The Great War

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

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

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

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

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

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

But when did Bhim bother for anyone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Guru ji', murmured Bhim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

????

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like the School, Like the FB !!

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

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

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

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

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

Maths on/ and FB

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

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

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

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

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

Change of Station

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

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

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

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

And so life goes on !!

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

Scribbling on a Lazy Saturday Night !!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Memoirs of a Lost World

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Ye kisne kiya’, she had asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Gwalior visit

From Jai Vilas Palace

Sun Temple Gwalior

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

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

The Archeology Museum in Mriganayani's Palace

Buddhist and Jain Rock cut caves in the hill

Gujari Rani (Mrignayani) Palace and fort above.

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

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

Open Air Hall in Man Singh Palace.

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

Music Hall (8 Screens above for 8 Queens)

Man Singh Palace








From Jai Vilas Palace

From Jai Vilas Palace

From Jai Vilas Palace

Rani Laxmibai's Samadhi

Tomb of Gaus Mohammad

Tomb of Tansen

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

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

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

Rebuilding the structures

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Long One but Blame it on the Rains

Wonder if someone questions you about the merit of the decision to pursue a course in a B School. Will you feel hurt? Terribly disappointed to hear it from ‘that’ person and decide to change the course itself.

Blame it on emotions or that particular rainy afternoon. Some people get too emotional about small things. No wonder that ends up changing their life quite a bit- because outcomes of Rainy days are never known. But for good or for bad- rains are special.

As a kid I remember reaching the school on a rainy day with barely 5-6 of my classmates present. It was such a sad feeling, the school was not declared closed on the rainy day. I remember, I had ran out of the rear gate of our school, bluffing Peter who used to guard it, shouting “Mera Tiffin rikshe pe rah gaya! Mera Tiffin rikshe pe rah gaya!” As if I was going to get my Tiffin back.

‘Hurrah!’ Full six hours of roaming around the streets in a torn raincoat, which prevents your identification and creating one of the most relished days of your life.

Some people have this travelling bug in their horoscope, some say ‘Chakra on the feet’. Mine is such.

I remember having once accompanied my elder brother to ‘Nai ki Mandi’, to buy some vegetables. I was about two years old and still a liberated soul. This area of Agra is the first (and the worst) to get affected in communal riots. We had to buy vegetables from shops right at the entrance of the market and the reward was a kite we had bought from the adjoining shop.

As true and responsible siblings would do, I was warned never to go beyond in that market.

Everything had been fine until one day, ‘Nitu Ki Dadi’ saw me, may be a two and a quarter year old- all on his own- buying kite from the “Ustaad Patang Wala” - a kite shop in the most interior and dreaded area of that market. One would need to cross numerous crowded crossings and innumerable lanes to reach there, over two and a half kilometers from home.

While the old lady had kindly ‘escorted’ a ‘small’ kid ‘safely’ to his home, what could a weeping mom say? I used to take permission to buy kite from the shop in front of our house :). At that point of time Mom used to co-author text books for Agra University with Papa, giving good opportunity to me to escape her attention.

Her getting the job of a lecturer in the university and the follow up admission of mine in the School had occurred as a chain of events soon after.

In the kindergarten, when I was still amongst the shorter kids, I remember having taken a ‘knife’ to the school to impress the girl who sat next that I was also a grown up. As not expected, the young lady had informed the teacher about it. ‘Bechara Romeo pita to koi baat nahin’, the teacher had also confiscated the knife.

It could only be recovered after the teacher realized that this student of hers will not let her go back home after the school was over without taking his knife back. That knife, forever used as a paper cutter by Papa, still occupies its respectable place on dad’s reading table.

Moral of the story is- This event had also occurred on a rainy day :)

It was class one when I had run away from the school on the rainy day. And why from school alone?

In those days, during the rainy season with the falling of first drop of rain from the heavens, the city electricity would go off creating a black out (Generators and Invertors were not common then).

As ‘wise’ the elder kids normally are, in our family too, they had managed to let the lit candle fall on the newly purchased dining table, got an edge of the table burnt and merrily blamed it on me.

In the follow up of events a class one kid was rescued by his father far off from the house on a pitch dark rainy night, surrounded by a lot of angry street dogs, as he was leaving that house ‘forever’ for being wrongly blamed for damaging the table.

I wonder what could have happened had not Papa heard a lot of barking dogs that night from one direction and rightly thought I could be with my best buddies.

In class first, I had scored a “perfect zero” in “Recitation” in the first term exam. The second term recitation exam was even better; the nun was naming one poem after the other if I knew how to recite those.

Recite those??? I had never heard of those. And then the poor teacher had asked if I remembered any poem on earth. I had responded happily that I had learnt one of the poems from the first term because during the first term examination she had told me that she would make me recite the same poem again in the half yearly exams.

With the combined effort of the teacher and the pupil, the poem was completed and the student was given 6 marks out of 10.

Teachers are magicians; they can draw rabbits out of hats. Atleast I was never sure if I would come first in the class or flunk in half a dozen of subjects. Ok, you got it ......... I was ever so inconsistent.

But first time I had hit the Jackpot was in Class Two, first term exam and I had got second rank in the class.

I was the only one in the class who was collecting his report card himself and had to wait till the time my parents came from college and pick me up, so I had luxury of time to ‘flaunt’ my achievement to every newcomer. And that too happened to be a rainy day, so in a way I was trapped in the school.

The boy who had come first had committed a tactical blunder of sitting next to one Mr Aziz (who was bossing around there), by far the richest person in the class, and also the most ancient sculpture of class II. The Mom of the first ranker was also there and was more than keen to welcome every mother that entered the class and enquire how well her child had performed.

In the situation so generated and the cocktail that thus got prepared, every mom and her child that entered would run away from that boisterous lady. All the duty bound moms would desperately look for some ‘bright’ student who could help their child, so that she could get them to shake hands and seek atonement.

In the unfolding events someone conducted massive recruitments in his ‘TEAM’ and by the end of which half of the team of Mr Aziz had been shifted to a new team. And all this was taking place ‘officially’ under the supervision of the mothers of the new recruits.

No doubt the recruitment was about 50% of the class size. Mr Aziz was phenomenally rich; he used all imported stationary and was known for his generosity, he could organize large Ice cream treats. Obviously, the fairer sex did not shift loyalties.

All big things in life happen on rainy days. The team formed that day was to rock the school for the years to come.