Anti Corruption and Anti Hazare

A couple of friends posted the following on FB, and I couldn’t agree more. Exactly my sentiments on the issue currently broadcasted on national television 24/7.

1. I'm anti-corruption.

2. I'm anti-Anna Hazare.

3. Hazare is a sanctimonious right-wing tyrant so cloaked in his own virtue that he believes he is above the law.

4. The law is frequently an ass.

5. Nevertheless, the law is frequently our only hope.

6. Better the elected asses than the dictatorial unelected.

7. The government is playing into Hazare's hands with its idiocy.

8. Yes, these views can be held simultaneously.

No denying the fact that corruption has assumed epic proportions in our country (India) and if nothing is done now to contain the contamination, we will never be able to redeem ourselves.

And, no denying the fact that Anna Hazare is a genuine social activist with the most noblest of intentions – his clean image and spotless career do provide an ideal anti-corruption voice.

However, we cannot deny the fact that we are living in a country, which is led by democratically elected representatives under a constitution that dictates law and civil behavior. Yes, it has loop holes and it is misused and misinterpreted, and hardly implemented in the right scenarios – yet that is our only hope. Because law enforcement is weak, you and I cannot proclaim ourselves to be the highest judiciary to whom all should abide.

Many argue that peaceful protests are within the peripheries of our civil rights – yes, provided they are done responsibly. While I agree that confining Anna Hazare to Tihar Jail was a knee jerk extreme reaction, protesting that Anna knows it all - is also not right.

How does fasting help the cause against corruption? The first time Anna went on fast – everybody sat up. It was a bold step to awaken the collective consciousness of a billion people – I will not argue with how many support and how many don’t. Of course, all of us are frustrated with the current state of affairs, and at this time a person like Anna Hazare does emerge as a larger than life hero. Though I was skeptic of where this would take us, as long as the government was forced to take a more serious look at the lok pal bill and implement it, I thought I’ll keep my cynicism in check.

But once the awareness has been created, media attention has been focused and the government has been trying to implement (so what if only a rudimentary form of) the bill, I feel Anna and his supporters should have proactively facilitated the process. In a democracy, nobody gets everything that they want – there is compromise – so many times even on the rightful demands. You tell me, is it not better that we start somewhere and take it from there, rather than fight as to where the start point should lie?

We are simple going overboard now. I am not for or against any political party – the party in power is behaving like any party would and the opposition is behaving like any opposition would – I do not attribute any morals to their words or beliefs.

It is the common people who are seldom affected by the changing power reigns that I feel are let down in all this. Who decides the righteousness of the independent body of the jan lok pal bill. Anna? In a country, where religion and technology, money and power, all are dictated by the electoral vote bank supposedly, define “independent” for me, please.

And, for god’s sake, don’t bring Gandhi into the equation. Gandhi adopted satyagraha as a means of protest against a forcefully constituted foreign government that made rules only to oppress the people of this land for their selfish interests. He was not fighting against a democratically elected government, which has been elected by us.

If we cannot find the right people to vote for, and we who consider ourselves right don’t stand for elections, please justify the success of this ideal independent body to form the jan lok pal bill.

Holding a government to ransom by fasting in today’s times is blackmailing the rule book of law and subverting the fundamentals of democracy –– My way or the highway is hardly a done deal – Means is as important as the end. That is why Gandhi fasted and Anna should not.

[Image source: www.firstpost.com]

7 Minutes

The piquant sacchariferous reek of jasmine flowers

The clamor of the vegetable hawkers and the fruit sellers

The dogs and human beings competing for the same stretch of space

The rush of the sea of commuters rising and ebbing in waves

The undecipherable announcements on the screechy microphone

The shriek of the siren and the halting breaks

The cacophony of women exchanging notes on food and family

The drooping backs under the heavily loaded school bags

The grey ash smeared foreheads

The long never ending queues at dirty windows

The red, yellow, black and blue lunch satchels

The hand-bags clutched close to the bodies

The constant elbowing to find one’s way

The stepping on the other’s toe without an apology

The stinking perspiration of the Indian summer heat

The family of four tip-toeing on the lesser used distant tracks

The wannabe heroes hanging on the foot boards

The wandering flirtatious glance of the guy with the ID tag

The indulgent smile by the salt and pepper haired gentleman

The neighbor’s humming to the latest hit on his ipod

The low-toned mushy romantic tête-à-tête on cell phones

The dexterously fast-paced texting fingers

The assembly of the men with white walking sticks

The folded creases of the morning newspaper

The rattling of the bowls for alms

The wind in your hair, the dust in your face, the urgency in your step…

…The seven most crowded and happening minutes!

Yeh dilli hai meri jaan…

(An aside: My absence from blog world for the past 3 weeks does not mean I had nothing to say – blame it on year-end blues, and ofcourse, travel and its associated sins of gluttony and sloth :D. I promise to be back with vengeance whether you like it or not :p)

A hard-core Delhi-ite that I am, it had been a while since I rediscovered the historic grandeur that define the very character of this capital city of India. Thus, fulfilling my long pending promise to Vish to take him sight-seeing, I fell in love with Delhi all over again.

The fuzzy sun rays through the wintery misty on most of the days kept us motivated for our touristy visits!

The Red Fort or Lal Quila was our first stop-over. Dad sportingly took leave from work and drove us around.

The drive through the old “walled” city – areas of Daryaganj, Jama Masjid, Chandni Chowk - reminded me why my visits to these places were so infrequent. The narrow streets, crowded with teeming millions, is not exactly my idea of a vacation.

However, the warm welcome by this much celebrated red sandstone monument made all the en-route traffic worthwhile.

The buildings and structures within the fort are reminiscent of an eclectic fusion of Persian, European and Indian art forms.

Diwan-i-Aam or the Hall of Public Audience…

Diwan-i-Khaas or the Hall of Private Audience…

The two Zenanas (women’s quarters) - Rang Mahal and Mumtaz Mahal boast of splendid architecture in marble.

Moti Masjid, also known as the pearl mosque – This was Aurangzeb’s personal mosque…

Finally, the Hayat Baksh Bagh (Life Bestowing Garden) with the Jal Mahal in the foreground and the British quarters on the extreme left in the background.

Right opposite the Lahori (the main visitor’s gate) gate of Red Fort lies the paradise of Chandni Chowk. If you are willing to excuse the pedestrians who elbow their way literally through you and the constant shouts of shopkeepers, step into the haven for good food and a one-of-it’s kind shopping experience.

Epicurean specialties of this place include paranthas – all kinds of imaginable and unimaginable varieties (lemon, mint, cashew, chilli, etc etc) deep fried in pure desi ghee; chaat items like dahi bhalla, aloo tikki; and Indian desserts, my personal favorite being rabdi ki khurchan!

(Some sound advice: Ignore the run down appearance of the place, forget hygiene and don’t count calories!)

We wrapped off Day 1 of our city tour with a quick visit to Raj Ghat and India Gate.

Raj Ghat – This is the memorial to Mahatma Gandhi

India Gate – The national monument of India that commemorates the Indian soldiers who lost their lives in World War I.

The Amar Jawan Jyoti (flame of the eternal soldier) at the India Gate renders a very solemn air to the place.

The other must-see places on Vish’s list were Qutb Minar and Lotus Temple.

Qutb Minar is the world’s tallest brick minaret and is most prominent for its Indo-Islamic architecture.

The ruins in the Qutb complex are evocative of a tremendously regal era gone by.

Some pictures for you to enjoy…

The Lotus Temple is the Bahá'í House of Worship. The dense fog didn’t help us as far as photography was concerned…

Vish has still a long list to go - But like they say, there's always a next time!

SecondShaadi.com

While browsing through some news article on my Google Reader, the following ad caught my eye:

A quick Google search, and I bumped into so many matrimonial sites that cater to divorcees or widowed persons who seek another chance at the altar – SecondShaadi.com, Thesecondmarriage.com, doosravivaah.com, indiaremarry.com, and so many more!

So, is India ready for “I do”, a second time?

I will park aside the age-old debate for and against matrimonial advertisements – It makes for a separate blog entry, if at all. I am a fence-sitter as far as this issue goes – At an obvious level, ads seeking “grooms from respectable families with over 5-digit salary” and “fair, homely and convent-educated girls”, seem to commodify and commercialize the institution of marriage. But then, how is it different from going out to a singles’ club, blind dates or dates fixed by friends etc.?

Society makes marriage a complicated affair – So I will move past this discussion.

Does this spurt in such sites that are tailor-made for second marriages indicate that finally our hypocritical, closed society is trying to open up? Or is it simply a case of market dynamics – websites giving second marriages a fillip?

Whatever be the reason, I see this as a welcome dimension in our society. Inspite of increased awareness and education levels in our society, divorcees, widows and widowers largely remain outcast! If we, as a people, accept that we cannot snatch away the choice of a second innings from someone, I view the growing popularity of these sites as a mark of a more mature social structure that is moving away from the rigid beliefs and traditions and paving way for a much more inclusive community living!

Another interesting article that I came across mentioned that even though the second marriage market appears more skewed to men, there is also a considerable number of single/divorced/ widowed Indian women of the age of 50 and above registered at this site. This is a very heartening fact. Traditionally, re-marriage of women has always been a taboo. But, guess no longer so.

In this age of skepticism, it seems like the value of the institution of marriage, which is nothing but a socially acceptable form of mutual companionship, is here to stay - so what if a little handholding from the marriage portals is required! :)

All’s well that ends well!!!

Prayers do work, don’t they? I had sincerely hoped and wished for Delhi to pull through the Commonwealth Games when the Queen’s baton relay happened in October last year. You can read the post here.

And yayay, we did it! Yes, there were a lot of hiccups and major roadblocks; the corruption was deplorable (and is unforgivable); the apathy of the government officials involved was disappointing … but we managed to put up our India shining face – bright and vibrant – when it mattered the most.

In the last couple of months, along with national and international media, everybody was bashing the preparations. As I watched the images of dishonesty and blatant money games flashed on TV, I kept my fingers crossed. While the media reports were not really exaggerated, I was a little miffed that they spoke about nothing positive at all.

However, in retrospect I guess it paid well. Indians round the world cursed and kicked and came out in the open showing their anger and shame at the Kalmadis of CWG who tried their best to barter national integrity and pride for the green bucks – a coffer filling exercise was the CWG for them!

Last minute fire fighting did a lot of damage control – we Indians thrive on jugaad, don't we? ;) (jugaad is a colloquial hindi word – loosely translated as getting things done by hook or by crook – I found a wiki link too for it here – wow Internet rocks!)

While I am thrilled at the spectacular show that Delhi organized, I feel that after the back patting is done, we need to book the culprits who caused so much confusion and delay. They need to be punished in order to set an example for other such events to come – nobody puts national pride at stake, and then gets away with it!

Also, we now need to maintain all the infrastructure we have managed to assemble thanks to the CWG budget - yes, it overshot ten times the initial amount, but we cannot undo that – what we can do is ensure that we preserve the progress we have made – preserve the spirit that is India, the spirit that is Delhi – the spirit that sometimes becomes an obscure flame thanks to selfish politicians, but still emboldens and illuminates the world when the time beseeches.

Go Delhi go!

Deeply unsettling…

I have tried convincing myself, unsuccessfully, that I have no business commenting on people’s beliefs and rituals. But there are certain experiences that are so agitating that you choke!

Chennai is a city that is an unfathomable concoction of disparate ways of living. You have the usual Page 3 glitterati, the revered Kollywood stars, the megalomaniac politicians, the intellectual few, the balanced educated middle class, the poverty stricken slum dwellers, the miserly rich – sounds like any Indian city?

Hang on – You have to live here to understand how stark the differences between people are and how these manifest themselves in every day living, unlike a metropolitan like Delhi, Mumbai or Bangalore.

On the same stretch of road, you can see women wearing short dresses, salwar kameezes, saries from 6 yards to 9 yards; men wearing shorts, jeans, dhotis and suits, children with dainty sandals, sneakers and bare feet!

But this kind of economic variance is not as perturbing as the religiously charged atmosphere of the city.

In a strange way the whole city is united in its religious fervor and yet divided by the differences because of religion again. Temples adorn every street and corner available – queues of people throng these every single day – different gods for different sects – different traditions for different sects.

I am no religious person. I know only one entity - one god – a super power that I believe in. My god has no religion. The only good part about religion is the festivals – opportunities for community celebration and I believe in the spirit of all festivals irrespective of the religion they come from. So what irritates me is when religion interrupts normal life – be it the kavars in UP, the chhatt processions in Bihar, the use of loud speakers in jagratas, bhajans – however all these can be ignored as just inconveniences – take a different route, stuff cotton wool in your ears...

What is deeply unsettling is rituals out of my understanding – the death dance – the joyous dancing by men around the dead body celebrating life after death or the end of a torturous life and peace in death – I do not know.

I was just growing accustomed to this very common sight on main roads and streets here, that I had another disturbing experience yesterday. I witnessed, at multiple places, men and women with lemons and arrows pierced on their painted bodies, faces and even eyes – swaying swords, dancing as if in a trance – with hundreds around them in some sort of unexplained frenzy.

My heart had that sinking feeling you get when you sense the world around you collapsing.

At North Usman Road, I was in an auto waiting at the traffic signal – when one such procession stood right next to me. The dressed up man and woman looked towards my side and our eyes met. I did not see any religious faith, strength, joy or even anger. There was an unmistakable desperate fear, their gaze seemed to go beyond, as if in a given-up-search of another horizon.

In a split second, the noisily dancing crowd around broke my line of sight.

Why in the name of god torture do we torture our bodies, kill our souls, inconvenience and hurt others – why can’t we use the name of god to bring peace, serenity and love – the symbols god stands for?

Another veiled story…

As I tried understanding the debates around the burqa especially in the French context here, I received many valid, well thought out, and legitimate replies – all in one way or the other against the “forced veiling”.

In a country like India, it is heartening to see educated people expressing their opinion, which is for humanity and moderation and balance. However, it is greatly disappointing to wake up to news that reads: Forced to wear burqa, teacher quits.

What is most shocking about this news is that the Students’ Union pressurized the university teacher!

What is happening to the supposedly educated youth in our country?

Why are young minds embracing religious fanaticism with such ardor?

Are they in search of a unique identity because they feel their individuality is threatened?

Has Indian politics created a whole generation of confused and misguided youngsters – rebels without any real causes?

I still remember my childhood days when religion and caste were only chapters we read in our Civics books. In school, I did not know which caste my classmates belonged to.

Through my growing up years, I had Sikh neighbors with whom I used to happily pile on for the Sunday langars at the Gurudwara; I had Muslim neighbors who were differentiated only because of the wonderful language they spoke – aap, bhai-jaan, abba-jaan – music to the ears; I had Christian neighbors who shared rich plum cakes on Christmas; and all of us together celebrated the “Hindu” festivals of Diwali and Holi!

Come the late 90s and early 2000s, as college beckoned, caste based reservations became the talk of the day. Quota seats – General seats – SC/ST – OBC – all alien terms began to invade my vocabulary.

I still remember the day I started filling out my entrance test forms - all of them asked the following disturbing questions:

Religion?

For the first time I was going to define my identity within a religious institution that had not meant much in my life so far.

Hindu, I wrote. In a fraction of a second, differences based on religion were established between neighbors.

And then the final blow that firmly established boundaries and partitions in once-innocent classrooms.

Select one of the following:

SC, ST, OBC, Others

I was baffled. I asked my dad, what I should fill in.

He said in a matter of fact tone, “Others”.

Sights, Sounds and Smells

Has it ever struck you that how people and places can be uniquely identified based on how they look, sound and smell?

Isn't it amazing more in the case of places?

The feeling of the salt in your hair on a beach, the smell of fish cooking from a bengali's house, the sound of the morning aarti bells from a temple, the sight of a whole city lit up in the night!

I have always felt that India is the richest when it comes to the diversity and the peculiarity of the varied sights, sounds and smells. I do not think there exists another nation so pregnant with such sensory stimulation.
And the truth of the fact strikes you the most when you are returning from an alien (read phoren) land :). I am sure my fellow "desis" will nod their heads in agreement (and amusement). The first proofs of this are available at the airport itself.

So, this time when I landed back from my transatlantic vacation - mind warped in the rapidly changing time zones I had travelled through - as I dazed through the ramp, I heard a 4-year ABCD (yes, american born confused desi) kid exclaim in a very matter-of-fact tone, "Now, this smells like India!".
Smart kid, I asserted to the slightly embarrassed parents. It was raining, and the muffled smell of wet cement and an unhealthily moist carpet, familiar to every Indian who has experienced the proverbial Indian monsoons, wrapped the air.

I, almost instantly, realized that actually there has been no other place where I could have landed and proclaimed "Now this smells, sounds, or looks like xyz". I mean you cannot distinguish HongKong and USA at the airport - There is this antiseptic sanitation - you cannot feel anything specific to that place - there are generic expected noises and sights - no smells (which believe me is very pleasant, and no am not complaining about that :))!

Forget the airport, most fast paced cities in the developed and advanced nations look so same - you visit one and then the other and the other and there is this characteristic cloning.

It never seizes to flabbergast me how even the various Indian metro cities still manage to have their distinct characteristics that attack, revolt, and please your senses alternately.

Where else in the world would you land and be welcomed by the smell of bidis from an open construction site (Delhi airport), the shouts of "gents and ladies separate line please for security" (Hyderabad airport), the gentle chiding of the security guys, "madame no need to take out laptop" - so what if the board says so (Mumbai airport), the strong smell of jasmine flowers from the masses who have come to receive a single member at the middle of the night (Chennai airport), and ofcourse, the sight of thousands of black and yellow auto rickshaws and taxis whose drivers in khaki uniforms create a stampede to invite travellers (Chennai airport again)!

My musings were suddenly interrupted by the blackout because of a power cut.

"Welcome to India", many co-passengers joked as we went on to face shortage of immigration forms, soaked luggage, and continued power cuts at the airport, but that is a different story, isn't it? ;)

2 States

Inspite of the fact that I am no big Chetan Bhagat fan, I could not resist the temptation of picking up a copy of 2 States on a recent visit to a book store.

2 States could pretty much be the story of my marriage too, except that it was lacking in all the dramatic paraphernalia, the dysfunctional family syndrome and the extreme emotions that make up Chetan Bhagat’s novella.

I do not think there exists another nation so diverse in its cultures, peoples, beliefs, and languages as India. Travel from one end to the other and you would be asking yourself if it was the same country?

My boss in LA once asked me, so was it a cultural shock when you first landed here? I was like not at all. We Indians have enough cultural shocks traveling from one state to another that it is actually a relief to be in a place where all people atleast speak the same language.

What happens when a UP Brahmin girl brought up and based in Delhi decides to marry the “purest of pure” Tamil Iyer boy from Madras (Chennai, it is now)?

Ofcourse, there are the initial fireworks – My dad asked me in disbelief, “Are you serious?” I was. The “how’s”, when’s”, “who’s”, and “why’s” followed.

The most difficult is obviously the WHY!

“Why do you want to marry him?”

I like him.

“Why do you like him?”

He is nice

“But why him?”

No answer to that one!

The next set of questions, even more flabbergasting.

“Why did you not tell me?”

What am I doing now? I am telling you.

“No, why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

When what happened? I love him and want to marry him, and I am telling you that.

“Why didn’t you tell me when you fell in love?”

No answer to that one too!

Fortunately, the course of our love was not very turbulent. My mom readily agreed. Vish’s parents were also very welcoming.

My dad took some time but happily came around after asking a trillion and more questions such as how will his hyperactive, slightly spoiled, “feminist” and completely stubborn daughter adjust in Chennai, in a South Indian family set up; the distance between Chennai and Delhi (I forget in what unit); what about the language barrier, how will Vish handle fights and my mood swings (not that my dad doesn’t think much of me, I think he wanted to give Vish the worst picture possible in the vain attempt to dissuade him :)!); family background (so important in an Indian wedding); can the wedding be in Delhi – North Indian style?;

And patiently Vish did answer in great depth and as genuinely as he could – I am sure he did not know the actual distance between DEL and MAA – I think, love makes you patient and persistent ;)!

Then, came the onslaught of curious relatives: Is he dark? (And I thought “fair” was considered important for a woman); Does he speak in a madrasi accent? (Is our Delhi/UP accent something we should be very proud of); They consider fish vegetarian, no? (No!); Does he always wear a lungi? (WTF!); Do they get fresh milk in Chennai, there are hardly any cows seen on the streets of Chennai! (Ok, do the stray cows in Delhi supply the milk?); Do you get atta – wheat flour, they only eat rice, no? (That’s a genuine question :)); Do they wear silk all year round? (Kinda, but silk is a natural fiber!); Do they have pubs and malls in Chennai…do people go to discs? (Yes, please ignore the ignorant North Indians); Do they cook all their food only in coconut oil? (Cudn’t give a damn!); South Indian men like only “healthy” women no – u see all those movies. (No response to that one!)

Our families coming together brought in a lot of cross cultural awareness. Many myths were shattered, and some firmly reestablished.

Everybody learned a few facts, first ofcourse, that there is more to an Iyer Madrasi than oiled hair, geeky looks, engineering degree, and overseas relatives; Tamilians have tasted inter-state and international cuisines, though curd rice still remains their favorite dish; Not eating “paneer” does not make them any less normal; Delhites are more flamboyant but we also observe traditions like they do in the south – only maybe not at early morning unearthly hours; We do not and cannot understand how a DJ can be substituted by Carnatic Music at a wedding; Just like everybody in the south is not from Madras, everybody in the north is not from Punjab;

More importantly - Moms on both the sides are fiercely protective of their sons; Relatives in both the states can get pesky; Everybody loves gifts;

And most importantly finally it’s not what community you belong to but who you are that makes all the difference – Generalizations are superficial!

All’s well that ends well, they say, and I agree. The wedding went off smoothly – North Indian style with my dad making some improvisations like making me sit on his lap for the “taali” (any need!) – and yes, I did wear the complete nine yards during the “pheras”.

Post the wedding, life’s changed – only slightly.

Sambhar-sadam goes along pretty well with paneer makhani, as does masala dosa with chhola bhhatura ;)!

The latest entrepreneurial endeavor in town…

…is feigning familiarity to siphon off some green bucks from unsuspecting people.

First the story:

Location: Pondy Bazaar, T Nagar
Time: 11:30 AM on a busy Sunday (a few weeks ago)
Charlatan: A well-aged, highly-decent looking, balding guy – medium height
Victim (potential): Yours truly…:p

Here’s what happened - I was in Pondy Bazaar, trying to locate Big Bazaar (don’t ask me why my friend and I chose that very landmark to meet up – that’s incidental).

So I, the epitome of a directionless body, was on the phone having the standard conversation “I am right near this guy selling flowers, are you on that the opposite side? Wait, are you on the left or right; no, no, I mean if you face the flower guy, then are you on the left or right; okay okay, I understand you have not spotted the flower guy yet! – Forget it, I’ll get where you are!”

To the flower guy: “Anna, Big Bazaar, where?”
(Did you just sneer and say “women!”? I don’t blame you just this one time :))

Out of the mass of people I was surrounded by (those who have been to this infamous place know what I am talking about; others please try to imagine a crowded place with only the space you occupy as that available for breathing – and yet I go there, but that’s a different story!) – I see this middle-aged guy waving at me – I ignore him.
And then he’s right in front of me, his hand extended out – “Remember Madam? Shankaran from the airport? Air India counter?”

I could not recall meeting this guy at all. But he looked so sincere, and being the fool that I am, I pretended I recognized him, “Oh, I see, Hello” (Big Blunder 01).

I am known to smile at random strangers (without any malicious intent, obviously :D), and I thought maybe this guy had helped me at the airport, you know, with my luggage sometime, or with an extra hand bag tag when I would have managed to lose mine after the security stamp, and we must have exchanged…errr…well, smiles!.

The man continued, “How are you Madam? I am here because of my foot injury – came to see the doctor”.

Emotional lightweight (me): “Oh, are you better now?” (Big Blunder 02)

Crook: “The doctor has asked for 1500 rupees, I have only 600”

Fused tubelight (me): (to myself) "Oh god, is he after money; do I really know him…am I carrying 900 bucks in cash…does he really need the money?" (faith in strangers dies hard – Big Blunder 03)

Crook: “Can you please lend me 900 rupees?”

Flickering bulb (me): (to myself) "He is only after money, Yuvika – Vish will be mad – get out of here!"

(to the man) “I am sorry, I am here to meet someone (can’t still admit, I don’t want to give him any money cos I don’t trust him) – where is Big Bazaar?"

Crook: “Right on the opposite side, but ma’am I need the money”

Enlightened being (me): “Thank you, I am sorry I don’t have money” (Delayed, but nevertheless finally, the great escape!)

And so I turned around and ran across the street at the fastest speed ever, with this man following me and shouting, “Madam 500 atleast”

What a sight it was! I did manage to get him off my trail and locate my friend – All’s well that ends well?

I tried putting the episode behind me, and didn’t tell anybody about it at the risk of worrying my folks.

And, I would have never blogged about this had I not met the same guy again outside Odyssey in Adyar. I was with my in-laws this time. He approached a relative with the same unassuming, genuine disposition, “Hello, Sir – Adi Narayanan from the airport – Air India counter!”
He did not notice me. It was time to make amends. I told my uncle not to acknowledge the guy as he was a rogue. We did just that. We just ignored the guy, and after a minute or two he was gone.

Most of us have heard of such incidents, but when it comes to that moment, we are seldom mentally prepared to do what must be done. I thought it’d be a good idea to share this with you guys - not sure if this is happening in other cities as well…but Chennaites, beware and take care!

Are our gods deaf?

I am hardly religious but at the same time neither I am an atheist. I believe in god – but the association of god with religion, traditions and superstitions is something I am really very wary of.

Okay, with this clarification out of the way now, let me proceed with what has been really pissing me off for some time now.

Blaring music on loud speakers at all odd hours of the day and night is very much a part of our being, in India. We consider it our birth right and our obligatory duty to broadcast our happiness, sorrow, loyalties, anything and everything at “high volume”. From the 'baraats' in the wedding season in the crowded residential streets to the DJ 'dandiya' nights in the neighborhood apartments, the first birthday celebration of the neighbor’s kid next door, and the 'jagaratas' and 'satsangs' in the community spaces – noise pollution is all pervasive. Cacophony has always been synonymous with celebration.

Most of us thanked god for small mercies when the Supreme Court of India passed the landmark judgment that took baby steps toward reducing or rather containing the clamor that the so called members of the various civilized and spiritual societies were creating. You can read the details here.

As any other rule, this too has not seen a complete and absolute implementation but at least in the National Capital territory and region, we have had some respite from the menace of “loud speakers”.

Cut to Chennai – T Nagar, to be precise – 5 in the morning - for more than a month now I continue to be rudely woken up by chants of 'sabiramalai' and 'aiyappa' coming from some small temple across the road.

Though I usually crib more than an average human being, I swear to god I really don’t mind the occasional ear-splitting music on a film star’s birthday, or a politician’s death anniversary or a festival - Silence can be deafening too – I need some din around to maintain my sanity levels (however low anybody might think those to be :p).

However, the last month and a half have been terrible and intolerable. In the name of God to disrupt an entire neighborhood is ostentatious.

Are our gods hard of hearing? Are they deaf? My god isn’t and I am sure yours is not too.

I would still make some concession had it been a 'kirtan' kind of a setup where people get together and recite prayers to their gods – you know at least they were devoted enough to do that – But no, here somebody is indecent enough to put recorded songs with tunes bordering on film music on a loud speaker before the sun even decides to rise – this is not a means to connect with god but a form of community entertainment.

As an obvious reaction, I asked my FIL to complain – register a formal police complaint – after all, this is an infringement of what is laid out in the rule book. Haa! Only if our judicial system was good enough - My FIL told me that they all have tried and given up – each time they get the same response – “Why do you want to get into all this, you are educated – why do you want to go against these fanatics who will do anything in the name of religion – your complaint will spark off a class and caste war (this will make a lot of sense to people who are aware of the caste politics in Tamil Nadu); just close your windows, put cotton in your ears and ignore – why should you get your hands dirty”.

And so we, the citizens of the largest democracy in the world, put cotton wool in our ears and shut our windows and eyes, lock our houses and tongues, and continue to live, seething inside … and blogging on cyber space in a vain attempt to compensate for the actions we never take and the compromises we make.

Of lives snuffed out at dawn…

Yet another 4th or 5th page newspaper story: “Ashamed of failure, 12-year old in Mumbai hangs himself”.

Sushant Patil is a perfect example of how today’s reality affects and victimizes children and teenagers in particular, denying them the blissful innocence, the carefree laughter, and the state of absolute happiness, which was once synonymous with childhood and youth. According to latest statistics, suicide is one of the three largest causes of death among the youth worldwide.

There are multiple reasons and sources that come together to form a complex network of issues surrounding the youngsters today.
The academic pressure, made worse by dad who wants you to get into IIT, by mom who dreams that you’ll a doctor, by the uncle who boasts about the salary his IIM son has been offered, by the aunt who is worried about what her daughter eats at MIT, and by the neighbor who is looking for an marriage alliance for his NRI son who by the way owns a “bungalow” in NYC.

Unfortunately, it is the bane of the middle class to uphold values of excellent educational background, financial stability, and social propriety coupled with the need to rise up the social ladder. So, in the name of doing the best for their children, your dad will take a bank loan, and your mom will pawn the family jewels so that you can study and finally achieve the dreams they once hoped for. And here is where the problem starts; the kids today have the burden of being successful come what may.

I wouldn’t blame parents alone – switch on the idiot box and every soap and advertisement talks about upward mobility. There’s a world out there to be bought - and there is no place for losers. The social pressure – the hottest pub in town and the coolest hang out zone, the newest car, the world class apartment, the funkiest gadget, the latest movie – all require you have your wallet loaded. Love is an expensive proposition too!

Failing an exam is hardly a failure, psychologists claim! Yes, but try explaining that to the kids and the parents of the kids who have not been able to “pass” the nursery admission interview at the best “international” school in the city!

My heart cringes in fear and hopelessness how problems of population, demand supply imbalance, inflation, media penetration, Internet boom, poverty, consumerism, the rat race to get at the top are compounding our lives. We all are spending our lives working towards a better tomorrow without realizing that tomorrow we will end up again sweating it out for a better day after!

I have met so many friends, colleagues, seniors, juniors, who identify with the following lyrics of a song from the Aamir Khan super hit – 3 Idiots. In the name of progress, we are manufacturing generations of people who are disgruntled, frustrated from within and very unhappy for the good times they lost on and the magical enchantment of childhood that they never experienced…

...

Give me some sunshine

Give me some rain

Give me another chance

I wanna grow up once again

…

Raindrops on roses...

The local headlines in Chennai, a city am still learning to get accustomed to and growing attached to, maybe bordering on even falling in love with, inspite of all the idiosyncrasies, read something like this:

"Heavy rains batter Chennai"; "Torrential rains flood the city"

My FIL had sounded high alert this Wednesday itself. Frankly, I hadn't been giving second thought to his warnings and words of caution simply because I was being chaperoned everyday to work and it didn't really matter how the weather was, second work pressure has been a little over the top!

However, our driver gave us the royal ditch by not turning up on both the days with the so called "torrential rains" - yesterday and today. On Friday, I was furious - I hated the auto ride, the flooded streets, the dirty wetness in the feet, the dripping umbrella, the messed up hair...

But today morning, when I got up to the sound of the turbulent downpour from the menacingly dark clouds above - spatting on us mortal with a venomous vengeance - I smiled and opened my bedroom window wide.

I lingered my gaze out for quite a long time - in that seemingly thunderous outburst was tranquility that is sometimes missing in the most silent of places, in the blurred scene there was clarity of thought.

I had to go to work but I couldn't bring myself to complain. I recalled the wonderful times when all us kids in the neighborhood used to get together and play frisbee in the rains; the joy of splashing in water is unmatched - believe me.

Anyways, I put on some good loud bollywood music (for those interested: Love aaj kal, New York and that stupid chiggy wiggy song ;)), and geared up for work. I had to take a rick, pick this colleague, who's more a friend, R, from her place and then travel to office.

When I reached the street next to my place, my first reaction was Oh my gawd!! There was almost knee-deep water on the roads, that were now transformed to rivers and u bet, I was so excited.

Water flooding our auto, R wading through the river to reach us, cars splashing water to right uptil your face - there was mayhem in the city and I was in the middle of it! I was mightily kicked - I mean c'mon, am I in a metro city or what? Though, this time I did not feel like cribbing about the infrastructure or rather the lack of it.

I always miss Kodak moments and was able to capture only one or two low resolution pics on my mobile camera. Posting one here.

The situation was much worse in the evening - it took us almost an hour to reach home and when I got off the auto I just didn't feel like opening up the umbrella - I hopped and skipped in the rain, savoring the wonderful feeling of the water drops falling on my cheeks and tiptoed home! It sounds crazy, but I feel like doing the frisbee thing or the aimless splashing around once again - there are only very few things that can salvage your soul from the chaotic depressing misery of everyday reality, and getting wet in the rain is one of them.

I love the person who wrote:

“Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain”

Happy rain dancing, everyone!

Is Delhi ready for the Queen’s baton?

As London sets the stage for the Commonwealth Games baton relay where the Queen will pass on the torch to our First Lady, I cross my fingers.

Come October 2010, and Delhi will be the cynosure of world attention as it hosts the 2010 Commonwealth Games. Since its selection in 2003, Delhi has been gearing up for this mega event. With a sanctioned budget of more than 5000 Crores, we have seen infrastructural improvements in the capital city – neat flyovers, the blessed Metro, the beautiful Akshardham, the much talked about Commonwealth Games Village, commissioning of new buses, widening of roads – we might not be doing the best but we could have been much worse!

This time around, it is not the cynic in me but the proud Delhite that asks the question – Are we there yet? Are we ready? Are we all set? We better be. The last time I visited Delhi (that’s like a month back), the flyovers seemed okay, the residential complex near the Commonweallth Village looked a tad bit incomplete and the Metro project looked derailed from its planned schedule, by quite a measure!

As Pratibha Patil asserted Delhi’s readiness for the games on BBC, I sent out a silent prayer to the one above – “We might be behind schedules, we might be corrupt, we might have slacked off – but God please save the face of 1.2 billion people who are united by their national identity and pride. Let no shortcoming dampen the enthusiasm of the event, let no tragedy mar the spirit of the season, and most importantly, let every visitor and guest experience the spirit that is Delhi - the rich cultural heritage blended with modern amenities, the historical old world charm in the backdrop of a fast-paced urbane city. - Amen”

This is our moment – go Delhi go!

SOS – Our hill stations need a savior!

A kumaoni by birth, I have been very proud of my “native” land – the hills of Uttarakhand (formerly, Uttaranchal, and before that a part of the state of Uttar Pradesh). Most of our vacations during my growing up years were spent visiting breathtaking valleys and mountainous ranges of Nainital, Bhimtal, Almora, Pithoragarh and Lohaghat – the lesser known but much more beautiful cousins of the more popular – Mussorie and Dehradun.

This time around I visited the hills after a gap of 5 years. The journey was as always arduous and my affinity to mountain sickness does not help matters. But forget that. Dad took a less-traveled route to Almora – our chosen destination - and it was undoubtedly one of the most scenic drives I have ever taken. The long winding roads wrapped around the mountains with royal pines spread out till as far as the eye can see, and the mist rising softly as if from below the mountains – heaven is here.

But before I could completely lose myself in the picturesque view that enveloped us, the driver screeched rudely at our first halt.

Rickety shops lined along the road serving food that has never known the word hygiene. Sanitation is at its worst. No, you don’t want a description of the restrooms.

We tried to drown the ugly reality in the beauty of nature and reached Almora - a town that has not changed with the passage of time. I do not know if I mean this as an appreciation. Almora still does not have a drainage and sewage system. The vehicles have increased but the roads have deteriorated.

Move to Nainital – all that is good about the place is what the colonial rule bequeathed on us. We have barely been able to maintain the infrastructure developed by the British more than 200 years ago. The number of people visiting these places has multiplied manifold, and the “mall” road has become a mess of smoke and noise.

What makes me so bitter at the state of affairs is that nothing is being done, nobody is bothered. What should not change – the weather, the majesty of nature, the peace and solitude of the place – is changing thanks to global warming, unchecked pollution and total disregard for our natural heritages; And what should change – the infrastructure, roads, education of the local population, sanitation – is not changing.

It is a frustrating experience seeing these places that offer hope for retreat and sanity in a world that’s maddeningly complicated, simply fade away their charm and glory.

However, I must mention that Bhimtal is a few notches better than the other two places. There is a serenity in the place that is intoxicating. So maybe next summer, you could plan a trip to Bhimtal to beat the heat. Leaving you with a picture of the calm and placid waters.

Jai Ho Slumdog but Cattle Class hai hai!

For the past two days I have been dying to shout out my opinion on the controversial tweet of Shashi Tharoor but just haven't been able to get down to writing it. So, a little late, but nevertheless.

First, dear ST, the apology to the people whose sentiments you may have hurt was so not required!

When can we start a mature era of politics where it is okay to sit back and enjoy some play of wits? Our politicians need to grow up and more importantly, develop a sense of humor – or maybe simply get a life!

I personally enjoyed ST's tweet, as a comment on the recent Congress paranoia over PDAs (no I do not mean public displays of affection but public displays of austerity), that he would travel "cattle class out of solidarity with all our holy cows!"

Obviously, the little-educated politicians saw this as insulting and blah and blah. We had Congress party guys immediately in action disassociating themselves and the party name with ST's comment regarded as upsetting the emotions of the Indians. Ouch, indeed.

Frankly speaking, the crammed economy class seats in all the airlines (non-Indian included), the non-AC coaches in the trains and the public transport in any city in India is fit for cattle, and we human beings try to accommodate as much as we can. If Madame Jayanti Natarajan is so offended by ST's remarks she should proactively begin to see what can be done to improve the lot of the proverbial "common man". I mean just because you don't call me blind doesn’t change the fact that I do not have eyes!

And the hullabaloo of the term "holy cows" was hilarious indeed - I think ST is not aware of the literacy levels of our darling politicians.

However, one thing that ST's remark achieved was something that has been very difficult in the recent past - he actually got BJP and Congress on the same side - nothing unites us like illiteracy and sheer joblessness! Forget all the pressing issues of national concern – how dare this “phoren-returned” gentleman show us the mirror!

And all this fuss being made by the party that used Jai Ho from Slumdog Millionaire as their election anthem...the logic escapes me!

To be or not to be: Form 16

I am sure this entry adds to the zillion other blog entries on ‘taxing’ worries!

I fail to fathom the complexities of the Indian Income Tax Department (actually, of all the Government departments, but then this one currently happens to be no.1 on my s**t list).

Though most financial terms are Greek and Latin to me, and do not interest me a wee bit, I made the horrendous blunder of reading a news snippet about Form 16s no longer mandated for filing of returns. This was sometime in May 2007. Read the news piece here.

Being the extra chilled out (read lazy) bum that I am, I coolly stopped keeping a record of my Form 16s.

So, when last week my FIL called the CA to get all our tax records cleared, I announced that I did not have any of my Form 16s. (Having been in the US for the last two financial years, I have the mammoth task of filing IT return for three years this time.)

Obviously, everybody was livid, but I dutifully quoted the news item and succeeded in dissipating some heat, whew!

However, the CA told us that the new forms require detailed information, which is provided in the Form 16. If we do not have that, all calculations need to be done manually based on the salary slips received each month. I wonder what gave him the impression that I look the kind to store my salary slips for 36 months in some locker, dimwit!

I tried arguing, explaining – nothing helped…I actually realized Form 16 makes everybody’s lives easier as it gives you line by line information that the tax return form asks for.

Fine, will somebody tell me then what is the use of shouting from the roof top that we are moving towards more user-friendly government machineries and mechanisms and are eliminating the need for useless paper work, when in reality we are just moving on to just another arduous way of doing things?

As if not having the Form 16s was not bad enough, I had meanwhile quit my organization a week before this crazy CA landed up at our place. Being in an organization and getting the Finance Department to listen to you sounds quite impossible, imagine trying to get them to reply to your mails after you are no longer an employee!

But, never say die, I did try mailing the corporate finance team and was thrilled to bits when they sent all my Form 16s within a week.
There is mercy and hope for salvation, always!

Lessons Learnt:

1. Avoid reading news bulletins concerning the Indian Government way of functioning. If you happen to come across any such information, ignore it.
2. Form 16 is mandatory; forget what everybody else tells you.
3. You can file your current financial returns only if all your previous returns have been filed, else you have the option of filing them altogether.
4. Save all your salary slips and bank statements for easy retrieval.
5. Actually, forget point 4.
6. On second thoughts, points 1 to 5 are not required, if you just remember this simple cardinal rule – Let your dad/ hubby/ FIL take charge of your tax details, empower them completely and just sign where they ask you to!

The latest flu in town - IPL

Not that I hold anything in particular against one of the most celebrated cultural legacies that we have bequeathed from the British imperials – Cricket; however, I fail to fathom the feverish popularity of this colonial game.

The game assumes epidemic proportions during the World Cups, Indian Premium League (IPL) series and, these days, any match that India is playing in.
Deserted streets, cold food waiting at the dining table, selective hearing disorder in especially the men folk, joyous applaud interspersed with sighs of disappointment, the rambunctious bursting of crackers, irrespective of the hour of night or day, at a win, and the fanatic violence at a loss – ohh how I hate it all, this obsession with a game of bat and ball. (Wow, that rhymes; I always knew the first step towards poetry is misery.)

Ok, let’s talk about the latest manifestation of this malady – IPL. ‘Cricket for cricket’s sake’, they say – balderdash! The who’s who of the bollywood fraternity, the liquor baron, the Ambani’s, the ‘whoever’ with that extra buck, bid for players as if they were horses or something.
The millions pumped in by the otherwise broke sponsors (and no, I don’t specifically mean Citi), the deluge of ads, the not-so-bad cheerleaders (alas, South Africa seems to be outside the ruthless control of the Ram Sena) who seem to cheer the crowds and not the players, the pathetic expression of SRK after every match, the irritating interviews of Priety Zinta where she shows her support for the “boys”, the Shetty sisters giggling in corner, the Kingfisher with the mermaid (Katrina), the boy-cut Mandira Bedi, the MTV VJ compering for Set Max – tell me what is not unbearable about this game.

Everywhere – at home, office, the local grocery store – people are speculating, betting, hoping, praying – Chennai Super Kings, Kolkata Knight Riders, Delhi Darevils, Royal Challengers Banagalore, Rajasthan Royals, Punjab Kings, Mumbai Indian, Deccan Challengers – how does it matter who wins? They do not really represent the state they are playing for. They are a part of the team cos they were bought for so many millions and they are raking even more because everybody is so emotionally involved in this game of moolah.

The politics of the country – the impending General Elections - have all been pushed to the periphery of our consciousness – relegated to the space of the media. We are not sure, and frankly, care a damn as to who the next prime minister will be. Mention IPL, and our brows knit together in deep concern - we sincerely deliberate – Chennai doesn’t seem to have a chance, close call between Deccan and Delhi, Punjab’s not far behind, Mumbai can still bounce back, is Kolkata still in the series?

Nothing unites us or divides us like Cricket does. And it is precisely this despotism that the sport enjoys that exasperates me thoroughly. Relish the game as you please, don’t revere it.

This is Customer Support – May I help you?

Oh no…please don’t because you cannot!

At some point in our lives, we have all arraigned the services offered by the public and government sectors– Be it the BSNL line man who never turns up to fix your telephone connection (I am really grateful to my dad for being in the Telecom sector and therefore redeeming our lives from this single most infamous and far-flung phenomenon), the electricity bill that always shows the wrong units consumed, the cop and the postman who need to be bribed in order to get your passport on time, the data entry guy at the Income Tax office who never gets your details correct the first time on the PAN card (I remember my date o f birth printed as 1953 in my first PAN card – talk about instant waning!), or the clerk at the University Office who will never be able to trace your roll number should you need another copy of your college degree.

Well, “sarkari kaam hai, der to lagegi” (It’s a government service, therefore bound to be delayed), and so we sniveled, and we huffed and we puffed and we moved on.

Then, came the age of the Tata and Ambanis and numerous other bantam and burly private players who invaded the previously unexploited territories and challenged the monopoly of the so called public sector, offering services that were not only superior but also more customer-focused.
A key player that emerged was Airtel, the Mittal clan’s roseate cherub. Cellular services never seemed so facile; 24x7 customer support was an unheard of marvel.

And, so thwarting my dad’s top-notch attempt at convincing me to go in for a BSNL connection as according to him BSNL was equally competitive and more reliable (my dad was working for BSNL then) for my first mobile phone ever in 2003, I went in for an Airtel. It was cool and red and hip and happening, the unsurpassable medium to “Express Yourself”.

That was then, zooming in to the present – 2009.

I have been exasperated by Airtel customer service. First, it was the prepaid connection that was magnanimously disconnected by some bugger cos my identity and address proof documents had not reached Airtel. Obviously, the fact that I had bought the connection from an Airtel center and had provided the required documents to the Airtel representative, invoked little sympathy from the idiotic and uneducated call center executives. So, after lambasting a few such specimens, I resubmitted my documents only to be told a week later that my account could not be activated on account of non-availability of identity and address proof in the system.
Now, I must admit it’s not very difficult to invoke the wrath of this person called Yuvika Chaube; I am forever ready to axe the first head that blurts illogical hogwash, but this time around I thought I’d burst a vein in my umbrage. Finally, I had to take refuge with my dad who unleashed the TRAI authorities on Airtel (thank god for babudom :)) and I did have the last laugh – not only was my service restored in a couple of hours but somebody from Airtel came to my house to inquire and take whatever proofs!

My blood pressure was seemingly nearing back to normal after this fury that Airtel struck again! This time my DTH TV Cable connection was the prima facio. Now, don’t ask me why I am such a die-hard Airtel fan – I am not. All this happens to be the ill-play of providence. Okay, back to my ranting, so Fate decided one fine Wednesday evening that I do not deserve to watch any of the mainstream channels – Star Plus, Sony, Set Max, Pix etc. I gave Airtel two complete days to resolve the issue but I forget the exact phrase that crudely states the fact that a dog’s tail can never straighten (I am sorry, the flavor is lost in translation). So I metamorphosed into my Maa Kaali avatar, and gave hell (and I really mean it) to two customer care executives and their supervisors.
I used abuses, hurled accusations, threatened, and finally after four and a half days of having waged a bloody, ferocious battle, with inexorable support from my father in law, we were able to coax the much sought after “service engineer” to pay us a visit and fix the problem. For those interested, it was some minor problem with the reception of the dish and was fixed in less than an hour.

Alas, all differences between the private companies and the government sector seem to have been blurred with the passage of time. You can expect exemplary service once-in-a-while from both, but for the majority of the time, tighten your seat belts for the deadliest of rides and the most unpleasant of trysts that begin with the horrific words “Hello this is Customer Service, How may I help you?”, which actually means “You are a fool to have tried this number and immensely lucky that you were able to reach one of us. Now you can go ahead with the formality of telling us about your problem. In all probability we can do nothing so hopefully you believe in God, and that faith might see you through these troubled times.” Amen.

And the Best Debut for the year is...

...Obviously the People's Car - Nano, the latest nipper from Tata Motors.

As Ratan Tata unveils the world's cheapest car, I experience a motley of emotions.

I am excited at this yet another contrivance, unique in its own special way, unleashed onto the overwhelmed masses, that promises to revolutionize the transport scene in India. As Ratan Tata talks about his dream to create an affordable yet safe vehicle for the family, where "the father driving the scooter, his young kid standing in front of him, his wife seated behind him holding a little baby", I am moved and impressed with his inimitable dexterity to combine his compassion for human life, the historic TATA values and his keen entrepreneurial acumen into this tactile product that not only makes a helluva business sense but that also ostentatiously interweaves with it the aspirations of millions.

Here's a car that's the ultimate lower middle class family's fantasy - modestly priced at Rs. 1 Lac (approx 2000 USD), that's a little more than what a good two-wheeler would cost, any day safer than a bike or a scooter, high on fuel efficiency and low on emissions. For a change, we have a car launch sans the steamy skeletal models, a launch that talks about utility and not style and flamboyance, a launch that targets the guy on the road and not the rich brat who has never walked the streets of the city he was born in. I am glad a privileged Indian, though for a profitable advantage, did think of the not-so-privileged one!

For all these reasons, I am enticed to look away from the looming danger this car brings. Unfortunately, our roads in India are not (and will never be) ready for the enormous congestion that the success of this car may wreak. Imagine all the two-wheelers you see metamorphosed into four wheelers - I shudder at the thought!
But then, we Indians are seldom prepared well - things just happen to us and we learn to deal with it...hope this time this magic wand does not start ticking a distant bomb!