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!!!

Gwalior visit

From Jai Vilas Palace

Sun Temple Gwalior

What should someone who is outstation and travelling 20 days in a month do when he gets a 3 days break for Christmas?

I think he should travel some more. Hence, this vist to Gwalior and a few photographs from there.

The Archeology Museum in Mriganayani's Palace

Buddhist and Jain Rock cut caves in the hill

Gujari Rani (Mrignayani) Palace and fort above.

Man Singh met Mriganayani (his ninth wife) in a hunting expedition, where she saved his life. One of the terms of the marriage from the lady was that she would drink water from her forest river only. A canal was dug till the foot hill and hence her palace here while the main fort is visible at the hill top.

View of Gujari Rani's Palace from the Fort above.

Open Air Hall in Man Singh Palace.

The Pillars behind had oil lamps lit for the night, the screens had hundreds of glasses stuck and so the place would brighten up due to reflections in the night.

Music Hall (8 Screens above for 8 Queens)

Man Singh Palace








From Jai Vilas Palace

From Jai Vilas Palace

From Jai Vilas Palace

Rani Laxmibai's Samadhi

Tomb of Gaus Mohammad

Tomb of Tansen

One has to visit the Gwalior Fort and the ruins that lie therein with a learned guide to feel the pulsation and vigor of the love story of Man Singh with his ninth wife, the rustic ‘Mriga Nayani” who had killed a wild buffalo to save a stranger who happened to be the king.

Love, War, Jauhar- It’s all written there in these buildings, which themselves are in a most undesirable state of preservation under the ASI.

Despite being only about 120 kms from Agra, I had not been to Gwalior city before. I discovered it to be a must visit place with its beautiful buildings and sad stories around those.

Rebuilding the structures

There was a new arrival in their Colony and also in their team. But he was irritating at times. He could never stop comparing Amit with some Sikandara from his previous place, Nai Ki Mandi.

He plays Cricket like you, so also foot ball, and also Badminton………. And also ……..

These issues need to get sorted out fast. A match got fixed and the teams clashed. Sikandara was valiant on the football field but he lost as a leader. He was the only good player in his team and they got slaughtered in no time.

His team got added to the list of the defeated teams that included boys from the refugee Colony, the teams next to the big field (which were perennial competitors to get the central pitch of the field), team from the back rows in the colony, team from the double storey quarters and so on.

One of the team was difficult to beat. They lived close to the police lines; they played as reserves to the training policemen and had bigger boys on their roll. That football match was played over 90 % in Amit’s half. The Center forward was playing in the defence, just to stop that flood gate to open on their goal post. They ran and ran like dogs in the first half and were down 1-2. The second half would have been a massacre.

But there were two saving graces. First, two teams had only one watch, and the person from Amit’s team who had the watch was also the extra player they had, so he was made the unwilling referee. Second, the opponent’s 10 men were in Amit’s half- each realizing an opportunity to become a hero by shooting into the goal. Even 10 men in Amit’s team were defending the goal, the eleventh standing in front of the rival goal- too tired to run back to defend his goal post.

OK that should be an off-side, but if the referee is yours and too busy in your half- the match moves on. In a span of three to four minutes, the football was kicked full blooded from the defending side to the other side and twice, the dead man kicked the ball and beat the goalie both times.

The referee was smart and soon blew the final whistle. The loosing team kept complaining that the second half was too short but who cares, the match was won. The winning team kept lying all over the field, too happy and too exhausted to walk back.

Growing boys, atleast some of them, are like warriors. They want to increase their territory, their area of dominance. When the leader of the other area gets beaten, the whole team surrenders. If their best can’t fight they can’t even stand.

But that was a different age when boys got worried, if they read that Bruce Lee had strong muscles when he was 12 and wondered if 14 years is too late to be not that strong. So they doubled their pushups.

Though some people grow up planning to be all conquering emperors, their teachers would blandly disagree, “His bother getting into IIT is fine. But him!!!! Hmmm………….Every child is different!!!”

But accidents occur in life. Amit never realized how he got the third rank in School in Board- a decent recognition. He changed his school as he did not take registration fee and then everything changed.

But, that desire to expand the dominance keeps burning. People may get into the civil services, just with the belief that they would fight everything wrong and change the systems. They could take a strange job in a B-School, believing they would build a new corporate empire where their friends could join them.

But time teaches the futility of the desire to grow beyond reach. It takes time to realize that it is not their fault if they couldn’t make an empire; this is a different age, a different time. No more when 14 years old were taken as kings- for a 5,000 strong city town to become part of history- because they were the best or atleast good.

But the lost years do teach a lot. The value of a vacation spent with parents in hill station during the summer vacations, which never came back in mighty offices and positions. And the immeasurable wealth of being close together as a family during the festivals; of having someone next to you when you are unwell, sad, lonely or disheartened. One gets to start loathing the fights fought all alone, for things no more important.

And then having already walked a long way on that road one could feel it just worthwhile to search for a true friend and nothing else; someone who could be close in every moment of life. One who could plan a track for the next summers, someone who could discuss the rhyme of the next lines in the poem, or prepare a new album of the stamps and coins collected over years, or prepare a cup of hot coffee on a winter evening as they watch the lights in the city from the balcony while the light music plays, or maybe even help focus the star correctly in the telescope.

For no money can buy joy as much, no conquest could be as powerful. Only experience tells what to fight for and what to let go; and when the horizon of action tries to touch the sky and when it tries to fit in a small home.