The Great War

“Bhim ! We are leaving for the ashram now”, said Guru Dronacharya once more in his stern voice.

Little boy Bhim paid a bit of attention realizing that he had been addressed, but still did not care much. He was completely occupied with his bow and arrows, clumsily holding a few of them, pointing all in different directions- even unlike a rookie archer would ever hold those.

The guru smiled to see the angered faces of other boys- Krishn, Arjun etc. They were least amused by the entry of a clumsy archer, full 7 or 8 grades behind them, yet not willing to make way for anyone else to take a shot at the target.

Bhim was an outright 'Mace' boy. He could club almost everything with his blows; and God had blessed him with surplus energy for that. But he liked to participate in almost every other sport, whether he was good at it or not.

Archery was forte of Krishn, and Arjun- Dronacharya’s key disciple.

But somehow that day, Bhim had been too eager to demonstrate his Archery skills to his brothers and cousins. The result was a wounded goat, a ruined orchard where Bhim would rush every time to fetch his misdirected bows, and a wasted session for other princes.

But when did Bhim bother for anyone?

Krishn and Arjun were staring at him since a long time now- flummoxed. It was supposed to be their competition day that Bhim had completely ruined and he was still not relenting.

Other kids will surely complain to the elders when they are back and that worried the guru.

‘Bhim, pack up!’ he roared, ‘the cows have gone back home long back. If you don’t start now, we will leave you behind’.

‘Only these few arrows Guruji’, Bhim raised his fist holding the arrows, without bothering to even turn around and face the guru.

Of course he had been saying the same sentence since the late afternoon.

‘Krishn! Arjun! Anyone dare face the greatest archer once more?’, challenged Bhim. His fair face turned red by the rush of blood.

Oh yes! He loved mutton, and that gave him that colour.

He scratched the arm of someone in the process, and that kid looked into the eyes of the guru raising a question or two.

‘Son, it was a session- for Krishn and Arjun- that we came for. They were nice enough to accommodate you despite your uncalled for interest; and look- they still are not complaining. You have had your own sport since years; not happy with it?'

'Guru ji', murmured Bhim.

'It is not in the fairness of good princes to have everything for themselves’.

Bhim knew that, but he still was impatient to hit the target atleast once that day. He feared a terrible time in the ashram, been bullied by the other boys for his stupidity. He still was not willing to accept that his greed had ruined the day for Krishn and Arjun, and so was unnecessarily searching with full gusto to prove a point.

‘But Krishn wanted to play with me’, he explained.

‘Not today! he just didn’t want to dishearten you or be harsh to you. You landed on this pitch uninvited; he just received you with respect and sympathy’.

The Guru gave a big lesson to the small kid in a very polite way.

'Yes! Yes! He has been pampering this dumb boy instead of playing with me', said Arjun in a sudden outburst.

Krishn intervened, realizing that enough was enough and that the guru was not able to tackle Bhim appropriately, ‘Guru ji, may I start with the other boys for the ashram. Guru Maa is waiting for us for Arjun’s birthday feast. If we are late, there might be nothing left for DINNER’.

The last word did the work. Bhim could feel that his tummy was burning with the urge for some yummy food.

Krishn was wise, or the wisest. Dronacharya knew it, but the guru had to have the last word.

‘Kids, when the game gets over, just as the war gets over after the day, the players and the warriors return back. Bhim, let us get back, NOW!!’.

Unwillingly Bhim dragged his feet, to keep pace with the group as they started back for the ashram.

Guru Dronacharya was amazed that he had himself forgotten that it was Arjun’s birthday, while Krishn had not. Krishn had not wished Arjun for the whole day, as they were two warring factions for the day. But he had a certain fondness for Arjun and he never forgot anything.

????

Watched the EURO 2012 final and semifinals (and so also the earlier matches)

It was inspiring to see the smaller Italians outrun the stronger Germans in the semifinal; determination at its best. They fought aggressively for the ball possession everytime the Germans managed to claim it. They certainly won atleast one new fan by football like that (since in my memory from the ITALIA 90 days Italy was etched as a very defensive team).

But it was sad to see the same side against Spain in the final match, where they could not even jog at pace, leave aside running for the ball possession. One could clearly see a very exhausted team from the very first minute of the match. No wonder their heriocs in the semifinal had drained them so much, since they had put more than 100% in the semifinal match.

While everyone is praising the Spanish team, I think Italians were certainly a better team than the 0-4 scoreline of the final suggest.

Just could not resist to write this after watching the replays again of the 2 matches in quick succession on the TV and where the difference in their energy level is so obvious to note. It looks like injustice of some sort.

In any case, Thank You Italy for giving me motivation to write something here. It is not some old memoirs, about the injury gathered at ISB or the school days- but just some rejuvenating football of the semifinal match and some crisp powerful shots of Balotelli.

Like the School, Like the FB !!

I’ve learnt in last 2 years that Facebook is like a school.

The first reason is that all the lessons go over your head. More often than not an average student like I am completes a session confused ki aaj ka lesson tha kya !!

Secondly, like exams in school are never straightforward so also communications of some in FB are always shades of grey. Only God knows why their communications continue to be like puzzles which only the creator can phrase and interpret.

Thirdly, as teachers come uninvited (from the perspective of a poor student like I have been) one by one in a class, unknown people send friend request on FB and then assume role of preachers- and sermon in cohesion/ succession, completely unwarrantedly. I know this is a tricky point because education is important in life, but with communication style as mentioned above, the lessons are all lost in waste.

Lastly, teachers in schools and bin bulaye friends on FB believe in adopting violent means for teaching pupils ‘a lesson or two’. And more often than not when one finds some furious aggressors, one may be completely unaware as to what was the cause of their hostility.

Maths on/ and FB

Have you ever noticed that in a subject like Maths, where most of the problems revolve around finding ‘x’s’ and ‘y’s’, finding that ‘Ex’ does not exist is not the tough nut to crack; it is the ‘why’ that remains the non-solvable part- both in school and in FB.

For example, if x assumes the value x, and x (still) = gloomy faced then finding ‘y’ is the complication; since the value ‘x’ assumes is by its own making, a smiling happy face should not be too much to hope for; or is it? But when that does not happen, you only end up searching y, y, y?

Besides Algebra, FB user also has a fondness for statistics. Messages like, 97.48% users will not post it on their wall, but if you care for Cancer patients- post it on your wall, are offensive. Firstly, these are no genuine statistics and by evening the same person would have put the same statistics for another disease and/ or something totally unconnected. Secondly, these are non-sensitive comments of non-serious people towards the disease, those who are suffering from the same and those working for the cure. Thirdly, such smart @$$&$ try to do some sort of a psychometric test for their fun which is disrespectful to those who genuinely want to support the cause and respond to their posts.

However, while there are a lot of similarities between school and FB, there is also a large difference in the school environment with respect to the FB. While in schools most of the time there is a discipline and code of ethics, the same is absolutely missing in FB. And if you recall, a lot of issues got settled during the recess time in school, the same option is not available on the FB :)

But despite all the handicaps, schools and FB are good social networking institutions. What says you?

Change of Station

I lost all the numbers in my mobile phone along with the phone, once I shifted from Delhi to Kolkata. And my favourite pastime sending SMSs has become more difficult under the changing Government policies.

Now in case, if you are a friend with whom I couldn't talk, while you didn't care to, I can safely say "Looooong Time"

Just to add, if you are doing well and are so happy about it, I am really very happy to hear that; and that comes from the depth of my heart.

And in case if you are not so happy, I am rather sad for two reasons: firstly, that you are sad and secondly, that you did not share if with me.

And so life goes on !!

I'll be in Kolkata during the Durga Puja since a small kid, my junior in service, has happily transferred his protocol related charge to me for these 10 days and left for this long vacation. Happy Durga Puja, May Gods and Goddesses Bless All !!

Memoirs of a lost World

In the morning he woke up by the call of the door bell and sound of someone knocking on the door. He opened the door and found one of the home guards standing along with two boys, one 15-16 years of age and the other around 12 years of age.
‘Saar, I didn’t want to disturb you’, said the homeguard.
‘Ok, but you probably did’, Amit replied.
‘Saar, these boys use to sell milk to Mr Goswami’s phamily’, the guard said.
The boys smiled proudly in a sense of achievement.
‘Ok, then you can continue to sell milk to me also. But what is the rate?’ Amit asked.
‘Sir, Rs 16 a kg’, the elder boy replied.
‘You think I will believe it. You are charging too high’, Amit asked, ‘Sell it at Rs 12 a kg and I will buy it or I will get the packet milk’.
‘Saar, we buy milk at 13 Rs a kgfrom our uncle. And Goswami Sahib used to pay that much only. He didn’t raise the rate even once in last three years. Our uncle gets Rs 14 a kg in the market and the quality of that milk is not as good as we have to supply to the SDO Sahib’, the elder boy gave all his trade secrets innocently.
‘Then I will pay you Rs 14 a kg and nothing more’, Amit said.
‘Sir, my uncle has declined giving milk at Rs 13 a kg any further. Please pay us more otherwise I will lose everything’, the little kid was almost in tears.
‘Ok, tell me honestly, how much you will have to pay your uncle’, Amit said in a stern voice.
'Sir, Rs 14 a kg’, the younger kid replied for the first time.
‘Ok, then I will pay you Rs 15 a kg’, Amit replied.
‘Saar, just think we have to come all this far from that village in the rains. Our slippers get spoilt faster than the money we will save in one month’, the elder one argued.
‘No! You make Rs 30 a month from one house. I will buy a litre of milk every day. At your age I didn’t make that much money. And I hope you study after the morning work’, Amit asked.
‘Yes Sir, but the master rarely comes to the school. We do go to school to play. But how can you drink 1 kg milk alone. How many people are you?’, the smaller kid expressed his concern.
‘’Well I am alone. But if you give good quality milk, I can buy more’, Amit replied.
‘The previous SDO’s family used to buy half a kg of milk for all of them and this Sahib will buy 1 kg milk’, the smaller boy asked the elder boy in disbelief.
‘Don’t waste my time. I will buy more milk if it is good. And I don’t eat fish so I have to drink more milk’, Amit tried to quell his doubts.
‘How can you have your lunch without fish?’ the younger boy was becoming more suspicious of the credentials of the animal he was talking to.
‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’ The elder boy said, ‘Sir, please see that you raise the rate of milk to Rs 16 after one month. You can check that I will bring the best quality milk’,
‘Let me see first and I will measure the quantity of milk myself. I have a measuring litre in the kitchen’, Amit threatened.
‘Throw us out if you get a gram less’, the younger one said taking up the challenge.
Amit realized he had wasted a lot of time in those discussions. In any case, he had nothing else for the breakfast so he boiled the milk and had a glass of it as he got ready for the office. He had no idea what would await him next.

Memoirs of a Lost World

‘You didn’t notice SDO Sahib, that Mahato Sahib did not come back because he has been offended by you’, Dutto said in a hush hush tone as if he was discussing some conspiracy.

Amit, however, was amazed as to how he had offended Mr Mahato; they had been just one or two lines of communication between them.

Possibly, if was that disbelief written on the face of Amit that Dutto could read and explained, ‘See, when you called Mr Mahato as Naren Babu, he was very much taken aback. In Government, Officers are always called ‘Sahib’, the clerks are called ‘babu’. You called a Magistrate as Babu, they could make this an issue with their union. I am telling you this because I know that you are new to this place and I love this subdivision, I don’t want any problem to start here immediately after I leave’.

Amit was aghast with those allegations. He hardly had any intention to offend anyone. But Dutto’s input seemed well intentioned.

Amit was feeling disturbed by that incident. It almost looked as if he had intentionally hurt an old gentleman who had suffered terrible loss of respect by being called a ‘Babu’. All this while Amit had believed that Babu was used to show respect for others; as it looked almost worthless to continue further, Amit decided to take a small round of the building.

Mahato’s room was two rooms next to SDO chamber in an adjoining corridor facing SDO’s chamber,

Amit knocked at the door of Mahato’s chamber. The gentleman looked a bit surprised, and then beamed up after a moment, and said ‘Sir, sir, please come! What may I offer you- tea or coffee?’

‘Mahato Sahib, I thought we would be starting for that visit to the Training Centre’, Amit said trying to make the person feel happy by the use of word ‘Sahib’, just in case if he had some apprehensions by the usage of word ‘Babu’ for him.

‘Sir, sir, I just got delayed for my lunch and these people are here for a hearing in land dispute’, he said, ‘Sir, I will check with Mrs Chakraborty if she is ready to take us to the Literacy Training Centre. As you know sir, these centres are hardly functional, she might have to make some arrangements for your visit’, he said cursorily as he dialed some number of the extension phone.

They had some discussion and then Mahato remarked, ‘All the arrangements are made, she is just coming’.

The lady was already there by then from her adjacent room.

‘Sir, I just got delayed. I had to pull the trainees and trainers out of their residence’, she said with a sense of achievement.

Memoirs of a lost world

The driver had slowed down the car in front of a two storey building, which stood in isolation after a U turn from the main road. However, there was a lot of green around the place and a large part of the building remained hidden behind that. The building was not a huge one, it almost resembled a large house instead of a guest house from outside and the “good caretakers” were taking all the time of the world to open the main gate.

Having received no response to the honking of the horn, the Nariz got down from the car and opened the front gate and the car slowly crawled on the semicircular path between the entrance and the exit gates.

A sleepy looking creature opened the door of the house as Amit entered the drawing room along with the Nazir and car driver.

‘Bishu, saub theek aachhe to?’ Nazir asked the caretaker if everything was fine.

‘Ghaar kaun taa diyecho Sahib ke?’ was the next question as to which room had been allotted to Amit.

The caretaker told that it was room number 3 on the first floor. The next room was allotted to a Secretary who was to come in the evening.

The Nazir was all praise for the building, ‘Sir, this building was to be the residence of the CEO, but he did not come to stay here। So it is used as a guest house- newly built, all new furniture, gates and fittings in perfect shape, neat and clean mirrors…….’

The building almost fitted the bill, but something was missing. That was for sure but somehow Amit could not catch it, so he asked, ‘Why did the CEO not come to stay here?’

‘Sir, this is a lonely haunted place, CEO is a phamily man and so he did not come here. There is no shop in the vicinity, no store; you don’t even get fish and vegetables here. Hardly anyone stays here so there is no functional kitchen in this building’, he informed.

The middle aged man with his teeth all red and decayed by chewing tobacco smiled pleasantly in anticipation of what impact ‘no functional kitchen’ would have on Amit, who preferred to stay quite since he was not sure what impact that would have on him.

As the care taker served the tea to Amit, he murmured in Amit’s ear, ‘Sir, Please tell the Nazir babu to get the dinner sent here as there is no hotel or transport around this place. At night it is even scary to go out’.

That was worrisome, so Amit asked ‘Nazir Babu, how do the guests get the meals here?’

‘Sir, this boy Bishu is very hard working. He will get you whatever you ask him- meals, snacks, bisleri, wine’, Nazir Babu again gave a naughty smile, for he had forsaken any task which could have come his way while Bishu looked in despair towards Amit.

Scribbling on a Lazy Saturday Night !!!

Slept till late hours in the morning . That was the beginning of a much pleasant weekend after spending last one in Office.

With the Corp filing figures’ surpassing last year’s by over 2 lakhs in the Peak Filing months of Oct and Nov, we’ve had a perfect filing spread over these two months which is a great satisfaction.

More importantly, the Project team is great and we have just delivered a perfect text book performance with the system- and the figures justify that. Everyone is gung-ho that nothing untoward happened as in the last 3 years and all the previous filing records have been shattered.

It was a physically exhausting period though, and that is more to do with daily driving and metro travel accounting for over 3 hours a day. Sometimes I worry about the driving part- I believe in safe driving but hate it most when someone breaks the rules and tries to speed past me when I am not in a good mood. A car from the stable of ‘Mustang’ makers and a mad man behind the steering is a terrible combination, unluckily in recent times which has been a routine.

In between, I also suffered from high temperatures and viral fever which resulted in my father land in Gurgaon and I was packed back to home in Agra for a couple of days. Stumbled across an old batch booklet and noticed someone toasting a right turn; sadly we can’t carry the track on the left and people there with us in time, after having taken a right turn.

Also made a small resolution to self (Jan is only a month away) - will not spend as much time on Facebook; and have also started following it.

It was good to see so much happiness come in last few months in life of some of the people I have known- their bundles of joy, their houses, their cars and their better halves.

Professionally, another great project proposal is being worked upon at the very top level and I am making my bit of contribution- keeping fingers crossed and mouth shut at the moment. At least one half of my life is in a picture perfect condition.

Regarding the other half, am learning from others’ actions (Too stubborn to learn from my own). There is a point of time in life when someone else is all yours to lose and often people do manage to achieve that. Sitting beside a storm, only some voices get heard; maybe you are lucky !!!

Memoirs of a Lost World

The interval in the school was over. That is as low a point in a day in School, as any other.

But that day, it was worse! The reasons being, firstly, the Recitation examination was lined up in the next class and secondly, in an unfriendly bout with the rival group, Amit had lost one of the buttons of his shirt, and the shirt was more brown than white now.

People were coming and reciting any one poem out of the three selected for the exam. Amit was fervently trying to learn the smallest poem as the exam continued. His Sir Name had many advantages, to appear last for reciting the poem - as per the alphabetical order- was one of them.

Boys will be Boys!!! Even the person who used to come first in the class was miserable in reciting the poem. English poems were a torture for most, as their vocabulary in that language was THREE strong- a yes, a no and third their own name (which was language "insensitive", we noticed).

We hated girls on the Recitation day; somehow they managed to learn poems too well.

That Recitation Exam day was no different. Little boys were running here and there for protection, which did not exist, until the roll number proceeded and their name was called. However, they were all lucky in a way that the teacher was not asking them to recite the longest poem- a full one pager, until the tragedy fell from the hell.

A young lady had walked down the aisle to the teachers table. She held her palms together at her chest height, bowed before the teacher and before a stunned class started reciting the longest poem. The poem only stopped when the last word had been spoken, without a single error and then she completed the poem with an AMEN.

The entire class was zapped, one full poem!!!! One full poem and AN EXTRA WORD! AN EXTRA WORD, where the hell did she get to read that extra word????

All the little boys were shattered. Their worst fears had come true. The teacher had a mighty praise showered on that girl and then she started asking her other class 3 kids to recite that voluminous poem.

The girl who had completed that poem was a permanent heart burn for the gang of boys. She had also been made the class monitor for one day, just one day. The reason was that the teacher had got too suspicious that the class that made most noise in the school was hers. She had been arguing with the other class teachers that her class monitors, Mr Aziz, one Mr innocent and One Mr Kolhi were the best of all monitors.

We on our part had one of the three of us peep out religiously- out of the class door, and alert the class as soon as the teacher appeared on the turn of the corridor and the thunders would die down immediately. But the teacher decided that it was time she also tried three young ladies for the job.

Somehow, with my limited experience, I have a feeling that the girls have a strong desire to set the things in order and in discipline at the word go. Our new monitor had been too excited at her role and right after the first period of the day when the class awaited the next teacher, she had threatened someone to sit down as he had stood up settling his books.

The poor guy was not even talking and so could not realize that the warnings hurled were directed at him. The monitor had then angrily hurled the wooded blackboard duster at the boy, who being a good player of our team had nimbly shifted aside. The speeding missile had hurt someone else’s head, bounced from there and shattered one of the classroom window panes.

The boy who had ducked was all smiles and stories as to how he had seen hundred enemy horses coming and killed them all. The guy who was hurt and bleeding was cool and calm for the obvious reason that he had a story line and evidences and witnesses to produce before his mother that he didn’t deserve another bashing at home for being punished in the school.

And of all the people on earth, who was crying and raising the sky on her head?? The monitor!! Two neglected boys were comforted by their few team members, ‘well done buddies’ as the whole class saw a yelling young lady being cajoled by half a dozen teachers.

Three monitors lost their first job within hours of acquiring it.

But a Recitation Exam is not a place to take revenge!!! What if eight years from then you would be able to mug up the whole Julius Ceasar and our Hinglish vocabulary would still be three strong, a ‘yes’, a ‘no’ and our name. But we would still deserve mercy and respect! And for sure hitting a man below the belt is unethical.

The boys were hurt, emotionally hurt. One Long poem recited correctly, folded hands, a bow and ONE EXTRA word, it is almost blasphemy.

Amit had lost all hope that day. He had, on that rare occasion, even given up hope of being able to learn a couple of paragraphs of the smallest poem to manage a 4 or 5 out of ten.

That day, his roll number had finally come. The teacher had also given him a choice to recite ‘ANY’ poem, but the colour of his shirt and the missing button had diverted her attention.

‘Ye kisne kiya’, she had asked.

‘Us kutte ne’, the student had eagerly replied pointing to someone, expecting some justice from the teacher.

The teacher had just slapped ‘DO futte’ at his bottom and asked him to go and sit back on his chair and speak no further (Lucky Naa) .

The boys were confused as to what had gone wrong for their friend to deserve those ‘Do futte’. But they were intelligent boys, so they had concluded that it was clear that the teacher was Mommy of that ‘&*%’ who had broken the shirt button otherwise why should she beat Amit instead of her own son.

They were so happy with that discovery. If your biggest enemy has your class teacher as his mom, how miserable his life would be.

So they had decided, they were all winners at the end of the day!!!