Memoirs of a lost world

There was no truck visible on the road for over an hour. The office staffs knew what had happened! They were aged clerks who had come all the way to the check post, 11 pm at night and 30 km from city, to issue the receipts of Motor Vehicle Tax collection.

The Officer in Charge of the local Police Station was sitting on the front on his jeep, obviously disrespectfully to the ADM, smoking like ‘Rajnikant’.

Someone murmured, ‘Sir, police has passed the message about the raid to the trucks and dhaba owners along the road’

‘I know’, Amit replied in disgust and asked everyone to get back on the vehicles, ‘We will move ahead of the check post to the state border’ he said.

Everyone understood that the decision was to go to the place where the ### check posts had been blown away in bomb blasts a few months back and Naxals often attacked the Government vehicles.

After a few kilometers, the trucks started becoming visible, locked and parked on two sides of the road. The drivers would be having their late night entertainment in the neighbouring villages, as the official quest to reach the revenue target continued. Soon the Sal forest area started along the road. Here, there was no truck, no habitation, no light, only dense forests on two sides and sounds of crickets.

‘This area cannot have mobile telephone network’, Amit thought.

One of the jeeps was stopped in the middle of the road to block the passage. All the other vehicles were parked along the side, all lights off.

Soon lights of mobile vehicles appeared from a distance. They gradually came closer until the first Truck stopped slowly next to the jeep with over 8-10 trucks behind it; late night they invariably travel in convoys. The driver was trying to stare in the dark to see if it was an accident. The whole team, of babus and amins and the police men collected from the District Head quarter surrounded the trucks. The truck drivers tried to assess, who those people could be. Whether their convoy had more men or the unexpected raiders outnumbered them.

‘Police, Police’, one of the Babus shouted to inform that it was ‘Government’.
The Motor Vehicle Inspectors started confiscating the documents so they could be checked at the check post. A simple, may be not legal, way to get the documents inspected as legally they never stop at the check post. They just fly off. One of the drivers refused to surrender the documents and bolted the door from inside. It was obvious that he would incur a fine above 50 thousand or he wouldn’t contest like that.

‘Desi tactics’ were adopted, the glass window was broken with a stone and the driver pulled out after unlocking the door. He came out reluctantly, raising a ‘humkara’ or a war cry. That meant a call to the other drivers to come out armed.

‘Teri *&^ $$ ’, almost everyone in the team responded with a louder shout. People knew that it was no more a Motor Vehicle inspection. It was a war and one had to fight to survive.

The talwaar that the driver was carrying was snatched, many people held him and he was bashed immediately and overpowered to send the message right.

The trucks behind were still in confusion due to the darkness of the forest, as to what was happening. It meant that the trucks’ continued to come on the road and their column was building up. The Government team hurriedly moved ahead confiscating the documents of as many trucks as possible.

After sometime Amit turned back, he realized that the lights of the first truck which was stopped appeared really far off now.

No more risk. His team was getting scattered in ones and twos on each of the trucks. They were certainly less in number now.

There was immediate call in local language to fall back with whatever documents they had collected. It served the purpose as the trucks were from North India and they couldn’t understand the local language. People started returning back with the documents collected. The driver of the first truck was made to sit in the police jeep just as a ‘ransom’, so that the other trucks also follow.

Each vehicle was asked to count every head they had come with. One doesn’t want a dead body of a Government employee to be recovered from the forest next day.

Gradually, the forests reduced. The only risk left now was once the vehicles cross the region of hundreds of trucks parked en route to the check post. What if they stopped Government vehicles? Trucks on long routes are invariably armed.

Hooters of all the vehicles were turned on along with the Red Lights for whichever vehicle had it to give an impression that it was the convoy of Defense Minister of Mars.

Slowly that area was also crossed with confused onlookers contemplating whether to attack Government vehicles or to allow them to go. The hooter of three- four vehicles is loud enough to create suspicion in anyone’s mind. They had no clue that the clerks from the Collectorate were sitting in the vehicles.

Raid got over. All vehicles were back. Head count was done once again. Everyone was back.

The OC of the PS was still sitting on the front of his jeep. He looked utterly shocked.

Now even ‘his’ own men were not under his control. The Sepoys were hugging each other. They were enthralled, damn excited, shivering in the cold as they shook hands with the clerks and car drivers. For some time, there was no line department there was only one victorious army and the tension was refusing to die.

The drivers of the vehicles with documents just confiscated had started to come and were depositing fines. Someone had started preparing tea in one corner of the ‘official and authorized’ checkpost.

Total revenue collection was Rs 6 lakhs plus for that raid.

To count 50!

I’ve come so far this year, 47 mails till yesterday, despite many of the mails which were posted at some point of time having been removed for various reasons.

Somehow, an idea struck that why should I not try to reach the half century. Though time is less for 3 more mails, it is worth a trail and why not? This being 1 of them.

The past year 2008 was not an ordinary year to almost everyone who was here in this small world of ours.

We saw the world order changing, quite a bit, with over weighted systems cracking down under their own weight. We saw traditions in Finance and Business overwhelmed by the tide of time, after more than a generation had gone by believing that the world stood on those pillars.

There was fear, there was anger, there was disgust, and there was hatred while there were also some rays of hope for some of us. And amidst all this chaos- which forcefully dissected our lives and left an impression that will last for years, if not till the time we live- there were we trying to protect some space for ourselves.

In this year of turmoil, as individuals, we were- or atleast I was- trying to pull the threads of our lives in one place and put the particles of dust in place, to be, the islands that we are supposed to be.

I wish and hope that in the New Year, our world moves for a better tomorrow. Hope there is clarity in our minds, hope the fear in our mind does not force us to hit at the hand that comes ahead to help us. May God bless us.

3 decades later

In the week just gone, he had completed his third trial to get across the main gate of his house by climbing its top to go out and buy a kite. Second trial was a grand success while the first and third were disasters. From the top he had landed heads down and bled badly.

That day the small kid was standing next to the entrance door of his house as he waved to his friends. It was the month of December, year 1978, and he was to join the school of his elder brother from next day.

His mother was very happy; the news of admission of the kid in a reputed school had just been communicated by his dad. His elder brother always stood first in his class in same school. That had paved the way for the admission of the younger sibling; otherwise, admission during the mid session in a convent school is impossible!

‘They admit children older than 4 years only during the regular session itself, so I had to …………’, his father was expressing hesitatingly.

But that had been happening in all the schools they had tried for admission, so it was understood. This urgency had come up only recently as the mother of the child had been appointed a lecturer in the university and had to join immediately.

They knew that the kid was a bit (just a bit) naughty and if both parents worked in university, leaving him alone at home, it could mean more problems. So the admission meant a safe home for the kid.

But the first day in school for the kid was not so good. The Aaya had taken him to the first seat in the class; he was so small for the size of other kids in the class. But other kids are possessive of their belongings, all the fronts seats were occupied for six months now. He had been driven away from the first seats to second row, from there to third and finally to the last row of three empty seats.

He had walked to a see-saw, designed like a boat, on the side of the class and wept nonstop.

That was clear cheating. He always had cried when bhaiya and didi went to school on their rickshaws. He wanted to accompany them on the rickshaw. But bhaiya had dropped him here, at the door of this class and disappeared!!!!!!!!!!

‘Bhaiyaaaaaa…….’, he cried; the more he thought of his elder brother, the more inconsolable he was. Where is his brother? Why are they not sitting together when he had come all the way with his brother? It seemed, his brother had left him there forever and forgotten him forever.

He wanted to go back to home. But the Aaya was trying to get him off the see-saw and get him back to his seat. Everyone in the class was laughing.

For some time everyone croaked something behind the teacher, he didn’t know what? He had again burst into tears and everyone had again laughed at him.

Finally the class of the smallest kids in the school had got over.

The second day in the school was better, there was a PT class and the class had gone to a playground. Each kid knew his place in the queue as they walked holding the shoulder of the kid in front. Since the last kid did not like a smaller kid to hold him from the back, he declined to forego his coveted last position in the row.

So be it! Be it! He had walked all alone as a jealous class had watched him.

As the teacher missed him all together, while the class was made to sit in one place in circles, he played around the entire field. He played with bigger boys and girls of other classes, who were allowed to play on their own. What was even better his brother was there with all his friends. And as usual, slightly elder girls started behaving grand-motherly to the young kid.

‘Ye bhi apni class mein first aata hai kya?’ and ‘Ye khata kya hai?’ were two memorable questions.

But that half an hour was too short and the classes had fallen in their queues to start for their classrooms leaving the smallest kid decked at the highest slide in the ground (and sadly being noticed by his teacher also).

He was asked to slowly slide down, then there was ‘Chooha bhaag billi aayyi’ played between the kid and the class teacher which the teacher lost and so she finally resorted to violence. As the chooha was being mauled by an angry cat, he had happily bitten her arm to escape her claws.

It seems all the young teachers are fascinated by bandits and dacoits, even that class teacher was! She had proclaimed that the kid would ‘Bada hoke Daaku banega’.

Leaders are born!!!! They are never made!!!. That day an undisputed leader was discovered by Class Nursery D of St. Francis Convent School, Wazirpura Agra. People look forward to their leaders; for all the schooling years to follow his class looked backwards, towards the last seat of the class, with respect and reverence.

That day his ‘bhaiya’ had been called back from his class to get his younger brother back to the Nursery class, since the teacher and staff had failed to lure him back into the trap. Bhaiya had borrowed money from his two friends to buy two candies for his younger brother.

Next day parents were summoned. They had simply lied that their son was not spoilt and that he would not become a ‘Daaku’.

The story almost ends here. The records that got the kid admission in school never changed. He became a Daaku, almost! But, he would never have become what he could, had he not been asked to compete with bigger kids and better them. There is joy hidden in the biggest pains in life, you only need to have an eye to search for it.

Amidst Cold Deserts

I’ve travelled to almost 20 plus states in India and may be more than 80 districts. While almost every place has its own unique characteristics, there is one place which I feel the word unique can’t describe.

The place is a cold desert, where we had travelled from the bordering state. They say that the other route from the state capital is very picturesque but it was considered unsafe. We could have taken a flight, but for the experience of life- shear luck- hadn’t.

As one leaves the lush green hills of the bordering state the vegetation gradually becomes sparse. And so does the habitation and population. And then those tracts begin amidst high and barren mountains, sandy in colour but rocky in constitution. Innumerable small temples like structure seem to guard the route (located in strange and far off points on the hills). I don’t know what they mean! Remembering some God, some beloved or something else? And then gradually even those disappear and so do the thousands of flags around some forlorn monasteries.

For hours one travels in emptiness and monotony, almost barred and banished of all actions in life. A casual look outside the window to see the unbounded depth below could send chill down the spine. It feels as if one has moved far away from the earth to an unforeseen land, may be the heavens, but with all its habitants having being disbanded to some other land already.

As a belief sets in that the cold barren sandy mountains are forever, one might cross over a small bridge interlinking the passage across the mountains with a deep valley beneath.

When the Purple night begins to set, the habitation and shelter remain undiscovered. Under a Purple sky, millions of silent stars mourn some silent secret buried within their heart, with chilling cold in the air- a few tents of ITBP could be the last hope. ‘Not here but there, boulders roll down from heights around this place’, someone might say as you carry your shivering body ahead.

Next morning, the voyage upward continues to a distant land and at times one might feel that this unending journey is the only reality of life, in this or the next world. The hustle and bustle of the world- the illusions of life of the mortals- one leaves behind and begins to forget. The hollowness and emptiness of one’s soul, this journey personifies.

And then a rare sight of a yak, the last living thing left on the earth after the Day of Judgment or a pair of horse playing with the soul mate and trying to recreate the world, oblivious of anything in their territory, triggers a ray of hope- there is life beyond.

In the journey one could halt at a monastery; the architecture, the material of construction, the collection of the sacred scriptures- everything is a curious difference in itself but without the exception of solitude and dreariness. But what is more striking on the expedition is whatever few faces one crosses are without an inkling of expression.

Was I there? Am I visible? Or am I a soul already- a ghost invisible. The absence of life and abundance of fears unknown- of death or God or nature or the enemy whosoever wiped out life of those tracts and in whose reverence those stone faced bodies bend innumerable times- one begins to feel its omnipotence.

One reaches the highest of all the high passes, with black stone hilly tract in the adjacent areas and the contrasting white lime formation, which is desolate as everything else. It could remind of the pieces of white and the pieces of black in our soul, in its solitary existence.

But at some point in eternity, the action would restart somewhere- a few more vehicles, a few more monasteries and an unknown person rolling those cylinders with their magical chants engraved. Or to break the spell, to wake you from the eternal sleep- a resonation deep sound of some instrument would come. What would still draw your attention is that even that haunting sound touches some corner of your heart- still dormant and unexplored.

And every bare hall of the palaces once adorned would remind you of the ephemeral nature of youth, wealth, power, lust, greed and arrogance. Of wars that took place, of sabotages that occurred and of the era bygone; of our momentary lives and our eternal struggles; of fleeting opportunities and our ever continuing blunders; our seemingly misplaced belief of unwavering occupation and the truthful emptiness of everything that surrounds us and within.

One could also bring a few lapis lazuli, or Iranian Turquoise, some curios of yak bones, a few metal wares, some glimpses of nature’s beauty- pristine but sad.

One could also return richer in wisdom if one learns how solitary the soul is in its long journey. At some moment the realization strikes and sinks in that the life is short and physical and worldly gratifications transient. There is something beyond the outward attractions, some ‘gunas’ or skills, something which takes us closer to our inner self, our soul. And there are interactions, beyond physical, where that ‘guna tatva’ meets its expectation and a ‘wow/ really brilliant’ impact is felt.

There is no harm in appreciating that, there is no infidelity in that, no shame either. Because that is when a soul is interacting with another soul, the way it interacts with nature and may be unison could be longer- one never knows because that is unexplored.

We might then unknowingly be exploring ‘life’ amidst our existence in the ‘cold deserts’; our soul may be attempting to build relations which 'we' could not.

The Things that are happening

(i) SEA Shores were ever so porous- There was a coolie who used to work on a dock yard. With assistance of an upcoming politician, he smuggled some textile machines that produced cloth at speed 10 times faster than the existing machines. Since the import duties were about 500% then, buying and importing the new machines was almost impossible. Both the smuggler (industrialist thereafter) and the politician became icons in their fields.
In the times of increasing corruption at the top levels, paupers became kings in no time and there were so many of them.
However, old habits die hard. From land, to electricity, to water, to security, to roads, they still looked towards the Government for everything while their Accountants worked over time to dodge the taxation agencies. They and their children thus became amongst the richest people in the world while the average (honest) Indians slogged to make a decent living (and many a times for them). The channels of media, feeding on their money, provided precious place to them covering invariably every alternate day a new ‘riches’ rankings.

(ii) This elite gang of neo riches gambled in Las Vegas, lived in London, vacationed in Bahamas, shopped in Paris and F%^*ed in Seychelles (ok sorry, just had business meetings and networking with models), but until one day when fate caught on them at the ‘Taj’.

Then, the ‘conscience of the nation’ was “beaten” to come to life through ‘their’ media and for a change some men in khaki were treated like martyrs and got the respect they deserved (they did deserve it but so did their other brethren who were dying every day in mine explosions in Jharkhand or Chhattisgarh but for whom not a single tear was ever shed).

It was evident that people ‘who mattered’ were panicking as they saw and heard of death of people ‘they’ knew. Death had never been so close. For if it had happened to one of them, it could also happen to anyone of them.

For first time, they saw from close what was happening to the people working in the Naxal affected districts for poll duties or for imposing law and order- for years running now.

In contrast, for years the elite had been unscathed as they didn’t travel by train and they didn’t shop in crowded roadside markets. If ever they were forced to buy something in India, Taj and its luxury branded shops was the place! You know!

But once the incidents happened in the Mumbai Landmarks, the news paper columns were being filled, page after page and page after page.

(iii) That was a strange country. The batch of brightest of the bright people, some 50 people now, had an average salary of Rs 24,000 per month after 9 years of service. They ‘were’ the cream of a nation and their head- at the peak of his career (or verge of retirement)- had recently been valued at a salary worth Rs 100,000 per month which was less than the least salary amongst the new joiners in the corporate world- a batch of 425 from a renowned B-School.

To be blatantly honest- the batch of 425 of ‘would be corporate leaders’ had not a single JEE 100 types (leave aside single digit rank holders) and had never cleared a Prelims or a CAT. Yet they had an average salary of Rs 160,000 per month.

It was indeed good that at least some people in the country were prospering but what was a cause of concern was the high pitch groans that the industry had produced when the Cabinet Secretary of India had been proposed a salary of Rs 100,000 per month.

Group loyalties are obvious.

While ‘the young ones’ in the corporate were doing their bit of service after the Mumbai mayhem, from lighting candles to shooting angry mails against the red tape and bureaucratic hurdles- one should be informed that inhuman pay package to the best in the country is like a cosmetic face chopping the limbs, the heart and the head in the body. It is outrageous and outright stupid. A corrupt bureaucrat suits a bloody politician, it doesn’t suit a Nation.

(iv) Every coin has two sides. The fear is genuine that the act of ten mad men could motivate so many more brainless fellows like them, and the situation may aggravate in the days to come.
But the other side is also true, the crises is of our own making. The policeman is still armed with lathi! If 1 man in 10,000 has a bullet proof vest, it is a third class one; something similar to the Night Vision Device on the LoC in Kashmir.

Though the choice is still open to us.

We sang laurels for Privatization when the revenue earning departments were snatched from the Government. Now from the money made, business houses sitting on piles of dollars should dole out some and privatize the internal security of the country (or atleast within their organizations). It will generate new jobs, and provide better trained staff armed with better equipments.

My feeling, however worthless, is that this is high time that the industry (where the money is) takes some responsibility. The amount spent in one evening on an individual in a cocktail party at Taj could buy a good weapon for a policeman. One ‘Corporate strategy and brain storming session’ for 1 head in Goa, can buy a good bullet proof jacket or a night vision device for people whom we call for to lay their lives for us. (The other option is to spend that money on the marriage of the daughter of CEO.)

Benefits should not stop at the advocate of beneficence; it should also trickle down to the person next in the line.

Governments today are stark naked of resources to even pay the salaries of the left over employees, clearly internal security is beyond their agenda. Raising the issue of spending resources on the security of politicians is like entering into an infinite loop, because as the masters of the present system- they cannot be expected to finish themselves (however worthless they may be though). We have to work on implementable solutions.

(v) But are the people really bothered (or just smartly led into some fit of anger and made to believe they matter when they don't)? Or this hue and cry is intelligently being created by some politicians and their business partners as an occasion to settle some old scores?

STRANGE COINCIDENCE! The first head that rolled was of the person who was a long term target of the people who pump their money (and make many times more) in running dance bars (and in all the ‘legal’ businesses done from thereof).

But these are unending debates, you know as well as I know. Unless some sincere steps are taken (beyond the superficial ones) chances are high that the story of lapses might become so common that there will be few viewers interested to see the live telecasts in days to come.

Or maybe you and I are like the rats dancing to the tune of a Pied Piper, we shiver with fury when they play some music, we shiver with remorse when they play another tune. Who knows? For like you, I am as sad and as disillusioned with the things that are happening.

Some past in the present day

(i) That was a small batch of 53. It had a IITD Computer Science Grad (JEE 29) and captain of IITD Cricket team, another IITK Computer Science Grad who was captain of TT, Cricket and Badminton teams of his IIT, another IITD Grad who was the captain of the Badminton team, two National Debaters, toppers of one prestigious law school and many more toppers from their departments in IIT’s and JNU and other universities.

The country had taken them for service, from almost 300,000 applicants, at the salary of Rs 8000 per month. There was only one person amongst them with almost no genuine skills, hardly any past accolades, yet even his parents loved him from the depth of their heart.

(ii) During the Army attachment, there was a post on the LoC in Kashmir, where he happened to meet and mix with the jawans, as they laid in the bunkers night after night and see the tracer bullets fly over their head. They played with the ‘Night vision devises’ which showed nothing beyond a few meters while the news was confirmed that the enemy had imported devices that could see for kilometers.

Gradually he began to see how difficult it was to get a leave for any jawan- until the news of passing away of mother of one of them had arrived. The war hardened soldier had broke into tears and cried inconsolably and one saw in him a little kid, 3 to 4 year old, struggling to cope with his memories of that age with the helplessness of today, his duty.

Gradually the soldiers had found one like themselves in him and had confided so many things “We used to get two sets of shoes a year earlier but now only one set is given. (Someone sitting at the top is stealing the other pair of shoes). It is ok when we are on the border but when we go to home; it feels bad to go back in torn shoes”.
He knew that back home people are looked as heroes in their homes and villages.
Just for your information- the jawans were paid Rupees 5000 per month. But most people in Government job in his country don’t live for money, they live for their pride.

Jawans are brave and proud men; they continue in torn shoes on the snow capped mountains for two years and go back to their villages, whenever they get leave, in brand new shoes saved for the occasion. It is more about the pride and prestige of a family! The parents, the wife and the kids can live in pain of separation for two years, but for those 10 days of togetherness, they want everyone to know- they are part of the life of a hero.

(iii) Why only the men on the border alone?

He had been part of the teams where men had to stand on the road, their arms held up signaling to stop the fast approaching speeding truck, to complete the annual revenue quota for the district. This happened as the people in power did not approve mechanical check posts for fleeing trucks that evaded taxes (and became rich in the process) while they happily increased the revenue targets. There were close shaves for some, others were not so lucky. Someone was ran over, some jeeps were hit by the trucks, from the adjoining pond what came out was a mangled vehicle, two wounded men and two dead bodies.
In their country everyone loved festivals, except for the same police constable who people said they saw taking bribe from a tempo wala on the main crossing in the city. The constable did not like festivals because when people celebrated one festival after other in the warmth of their homes, closeness of their near and dear ones. He was asked to do law and order duties- with his lathi- day and night, with no leaves on any festival. From Durga Puja, to Diwali to Id to Christmas to Holi, one thing was permanent- his duty!
The constable was paid Rs 4000 per month in salary in the yet continuing Fifth Pay Commission in most places, Rs 65 worth of an annual increment in salary and yes, Rs 75 worth of festival allowance.
In growing discontent against the system- in state after state, the constables and the officers were being blown away by land mines and police stations were being burnt to ashes.

(iv) None had cared! The space given to them by the news paper- the beacons of national awareness- was less than the news for electrocution of a buffalo or the nth divorce and rth extramarital of some bitchy international celebrity. (Why International alone, a class of neo riches has emerged in India in last ten years who want to beat the world in all standards of perversions. OOOcch…..who am I to preach on morals? We are matured society!!!! Sorry to all! Please carry on with the L%^^ and G^& stuff with the same enthusiasm and fill pages after pages of your semi porn national news papers with that)

Anyway the poor constables and their dead bodies and their widows lost their place from the newspaper, from the national conscience and from my writing. But atleast one is within my control and so I will try to pull it back on track.

We saw the American Centre happen in Kolkata, hapless men fell to the bullets from the best international guns. We read much news, about the explosions in the railway platforms and people dying in burning trains, but nothing happened.

I correct myself, that became a habit and the initial rhetoric declined and people took it as parts of their lives and the Government compensation also declined or disappeared.

(contd.- but you would be disappointed even more)

Memoirs of a lost world...

He had wanted to have a Rottweiler as his pet. After a long wait the pup had been searched for and bought, though it was still with the Vet who had helped to find a pure pedigree.

However Amit was getting restless that there had been no opportunity to leave the Head Quarter and to go to Kolkata to get his pup to his town, some 800 km from where it was now.

One of his BDO wanted a leave for two days to go to his home and offered to get the pup while coming back. Amit had agreed.

After two days, the BDO and his Sabhapati were coming back from Kolkata and Amit eagerly awaited their arrival. But they were not giving any clear message. ‘Sir, you may return the puppy if you don’t like it’, was what they communicated, nothing less nothing more.

Their jeep had just arrived in the portico and Amit couldn’t resist welcoming the new little friend, though he was anxious if everything was ok or not.

The Sabhapati and the BDO got down from the jeep without the pup. They were smiling awkwardly.

‘Where is the pup?’ Amit was anxious.

‘Gadi te Aache, Saaar’, the Sabhapati replied. He was an old man, still very active though. He had more officers like capabilities than like that of a politician. He had participated in activities ranging from ‘Road widening drive to Pulse Polio drive to an assumed magisterial duty during law and order incident involving multiple rounds of firing.

This should not happen one would say but in that block office who is the BDO and who is the Sabhapati was difficult to say as they sat on same side of the table, stayed in the same house and had same approach to life.

As Amit tried to search around the seat if the pup was there, the Sabhapati giggled, ‘Saar, driverer seater niche theke takaachhe’, pointing to a small pup peeping from beneath the driver’s seat.

That was not even close to a Rottweiler!!! Amit had felt so disappointed

But!!! ……………. Amit noticed there were two of them. From behind the first hairy and grayish pup, a jet black face was also peeping, its nose visible clearly.

As Amit moved forward, the nose disappeared while the hairy pup wagged his long tail.

As Amit tired to gently lift the pup, the pup gave a jump in the air interpreting the support as a go ahead for the jump.

Amit almost had a heart attack to see the height from the ground and the stupidity of the pup, it would have hurt itself. But it was a brave pup, which delighted Amit.

The reaction was spontaneous, ‘woooshhhh……., and caught in the air, the little fellow!’

‘Ettaa ki! Amit shouted at the BDO explaining his disappointment that there was no Rottweiler.

‘Saar, o kukur ke kaun-o Major niye geyeche. Daactaar ke taaka-o daay ni’, BDO explained that someone from Army had taken the Rott and had not even paid for it.

The pup was tumbling as it tried to straighten its legs on the ground and Amit tried to support it.

The BDO was cajoling, ‘Saar, aapni chinta korben naa. Aamraa firut feliye aasbo kukur ke. Ek poisha-o deete hobe naa. Daaktar ke aage he boliye asechi. Saahib ke bhalo naa laagle firut neete hobe’

Amit understood what might have happened. The smart BDO and his friend Sabhapati must have thought that Amit would not be able to differentiate between the breeds and they would wash off their hand by delivering anything non sense.

But the expression on the face of Amit said all, so the Sabhapati tried to do the damage control. ‘Saar, aar ek ti kukur aache gaadi te………. Kaalo ti! ………….Dekhun, otaa bhaalo laagte pare. Ekdum baachha aachhe, ek maas o hoye ni’.

Amit was upset. But still had to drag out the other fat pup who was trying to hide itself under the seat; a typical habit of the young pups, until they become confident of the outside world.

Unlike the other pup which was barely one and a half kilogram, this so called younger pup was very heavy and Amit could hardly support the fat tummy on his palm and placed the pup on the ground.

The BDO took out a box of dog biscuits. ‘Sir, eta phree diyeche daaktar’.

Some milk was poured in a pan and some biscuits were mixed to that. Even by the time the hairy pup could realize that the food was meant to be eaten, the fat black pup had gulped it all in not more than 5 seconds. That inflated its tummy like a balloon.

The hairy pup didn’t mind it but he wanted to play. When the other pup was done with the supper, he tried to catch the thick neck in his mouth and gave two jerks to his head left and right in an attempt to break the neck of the fat pup.

THAT!!! There it was, trying to assess if the ‘hunt’ was dead. A very pure bred German Shepherd!

And then- gradually- raising the head arrogantly tall over the shoulder and a sleek sloping body, its long tail, more than half the body length gracefully curling towards the ground.

‘It is an Alsatian’, Amit exclaimed, ‘the colour of its coat will change over next few months’.

‘Aar, otaa ki?’ Sabhapati asked excitedly pointing to the other pup.

‘That’s a black Labrador’, Amit knew he couldn’t stay too angry for too long, he had already started feeling proud of his acquisitions.

‘Saar, aamra ki firut diye debo, kukur guli’, BDO asked.

‘Naaaaaa!’ Amit had screamed, ‘Maara jaabe raasta e firut gele. Koto taka laagbe?’ he inquired.

‘Saar, bodor taa paanch haazaar niyeche daaktar aar, chotor daam chau hazaar taaka, Saar aapni kaunta neben?’, BDO asked.

Amit was so confused. Both the pups were so cute.

Since the Rottweiler had been booked for 10 thousand, Amit decided to pay a thousand bucks extra and keep both of them.

BDO couldn’t hide his joy and left.

That evening was so joyous. The Alsatian got friendly within minutes. Somehow he could feel Amit likes him. The Pup passed his evening biting Amit's shoes and slippers. Little pup was too exhausted by the journey, so often it would fell asleep with his face on Amit’s shoes, but there was a fear if it would get hurt sleeping like that. Whenever he would get up he tried to climb on the sofa and up Amit’s lap.

In contrast, the lab was quite aloof; it preferred to sleep in the newspaper shelf of one of the stools.

While watching TV, as Amit started to fall asleep on the sofa of the circuit house, (where he had been housed waiting for his bungalow to get ready), he realized every time he dozed the Alsatian would get up the sofa and try to settle himself around Amit’s neck and shoulder. The pup was possibly missing his family where all of them would have slept cuddled over each other.

And more often than not Amit’s sleep got disturbed when the pup gently started licking Amit’s face and mouth also.

After putting it aside several times and getting woken up with continuous efforts of small feet climbing and slipping down, Amit thought it was time they resolved the matter. He had to explain the pup slowly and assuringly that putting it aside was not meant refusal of its friendship.

‘Ok, baba, friends! But don’t tell anyone that I also kissed your forehead and that I also like you.,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Ok, not just like you- but love you’, Amit had to tell the pup.
A deal was signed between the two that Amit would put half his blanked down the sofa on which the best friend would sleep and he would not disturb Amit in return. They would not talk to the fat lab, who talked to them only when dinner was served and didn’t join for the evening walk or for play.


It was a clear signal for Amit that he would have to change his habits of animal like existence of sleeping on a sofa while watching the TV and will have to shift to his bedroom soon, where the pups wouldn’t climb the bed.

Two Years Too Late- Omkara

I’m in Bangalore for some days now and pass the evening watching the same movie again and again (having only this one here with me). So I thought about writing something on it, thought it could be a good time passing exercise.

Btw, had watched this movie with IIMA gang in Ahmedabad in the first week of its release. Then, I had wanted some time for myself- a couple of months- so didn't try to keep pace with some expectations. Win some! Lose some! Save two months and lose two years. Nothing seemed to have moved for most people in these two years.

This is not a review here, don't want to be critically reviewed for the same; just that it reminds of some school time friends so I like the movie.

‘Omkara’ is based on the drama ‘Othello’ by Shakespeare. But even if it is- there would rarely be another movie which has captured the beliefs, culture and ethos- of a small area in rural North India- as closely as this one. Excessive use of foul words in the movie might be unacceptable to some; but still, somewhere that is the way of life.

The story begins on the wedding day of the daughter of a reputed lawyer. The ‘bride to be’ elopes with the lead muscleman (Ajay Devgan playing Omkara) of a local gang.

Kareena plays the role of Dolly, the young lady from the small town that sees the man of her dreams in a local don who is brave, daring and destined to rise in power. While her engagement is being imposed upon her she narrates her condition in a love letter to her braveheart

‘Is janam mein to tumhari himmat hogi nahin bas……
so hum hi keh dete hain …………….

Apne katlon ki list mein hamara naam bhi jod lena’; complaining his caring less for her plight.

If anyone could still be restrained- Omkara is not him, and so they elope on day of Dolly's marriage.

The dejected father of the girl warns the don about the age old- ‘Triya charitra’ of women. Here, one who could cheat her father would not hesitate to betray any other man (Omkara).

Saif Ali Khan (named langda Tyagi in the movie) plays the Second-in-Command and the sharp shooter of the Omkara Gang. The position of 'Bahubali' or the head of the group gets vacated as Omkara is selected to stand in the Assembly elections. While for most it is a foregone conclusion that the ever trusted and most deserving Langda tyagi will be the ‘Bahubali’, the coronation ceremony raises a surprise. Omkara crowns a college going novice and half tried ‘Keshu Firangi’ as his successor.

The selection proves to be the turning point of the movie.

Omkara, without his knowledge, has unleashed his most potent weapon, his silent deputy Langda Tyagi, against himself. This, still, is not a war between two ‘Alpha Males’ for superiority. This is a case of blind confidence on one side and of raging hatred on the other- henceforth.

Both Omkara and Keshu play to the guile of Langda hereafter. It takes little time for Tyagi to toy with the weaknesses of Keshu Firangi and make it amply clear to Omkara how raw Keshu was to handle the role of the ‘bahubali’, the broken dream of langda tyagi. He doesn’t stop there and starts poisoning the mind of Omkara regarding the possible relations between Dolly and Keshu.

And amidst this there is innocent Dolly with her one point agenda to impress her man Omkara through her cooking skills or by learning guitar. She has no clues why she is losing Omkara every passing day.

Like any alpha male, Omkara’s insecurity is driven by his belief that he is being considered second to another man, by a woman whom he loves and is planning to marry. This he would not accept or rather would destruct the world if such a world exists.

As langda creates new wedges between Omkara and Dolly, her innocence and charm wins Omkara’s heart back in some instances but for how long could it continue?

The innocently greedy act of Konaka Sen, playing the wife of Langda Tyagi, of stealing a waistband of Dolly acts as the catalyst for langda to cast his plot. Whether in epics or in Omkara, innocent mistakes of women often draw gory battlefields for men.

The divine beauty of Dolly ceases to be sacred for Omkara as his distrust grows. For adrenalin driven male, there is a very fine line- that separates life staking escapades taking a girl amidst her wedding ceremonies and taking life of one’s beloved on the wedding night, if that line is erased.

Omkara moves towards its end with Konkana Sen admitting her act of stealing the waistband. But till then Dolly is dead, murdered by her suspecting husband on her wedding night and destiny of a lot of people has already been written. The story ends with two lead actors and the lead actresses lying dead amidst Machiavellian tricks of langda and fiery temperamental actions of Omkara.

Omkara is a tragic love story of a few brave but insecure males; and the women around their lives. The regional traditions and the ceremonies complete the plot with perfect execution and the photography in the local terrain shows that beautiful films can also be filmed in Indian villages.

The film established Saif Ali Khan in the top league of actors and won many awards and possibly a heart for him. It also separated the men from boys and Vivek Oberoy ended losing despite flexing his muscles as the Bahubali.

The mystic in Gulzaar is back in ‘Nainon ki mat suniyo, naina thag lenge’. The soft and melodious ‘O saathi re, din doobe naa’ reminds of early 70’s while ‘Omkara', 'Bidi Jalai le', 'Jubaan pe laaga' are full of excitement of the 2000’s. There are a few folk songs; those are as good to watch or to listen.

Amongst the female actors, Kareena looks so beautiful that it is difficult to decide if she is acting well or not, Konkana definitely acts wells while Bipasha performs dance steps in quick sequence in her attempt to appear like dancing and does not have much role to play.

Vivek Oberoy disappoints by his role- should have put more fire in it, Ajay Devgun keeps up to his reputation and Saif Ali Khan puts the screen on fire, every time he appears on the screen.

Vishal Bharadwaj has created a master piece.

Wandering amidst Economics, Politics and Memories

It has been a month since I wrote the last post. There has been a lot of discussion amidst friends and foes if the economic crises would continue. Initially it was about the bailout package and its value etc. Few would have believed its ability to create the magic of multiplier effect that Keynes had suggested. Obvious reason was that the money was not going to the masses. If someone had an article worth Rs10, booked it for a sale of Rs 100 and recovered only Rs 40, he could show it a profit of 30 or a loss of 60.
In a different system, it would have been advisable to ask the management to show a profit of 30 and distribute it accordingly, but not in the Greatlands. People had muscle (and money) power to extract the so called ‘loss’ of 60 from a lame economy. As the losses reflected were more due to greed and less for market factors (my belief, contrary to the picture created)- there was no scope of a multiplier effect and the money must have settled in a few coffers by now.
It reminds me of the hearing episode in the movie- Scent of a woman. In the current case the fattest kid (son of BIG DADDY) in the class, farted in the class, spoiled his trousers and the classroom too. The noble class teacher blamed the Black guy in the class for the rotten smell, spanked his bottom, asked him to clean the class and gave his shorts too to the fat guy. The mockery was diluted through diverting the attention to ON PATH TO WRITING OF A HISTORY saga. I am a disbeliever, would wait to see if the history actually gets created. Anyway a small percentage of the bailout package can be spent to keep the two parties happy.
Having been in Government for a decently long period I have seen the business-politics connection functioning from quite closely and can't resist the temptation to create some illogical and irritating mails, so am continuing with the same.
There were complaining voices from a country about lack of sensitivity of the world to their current crises (unlike the way they had been ‘kind enough’ in case of crises elsewhere in the world). Firstly, a majority of the crises like those in the SE Asia were your own creation, beginning from sudden withdrawal of capital based on internal policy changes. Secondly, the then world geo-politics did not allow you to pass your allies into the lap of the other countries. No other country has been so frantic to treat the world as its backyard and thus need not bother today. Thirdly, there was shear business value for the companies to invest in those places. The progressive response shown by your erstwhile competitor and in SE Asia is a pointer to that.
Today, what value does one get investing in a problem prone area? Firstly, tax payer’s money is being wasted in killing and maiming the world. Secondly, the job which costs 80000 $ in Greatlands costs Rs 4 lakh (nearly 8000$, though with 80% of the fineness of the job) elsewhere. Not many people would like to spend 10 times for a slightly better job done and happily hand over the market profits to a competitor thus. Once you are already non-competitive as a production nation, the intellectual property was the saving grace. But that will require an honest pegging of the salaries to those across the world.
Today, the lack of liquidity is only the result of over 80% finances being trapped with 20 % people who are insecure of the continuation of the party.
I will go back to a morning of the year 1991 when one of cousins of my mother was getting engaged and in a typical Hindu family gathering over 200 people were present and watching the news of pounding of a country by another and the intermittent responses by the 'scuds'. The world was told to believe that it was 'necessary' and a dictator who had atom bomb proof palaces and 50 story mansions under the ground (based on ‘secret intelligence reports’ of the invading country) had been challenged by a hero to prevent the making of some weapons of mass destruction.
An ailing economy and the defense industry had been saved thus (some perpetrators of warfare might have believed then). The same story looked a disgraceful lie when no WMD was ever found, UN and its officials had been disgraced (for being upright) and another war was forced. But this time the results could not revive the economy, and the defense expenditure driven economy flattened as the world could see through- that the news of more countries trying to build WMD was nothing more than trash.
The hero who had actually rebuild that economy was also shown his place when his wife could not get the nomination for the elections to the post he had held. Many things of the past can be reconstructed from the current events. The revival would have been neat and clean, without any illegal profits to any particular group or business. It would have been based on good policies and meticulous execution.
So elections funding for what, if you could not build ‘right’ contacts sitting in a black house? Who cares for your individual brilliance if that is not sellable. Funds are for those who are amenable, who know to bend and stoop and dance to the tunes of the pied pipers. The gossips about ‘matching the stature of JFK’ are stories and media campaigns alone and are meaningless. In reality someone with a bigger stature was rubbished with his wife by the owners of media and money. They have been left in cold to pay their debts.
It is amazing to see how the fate of a woman is interlinked to the man in her life. One may go to the black house if that man is able to take her there or one could be stopped at the door if people don’t want 'him' there again.
I talked of the year 1991 somewhere above. Almost 18 years since then, one span of the RAHU Mahadasha. I never knew what was forcing me to do so when I had walked out from the building of the biggest (and best) school in my hometown for having not carried the registration fee. My father was in Mathura, principal of a PG college and no one else in our home kept money with them. My mother, despite being a professor herself, never kept more than the rickshaw fare with her. It would have been meaningless to ask money from her. I had changed my school for the strangest of reasons.
Later I had learnt some amazing things about my horoscope when I had joined astrology classes while writing the IAS examination. A good student as I was, I passed the testing time with firm resolve. But it has been tiring 18 years and I wish from the depth of my heart for the Rahu Mahadasha to get over (Jan 2009) so that I may move ahead. Waiting for the benefic Jupiter to come in days ahead !!!

दो जातक कथायें

There is a story that I was told as a kid.

In a village once appeared a Sadhu who said that he could double the Gold coins in one night (if anyone gave them to him) by his powers. Many a gullible villagers trusted the holy man and gave all their savings to him. The Sadhu closed the doors of his hut and started the meditation during the night. The next morning the eager villagers collected before the hut to discover that neither the Sadhu was there nor their money. While some wise men counseled those who had lost money, others rebuked them for their foolishness to believe that money would double like that.

My belief that there is no formula to multiply money other than the hard work continued till I joined my Finance classes. I then discovered that if one does a short, a put, a future, a swap, a forward, a monkey, a few trenches, some formulas and a few excel sheets- THE MONEY GROWS! No hard work, no sweating in the Sun and still the money grows sitting in front of a box. So the Sadhu was back again.

Actually speaking I was never convinced that money could grow just by going through a few formulas. If that were true, the Buas, the mausis and the phoophis in our villages who learn so many Banna, banni, bhajan songs despite being illiterate would have all memorized those formulas and multiplied money. So beyond that I fell asleep in the lecture.

I believed there was always some loophole and Sadhu could not be back. The loophole or the possibility of multiplying money is that, somewhere in the cycle, someone has to generate wealth for others or the money wouldn’t grow.

In pre-independence India, in Bengal there were instances of upto 40 tiers of Zamindars- each subletting his Zamindari to the next for a premium for himself. The wealth there was created by the tiller who produced the grain (converting earth into grain), which could be consumed or sold for profit that everyone else would distribute amongst themselves.

In the present era, the hierarchies were not that long. The interest rates offered were like 2%, 8%, 15%. 25% and 35% while the short, the put, the future, the swap, the trench, the forward, the backward and the monkey and the excel sheet helped each investor to believe that his money would grow. The banker, the venture capitalist, the investment banker and the Private Equity player made their margins through their jugglery and there was massive consumption at all the levels. People rolled in luxury.

So where was the wealth coming from- from the tiller again? Not much different. As shelter would be the second most basic necessity after food for human beings, it is as exploitable one.

The lack of infrastructure and the need of security in haphazardly grown metros force the newcomers to pay massive premium for the housing. That earns ugly profit for the financial wizards for the Bull *&*&, they may sell in whatever name if they are able to sell a few houses.

And wherever this is happening, it is a clear indicator of non performance of the Governments in place in providing even the most fundamental services to its citizens. (I personally believe that safe and secure housing is as fundamental a civil right as the non measurable ones like freedom and equalities)

So no wonder if a calamity has struck somewhere, it is in the rule of the wisest prince that ever ruled that land. While one spends quality time in playing Beat One! Beat All! I Win! Yoyo! Housing, Banking and Economy take a beating. One would wonder if this could have happened in the times of J’s, K’s and L’s.

In one of my postings I had come across a sick PSU which had once received a massive revival grant. Any one having seen such instances would vouch that it is easiest to pilfer when the controls are loosening. So whatever was invested evaporated in thin air.

History repeats itself. People who reaped the harvest of massive pilferage through a power company were from across the countries. Those old and retired investors who lost their pension funds were mostly from within a country. This happened as a proud father made the famous, ‘You are almost like my son’, speech in front of camera.

Like the father, like the son! Sunny wants to handover a fortune to people, who sit on the Roofstreet for causing the rot. Again in a global era, the beneficiaries should be from across the borders. And as the elections are fought on money, even the would be successor and the would be- could not succeed- are also supporting the package.

But for an ailing economy, this could be the last drain of wealth, which could take it to a stage of ‘no return to recovery’. But somewhere some wisdom is left and that is the reason, despite fighting unnecessary wars for the purpose of creating wealth for the multinational oil companies and their well wishers, a country goes on.

There is another story I was told as a young kid which I want to tell, please endure! An old father was very worried about the fate of his four lazy sons when he would die. When his last time came he gave them a mantra, he had hidden a lot of gold somewhere in their fields. When the father died the lazy sons reached the field cursing their late father that why could he not tell where the gold was actually buried.

They searched, they searched and they searched on, till they realized that they had dug all their fields and there was no trace of gold. Grumbling the sons decided that since the fields had already been dug, they should atleast sow some seeds. They threw a few seeds here and a few seeds there and got back to their home blaming their dead father. Then they forgot about the gold thing. In a few months time someone told them their fields had had a bumper crop which was ripe and golden, ready to be harvested. The sons got filthy rich again.

I have one advice to the non existent reader- unless you wish to steal the money, don’t ask for revival packages. You have huge lands and I have buried a lot of gold at seven spots. Now it is up to you to identify them and get rich. Take all the Ceilingstreet fellows with you, to dig the ground along with you, and you will be rich again in four months.

Just an update

It feels more like a duty to update the blog as the month ends.

Work, IPL and 4-5 hours of sleep form a vicious but unavoidable cycle. At the same time last two months have been quite fulfilling. There are so many professional announcements waiting to be made but for some slow file work delaying them.

It will take little time now to decide or be informed if I have to lead first of its type (and in magnitude) health care initiative in India in the private sector or to prepare to join as a District Collector somewhere in the next few months.

A training organized by Duke University, USA is also lined up to be held in LBSNAA and in Duke Campus for about 2 months.

How much more will I have to study? I don’t really know, even I wonder that quite often. But I can see the impact of strong fifth and sixth houses in the horoscope in my own case.

So whichever way things move, fate and destiny have to be obeyed and respected. Hopefully will be able to update the progress on the blog.

A brush with Palm Leaf Predictions

I could not resist the curiosity when I was told that I was 5 km from place called Tambram and decided to visit the town. Naadi shastra or the past, present and future life written on the ancient leaves, they say 2000 years old, is practiced in this small town and hence my this visit. The impression of my RTI was faxed in the afternoon and it had been informed that leaves matching my impression have been found from amongst thousands of such leaves. A friendly warning was also given to me to beware of the ‘black magic’.

The person accompanying me was narrating ‘It is occult, I saw it in your eyes, you are a believer and hence this opportunity has been given to you. You will see how the sages had foreseen your arrival here thousands of years ago. But btw are you married?’

I respond back, ‘I was thinking that the reader will predict that from the leaf’

‘He will, he will! He will tell you the name of your wife if you are married or the name of the girl you will marry and even the direction you will find her’, he said

‘Let us see what happens’, I replied. We had reached the place where the readers stayed and soon one of the readers of ancient leaves came and the person accompanying me bowed with respect.

After settling the person started reading something from the first leaf in the bundle of leaves, which was in the question answer form. I was supposed to respond only in ‘yes’ or ‘no’. A series of ‘no’ would mean that the leaf described some other person while a continued series of ‘yes’ would describe some of the events of my life and then I would be able to know the rest of my life from the leaf.

He began by asking ‘You are a student of medicine’. I said ‘no’ and he kept that leaf aside.
‘You were born on Thursday’, I said ‘no’ and even that leaf went aside.
‘You don’t have younger brother and sister’, I said ‘yes’ and he read further, you were born during night, I said ‘no’ and the leaf went aside.
‘You have a sister and she is eldest amongst the siblings’ he said, to which I replied ‘I have a sister but she is not eldest’
‘You are 4 brothers and sister, more / few’ and I answered.
‘You are 2 brothers and sister, more/ less’, he asked to which I again responded but I was getting bored. The fellow had already extracted the information that we are two brothers and one sister, my brother being the eldest and sister next.
He continued, verifying the mother’s name, my education, time of birth, if I was in Computer related profession (sages could see this two thousand years ago), if my father’s name resembled one of the avatars of Vishnu, if his name constituted of two words, and if I was in love with some one of different community.
Smart craft, I thought; they are building information on logic and inclusion or exclusion. The leaves were sets based on system of elimination and hovered around issues which could drive someone to a soothsayer and soon the complete bundle finished and the person left to bring another bundle and I continued taking notes on the questions he had asked.

In the next bundle, the information was actually similar to that filtered in first round, ‘you are the youngest amongst the brothers and sister’, about the family agricultural land, profession, that father’s name was in two words and then he tried to build the words,
First letter in father’s name and after a few leaves he got the right letter and then last and so on. For the second word he was asking if the last letter was like n/m, th, nh etc. Another logical move as the most common last words could be Singh, Ram etc and his guess could prove right. And in the process he continued to gather information.

As I had continued to take note of each of his questions the person was getting suspicious and it was visible that there was no leaf till then that matched my profile.
The second bundle of leaves had ended. He left again to bring a new bundle and soon returned and apologized that in ‘their’ system of Naadi (named after a renowned sage of Indian epics), no leaf had been written for me. He said that he would call for more leaves written by other sages as his other relatives followed those ‘systems’. He took name of two other renowned rishis of the epics to look more authentic (he pretended that all the great rishis were born in his ‘kulam’ and had left their collective wisdom for him).

But the idea of collective wisdom of three Rishi clans was interesting from historical perspective; I wondered what could have been our history if that had really happened:
Surely ‘Atharvans’ would not have been stolen of their skill of fire making and driven to the land of Avesta by the other rishi clan. The marriage of great El Yayati with Devayani and Sharmishtha would not have been a cause of thousands years of warfare. Yadu and not Puru would have been the king of Hastinapur and Puru’s children would not have perished as ‘Kurus’ and ‘Pandus’ in Mahabharata. Indian and Iranian Aryans would have not separated and many different clans like the Bharats, Turvasus, Anus, Purus and Druhyus could be visible today. Yadus wouldn’t be blamed in the Puranas for the disappearance of ‘Saraswati’.

There could have been only 1 veda and many rigvedic rishi clans would have not disappeared and priests from Egypt and Persia not migrated with their black magic for offering prayers for the Yadus. The ‘Shaka’ and ‘Huns’ would not have been here and the demography of several Northern states could be much different. May be we could still be studying in Taxila and not in &^%.

But only if those rishi clans had been one. And I could be call El ******* or Al ###### and our blood relatives of Rig Veda ‘the Asurs’ had not become the demons of our later literature.

The Naadi reader looked hopefully that I would be impressed by the names he had taken and would return to listen to the leaves written by other clans and which were still preserved by his family. But I was not impressed, my own country and my clan had had the most majestic history for over four thousand years, however deeply covered with dust today.

When I told the person accompanying me that I was not planning to return there again, he changed the topic for whatever intention he might have had- ‘Sir, would you like to have dinner with us, I am vegetarian like you, we are purest B********. My elder daughter is studying in USA, she is-’

But I had to cut him short, I was disappointed by the lack of accuracy of prediction and was not interested in what he was saying as the predictions had failed to point towards any direction.

The ‘Salvation’ Salary- Part I- “Kaun banega crorepati ?”

For a long time I was contemplating whether to write this mail or not, but an unwanted and unnecessary mail helped me take a decision in favour of writing these comments here.
We have many dreams like,
- entering a B School and cracking that 1crore + job,
- or being ‘down to earth’ and be just on the right side of the average figure say 19+3 =22 lakh salary for the next year;
- Or may be, just to teach a lesson to school kids throwing stones on your car window.
On my recent flight from Hyderabad to Kolkata, I met a gentleman from US. He asked how the B Schools in India could announce such grand figures like 1 crore + salaries when the US economy is under recession and can barely afford such costly employees just out of school. (And when top US B-Schools are not commanding such figures like USD 360000 which convert to the so called Rs 1.44 crore per annum figure)
Then I asked him back ‘why not, we are the brightest guys, after all- Aren’t we’?
He explained me the following:
1crore + has a huge component of bonus; with organizations losing 40-50% of their assets in last 1 year, employees are getting fired and who will offer such bonuses now? So talk of ‘actual’ figures USD 160000 to USD 110000, which most people will get.
With Federal, State and other taxes adding up to 43-44% of the salary and with other health insurances included, barely 50% of the gross salary is received. So make the above amount 50% of quoted figure
The one time joining allowance is also a major component of the gross ‘salary’ figure quoted so happily remove it forever.
If the earning is in dollar, so are the expenses and those are obviously huge so if you still have a coffee for Rs 10 in India then you pay Rs 300 for that abroad so the money flies away.
At the same time, the dollar has lost a lot of its power with respect to many currencies and so now commands less money value,
With all that, the standard of living thus affordable and the resultant savings is much less than compared to an Indian salary of say 15-20 lakh. So while the poor fellow would be struggling for the next one year just to cling to his job, claiming such figures is ‘wrong’ as that money would not be earned at the year end.
Even if in the past someone had managed fat bonuses for ‘claiming business’, they are now harvesting the crop in the form of sub prime for just getting that ‘cheap business on the account book’ and so most such smart people are now being fired left, right and centre. And when the hawks are not able to survive the present situation, what value will the doves bring?

What’s worse is
The magnitude of sub prime crises is huge; and only part losses have been reflected so far so as to gradually absorb the shock. So not only the present is tough but the future also doesn’t look rosy.
The credit card crises may further unfold.
The oil prices are soaring and so the winter may be cold (for less availability of oil) and hot (for the high oil prices).

Amidst this background I believe when the B Schools ‘doctor’ their salary figures to lure unsuspecting candidates, they command different capabilities of inflating those figures. For example, an I-banker can oblige his alma mater by putting a component of 3X year end bonus (tagged to performance targets which are obviously undeliverable in these conditions) and create a news paper sensation without possibly losing a single $ at the end of the forthcoming year.
In contrast, another B School with a pathetic finance curriculum and ‘almost’ no alumni in decent I-Banks (if there is any left now) will have to ride piggyback on its God father’s resources. But in the present situation when the crises is partly driven by the Real Estate, the back door entry to the 1 crore club through international real estate jobs also gets a beating.

So what to do next having yourself started this unethical warfare of bogus salary claims?

Obviously pretend holy and pass the buck to the enlightened student body for taking a decision to not to disclose the maximum figures (until the next year when you are able to manage one such figure). After all this is all what you did for one year ‘you scratch my back, I scratch your @#$.

(Next: Busting the average salary)

Memoirs of a lost world

Sir, where is your security? You should not move without the security’, the BDO was trying to please the SDO by his sweet talks.
‘Why, is this war zone?’ Amit had asked.
‘No sir, but we read about the cattle that you seized at the border some days back. These cattle smugglers carry arms with them. Your armed security must be your biggest defense in their sight’ the BDO explained.
‘What defense? Both my security personnel prayed for being released from my duty. They said that the duty hours were too long for them’, Amit said knowing well that the BDO was aware of this.
‘Sir, and you released the securities without even asking for a replacement’, BDO wanted to know more, but Amit only smiled.
The last few weeks had been tough; Amit had confiscated a number of trucks loaded with cattle being smuggled across the international border. At times when Amit had forced the trucks to stop, the PS had been inordinately late to report at the site. This had created a lot of tension when Amit had discussed the issues at the higher level. But …………
Traditional wisdom said that in case one is working on things where he could be antagonizing powerful people, his movements across the subdivision should not be known. And Amit followed that religiously. If he had to go to X block, he would tell the CA to inform the BDO of block Y that he would be reaching his block. If the security asked where he was going, the word would be Z block. Amit noticed how his securities would run to the toilet with their mobiles. Amit often wondered who was so interested in his movement. Whosoever it be, Amit used to ask the vehicle to finally go to block P or Q, surprising everyone- even himself.
This had created strange situation in Warpur over the last few months. SDO had confronted convoys of trucks that moved in groups of 10-15 trucks, all loaded with 15-18 large cattle. Despite the reluctance of the concerned police stations, all but one of those raids had been successful. But this had created a lot of pressure on the security personnel of the SDO, it was visible.
On the whole, the position of the security guard of the SDO was a prize posting in police; it was said ‘In case if the SDO is peace loving who conduct no raids then this is a risk free job with no night duties in crime areas. In case if the SDO does a lot of policing then providing this relevant information to the ‘concerned people’ about his movement could mean a lot of money’.
However, if the security were terrified to continue, it meant they had been failing in their duty of providing information to someone who was upset with them and hence their prayer for being released from the duty of SDO.
But should he ask for a replacement? Amit had thought a lot about this. The new person in fact would be more trusted to the other side and hence more risky for Amit. So unlike the expectation of many and to the shock of all, Amit had decided to not take a security anymore.
That day Amit had organized a ‘Tribal Certificate issue camp’ in one of the interior villages. As luck would have been, one huge convoy of some twenty trucks carrying cattle had planned this unknown route to avoid the SDO. Amit had stopped the trucks with no personal security or police around this time.
His raids had already inflicted a lot of loss to those ‘businessmen’. The worst affected of those raids were the truck drivers, all Pathans who had ruled those lands for over 300 years in the past. They would lose their jobs for their inability to either bring the vehicle and cattle safe or remove the ‘obstruction’.
That day was their luckiest; Amit was there, unarmed, and had still challenged them when they were at their best. There had been short discussion, very crisp. Their leader in late thirties- tall and fair and wearing a ‘tehmad and T-shirt’- had tried to educate Amit that his men were losing their money and livelihood. Every confiscated truck was dragging its owner and the driver’s families into penury. They were being harassed by the police and by the legal process for the release of it. They had to bribe and the systems, which they believed Amit represented, were not most honest.
Even as all his men were furious and wanted to settle the matter, he had asked Amit it he was willing to allow them to go and take his own way for which he assured all safety. But the worst part of the ‘ego’ is that neither does it die nor does it allow reason to prevail. Even if it was evident to Amit that it was impossible to stop those trucks at that time, he had said that he was confiscating those trucks and it was for the lack of force that he was not arresting those men there.
The truck drivers, the ferocious hot headed Arians, were furious (were they not the ones doing one of the roughest job, handling a 20 ton vehicle on their biceps). But there was one wise person amongst all there and his wisdom had prevailed that day.
The leader had decided to move away with his men, letting all the trucks parked there along with the cattle. But he had clearly told that he would incur this last loss due to Amit for his men. But next time he would not be responsible for anything.
Amit had to wait for the police to arrive on the spot. They had to hand over the ‘Zimma’ of the cattle to some local cowshed there. The stunned BDO and the driver pretended that they were happy for such a big haul but Amit knew that the situation could have been worse for all of them.
Amit knew what was to happen the next day, the vehicle would be released by court and some ‘legal owner’ of the cattle would appear. If not the PS, someone else in some other office would make money. All his hard work would go waste in half an hour.
It had been more than a year and a half in the job, holding multiple charges. For the first time in his service, he had witnessed magnanimity and real appreciation of the work he was doing but from a much unexpected corner.
Some 1500 km from his home, posted at one of the borders of the country in the most powerful service of the nation, Amit had felt very lonely.

One last Graduation Day

As a kid in standard One, I was just back from school and searching for my Dad to confirm certain urgent matters, ‘Papa, Papa, have I failed in six subjects?’ I had asked showing him my report card.

It is always safe to get such things verified by your father than getting beaten by your mother.
My father had observed my report card seriously and was thinking something when I had spoken again, ‘Maine aaj apne rickshe ke bachhon ko bahut maara, wo kehte the ki I have failed in six subjects because there are six red lines in my report card. Papa dekho, I have failed in only one subject because double zero to keval ek hi hai. Aur papa dekho I have got hundred out of hundred in Arithmetic’.

My dad had found my hundred marks in Arithmetic to be a good enough reason to overlook every thing else. Gleefully I had signed the report card on my own, where the parents are supposed to sign. Unluckily, the teacher could recognize my beautiful hand writing and my mother had been informed. As usual, mothers are very traditional, so the treatment met by me was also quite conventional.

Anyway to move the story ahead, my parents wanted one of their kids to become a Doctor. As my father wanted my brother to join IIT and my sister was getting one certificate after another in fine arts, I appeared to be parents’ only hope of having a doctor at home. A hope that belied all hopes, for my intellectual capabilities seemed too insufficient if not non existent to sustain 5-8 years of rigorous medical education.

In his humble attempts to help me clear the examinations, my brother would make last minute efforts. But the session would soon come to questions like,
‘Answer de, kya bada hota hai- das ki ek bata das?’ (Which is bigger? 10 or 1/10)
‘Ek bata das(1/10)’, I would reply, ‘It also has a ‘bata das with ek’’, I would argue.
‘Answer kar, Akal badi hoti hai ki bhains?’ my dear brother had once asked. (Which is bigger? Brain or a buffalo)
‘Bhains’, I had replied. ‘Khate peete ghar ki 400 kg ki bhains hi to badi hogi’, I had argued and that had complicated the matters.

But still my parents believed that I had brains, and my mother had hard facts to prove that. She still proudly narrates the story to everyone, of how she discovered that-
‘After having failed to teach him ABCD in months, I had locked him in store one day. He told the complete ABCD from inside the store to come out of it. He had learnt ABCD but was not telling ki maa aur kuchh padhayegi’

After long years of continued debate if I would clear competitive exams or not and get a job or not, one thing was certain- ‘I would not become a doctor’.
But ambitious parents don’t give up hope. All these years my parents kept planning that if none of their kid could become a doctor, they could still marry one of them to a doctor and have a doctor in the family.
But some dreams always remain dream; my brother got married to his IPS batch mate. My parents married my sister to an IAS officer and back their hopes of getting a doctor in family rested upon me. Luckily, let alone finding a suitable doctor, our family soon discovered that it was difficult to find any girl to marry me.

But no regrets, working in a generalist service and handling health matters closely, I was myself gradually becoming an expert in health matters. The block visits and inspections of ‘locked’ health sub centres; diarrheal outbreaks and absent PHC doctors taught me a lot about the condition of health services in our villages. I learnt the difference between idealistic visions in contrast to implementable programs in health care. And then it was the Pulse polio drives and no looking back thereafter.
Looking forward, possibility of working on an alternate and functioning health care system looks possible if some things fall in place. I had to meet some experts on health care in last one week. I had to travel a lot amidst the regular academics, but things still look bright for the future.

And as a philosophy, I believe one should dream big; there might be a few failures but the success is bound to occur. I will give one last example here,
It was Class third and my mother, a professor in university, had accompanied me to my school to collect my report card. The class teacher was scolding my mother before handing over my report card ‘you never come to school for teacher parents meeting, your son doesn’t study, he is always talking and fighting in the class’. Then she had asked me, ‘what is your roll number?’ to locate the report card
‘Roll No 40, teacher. Puneet Yadav, last name in the class’, I had replied trembling.
‘To class mein last hi hoga naa’, she had shouted on my mother while searching for the report card. Once she had found the report class she had discovered that I was first in the class.
My mom was almost in tears by then. She used to send us to school after preparing breakfast and tiffin for the 'interval', used to prepare lunch for everyone and then leave for her college to take 5-6 hours of classes. Almost everyone in our colony used to complain about me. But that day, obviously, my mother was very proud of me and had boasted ‘Mera beta sabse seedha hai, I don’t get time to teach him due to my college, fir bhi ye first aata hai’. But that was not all correct for my academic performance was as evenly distributed as spots on the back of a Dalmatian.

So there are reasons why people make certain choices. I couldn’t become a doctor but may be one day I would get hospitals constructed.

And for once, I am not afraid to invite my parents to attend the Graduation Day at ISB (they didn’t come at IIT or IAS academy), for I haven’t beaten anyone/ fought with anyone in the last one year, so there should be no complaints I hope.

Ghalib ka hai andaaz-e-bayaan aur (7)

So getting back to the last of the posts on Ghalib ghazals on this blog, here I am confused which one to write about. There are so many of the master pieces but today it will be one which helps us know Ghalib as much as possible in one post. To begin with about the other ones which I could write here, at least some of their couplets: First, Ghalib on human beings,

‘Bas ki dushwar hai har kaam ka aasaan honaa,
Aadmi ko bhi mayassar nahin insaan honaa’.
“It is complicated even for the simplest things to simplify,
It is not in the fate of the mankind to become human being”

And his belief / attempt in goodness and being good,
‘Na suno, gar bura kahe koi,
Na kaho, gar bura kare koi.
Rok lo, gar galat chale koi,
Baksh do, gar khata kare koi’
Didn't Gandhi said the same so many years later?

Ghalib doesn’t try to hide the pains in his life; it is another thing that his search for the healer seems to eternal, like an unquenched thirst.
‘Ibn-e-mariam hua kare koi,
Mere dukh ki dawaa kare koi’
‘Let today there be the Son of Mariam (Christ)
One who would heal my sorrows (as Christ healed people by his touch)

His quest for God is as eternal as is his search for a soul mate. While I’m not sure if he got one, his poetry- though- gets its soul in the form of his words. Be it

‘Aah ko chahiye ek umr asar hone tak’, or
‘Dil-e-Nadan tujhe hua kya hai’, or
‘Dil hi to hai naa sang-o-khisht’, or
‘Dard minnat kash-e-davaa naa hua’ or
‘Ye na thi hamari kismet ki visaal-e-yaar hota’,
Ghalib’s longing for beloved, who is as beautiful as is faithless and elusive, continues.

But the separation is equally painful for both the persons. That is what is reflected in the words,
‘Wo firaaq aur wo visaal kahaan?
Wo shab-o-roz-o-maah-o-saal kahaan?
Thi wo ek shakhs ke tasawur se,
Ab wo ranai-e-khayaal kahaan?’
‘ (Now) where is that separation and where’s that union?
Where are those nights, days, months and years?
She had been in love and devotion of someone,
Where could be that excitement in (her) thoughts now?’

It is wonderful to see how Ghalib tries to communicate to his beloved through his poetry and tries to tell of the fleeting nature of beauty in contrast of an everlasting love.

‘Sab kahaan, kuchh lala-o-gul mein numayaan ho gayin,
Khaak mein kya sooratein hogi, ki pinhaa ho gayin’

'Only a few beautiful faces have been embodied in the form of the colourful flowers. Many more beautiful faces mush have disappeared/ laid hidden in the dust (from where the flowers have emerged and where every beautiful thing will end up being)'

Ghalib’s poetry moves around the narrow lanes of love, betrayal and dejection to the lofty mountains of highest order philosophy. A great and representative couplet is:

‘Na tha kuchh, to Khuda tha; kuchh na hota, to Khuda hota;
Duboya mujhko hone ne, na hota main to kya hota?

(When there was nothing, God was there; when there would be nothing, God would be there; I have been ruined by my existence, had I not existed- what would have happened)

Obviously nothing, but being nothing would mean that Ghalib would have been one with God.

In simple words, being Ghalib has ruined him; otherwise, people wouldn’t have been so critical, would have been more accepting and may be he would have been more approachable.

And the genius called Ghalib can be met in the following ghazal, one I would discuss here.

Hai bas ki, har yak unke ishare mein nishaan aur,
Karte hain muhabbat, to gujarta hai gumaan aur.

Yaa rab, na wo samjhe hain naa samjenge meri baat,
De aur dil unko, jo na de mujhko jubaan aur.

Tum shahar mein ho, to humen kya gam, jab uthenge
Le aayenge bazaar se, jaa kar, dilo-jaan aur.

Marta hoon is awaaz pe, harchand sar ud jaaye,
Jallad ko, lekin, wo kahe jaayen ki- haan, aur.

Logon ko hai khursheede-jahan-taab ka dhoka,
Har roz dikhata hoon mein yak daage- nihaan aur.

Paate nahin jab raah, to chadh jaate hain naale,
Rukti hai meri tabh, to hoti hai ravaan aur.

Hain aur bhi duniya mein sukhanwar bahut achche,
Kehte hain, ki ghalib ka hai andaaze- bayaan aur.

(The beloved communicates confusing messages through every action,
Even if the beloved loves me, the impression I get is otherwise
(When I look into your eyes, I see you staring in the sky as if I did not exist there,
When I turn my back, I hear your voice drawing my attention- What do I understand?)

Oh God! The beloved has never understood me nor will understand what I say,
To solve the problem, give a bigger heart to the beloved if you don’t give me more words

O my loved one when you belong to a city (are modern/ faithless??), why should I worry,
I will also go to the market there and purchase some heart and love from your place
(The sarcasm is subtle and poetically beautiful. The poet says, O my beloved if in your city- heart and souls are sold (and hence you neglect my golden heart)- I am so lucky to have you as my friend, I will also go to your town and buy some heart (however faithless) for myself)

I long to listen those words, even if it costs my head to be removed from my shoulders,
But the beloved should continue applauding my assassin, so I could hear those words atleast

Through my ghazals the gathering is beguiled to see the brightness of the sun,
While actually I show the burning wounds of my heart, my ghazals, glowing bright.

When my emotions don’t get soothing air, the pitch of my songs become higher,
When my feelings are low/ I'm dejected, my creativity is even more passionate

Though there are many great poets in this world,
It is said, Ghalib has no parallel when it comes to reciting/ presenting them.

Nothing more true than this, the rhythm and the rhyme which can be captured in Ghalib’s words can not be put to words in any other language- by anyone.

ग़ालिब का है अंदाजे- बयान और (७)

है बस की, हर यक उनके इशारे में निशाँ और,
करते हैं मुहब्बत, तो गुजरता है गुमाँ और.

या रब, न वो समझे हैं ना समझेंगे मेरी बात,
दे और दिल उनको, जो न दे मुझको जुबाँ और.

तुम शहर में हो, तो हमें क्या गम, जब उठेंगे
ले आयेंगे बाज़ार से, जा कर, दिलो-जान और.

मरता हूँ इस आवाज़ पे, हरचंद सर उड़ जाए,
जल्लाद को, लेकिन, वो कहे जाएं की- हाँ, और.

लोगों को है खुर्शीदे-जहाँ-ताब का धोका,
हर रोज़ दिखता हूँ मैं यक दागे- निहां और.

पाते नहीं जब राह, तो चढ़ जाते हैं नाले,
रूकती है मेरी तबः, तो होती है रवां और.

हैं और भी दुनिया में सुखनवर बहुत अच्छे,
कहते हैं, की ग़ालिब का है अंदाजे- बयान और.

Ghalib (6)- Dil-e-nadan

This is the second last of my posts on Ghalib’s poetry on this blog. This ghazal has been incorporated in a number of movies and serials. It has also been sung by a number of artists, but one sung by Somesh Kumar was unforgettable. This is also one of the simplest of Ghalib’s ghazals and might not need a detailed explanation and hence a new attempt- as follows:-

Dil-e-nadan tujhe hua kya hai ,
Aakhir is dard ki davaa kya hai?

Hum hain mushtaq aur woh bezaar
Ya ilaahi ye mazraa kya hai?

Jab ki tujh bin nahin koi mauzood
Fir ye hungaama e khuda kya hai?

Humko unse wafa ki hai ummeed,
Jo nahin jante wafa kya hai

Jaan tum par nisaar karta hoon,
Main nahin jaanta dua kya hai

Maine maana ki kuchh nahin ‘Ghalib’
Muft haath aaye to buraa kya hai?

What causes wretchedness, of my heart so pure*?
O, this mighty misery! Does it have no cure?

My feverish anxiety, and your coldness untold
O God, the mystery! but could someone unfold?

There is none except you- in this ephemeral world (#)
Then why is this ruckus? And what for is this word?

Why do I seek commitment? my faith does endure,
From who knows not its meaning, even I’m so sure

My life is for taking, take it if you wish to take,
That’s what I offer; false prayers I do not make.

I agree if you’d say, for you ‘Ghalib’ is ‘nothing’,
It does no harm to get him? He who costs ‘nothing’!

* Innocent
# Could be addressed to God or beloved

ग़ालिब (६)- दिल-ऐ-नादाँ

दिल-ऐ-नादाँ तुझे हुआ क्या है ,
आखिर इस दर्द की दवा क्या है

हम हैं मुश्ताक और वो बेज़ार
या इलाही ये माज़रा क्या है

जब की तुझ बिन नहीं कोई मौजूद
फ़िर ये हंगामा ऐ खुदा क्या है

हमको उनसे वफ़ा की है उम्मीद,
जो नहीं जानते वफ़ा क्या है

जान तुम पर निसार करता हूँ,
मैं नहीं जानता दुआ क्या है

मैंने माना की कुछ नहीं ‘ग़ालिब’
मुफ्त हाथ आये तो बुरा क्या है

ग़ालिब (५)- आह को चाहिये

आह को चाहिये एक उम्र असर होने तक,
कौन जीता है तेरी जुल्फ के सर होने तक.

आशिकी सब्र तलब और तमन्ना बेताब,
दिल का क्या रंग करूं, खून-ऐ-जिगर होने तक.

हमने माना की तगाफुल न करोगे लेकिन,
ख़ाक हो जायेंगे हम तुमको ख़बर होने तक.

परतवे-खुर से है शबनम को, फना की तालीम,
मैं भी हूँ, एक इनायत की नज़र होने तक.

गम-ऐ-हस्ती का असद किससे हो जुज्मर्ग इलाज,
शमा हर रंग में जलती है, सहर होने तक.

Ghalib (5)- Aah ko chahiye

The following couplets are amongst the most famous of Ghalib, probably due to the simplicity of the words used. However, I always find them quite complicated to interpret. An attempt is made below:

Aah ko chahiye ek umr asar hone tak,
Kaun jeeta hai teri julf ke sar hone tak.

A simple but complicated couplet: sighs (of a passionate heart) take a life time to be effective/ fulfilled. But who will live so long that the locks and curls in your hair get unlocked.

The beloved’s tresses represent such complexities that take time to get resolved- by that time the poet says he will be dead, not withstanding his sighs and desire to meet the beloved)

Aashiqui sabr talab aur tamanna betaab,
Dil ka kya rang karoon, khoon-e-jigar hone tak.

Romance asks for patience (for the beloved to mellow down) while the desires are restless and impatient (want to meet the beloved at the earliest?),
What colour do I paint my heart, by the time it is all blood
i.e. it is only a matter of time till my heart will take this pain of anticipation/ patience, then it will probably rupture with emotions and be all red with blood,
Isn't Ghalib preaching? ‘Don’t test my patience- how so ever much the patience should the ‘love’ expect- it has touched the limits of tolerance. More delay on your part and you lose me’

Hamne maana ki tagaful na karoge lekin,
Khaak ho jaayenge hum tumko khabar hone tak.

I accept that you will not be careless and will do no delay (on hearing my condition), but by the time the message of my condition reaches you I would be dust (dead and buried)

Contrast this with “Vaada kiya tha fir bhi naa aaye mazaar pe,
Humne to jaan di thi, isi aitbaar pe)

Is the beloved in Ghalib’s case less 'merciless'?
Who knows, but for sure the allegation of the master poet is more subtle. Obviously the plight of the poet is known to the beloved, but Ghalib rubs on the carelessness of the beloved by praising the feigned ignorance)

Partave-khur se hai shabnam ko, fanaa ki taalim,
Main bhi hoon, ek inaayat ki nazar hone tak.

The morning dew has the instructions (taalim- education) to disappear when the first rays of sunlight appear.
Similarly Ghalib’s existence lasts in anticipation of beloved’s one sight of benevolence (and then he departs/ dies)

Gam-e-hasti ka Asad kis-se ho jujmarg ilaaz,
Shamaa har rang mein jalti hai, sahar hone tak.

Asad- (Ghalib’s name) what can cure the pains of ‘the existence’ (i.e. only death can- when there will be no existence)
The candle burns at night will flames of all colours till the morning arrives.

Ghalib compares the pains of life with the burning of the candle during the night. Wouldn’t every moment of being in flames be very painful? The pain ends when the morning comes and the flame is put to rest i.e. it dies. So also, death lays to rest all pains of human existence.