...In Pursuit of the leader

I was very sure that it was Mukul, it was definitely him on the other side of the road, Even after 8 years, I could tell that from a distance. He still had the same side parted hair, that unusually long neck and that super brisk walk. I had to almost run to get past him.

“Hey Mukul”, I said panting.

“Hi…” He replied with an impassive face.

“I guess I know you” He said again. The face was still devoid of any emotions.

“You forgot your friend. Atul, Tenth “B”, I used to bug everybody with my poems in the assembly” I was already embarrassed.

“Yeah Yeah I remember you were the part time spinner in the school team as well” He finally smiled. And we hugged. We never were best friends. But I was his secret admirer. He was the best batsman, I had ever seen. His gargantuan sixes and flawless timing were sheer pleasure to watch. He was the coach's favorite, the sport icon of our school. He would make it big someday, very big, everybody used to say.

“So, how is your cricket going on? I heard you were playing Ranji for the state team. Can’t wait to see you playing for India” I asked excitedly.

“I passed my twelfth this year and now I am preparing for clerical exams. No cricket left in my life anymore” He replied and that faint smile disappeared again.

“Why, what happened? And why have you passed your twelfth this year? It has been 8 years since we passed Tenth” I fired questions one after another.

“Cricket happened and cricket did not happen”. He replied. I could see the sadness in his eyes. And I was taken aback.

In the next half an hour he narrated me the story of our beloved state where a certain chief minister with a dozen kids overtook the state cricket board to ensure a smooth cricketing career for one of his kids who was slightly “interested” in cricket. But his prime focus was looting the state and creating unparalleled scam records so obviously cricket had to take a back seat. The condition of cricket in the state ruptured beyond repair and ultimately BCCI had to de-list the state cricket board from Ranji Trophy. Talented players like Mukul were surely given chance in other state cricket teams but were not promoted at the cost of their own players. Of course politics was there too. And hence those fellows who were supposed to make it big someday were left with a dark future ahead.

“Why politicians or non sporting authorities have to head a sports body when they know nothing about it?” He asked. His frustration was justified.

“Because they are better than us in decision making, better in administration, better policy makers. Come on don’t be that cynical” I tried my usual optimistic self.

“And what makes you think so? You are an Engineer; can you go and lead a team of chefs in a five star hotel? No. you cannot. Life is a role playing game. Everybody cannot do everything. We are specialists at something and novices at other things and that’s justified. But just because someone is backed by a political party and has oodles of party fund for cushioning, he just cannot head a sports body.” He wasn’t an introvert like he used to be in school days. Years of aggravation and disappointments had turned him vitriolic.

“And more recently we have corporate and cinema guys heading sports clubs and teams. Ha! Sports is a big joke in India.” He spat venom again.

“Politician is synonymous to a corrupt and unscrupulous individual in India who has power, position and money that gives him a license to do all unethical things for his own gains. But it is not absolutely true. There are good fellows around and I can name quite a few of them. I guess it’s more about our perceptions, I guess it’s about the way we look at them.” I tried being logical.

“That’s the difference between you and me. You guess and I know. I’ll take you leave now. I am getting late” He hurriedly shook hands and went away. He left me with hundreds of unanswered questions. Was he right? Were his emotions justified? Or was I being supremely optimistic by preaching my logics to him? And the debate went on for quite some time or maybe it’s still on somewhere inside me?

I browsed through profiles of some politicians of India who were also heading sports bodies and the revelations were shocking. A powerful politician was heading the most powerful sports body of India and that too when he was commanding the single most important ministerial berth in the center, that of Agriculture. The sector that contributes to almost 17% of our GDP and employs more than 50% of our entire workforce.  What would this minister prefer if he has to decide between Famine and World Cup? Famine any day. So the sports would always be the bastard child. So why did he have to take such an important position then? Maybe because it gives you more money, more power and more international exposure. Maybe. Or, it’s just that narcissistic supply for the rich and powerful to feel good and to feel important. Whatever, I wasn’t able to justify that politician heading the sports body.

And then I observed the tenures of these positions and the revelations were scarily shocking again. One of them was heading a sports association for over three decades, another one for over two decades and one of them was even overseeing the association proceedings from behind the Bars. Was India, the land of thinkers like Chanakya and Vivekanand so bloody deprived of leadership talent that the same fellows were heading the associations since the beginning of time? Did these positions come with a life time validity? Shouldn’t sports bodies be headed by sports persons only? And what are the corporate and the showbiz guys doing in the equation? Well, they are there because they have money and they are there because they want money.

 Yes, I was the one who was guessing and my friend was the one who knew. But then it was completely wrong to say politicians or non sporting individuals shouldn’t be allowed to lead a sports body. Sports after all is not all about passion and zeal, it’s about complex decision making as well. It’s about looking at the bigger picture and that requires a great deal of foresight. Sportsmen can provide the zeal and enthusiasm but they may not be the best planners out there.

But at the same time the technicalities of a game can be best understood by a sportsman. If the sportsman has proven leadership skills, a sound brain with an ability of passing unbiased decisions and taking the team through bad patches would be the best fit for the berth. Sports would always be his first love and he could bring his own expertise and experience in the team. A major plus for any sports team. Or if we have a corporate or a politician who obviously has got tremendous leadership capabilities and is truly passionate about sports and doesn’t have to switch his interests over from sports to something more important, he probably would be the next best fit for the role.

Like all important positions of the country, the head of any sporting association should also be subjected to a set of qualifications. And the political prowess or power quotient alone in case of politicians or other non sporting individuals and likewise sporting prowess and popularity quotient alone in case of a sportsmen shouldn’t be the deciding factor in their coronation.

 Leadership abilities, decision making skills along with proven personal integrity, dedication for the sport and reliability should also be considered. Absolute power corrupts and hence the person should be answerable to the general body to keep a check on monopoly.  Ultimately the situation converges to the innate nature of human beings. A person of character and morals would always do good to the society. A society where talent would be given more importance than caste, creed, color, region and religion and a society where Mukuls wont be struggling for their bread and butter but padding up to take the world in a sporting arena. Maybe I am being my usual optimistic self. Maybe.

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Celebrations, Love and Saraswati

Those days we used to wait for it. Those days when I was 12 or 13 and coincidently my friends were about the same age, we used to wait for it. Holi and Diwali never figured in our favorite festival’s list, but it did and we used to wait for it. The Feel, The Energy and the festivity that happened in late January and early February every year and like any other Patna guy(or perhaps any not-so-small town guy) I used to wait for it.

Patna, arguably the only recognized city in the state of Bihar is the epicenter of all educational activities. Convent schools, Intermediate colleges, Graduation colleges and speckled in between the colleges are coaching centers each of which is run by an Ex-IITan and each of which guarantees a seat in the prestigious Indian Institutes of Technology. And the students from all across Bihar and Jharkhand and Eastern UP come running to the city in pursuit of education. And the city lives to their promises. Hence students form a perpetual part of Patna - rich, poor, timid and violent, students of all types and varieties. Education is the prime topic of discussion. While Gujaratis love their money, Punjabis love their food, Tamilians love their culture, Biharis love their education till the verge of obsession.

And Goddess Saraswati oversees all educational activities. She is the goddess of wisdom, knowledge and enlightenment. Because of her benevolence, people crack competitions, pass their semester and yearly examinations and get through tricky job interviews. It’s because of Goddess Saraswati that we have so many Engineers and Doctors and Lawyers and Managers in our country. Saraswati prepares people to worship Lakshmi (the goddess of wealth and prosperity) for the rest of their lives. And Patna leaves no stone unturned in making the goddess joyous. Saraswati Pooja is the annual fest of all colleges, schools and coaching centers of Patna. Some of them even call it the unofficial Valentine’s Day of Patna.

The glorious 90s - the decade I was brought up in, celebrated the festival in Grand Style. Boys in groups of 5-10 knocked every door in the locality urging (or begging or threatening) for Chanda (donation). People sometimes willingly contributed and sometimes unwillingly gave away cash ranging from Rs. 5 to Rs. 501. Every Collection Committee managed enough cash for the entire worshiping ceremony, lighting, sounds, VCRs  and a rented color television for playing pirated video cassettes for late night movie watching. The elderly students fondly addressed as” Bhaiyyas” by everyone even saved enough cash for their beer and porn movies. Brightly lit Pandals, statues of the goddess adorned with marigold and rose garlands, a continuously chanting Pundit and noise all around, the craziness seemed absolute sanity at that time.

The Geniuses who were experts at handling locally assembled music systems or “decks” as we called them ensured that entire colony listened while the Pundit chanted by strategically placing the metallic loudspeakers on electric poles, roofs of neighbors, or even ad lib bamboo poles. No one in the locality complained, the curse of Saraswati could have rendered their children uneducated and unpolished for life. The same loudspeakers proudly broadcasted the latest chart-busters for three continuous days. Alien words like “Bass” and “Treble” were still to make ways into our lives. “Loudness” was very much in. So when the songs were played, people switched to sign languages in their respective homes. That was the time when music from movies “Aashiqi”, “Sadak”, “Mohra”, “Dil” etc. made their way into our lives.  When there were multiple pandals around, there used to be an impromptu music contest that continued till wee hours of the night. Everyone wanted his Pundit to be heard and everyone wanted his music to rule. And we innocently remixed songs without any hi-fi mixing instruments.

And that was the time when we started noticing love around us, for the first time. Girls flocked at the Pandals dressed in bright Salwar-Kurtis usually ranging from pale saffron to bright orange which is the official dress code for Saraswati Pooja. And their lovers went out of their way to give them a personalized treatment. Once the love of their life appeared at the Pandal, the music usually switched to a soft romantic Ballad, a “chori chori jab nazrein mili” or a “Nazar ke saamne, Jigar ke Paas”.  The expression on the girl’s face would change from happy to shy to a state where fathoming expressions became impossible.  And her friends elbowing her frenziedly so much so that she’d stop looking at anyone. And then the hero would appear with Prasad Packets neatly arranged onto a metallic tray. The usually ordinary Prasad would be garnished with generous helping of seasonal fruits and sweets. Some lucky lovers even managed to spend some private Prasad munching moments with their girls as her friends would leave as soon as the guy appeared.  Everything was planned without even planning. The demonstration of love continued till every single guy of the committee got to treat her girl flamboyantly. Saraswati, the white adorned goddess of wisdom with a constant smile on her face silently played the love goddess. The show continued till three days and after the Pooja new couples surfaced.

Now when I switch on my workstation on a Saraswati Pooja day or any festival that made me go wild in old days, a smile robotically comes on my lips. The songs start playing somewhere inside my mind and flashes of guys dancing and girls shyly accepting their Prasad packets and wailing kids and chanting pundits and blaring loudspeakers  appear on my mental canvas. While I mechanically pretend to be lost in work, my mind dances in the streets where a white idol of the goddess of wisdom smiles at my moves.

Sometimes, when I am all alone, I google myself…

Yes! Pretty catchy. I saw this quote somewhere on the wired jungle – the Internet, first home to many (including me) and I was impressed. Very impressed. So much so, that I ordered a personalized Tshirt with the quote. Somewhere within me lives a supremely self obsessed person. I might nod appreciatively at every debater and answerer but a part of me mocks at his orgasmic gimmicks and knows for sure that had I been in his place, I would have come up with better answers or better facts to justify my argument. Yes I write better than most of the published Bestseller writers, I sing better than those singing competition morons and I can abuse better than those wild reality show contestants. Every time I sat down to watch “Kaun Bangega Crorepati(Who’ll be a millionaire) I finished with at least 1 crore in my kitty. I term this as my confidence but its pure obsession, a dark love of me for my own self. And then I thought maybe I live in everyone else.

I might be very visual and vocal about myself but self obsession adorns one and all. In their thoughts,  idea and actions, in every pause they take in front of cars with darkened glasses to have a good look at their own selves. In every smirk they pass whenever they see a lesser mortal fumble in work and out of it and in every anticipative glance they pass when they wear something fancy or do something fancier. It’s not unusual to trace out know-it-alls and maniacally intelligent and self proclaimed possessors of all human and para-human wits and virtues at our workplaces, in our families, amongst our friends, in our societies and on TV and on the Internet. In that authoritative boss, or that smart cousin or the snobbish friend. We eat, sleep, party and work with self obsession all around.

Like an excessive smoker keeps craving for his nicotine supply, we need a fair share of our narcissistic supply to feel good and to feel important. The Facebooks and Twitters have made billions, en-cashing on this queer aspect of our self obsessed generation. Ten years ago who would have thought that if you let the world know that After a 2 Km jog, you had a vegetable sandwich, a mug of orange juice and some salad as breakfast, twenty of your friends will end up liking it, 10 of them feeling jealous about your healthy lifestyle and another 10 of them motivating you to double your Jog distance and cut down on the food intake. We shout, they appreciate and they shout in turn. We are living in a vicious cycle of self obsession and we have mutual admiration pacts with everyone. I scratch your back, you scratch mine and lets laugh at the one who doesn’t have one to do the honors for him. Lets feel good about it.

I always wondered what made beautiful girls befriend the ugliest girls around. For the same reason I used to wonder what makes intelligent and smart guys befriend the dumb ones around. Things of similar nature should congregate together. Self obsession needs constant fuelling of the narcissistic supply. The Dumb will praise your intelligence; the ugly ducklings would pamper the beautiful swan. It’s a feel good relationship. Self obsession is intoxicating. We make good speakers, good bosses and good leaders. If we know about something we shout out loud, if we do not know about that thing, we manipulate it to our needs and shout out loud again. That ways we make the best manipulators too.

 But, somewhere we lose our genuineness. We lose our authenticity and we lose our substance. These days when I see a fellow speak about anything, the dominant me wants to spring onto the podium and show him his place but the recessive me holds me back and allows me to listen. My mouth hates my ears but somehow my brain has started learning the organ allocation algorithm. Recently I went through a lot of blogs, most of them write better than me and the fellow who was singing on the TV singing competition last night. He was way better than me. In fact just before I sat down to write this article, I was trying my hands on “Kaun Bangega Crorepati(Who’ll be a millionaire). I couldn’t even win a lac.          

New Delhi - The way I see it

Disclaimer: - This article is a representation of my thoughts and the way I see things. I have used names of certain communities, surnames and places so that reader can bond with the article. This is not meant to offend any person, community or place.

King Dhritarashtra

Dhritarashtra was helpless, he was the king and the representative of the glorious Bharat clan, but he was a father. A helpless father. His son, the obstinate Duryodhana was not ready to give Hastinapur to the eldest Pandava Yudhisthira and hence Dhritarashtra had to make a tough decision – the division of the kingdom. The fertile, prosperous Hastinapur went to Duryodhana and the Khandavaprastha an infertile, uninhabited place went to the poor Pandavas. Krishna with his directions and Arjuna with his arrows cleared the forest and presented to the world one of the finest cities of all times which has constantly changed names but the very essence of it has remained constant, always. From Indraprastha to Lal Kot to Tughlaqabad to the modern New Delhi, the very essence of Delhi has always been there.

Delhi Taxi

Step out of the Indira Gandhi International Airport and you are welcomed by the extremes. Depending upon your time of arrival you will be welcomed by scorching heat, bone chilling cold or worse heavy downpour. The downpour however is almost always there - the downpour of attention. The name placards with all possible Punjabi surnames on them and their owners bellowing at their top. If you have a confused face, the downpour will only keep on intensifying, from slight nudge on the shoulders to a full body hug. The Dilliwaalahs are (in) famous for bestowing any token of love and warmth which can convert into some currency. If you have a haversack on your back, you will see tourist guides in large numbers; if you have a business attache in your hands, the suited hotel agent swarms will hug and caress you and if you have a traveling bag, the local hotel guys will smile seductively and regardless of your travel gears, the taxi drivers will do anything to snatch your stuff in the name of help and place them in their taxi boots. You will obviously be presented with mind boggling tariffs. If you are an obstinate negotiator, you will have something left in your wallet at the end of the trip. Negotiate is the moral of the story.

The Delhi-Gurgaon Expressway

And when you are in traffic, the whole jaw dropping phenomenon will find an entirely new dimension. India is a blessed country home to 84 crore gods and demigods. With the power of octane rich petrol and of course the benevolence of all 84 crore divine deities your vehicle glides, cruises, speeds and wriggles in the traffic behemoth. On a six lane expressway where all vehicles have been designated their respective lanes, a speeding SUV meandering on all six of them in an attempt to get ahead of all is the commonest of all sites. Scary for first timers but a routine sight for the regulars. And Delhi has more vehicles on its roads than rest three metros combined and Delhi is a network of fast track expressways, so the SUVs and their meanderings are infinite. Wear your seat belts is the moral of the story.

Celebrations in the street

And if you happen to be in the great western part of the city which is like a parallel system inside the otherwise posh and suave metropolis, your jaws will be under Newton’s spell, all the time. Wee hours of the night, boot of a car opened and converted into a makeshift bar and high bass Punjabi music engulfing the airs and a group of charged youth – spiked, turbaned, goateed, pierced and beefed up grooving their hips into a discordant blend of Bhangra, salsa, hip-hop and all possible forms of dance moves is not a very atypical sight. The high pitches of the songs welcomed by loud roars of enthusiasm and the delay between adjacent tracks unwelcomed by shrill hoots. Legends of Nizamuddin Auliya and Amir Khusro and Mirza Ghalib still live here and Dilliwaalahs love their music. And when you happen to cross such a scene, enjoy the music, silently praise the dance and get going. Don’t mess the combination of Alcohol and music is the moral of the story.

The Shiny new Possession

Dilliwaalahs are known for their fine lifestyle. Just one car in the garage is totally middle-class. People here live for luxury and not for bare needs. Survival is for lesser mortals, prosper is the Delhi way. And yes spaces are limited so the same neighbor who comes to your house every Diwali with a gift glittery and shining on the outside and having expensive nuts and chocolates and sweets in the inside wouldn’t hesitate in calling you names if you mess up with his parking space. Fair and Just. Hugs and smiles make everything all right, everyday. And if you purchase something you have all rights to show it off but being blatant and on the face spoils the party, Dilliwaalahs are sophisticated people so they utilize the power of random discussions. So you can blame the government for the bad roads and the pains you take while driving you new Honda city will be perfectly alright. You will invite appreciative glances as well. Or blame the RBI for revising their Repo rates all the times and the way your floating EMI interest for that 3 BHK you purchased in greater Noida for 85 Lacs keeps going up. Leave Buildings and cars, you can even moan about water scarcity and complaint how your expensive imported sanitary fittings have become useless. Likewise flaunt phones, scotches in your bar, salary appraisals, wedding saris and sherwanis. If you can present it in the right way no one minds. So in Delhi, Flaunt is the moral of the story.

Always wise to run away from such scenes

Delhi has always been praised for its Dil – the heart. But there is more to Delhi than just Dil. There are arms, there are legs and of course there is a mouth. In fact on a typical day you get to exercise the last three organs more than the heart. The catch is that you should know when and where to exercise these. Most of the times you need to keep the mouth shut because one slip of the slimy muscle inside it can lead you to all sorts of trouble. Of course you can use your legs to run away or hands to fold and ask for mercy. But if you have other homo sapiens with you who you can trust, you can use your mouth to hurl abuses and hands to punch and legs to stay firm on the ground. In a busy traffic you can again use your mouth to throw abusive words on the pedestrians and motorists to scatter the traffic. If the traffic is not muddled but that idiot is not allowing to you to overtake, you can use your hands to show him the middle finger once you get past him. As you learn the life here you will also become an expert in the skilled use of these awesome organs. So make professional use of your hand, legs and mouth is the moral of the story.

Zero Ambiance,100% taste

Dilliwaalahs love their food too and in Delhi messier the lanes, tastier the food. The Kohli’s, Kakkas, Chawalas and Pammis are everywhere each claiming to be that one famous restaurateur from Old Delhi. One generous meal and you overshoot your calorie limit for the whole week. Paranthas in the Paranthe waali Gali, Street food in Bengali Market, Seekh Kebab and Tandoori Chicken in Chandni Chowk. Forget the butter dripping from the Rotis just indulge into the gastronomic delights of this ancient city. Delhi is more about taste than ambiance and if you are a sucker for ambiance, this place offers you hotels and restaurants that can supply mouth melting delights provided you have enough cement to cover the holes these places would drill into your pockets. Nevertheless, when in Delhi indulge in food without caring for the ambiance is the keyword.

Delhi - you just can't ignore it

Delhi is a confusing place but in that case India is a confusing country. We love to break rules, we love drawing urine maps on the desolate walls and we love staining the public wash basin with Paan and Betel nut jets. Staying in Delhi is like staying in all cities of India together. You have the rawness of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar here, the royalty of Rajasthan here, the eerie silence of Madhya Pradesh and the wildness of Punjab here; you will even find Tamil Nadu in the common law abiding man here and the coolness of Goa in the stylish females here. From English speaking suave youth from south Delhi to the Chaste Punjabi speaking west Delhi guy, from that well dressed guy in Vasant Kunj to that fashion disaster from Trans Yamuna, you have them all here. Delhi for me is the epicenter of all diversities in the world. Women here will pester the street vendor for 10 Rs but will never step into an eating joint which is cheap or is at least close to being cheap. Girls here will mesmerize you with their looks but can deafen you with their decibel rich voice.  People here contradict themselves sometimes for good and sometimes for the evil and this makes Delhi a rough but an interesting place to live in. It’s not easy to hate something or fall in love with something but Delhi will make you love it and hate it every day. From just another city to the place where you live, finally Delhi becomes a state of your mind.

The Rings of Saturn

“So what happened to Hanuman Jee, Shiv Jee and all those deities that we used to worship” I asked out of curiousity. 

“Arre they are still here and are worshipped but Shani Dev is the one who is worshipped the most” The Auto wallah replied.

“Strange..! Anyways drop me here. I’ll call up someone to pick me up” I replied.

“Sure Sir” He said and the Auto came to a halt in no time. I paid the bill and he turned around with a sheepish grin.

I was relatively new to this place, Gurgaon - The Heart of Information Technology in North India. And it was a Saturday. I saw people pouring in the Shani Dev temples on the way with their Audis and BMWs and Beetles parked outside the temples. I also saw beggars, mostly kids roaming around near the red lights with a bucket in hand. Buckets full of oil and inside the buckets there were statues of Shani Dev half submerged in the oil. Being born and brought up in a religious Brahmin family, I have a natural inclination towards religion and spirituality so I was more than happy to drop a coin or two in the buckets but then they were everywhere. The Air-conditioned sedans and SUVs opened their panes and every time a hand came out, a hand with an expensive wrist watch sometimes or sometimes with a gold bracelet or sometimes the hands were bare but the lushness of the hairs on them or just the muscular roundness suggested those belonged to rich men and those rested in pockets which were very deep. Those hands kept on dropping the coins into one bucket and then another on one red light and then another to one beggar and then to another.

I was curious; does this bucket full of oil haunt the possessors of these rich hands? All I knew about Shani dev was that he was the god of planet Saturn, represented the seventh day of a week “Saturday”, and was son of Lord Surya (Sun God) as per the Hindu Mythology. So what’s this Shani obsession with Gurgaon people? No online article could answer my query. I tried asking people, pundits, beggars but they were clueless; all they knew was that people here were obsessed with Shani. Begging in the name of Shani was already a thriving business and the entrepreneurs didn’t care to find the root cause for it.

The answer lied in the behavior of Shani. Shani is the imparter of justice; unlike other gods Shani doesn’t give you health, wealth, success and love. The best Shani can do is to leave you at your current state. If Shani is at his merriest best, he wouldn’t harm you. In smaller towns and villages and places we pray for love, luck, money and sanity and in places like Gurgaon why do we have to pray for staying safe and unharmed?

This answer lied in the richness of Gurgaon. As our wallets get deeper, our hearts become shallower and thoughts narrower. In the quest of money (can be read as power, position, and status) we end up being “Beings”; the “Human” part is a small fee that we have to pay to achieve that being. We conspire at people’s back and don’t hesitate in sticking a dagger right inside the chest of our opponents whenever need be. We call this competition, we call this professional rivalry. Everyone want their silver credit cards to transform into transform into Platinums and Titaniums. Everyone want their passports to get thicker, everyone want their Bikes to convert into Cars, their Shimla vacations to Las Vegas vacations. And we work, sweat, run, type, speak, bitch, fight, conspire, plan and plot to achieve all this. And there is nothing wrong in thinking big or taking a path to achieve the same. But then why does guilt occupy a major part of our thought processes? Why does every beggar in the street with a bucket full of oil and a statue of a deity inside it resemble the messengers of the imparter of justice himself? Why do we embody guilty conscience? Well, this question is still unanswered.

Maybe dropping the coin in the bucket relaxes us momentarily till the time the next bucket marks it arrival and guilt starts knocking our heart chambers again and the process keeps repeating itself. Now when I see oil in the bucket, it looks like the mirror that shows nothing but our face. Shani is not a deity but a mirror that shows us our ugly face and the coin is the effort needed to get that mirror away from us.

The Temple of Liberation

We get pissed, we get excited; we get contented and we get poignant but we Indians know how to give words and voices to our moods. We express the fair, but conceal the dark in any of the four chambers of our hearts or any gray cell in our cerebrums. But we divulge them when time comes and we travel sleeper class and we use their toilets and their walls.

I remember one of the walls shouting at the-then-hot-political-agenda in Maharashtra. Biharis shouting at Marathis and calling them goons and the latter calling the formers outsiders and job-snatchers; a classic tussle scribbled in grimy handwriting. There was a rough caricature of a renowned firebrand politician with a frog like face, hidden behind rimless spectacles and well-gelled hairs combed neatly. There were poetries and shayaris and randomness. Any politician pouring his liquid gold down the drain could have sensed the unrest but they travel first class and use their toilets but not their walls. Their wall is called the Parliament.

We are a sex starved nation. Though Vatsyayan wrote the 1250 verses of Kamasutra in the 2nd century CE for Indians to learn and memorize, But we have continued to enlighten the west and we have continued being the land of snake charmers and Sadhus and Software Engineers and Call centre executives. So Sex is perhaps the least discussed but the most thought over topic in India. We keep concealing it till we find the wall of liberation. So they draw, they write and they croon about their wildest sexual fantasies. The outer guise of a gentleman or rather a pretentious godly creature is flushed down by rusty manual pipe of the lavatory and the gentle, inventive Satan clouds the white walls.

Relationships and breakups are all immortalized in this temple. Love stricken hearts praising their lady loves, one sided lovers writing their undeliverable love letters to the damsels, broken hearts shouting at their once-a-goddess-now-a-whores; Some even making their mobile numbers public, their way of taking revenge banking on the fact that once a urinating deity will read it and impart justice. Fair? Unfair? Their and theirs to decide?

Unpleasant letters to parents, frustration about receding hairline and bulging paunches, complaints about existence and every dark emotion which is not conceivable under the sun finds its mention inside the temple of liberation and its sacred walls which is better selling than the best bestsellers bringing a smile, a frown or any emotion every time a reader reads it.

India is a land of Public speakers and private thinkers. We shout, we fight, we forget. We smile on their faces, we crib at their backs and we love to hold grudges. We are a shining metal pot, but our water tastes of rust, the inners are not that well polished. And when we come to ourselves with no human scent around, we feel liberated. And we shout and cry our worries out. That’s our way of lightening ourselves. A marker and a washroom wall is what we need, the most disgusting civic practice but we love it.

...And we say it's a man's world

It’s so difficult to write about a specie which has over 10000 poems, a million songs and so many broken hearts to its credit. The Internet Search Engine giant Google has made billions because of this specie. Add “Hot”, “Sexy”, “Sensuous”, “Cute”, “Beautiful” and all look good-feel good adjectives to this specie’s name and you get so many results. No prizes for guessing that I am talking about the fairer sex, the Ladies who claim being at the back of every successful man. I am still not sure if “being at the back” act comes first or “a man turning successful”, though If I go by my whims, I support the latter.

Men, by nature of their behavior, style, dressing, talking and eating are simple and if not simple they are pretty effortless. Women have different moods for different occasions. Women persona ranges from a Kid, to a Nanny, to a School principal, to a grandmother and sometimes as weird as a circus ringmaster. And defining on grounds of dressing habit, Girls are complex again. While our sneakers fit in a party, a pub, a discothèque, a long drive and sometimes even with office formals, women bless the occasions with stiletto, High Heel Pump, Low Heel Pump, Ankle boot and Suede Mules respectively(I googled for it)

While Men have a broad classification for food, Vegetarian and Non Vegetarian, and for us breakfast would be a little chicken and meal would be lots of it, Women again have lots of tongue twisters for their food as well. Overcooked, Undercooked, Deep fried, Shallow Fried, Low on Fat, High on Carbs, Mathematics is a good thing to know but why associate food with it? Anyways, to each his own. We prefer drinking at home, why spend five times the actual cost, at those stylish pubs and restro-bars, women love drinking at these high end places and often(always) the smiling man on the other side of the table bears the brunt of it. Smiling, yeah right!

When four men congregate, they talk about sports, when four women assemble, they talk about Apparels and accessories. Men accept compliments very gracefully, Women don’t e.g. – Hey Mr. X you look great today! “Thank you so much mate”. Hey Miss Y you look great today! “What do you mean TODAY?” While men like to read the newspaper in the order of importance, Headlines – Current Affairs – Sports and so on, Women almost always are satisfied with the four page fashion and Trends supplement. Men have a big wardrobe, stuffed with a few clothes but they somehow fit every occasion. Women have big wardrobes, neatly filled with clothes, which when transferred to an Air-conditioned store might constitute a full fledged apparel store, but “I have nothing to wear” is the most common feminine complaint. A man repeats his shirt after every four day, a woman repeats her Top after every four months. Talking about choices Men like beautiful (Just beautiful) women, Women on the other hand like chivalrous, caring, successful, rich, confident, funny, courageous, well mannered good looking men. Well in independent packages we fit the bill but talking in collective terms, this is literally impossible and “Impossible”, for a change this time does not say “I-m-possible”.

But in spite of all these not-so-good traits, the magnetic effect of the fairer sex is unexplainable. Men do cry about the bads that the his love interest might have done to him , but there is no denying that he would still get up and jump headfirst at the next beautiful lady in line. Female gender is a beautiful artwork of the almighty and they make this world a confusing, yet a beautiful place to live. And as the famous quote says “Sure God created man before woman, but then again you always make a rough draft before creating the final masterpiece”

The IT fallacy!!!

Alrite, I take this opportunity of telling everyone that this blog is not meant to de motivate anybody. If you belong to those kinds that base their decisions on Online Articles, this is not at all meant for you. You should probably go for Software Engineering by Roger S Pressman That would be an interesting read.

Yeah, so it emanates in my neighborhood when I overheard two ladies talking. I was returning from my regular Cricket cameo and I was ashamed at this fact that I was hit for 5 fours in an over, the last one being a six and the captain told me to play the Umpire from next game. I was checking my belly, there was no hint of it transforming into a protruding paunch, so why am I supposed to be an umpire. My honest thoughts were disturbed by the talks of two elderly ladies who were talking about one of the girls in the colony getting married to an IT Guy.
Marriages and marriage related talks comprise the major chunk of feminine talks. But whatever I could deduce was that an IT guy is almost a god who earns in millions, lives the lives of nawaabs and never thinks before spending. To a class seventh student, hailing from a small town middle class family, it was more than “Just an Inspiration”. “I can not be a Tendulkar, but can strive hard to become a Bill Gates”, I said to myself. For Indians, as Bata is to shoes, Mr. Gates was for Computers and I am an Indian so very true to the core.
Years passed and every year I tried harder to get into the shoes of Mr. Gates. I was into engineering, Bachelor of Technology in Computer Sciences and Engineering to be precise. The B.Tech course comes with a security tag, that even if you do not know what the word “Technology” means, you’ll always end up in a technical profile. I was an IT Guy now, the man of my dreams. Every father’s pride, every mother’s delight, every neighbor’s envy and yeah the dream man of every beautiful girl. It’s always a great feeling when you start earning on your own.


Entire life, your parents pay for your education, food, clothes and all other basic necessities of your life and in turn take decisions for you, a puny return on their investments and decision making anyways is nothing that bothers an average person who is pursuing the course of his dreams. After you step into “I live on my own” world, the algorithm becomes a little different. You can now take your decisions but then you have to pay all your expenses. The puny return becomes a hefty investment and you get to see the “IT Fallacy” in its true form.

Salary account, yeah the Treasure chest that opens once a month to intake the rewards that we do for the 30(28 or 29 or 31) days empties like a sand glass with a mammoth bore. And since we IT Guys are a bit hi-fi, we always link our accounts with our mobile phones that makes sure that everyday we get a notification of how poor we have become? We work hard and we party harder, but the truth is that the party is mostly out of frustration. I have friends and who start their months with Blue labels and end with 8 PMs, but yeah partying spirit is always there.

Take the IT Guys out of the world most of the Thekaa(Wine Shops) owners in Gurgaon, Noida, Delhi ( and Pune and Mumbai and Bangalore etc) might well start posting their resumes on monster.com. See we IT Guys are not job seekers but job providers. We manage to get a smile from all cigarette shop around, the owners might not know our names, but for them we are “Milds”, “Lights”, “Regulars” and “Strong” brothers. Leave aside the MBA Comrades; we are the true brand managers.


So the Richie Riches(us), wear branded clothes, smoke expensive cigarettes, drink high class alcohol and party in best possible places but always in an insecure state of mind. And the work part, while the developers develop into glorified typists over a period of time, testers become ruthless critics, both trying to outdo each other. Project deadlines, Release dates, Phase-I, Phase-II, Phase-III, while all religions focus on totality, we live our lives in Modules(Can’t help using a technical word). We live a Monday to Friday, This release to that release, Phase-I to Phase-II life. And in between the phases we have cut-throat competitions for appraisals, Promotions and Bonuses.
Marriage, well, that’s an institution that every one has to register with and with that comes a new set of responsibilities. A bachelor can still live in a shady apartment with broken furniture and can use Auto Rickshaws as his Mercedes but a married man can not. So we surrender ourselves to the ravenous wolves (banks) who give us money to quench our short term thirst, but they surely dehydrate the rest of our life with the EMIs. So for an ordinary IT Guy after paying his Home Loan EMI, Car Loan EMI, Personal loan( for every conceivable object under the sun) EMI, his new born baby might well be crying for his nappies. Precisely that is the reason why, we guys bald quickly than anyone else.

Yeah, but we are politically, socially and technically aware mass. We know how to operate the computer, the queer most machine invented by the human being with utmost precision. We have brought the globe at the click of a mouse button. We have brought a whole new revolution to this world and have made it a better place to live. I have full respect for my Banker, Lawyer and government employee friends but we are atleast doing something better than counting someone else’s money, arguing on someone else’s behalf and discussing cricket matches in office hours.