private. Generals with stoical faces were giving me salutes. I tried to look for Hitler, he was absent. That disappointed. People came and gone but at the end this lady remained. She came to my grave and put some flowers and a photograph of me and her together. She wept for a long while and when tears refused to shed then she too left. Meanwhile I kept on wondering who she was? Girlfriend? fiancé,? Wife? Or as I was a soldier on a war, was she a whore I was sleeping with, who fell in love with me? I tried checking her fingers but my vision kept on blurring. First I was killed and then puzzled, such is life. A bitch. And for the first time after that shot I regretted dying, even in a dream. I know I will wake up alive in the morning but I will never know why the hell she was crying.

Something gotta give Up

“What makes you come here son?” he inquired in a deep voice, the reply “I need help”. “So does everyone who comes to me, take the couch and try being specific” he paused to recollect his thoughts but the misty disorder veiling his heart didn’t produced any. “There is something happening inside my heart, something strangely painful and it is making me weak” “Son the heart is an egoist; it feels its need intensely and strives ruthlessly to satisfy them. Have you lost something?” “I have a dream but I lost my hopes” “Ah!! Another dreamer. You love your dream .Right? And it is probably threatened?” “Yes. I said I lost my hopes” “You are never so defenseless against suffering as when in love” the words seemed disrespectful but he couldn’t help not agreeing. “While adoring your dream you had pawned a part of your narcissm” “But sir once that dream gave me a triumphant conviction” “And now pain. If you can’t make it then let it go” “But I don’t want to” “Wants, desires, dreams all are elusion my boy, the life and death drives. They commend to us because they save us pain and give pleasure, but we must accept without complaint that sometime they will collide with reality and will be dashed to pieces” “I agree but then what about this pain” he unable to force himself into unbelief “Don’t alleviate it with imprudent attempts. Let it grow. Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise. All this sadness of heart is the birth-pain of a new attitude trying to be born” His words knocked him. After few silent moments the voice broke “Are we done?” “There is something which I cannot say aloud or perhaps even think” he lied because he thought he was.