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 !!!