Remembrance Of My Childhood Girl-Friend

Living in the present, when I experience severe loneliness my mind flies back to my early days and sometimes, I feel like visualizing the future scenario or the shape of things to happen like our nation’s future, will there be anybody to erase the problems resulting from global financial melt-down which spreads across the World, about some incarnations to wipe out the scourge of terrorism from the entire earth, a peaceful and harmonious life awaiting somewhere to make an epoch-making atmosphere in the World.

My early days otherwise childhood days, I didn’t have to ponder over the serious and painful issues affecting the World. Childhood days are for studying, playing with childrens’ of my age, often indulging in some kinds of mischiefs, getting scolded and threatened by the parents, occasionally getting thrashed by them and teachers.

While flying back to the past, dormant faces in the recess of my mind will come up, like invited and uninvited guests, mostly my friends, whom I loved and hated. Most of my teachers, many of them in their heavenly abode now, still come before me, sometimes with advices, sometimes with reprimand with sticks in their hands to punish those who cross the ‘Lakshmana Rekhas’ ( or the limit upto which one can go).

Besides the teachers in the school, I had a few Asans’ (teacher), from Govindan Asan to Madhavan Asan. Govindan Asan was always mild and affectionate to the children, occasionally threatening us with whip-lashes, pinching or intimidating us about our lack of studiousness to our fathers, mothers or uncles. Never did he cause even a slight pain, so lovable and caring was he to us. He taught us the first alphabets on the sands spread before us, give necessary instructions as to how to proceed further, sometimes cracking jokes and telling stories which always had a good message to us students to emulate in our life. It was a matter of pain to all of us to bid farewell to Govindan Asan, he was also in pains when the time arrived to get separated from him to join school. He blessed us and whenever we came across him after our studies under him, he always inquired about our studies and gave a lot of advices to become great men and women in future. He had a phenomenal memory and hence he always recognized and called us by our names.

After joining school, my father approached my teachers who were allotted the task of teaching us, most of them he was acquainted with, told them to punish me severely for which there would not be any complaints from him, because he always believed in the dictum that children who were apathetic to studies should be dealt with severe punishment. He might have had some dreams and plans to give me maximum education, thus grooming to be in a great position. Not only my father, but other parents also nursed similar thoughts like him and hence my colleagues also bore the brunt. Our teachers kept on laughing while pinching and beating us deriving a sort of vicarious pleasure. Whenever our eyes welled-up while experiencing harsh punishments their sadistic pleasure lasted long.

Not satisfied with my performance in the school, father was in search of a tuition master, and he experienced not much difficulty in fishing out one to provide us with good teaching and also ruthless punishment. Madhavan Asan was known to almost everyone in our village, one lean, quick-tempered, grey-haired old man, with an umbrella always in possession and frequent chewing of betel leaves, arecanut and tobacco. Furthermore he had a unique authority on me, as he was the second uncle of my father. My Grand-uncle, if I could say like that. He always sat in the easy chair in front of me and taught me what he deemed appropriate, and as I was very weak in mathematics and before leaving for the day he used to give me some home-works to be completed and submit before him next day. Even after severe coaching, I couldn’t make any head or tail of mathematics and found myself in a precarious situation. Whom to complain? Who was there to listen to my doubts and helplessness? I saw nightmares in sleep, often jumping up with wild cry, father and mother took umbrage at me, ordered me not to make noises in the night. I could not even sleep well, always fearing Asan’s reaction, his roar, his stick, long blade-like fingers to pinch the poor students and shouting at them.

Meanwhile, to my happiness, a pretty little girl also joined the tuition class. She was about my age, with in days we became very friendly and always found time in speaking to each other about Asan’s class, our apprehensions and his loud noise reminiscent of the roar of a lion, in whispering tones. She told me about her father- a government servant, mother- house wife and a little sister. There was a huge mango tree in the premises of her house, before leaving for tuition, she never forgot to bring two or three mango fruits wrapped in a piece of newspaper to see happiness and gratitude in my face, thus deriving satisfaction and pleasure. Before Asan made his appearance at the gate, we would run away to a lonely place and stealthily ate them one by one. Then both of us would try to do our home-work, consulting each other but our answers always went wrong because of our ‘expertise’ in Mathematics. As the countdown went on both of us felt our hearts beating fast, fearing the consequences, after Asan’s eyes glanced through his spectacles. Always he called me first, I would go near him, mentally preparing to suffer the worst. A wild thrash or pinching my thighs till I writhed in pain. He didn’t have any compassion and while trying to teach me once again he didn’t forget to go on pinching and myself felt like weeping, tears trickled down my cheeks. I could see my girl-friend with welled-up eyes looking at my suffering face, she would also join in sobbing. Asan never thought about looking at her face, she knew that after me, the next victim would be herself.

After my quota for the day was over, she would stand up on her feet preparing to go near Asan with pounding heart and trembling legs, beads of sweat and tears running down her face, with the 200 pages book, she would hand over it with trembling hands to the Asan. Very much similar to my predicament.

I couldn’t bear her sobbing, often looking down I would start cursing my Asan in my mind.

Still I wonder, how could the Asan commit such a ruthless punishment, simultaneously keep laughing like the evil or villain characters in a film or drama on noticing our pain and sadness.

After coming back and sitting beside me, both of us would look at the clock on the wall whether it was time for him to leave the place. As is the usual practice, he would give us a lot of home-work for the next day and would remind us about the severe punishment awaiting us for making mistakes. “Don’t be careless. Attend the class and obey what I say. Read a lot and try to solve as much problems as possible.”

The tuition classes went on throughout the mid-summer vacation and the school was about to open, forgetting the thrashing, scolding, pinching and all our pains, with heavy hearts we both got separated, once in a while we saw exchanged smiles, talked about the studies and teachers, some rude some friendly.

After our studies, I got enrolled in a college and she joined Teacher’s Training Course (TTC). Fortunately or unfortunately, I got selected as a bank employee and she became a teacher.

Whenever I dig up the past relationships, studies, friends, her face appears before me like a red-rose in a misty morning…an enthralling and nostalgic moment.

WELCOME 2009 - WILL IT BE A REPEAT OF 2008?

WELCOME 2009- WILL IT BE A REPEAT OF 2008?

The countdown has begun. Now it is a matter of hours. We are on the threshold of another New-year. 2009 is going to be celebrated with all pomp and pageantry despite the turmoil spreading across the World.

Everyone must have been recalling the rise of 2008. Much expectations and hopes, we had. A comparatively peaceful, happy and serene new year was in our mind. It was our dream. We human beings, exceptions there also, nursed hope and happy days ahead. The desire for happiness, peaceful co-existence, calmness devoid of all kinds of violent days were prevalent throughout the World. “Wishful thinking” some might say. In the course of time we were slowly losing our hopes and grand expectations. Always we encountered the just opposite of what we dreamt of. In spite of all the horrible consequences, we continue to cherish dreams of a better brave new world of harmony and unity.

If dreams were horses, the beggars would have rode on horse’s back. That is a trait in our character, often find difficult to erase that quality, if we could say like that.

2008 was an eventful year. Communal riots, terrorist attacks and violent deaths of innocent people, the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, ethnic conflicts leading to murders of innocent majority- they are ultimate sufferers, example Darfur, SriLanka, Congo,Somalia, a long list of such horrendous happenings across the World to point out.

Even then we hold on to our desire and hope for the best. 2008 also witnessed global financial melt-down, starting from the so-called rich and powerful country in the World and the melt-down spreading across the World resulting in suicides, frantic meetings of World leaders to find a solution to the impasse contributed by a deregulated market economy, lakhs of young men and women losing their jobs leaving them disappointed and disillusioned, the situation is similar to the Great Depression of 1930s.

A lot to feel sorrow about.

Take a look at South Africa. Nelson Mandela who spearheaded a determined fight against whites-who colonized the country for a prolonged time is leading a sorrowful life, finding his party in disarray fighting each other with encouragement of Tabo Mbeki, the former President along with his cohorts and the aspiring leader Jacob Zuma and his cohorts , and it is most likely that ANC after splitting into two parties and contesting the elections with Nelson Mandela watching the developments helplessly and with sadness who had to spend long 27 years in prison suffering innumerable brutal assaults for the freedom of his country.

Zimbabwe under Robert Mugabe, ruling the country with an iron hand, even do not get along with the opposition leaders and put them behind bars as long as he wished. A chaotic economy with the inflation rate soaring up to millions thus resulting in poverty and malnutrition deaths, the man in the throne remaining adamant and arrogant caring little for the basic problems dogging the nation. Zimbabwe’s story had already been mentioned and I do not want to repeat more about the unfortunate goings on there.

Darfur in Sudan, the ethnic clashes raging violently in the neighbouring country of SriLanka, Somalia, Congo, Myanmar still under military leadership, Nobel Laureate Aung –Saan-Syuki still finds herself in prison for trying to establish a democratic country. The Bangladesh conundrum still raging, two former PrimeMinisters, Khalida Zia and Sheikh Haseena fighting it out to capture power after years of waiting outside expecting the elections to parliament with bated breath. Both of them were incarcerated for years’ on corruption charges by the interim government under Fakrudin Ahmed.

Pakistan, our neighbouring country now considered by a majority of nations as “the epicentre of terrorism” in spite of repeated warnings to ban the terrorist groups like Lashkar-E-Taiba under Hafiz Muhammad Saeed, Jai-She Muhammed under Maulana Mazood Azar, the Pakistan Taliban under Baitullah Mehsud, other not so important terrorist outfits with terrorist training camps to youngsters at Pak occupied Kashmir, all determined to destroy the fragile peace in India and create a fear-psychosis, intermittent explosions of bombs and grenades, firing from across the border to provide all help to Jihadists to infiltrate into Jammu and Kashmir under the cover of darkness. The Pakistani Taliban leader Baitullah Mehsud was alleged to have plotted and eventually killing the former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, is also roaming through the nation without fearing anybody, and Benazir’s husband Asif Ali Sardari keep mum occasionally opening his mouth to utter lies and boasting, forgetting past events. His only intention is to be in the chair, sitting oblivious of all happenings around him. In the place of an authoritarian leader, when a democratic government took over the reign, naturally all hoped for a better and prosperous Pakistan. Contrary to the expectations sounded by many peace loving people of that country, the country finds itself in the hot bed of terrorism and only because of international pressure and threat of sanctions, the ruling leadership enacted a drama by putting them under “house arrest” providing all kinds of facilities to continue to be active from behind.

The truth is nothing but the tug of war between the so-called democratic regime and Military. These democratic leaders fear to act on their own because of the oneupman ship of the Military under General Ashfaq Pervez Kayani. Even now, if army decides to overthrow the democratic government like such happenings in the past get themselves enthroned we can very well imagine the consequences. Asif Ali Sardari and his men are aware of this tragic truth and hence they find their hands tied. Two puppets in the seats of power, the President and Prime Minister, don’t have the courage to dare the military, fearing lose of power. Power is the ultimate aim of political leaders and they are enjoying the maximum while their country is burning. Evidences point to the horrendous ‘Mumbai Carnage’ of 26/11 was a meticulously executed operation with the full knowledge of the Military and ISI (Inter Service Intelligence) has come out in the open. Those who committed the wickedness were hailing from Pakistan.
The statement of Asif Ali Sardari absolving himself and other ruling party leaders that the ‘Mumbai Carnage’ was the handiwork of non-state actors is quite absurd. Instead of initiating stringent measures to contain the Jihadists, actually they are given further inspiration providing all logistical facilities. India’s demand for the extradition of twenty hardcore criminals has not been accepted. When there are two power centres in a country an independent decision is the first casualty. That is what is happening in Pakistan today. In order to deflect the real issue of internal problems, the government try to mobilize the people against India especially J&K, they are in the process of inflaming the patriotic passions of the masses by accusing India of preparing for a war against Pakistan.

Then comes Afghanistan. Pakistan with the intention of withdrawing its forces at the North-West Province thus helping the Taliban militants who are in safe havens there, to snatch Afghanistan from the ruling Party of Hamid Karzai, an American puppet and to mobilize the soldiers at the Indian side of LOC under the pretext of an attack by India.

The Georgian attempt to securing South Ossetia, with the silent support of USA, Western leaders ended in an abject failure, thus forcing Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili had to bite the dust and had to run away from the chasing Russian army. Some had a feeling that Georgia’s arrogant attack in South Ossetia would lead to a brutal war with USA and Western Leaders by joining the Georgian side. Nothing of that sort happened, only condemnation by USA and Western leaders resulted thus avoiding a full-fledged war.

The people across the World are living with uncertainty of the future on account of terrorism, bombs, grenades and firing expected at anytime, any place for no fault of theirs.

2008 had to witness such horrible situations and the World still in the firm grip of horrendous happenings, but you or I, sorry, all mankind have learnt to live with it. A sort of stoicism is prevalent among the people, the World over.

Now we are on the threshold of a new-year. With fresh hopes and humble prayers for a World with people leading a life of peaceful co-existence and happiness are our dreams.

As far as our nation is concerned, 2009 is expected to usher in a New Era with general elections round the corner, most probably in April-May. Astrologers, psephologists, media-men and political observers are expected to come out in the open, discuss and analyze various issues relating to the elections and the possibility of any party single-handedly winning the elections and remaining in the saddle. Such a possibility is quite immaterial, even the political leaders know the truth, a hung Parliament is foreseen, eventhough I am not an astrologer or a psephologist.

A single party capturing the power at the centre is a thing of past. Political equations might change, hotch-potch alliances are about to emerge for the time being, ideology will have to take a back seat. Even the communist parties are avoiding the ideological affiliations because power is the ultimate goal or atleast the role of king-makers. Vote bank politics has become the bane of our nation. As I had already written party ideology takes a back seat.

Money will flow in abundance, the masses will get a chance to mouth choice epithets with the politicians keeping mum before them, if necessary crawl before him. Praja(citizen) getting the opportunity of becoming a Raja(king) atleast for a short duration.

Yes the count down has begun. Let’s wait for the new dawn with the hope of peace and prosperity. Welcome 2009…

My Philosophical Evolutions

In my childhood days I was a ‘Bhakta’( devotee of God). I could see the temple and its premises, opposite to my Tharavad ( the home where I was born). My home and temple were separated by vast paddy fields and a rivulet that flowed from south to north ,a few feet away from my home. The temple had tiled roofs and the walls white-washed. There was a pond at one side of the temple filled with crystal clear water. Devotees from the early morning took bath in the pond and in wet clothes, chanting Rama Rama, Krishna Krishna, vaguely audible and entered and stood in front of the Sanctum Sanctorum to have a ‘darshan’ of God Siva- it was a Siva temple. Some people spent a lot of time before the Sanctum Sanctorum praying, complaining and beseeching the God to bless them and to bring tranquility in their lives.

Often in the rivulet nearby my home and on some occasions I went to the temple-pond with my mother or my ‘chittammas’ (sisters of my mother) to take bath. Even today a sort of nostalgia caress me while recalling my early life in the home which was a joint family and with an orthodox outlook on life.

I recount those days, reluctantly waking up early in the morning, completed my daily routine and proceeded to temple crossing a wooden bridge across the rivulet and entered the paddyfields, walked along the serpentine and narrow mud bank without upsetting my equilibrium by holding on to my mother’s or her sisters’ fingers (my chittammas), to the temple.

While standing infront of the Sanctum Sanctorum, I always kept mum, looking at the idol of God Siva decorated with ornaments and also a number of oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. I didn’t pray, as I didn’t know what to pray for, while others slowly chanted hymns with devotion and reverence stood with folded hands. As if in a trance I stood with folded hands without praying and my mother and chittammas might have been thinking that I was immersed in meditation before the God.

Childhood days are always like this, with all the children remaining devotees.

‘Thirumeni’ ( the priest of the temple), gave us sandal paste with handful of flowers to us before leaving the temple and we would return to home through the green paddy fields and crossed the bridge across the rivulet. Because of priest’s fondness for the children, he used to give me and my young friends jaggery and fruits to make us more delightful.

In the process of my ideological evolution, Bhakti( devotion to God), came first.

Much water flowed through the rivulet. I entered the teenage and on learning much from books and teachers in the school, my quest for further knowledge and experiences grew. Gradually I began to lose faith in the God and often doubted the very existence of such a power.

I was in the process of transforming into a revolutionary. The daily prayer by sitting beside the ‘Nilavilakku’(oil lamp) placed in the verandah was slowly coming to an end. In the school, I became an SFI (Students Federation of India) activist and worked untiringly for the revolutionary organization. SFI is a foster child of Communist Party of India (Marxist). This revolutionary fervour developed further through books related to Marxist ideology, their newspaper, and also fire-spitting speeches of the leaders of the student federation and other prominent leaders of the party and got inspired. I began to think deeply and with compassion, the evils of inequality, untouchability, poverty of the masses, malnutrition, lack of elementary education and a proper health-care system. By working in the organization with all sincerity, held jathas (processions), shouted slogans, attended Marxist study classes and decided to work and spent long hours, days and nights for the upliftment of people suffering at the bottom line of the society. I earnestly believed in Marxist values, imbibed the spirit in them and the potency of Marxism-Leninism, in dealing with the basic problems of masses.

After my college days, I began to search for a job, knocked at many doors, sent umpteen applications for a job somewhere. Then also a thirst for more and more knowledge continued and read more and more books. Over the passage of time with the party attaining power at State level, prominent leaders’ previous enthusiasm, vibrancy and sincerity began to lose and many of them indulged in luxurious living, forgot past history and dedication of the party to the masses. Like many of my generation began to impose self-imposed isolation and finally withdrew from the whole scene to loneliness and disillusionment. I observed with disappointment, the decline of the party, their intermittent infighting often crossing the line of discipline, even clashes erupted pitting comrades against comrades.

Thus my ideological affiliation to Marxism ended. Sorry, not Marxism, but the apathetic attitude of its leaders.

First Bhakti (devotion to God), then came the parties which swear by Marxism-Leninism.

My outlook on life turned to Existentialism. When I think about existentialism, I am reminded of Soren Kierkegard , considered by many as the father of existentialism. Some thinkers still refused to consider him as a philosopher and saw him as only a Theologian.

While writing about him, I always recall Hum, a native of Holland, who came to India as a tourist. One night at MarineDrive in Mumbai, I was sitting alone on the concrete wall built along the shore, watching the turbulent sea and also hoardings of various famous business establishments owned by business tycoons at the other end of the sea illuminated with colourful bulbs twinkling and blinking like the shining stars up above. After a few minutes, a white man in orange robes sat nearby and as if in meditation, was spending time by enjoying the sea at night and delightfully experiencing cool breeze blowing across the sea.

I found long duration of sitting alone boring, I turned to him and introduced myself to him and he introduced himself.

Name: Hum
Mother Country – Holland
Purpose Of visit- to travel across India and then the plan to return to Holland.

“You look like a philosopher”- I beamed a smile. He returned the smile and spoke- “No my gentleman, but I have great interest in philosophy”.

Existentialist Philosophy was at its peak then, so naturally I felt like asking him about that philosophy. I also didn’t forget to mention prominent existentialists of the time, across the World, the names like Jean Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, Morris Merlopondy, Martin Heidegger and Soren-Obeu Kierkegard- considered by many as the father of existentialism.

“You are mistaken gentleman. Actually the first existentialist was Lord Buddha of your land- not Kierkegard”.- He was trying to correct me.

As the industrialization developed with lightning speed in the Western World, man lost his individuality and identity and got reduced to the status of nut or bolt of the roaring engines in the factories. Life of the masses became mechanized. A huge flow of people from rural areas started with the advent of industrialization in search of jobs in factories and they also got lost among the faceless crowd of the city. Kierkegard experienced severe agony on the status of men getting reduced to the level of nuts and bolts of engines, he wanted to regain the individuality and identity of man.

Kierkegard from his very birth was a gloomy figure that he inherited from his father. Eventhough he was not a good looking and a hunch back, fell in love with a girl named Regina Olsen, that relationship would have continued, the thinker in him didn’t get impressed and voluntarily snapped the romantic ties between them and devoted more time to thinking ,learning and writing. What happened to Regina Olsen, about that nobody is interested now.

Kierkegard remained a believer in God throughout his life emphasized the concept of faith,went beyond reason and he found happiness by dedicating himself to the God Almighty.

With the outbreak of Second World War, massive destruction of the properties, crores of massacres- many were guillotined, many were put in gas chambers and asphyxiated to death and many were sprayed with bullets at point blank range.

This outrageously tragic happenings forced the followers of existentialism like Jean Paul Sartre , Albert Camus and other philosophers got disappointed and they firmly believed in the non-existence of God. They became atheists. People young and old alike, similarly became non-believers, values got lost and believed in the absurdity and meaninglessness of the life. The World as a whole was in shambles. These thoughts naturally encouraged Sartre, Camus and others to write about absurdity of life.

Sartre’s ‘Nausea’, Camu’s ‘Outsider’ and many of their works dwelt on the souless, heartless and meaninglessness of the life.

Their thoughts and writings fascinated the next generation and spread like a contagion. In our own India, there were many followers for Sartre and Camus and their writings of that period were the reflections of existentialist philosophy.

Years have gone by. Recently I read in a newspaper an interesting news. Sartre, the intellectual giant of France once is not even a talking point among the present generation of France.

The inspiration and knowledge about existentialism once kindled my thoughts had also disappeared.
The third evolution also thus came to an end.

While studying journalism one of the faculty members, touched upon, some World famous writers of the time and specifically mentioned about late Ayn Rand, her philosophy, her powerful works like ‘Atlas Shrugged’ , ‘Fountainhead’ , and ‘For the New Intellectual’ and a drama. I went through all of them found them impressive and sparkling. While going through her Objectivist philosophy and her fondness for Laissez- Faire- capitalism (refer her book -Capitalism an Unknown Ideal), I was attracted to her thoughts.

On pondering over her philosophy for a brief period, I found it impractical and left it in the lurch. Anyhow the lady was a very powerful writer; that we have to admit. The after effects of her philosophy led to the financial melt-down in America, and European countries that we are witnessing today. It is worthwhile to note that Alan Greenspan, the former head of the Federal Reserve was one of her confidents. While thinking about housing bubble,the picture of Alan Greenspan emerges in my mind.


My honeymoon with Objectivist philosophy ended, once and for all.

Now, I am in the process of searching for another philosophy. Another evolution. After all, man is a bundle of contradictions…

Merry Christmas and Happy NewYear in the turbulent times.

In comes another X’mas. People across the globe are already in a festive mood, though poverty, malnutrition, terrorist attacks massacring innocent lives including even children. Sub-Saharan Africa and a number of third World countries are reeling under famine and ethnic clashes taking away many poor people’s lives, those who survive flee their residences fearing death and torture and seek shelter in refugee camps as ethnic clashes mount in countries like Sudan-Darfur issue resulting in people escaping to comparatively peaceful areas to escape from ethnic clashes, deaths, poverty and malnutrition, SriLanka, our neighbouring country is also simmering in the clashes between Sinhalas and LTTE men in fierce fights and the non-partisan people are forced to line up as shield by the LTTE militants and in the process thousands of Tamilians caught in between the government forces and the LTTE militia, often get killed for no fault of theirs. A vast number of Tamilians run for their life by catching boats and travel to TamilNadu, in India seeking refuge. We are very well aware of the present plight of Zimbabwe under the rule of Robert Mugabe, once a freedom fighter against the deplorable and ruthless rule of whites later evolved into an authoritarian ruler, even disallowing leaders of opposition parties from contesting elections( he had announced his decision to hold elections under international and opposition pressure but massive rigging took place) with guns directed against them. Morgan Tsvangiri, the main opposition leader of MDC (Movement For Democratic Change) had to undergo imprisonment, also murderous assaults at the hands of Mugabe’s soldiers; his only demand was for a peaceful transparent and impartial election under the supervision of International leaders and also United Nations. The inflation rate in Zimbabwe is running in millions making absolutely impossible for the masses to make both ends meet, minute by minute, second by second, the prices of eatables and other items soar to new heights.

Somalia, already known as the Horn of Africa has not at all a government since 1991 to look after the basic needs of civilians, thousands and thousands of people perishing day by day and like adding fuel to the fire, clashes between Somalian civilians and neighbouring country of Ethiopia and claim the precious lives of multitude.

Terrorists across the World are always planning, plotting, abetting and often successfully implementing the diktats entrusted by their superiors by pumping bullets, throwing bombs and grenades causing deafening explosions, claiming precious lives of innocents who always pray for peace of mind and bread to satiate their hunger. Even, NGOs are not spared by the militants from providing food and shelter to lakhs of refugees by threatening them, some even get killed for their love of humanity.

If I am going to narrate such pathetic conditions prevailing elsewhere, this article will go on like a never ending process.

In my solitary moments, I often think with sadness, plight of crores of people living on the edge because of a few anti-social elements. A handful of minority holding the majority to ransom, looting, killing in cold-blood. Somewhere I read recently one sentence by a World famous writer, she is no more now and let me quote her here.
-“A confident resistance by the masses can force a thug run away fearing for his/her life”.

She had understood the enormous potential of the majority of peace-loving people can push the terrorists to the wall. She also knew that a peace-loving majority, if they stand united can defeat and destroy the anti-social elements, who always constitute a minority. With the help and encouragement of those in higher echelons, those inhuman bastards could be eliminated from the whole scene.

Now I come to the point. X’mas is a universal festival celebrated by people across the globe in fervour and enthusiasm. The World now reeling under the Global melt down reminding all of us of the Great Depression of 1930s, cannot prevent the people everywhere to be in a festive mood from the very beginning of the month of December. As the countdown begins people become more and more enthusiastic and festive. Each one of them adorns their houses, monuments, malls- everywhere with glittering stars of various colours and chandlers. It would be a treat to watch the stars and festoons embellishing the whole World and crores wait for the birth of infant Jesus on December 25. Moreover, we can read innumerable X’mas greeting messages of Christian priests in the columns of Newspapers, enlightening the need of communal harmony, Universal love, peace and tranquility for which infant Jesus came to the World, suffered torture at the hands of evil-men and eventually crucifying him for speaking and suffering for the people of his land. Jesus never nursed bitter feelings towards any man or woman, always called for love, peace, prosperity and harmony among people.

One week before the 25 December, people young, old , middle-aged and children from various walks of life, begin to prepare for the ‘action plan’ to conduct the celebrations and also forming Carol groups to various directions with Grand Pa Santa Claus with white flowing hairs resembling cotton wool and eye brows in his long red-robe with long white flowing beards and enormous paunch dancing often with a stick in his hand and keeping sweets for gifting to the children, while others in the Carol group singing songs heralding the birth of infant Jesus to the accompaniment of drum beats even in the midst of poverty, ignoring the threats of terror groups and uncertainty of the future.

A terrorist has no religion, no faith, no special mission in his life, his mission if any, to find pleasure in planning cruel plots and executing their dastardly deeds. His only pleasure is in killing the innocents ruthlessly with blood splattered along the way with body parts strewn around he gets intoxication and sadistic pleasure and always on the prowl of victims. How can an educated terrorist even renouncing the worldly pleasures, without any compunction, acquire the mentality to wreak as much destruction as possible dreaming the heavenly abode with 70 virgins waiting for him to take care of him and gratifying him for successfully completing the mission with blessings of Allah.

Man is always great and even after repeated attacks and killings, learn to live with uncertainty, never keeps away from celebrating each festival keeping the sanctity, decorum and love of man-kind remaining intact.

In the nights when the blue sky up above is embellished with shining stars, in misty nights of December, people shivering with cold but with a hilarious mood- even the sweaters they wear during nights won’t be of much help to them to escape from the needling of the cold winds, but their unfailing faith and devotion in Jesus Christ never fades out. On the contrary, the happenings and enthusiasm always remain strong. Faith is always a great moving force.

So let’s still hope for bright future atleast to the coming generations. Hope always there must be. It creates wonders.

Let us hope for a bright tomorrow always and extend merry X’mas to each other, celebrate, get inebriated as is the practice on every 25 December.

And then comes, a new dawn on 1st January 2009, and the current year’s auditing might be going on somewhere by somebody with haunting memories of the previous year which was turbulent through out. But we never lose hope and expectations…

DOCTOR

With a pounding heart the young man opened the gate. While walking through the sand filled premises he felt a shiver in his legs like the waves of a violent ocean hitting the coast with ferocity he felt like something rushing to his head.

His throat went dry. Deep down in his heart he wished for a glass of water to quench his thirst. A beautiful concrete building with tiled verandah, the young man for sometime stood with anxiety lost in thoughts. He was sweating like anything and beads of sweat trickling down his face. After regaining some courage he switched on the calling bell on the wall. The roar of the bell he could hear with shock and embarrassment. He was waiting for the footsteps of somebody with a frightened look. The sound of the chappals moving up to the door, he sensed it while standing outside. Again he was sweating terribly. He felt like falling on the floor.

A middle-aged gentle man, the psychiatrist opened the door with a cool and pleasant face. Clad in a cream coloured shirt, brown slacks and a black framed spectacle. Sandal paste was seen on his forehead with tulsi leaves in between his ears.

Is the doctor here? The young man politely and wearily inquired.
“You are speaking to the doctor, my dear”. Doctor told him with a warm smile.
“I have come here to consult you.” The young man answered in a low tone.
“Please come inside”. Doctor invited him to the drawing room.
In the room behind a glass fitted table, the doctor slumped into a chair. There were two or three hard bound books relating to psychology and psychiatric treatment, a beautiful round paper weight with red flowers and a flower vase were resting on the table. But the young man couldn’t concentrate on these things.

“Be seated, dear young man” the doctor pointed towards a chair.
The young man sat.
The doctor was watching his trembling hands with a cool face. While sitting in his chair, he pressed on a switch fitted just behind the wall. The fan started to rotate speedily so as to comfort the young man.Actually he was badly in need of the cool breeze.
“Tell me, what is your problem my dear young man” the doctor looked at his face with slight curiosity.
“Am I mad doctor”. The young man was asking him in a frightful tone.
The doctor just smiled.
“You feel you are mad or somebody told you that you are mad”. Doctor again inquired.
“Another doctor who is a physician practising near Taj junction. The hospital’s name is Phoenix clinic. I don’t know whether you know him”.
“You are talking about doctor Thomas Jacob, I think” the doctor asked him calmly and with a smile.
Yes doctor, the same man.
As if he was hearing a joke of the year the doctor laughed, but suddenly held it back.
“For what purpose, dear, you went to him?”
“I was suffering from just a cold”.
The doctor again beamed a smile.
“One thing I am sure. You are not at all mad. Doctor Thomas Jacob is under my treatment for the last ten years. Therefore don’t be afraid and with a courageous face you may go. One more thing. Please don’t try to consult Doctor Thomas Jacob again.”

PS: Those who are suffering from cold will not go mad.

KARMA(Mission)
Flower to the beetle: I am totally dedicating myself to you. My entire love is for you only. For you only. When you kiss me, I get overjoyed and feel like flying to a new wonderful world. While you savour my nectar of sweetness, I am being transported to an erotic as well as ethereal world.

Beetle: Same is the case with me, my dear.

Flower: Early in the serene but sad morning, I might be fallen on the premises like an orphan with petals spreading below. Then, close to me the flower bud who is my sister would be waiting for you. With all love in your heart, when you kiss her and devour all the sweetness of her love would you remember me? Would you feel sad recalling the delightful moments with me?

Beetle: Certainly. I will be overwhelmed with sorrow.

Flower: Will the agony of separation torment you?

Beetle: Actually you don’t know me. You don’t know my dilemma. The same questions your elder sisters already gone by used to inquire me, the same questions you are seeking from me now. Your young sister waiting to be blossomed with bated breath will also repeat these questions to me. You just realize one thing. This is my Niyoga(Mission) from the God up above, otherwise you might call it my ‘Karma’. Each being in the world is born with his or her own mission. Till my wings are dropped from me like autumn leaves, till I get tired I will be going ahead ahead and ahead…In one sense though your life is for a short span compared to my life how envious is your blessed existence!


REWARD
Palmist: From reading the lines on your palm, one thing has become clear to me. Would you mind disclosing it to you?

Myself: Never. You can go on.

Palmist: You are a rarest kind of person who is reluctant to pay the reward to any person working the entire day for you. Is not so?

Myself: You are absolutely correct.

Palmist( in a boastful tone): My prophecies never go wrong.

Myself: Thank you. Thank you very much. Now let me go.

Palmist: Give me my fees please..

Myself: Just now you disclosed to me a simple truth that I am a rarest kind of person who is not willing to pay reward to those who work for me. It is quite true. Ta ta bye bye ok see you ..

A WONDERFUL WRITER WORTHY TO BE EMULATED…

I know her. But I have not yet met her. To see and meet her I will have to travel all the way to Mumbai from the southern tip of Kerala. It is a tedious task.

I know her through her writings. Once in a fortnight, her column appears in a National Daily.

She has a wonderful style of writing. More than the style, I like her writing because she always writes for the down-trodden, those in the lower ladders of society, impoverishment, poverty, mal-nutrition, corruption spreading to almost all spheres in the society. I felt her writings, heartrending and often think about the 77 percent of Indians trying hard to keep both ends meet by spending below Rs.20 a day. Astonishingly and also surprisingly in the first-half of 21st century creating a defining moment in the history of India by launching Chandrayaan-I to the moon and MIP( Moon Impact Probe) kissing the moon thus making the space scientists jump with joy and hugging each other.

Now she travels across India, so I believe, by trains, buses, auto-rickshaws and even bullock-carts to even the remotest corners of our nation for searching and empathizing with the pathetic conditions of poor men, women and children and also the dangerous law and order situation, the communal clashes prevailing across India and lamenting over the innocents fate which they are forced to undergo for no fault of them.

Once I happened to read a real-life story by the writer concerning the wretched sanitary conditions in our cities and villages. In her column she wrote about her eye-witness accounts of people defecating in the open due to the lack of sanitary conditions across of nation even in the twentieth century. She made a startling disclosure in her column by disclosing that over 667 millions of Indians are getting on with their life without sanitary conditions in India often forcing them to relieve themselves in the open and also a tragic truth that ‘one out of every two persons in the World is compelled to defecate in the open is an Indian.

On going through her article, I was reminded of a short span I spent in labour camp, part of Dharavi, Asia’s largest slum. In the short span, I had to witness and even became a part of poor men in that area defecating in the open and also ugly toilets overflowing with excreta spreading even to the streets because the toilets often got blocked, with nobody to take care of and take remedial action. Horrible and nauseating sight and also experience!

Soon after reading the column, I thought about writing to her and lost no time in sending an e-mail appreciating her for finding time to write about an issue which needs immediate attention of the government. Also I wrote about the brief period of stay in the Labour camp area and my eye-witness accounts prevailing there.

On receiving my e-mail, within no time, she e-mailed me with her profound thanks and wrote about slight improvement in that area but nothing to boast about the promise of rulers transforming Mumbai into a global city and a ‘future Shanghai’ still remains a distant dream.

Later, once in a while I e-mailed her, rang her up, but though busy with her duty always without much rest often conversed me, never ignored her pleasant tone, on current topics particularly the plight of the hapless citizens of our nation.

I would try to introduce myself to her, after she took up the receiver. Happy to note here that she always recognized my voice and always in her affectionate voice, she never got angry at all and though a busy type answer to me and continue talking often inquiring about my reading and writing. Once I had happily informed her about the opening of my blog and after congratulating me she promised me to give me a feedback soon after going through the blog. Within no time, after going through the blog called me and offered her congratulations with some valuable suggestions.

My still favourite BusyBee (late Behram Contractor), you for years made us laugh and think through ‘Evening News’, ‘Mid-day’ and ‘Afternoon Despatch Courier’, through your ‘Round and About’ wherever you are now, could you write a ‘Round and About’ about this busy and generous lady appreciably in a lighter vein, thus inspiring her to go on with her writings of down-trodden, illiterate, poverty stricken millions across India with an empathetic smile.

A kind lady always worthy to be emulated in a heartless, souless world! The affection , quick response and her sensitivity, quite overwhelming to say the least! Hats off to her…

Semi-Final To Final

Soon after the lifting of the infamous Emergency in 1977, our late Prime Minister Mrs Indira Gandhi declared elections to the Parliament. Nineteen months of authoritarian rule ended, paving a new path to the rebirth of democracy in our country. The people across India, especially those millions in North India, felt elated and they eagerly waited for a chance to approach the election day to give a fitting reply to late Mrs Gandhi by voting against her and defeating her at the hustings. Never in their wildest of dream, they had expected such an authoritarian streak in the beloved daughter of freedom fighter and the most ardent advocate of democracy late Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru. Now it was the turn of the masses and they utilized the best available opportunity to vent their ire against Mrs. Gandhi.

Because the bad effects of Emergency didn’t do much harm to some of the South Indian states like Kerala, they overwhelmingly voted in her favour but to no avail. Here the law and order situation remained calm, so it seemed to the political observers, actually the story was somewhat different and the outward calm and satisfaction somewhat the effects of enforced discipline by the iron hands of law and order machinery under the Government of Kerala (It is painful to disclose here that we malayalees are more concerned with selfish motives compared with the North Indians though majority of them are illiterate). Many of our freedom loving leaders were put behind bars, and some always under the surveillance of Police and Intelligent agencies.

The majority of North Indians suffered a lot, cruel assault, many young men and even the priests of churches across North India were forcefully sterilized under the supervision of late Sanjay Gandhi, a vast number of slums were demolished, Turkman Gate episode is still a nightmare to Delhiites, thus depriving the poor of their settlements, they had to stay content with railway platforms, street pavements and refugee camps. Those who noticed their impotent rage and sorrows protested and found themselves behind bars for almost nineteen months. That period was the worst kind of nightmare to the teeming millions of India. The villagers in the North India spent their sleepless nights in the barren fields always fearing the approach of agents of mass sterilization programmes, surprisingly the cronies of the Sanjay Gandhi, the Prime Minister in embryo. Freedom of expression curtailed and hence, the people had to express their anger in whispering tones, fearing reprisals of the worst kind.

The breather came atlast and Emergency lifted, people became jubilant and heaved sighs of relief.

People massed under the freed leaders, who were given warm welcome amid celebrations, and jointly campaigned for the defeat of late Mrs Gandhi with all their might and vigour, they earnestly hoped of ushering in a democratic government atleast to inhale breath of freedom, that they desperately prayed for nineteen months.

The ire and anger, turned into votes against Mrs Gandhi and she had to taste a bitter defeat at the hands of the majority, who once called her fondly ‘Indira Priyadarshini’ and ‘Red Rose’ , the beloved daughter of their Chacha Nehru, whom they held close to their chest with worship and love.

The whole India celebrated the new found freedom and the massive defeat of Indian National Congress Party with the bursting of fire-crackers and also tasting laddoos and like sweets. The valiant generous lady, who once loved the poor adivasis and common men and struggled for them tirelessly day in and day out, had to meet with such a defeat was in a way heart-breaking.

The most heartening factor was her expression of regret for the wrong-doings and her apology to the masses for her acts of omission commission soon after the elections. And that repentance and atonement for the sins committed and her regained faith in democracy, after all she was from the Nehru family, mellowed the sentiments of the masses in the later years and they ensured her victory in the elections conducted in 1980 with a vast majority.

In fact, those so-called loyalists and sycophants were behind her deviation from the path of democracy atleast for a short while and their only intentions were in reaping the harvests during the dreaded emergency and utilize the opportunity to settle scores with those who were their detractors and unfortunately she was falling a prey to their wily tactics. Sycophancy always plays spoil-sport and hence a ruler or a leader should always be cautious about it.

Beg your pardon. Actually I didn’t have the intention of conducting a post-mortem and its aftermaths of the emergency period in this particular article. But I think it is quite apt to look backwards in the contemporary times.

I was planning to write about the recently held by-elections to the five States and the results analysed later. Contrary to the expectations of political pundits and psephologists, the results were not on the expected lines. Some prophecies came true, I do admit, but taken as a whole, some major calculations went awry due to creeping in of certain analytical problems. Sometimes such things happen.

Some called it a semi-final before the final scheduled to be held in April-May months. Differences of opinions will ofcourse be there, because in a federal polity, we have to be a bit more cautious.

It is a good thing that Congress this time didn’t go euphoric, thanks to Mrs Sonia Gandhi’s advice because of the unexpected win in Rajasthan, snatched from BJP, Delhi victory was somewhat doubtful because of the anti-incumbency factor, (it is Mrs Sheila Dikshit’s hatrick victory) and the massive victory in Mizoram, a two third victory forcing the ruling MNF (Mizo National Front) biting the dust. It is not an apt time for complacency, Mrs Gandhi was aware of it, hence, sans much celebrations, the entire event passed of peacefully at the AICC Bhavan. According to my perception , Mrs Gandhi is conscious of those waiting for an “auspicious occasion” to upset the apple-cert in the last moment by ditching the party seeking greener pastures. “Power-Play” or “Pawar-Play” can be expected at any time, Mulayam and his deputy can turn the tables at an opportune moment and so many others in the party itself waiting in the wings, weighing the pros and cons, which way the wind blows and move accordingly. Late Mrs Indira Gandhi had such an experience in the past at the hands of the late Jagjivan Ram (incidentally his daughter is in the ManMohan Singh cabinet),H.N. Bahuguna, and one more VIP whose name I can’t recall now and formed CFD (Congress For Democracy).

BJP was weaving many dreams for the last one year, expecting to make a clean sweep of almost the four States of Rajasthan, Chattisgarh, Delhi and Madhya Pradesh but not that much expectation about Mizoram. They were infact euphoric even before the elections! That much they were confident of a massive victory. Their intention was to cash in on the terror problems in various States such as Jammu&Kashmir, Gujarat, Delhi, Mumbai, Varanasi in UP, Karnataka, AndhraPradesh, Assam,Rajasthan and even Kerala and the terror related deaths of hundreds, thus highlighting the failure of Government at the centre, the failure of intelligence agencies to sense the impending attacks, the Stock Market crash due to Global melt down, and the reluctance of centre to enact Pota-like draconian laws to contain terror and law and machinery.

But the two intelligent men in Madhya Pradesh and Chattisgarh, Shivraj Singh Chauhan and Ramon Singh respectively , didn’t harp much on the terror menace and they concentrated more on the immediate problems of the masses, took part in much of their activities, thus endearing them. People didn’t care much to ponder over the Mumbai carnage, and such kinds of law and order problems, because in the course of time, they have learnt to live with it. People always want to be concerned with their basic needs and Shivraj Singh Chauhan and Ramon Singh provided them with those needs thus ensuring their Party’s victory. Whether this line of thinking will prevail in the long run is another matter and for that we will have to wait for the final.

Like Shivraj Singh Chauhan and Ramon Singh, Mrs Sheila Dikshit in Delhi did a lot to develop the infrastructure (the transport facilities improved a lot with more than 20 flyovers), the preparations for 2010 Common Wealth Games are in full swing, and hence inspite of the intermittent terrorist attacks, finally captured her third victory.

Though Ms Mayawati, BSP Leader couldn’t make much impact on the power equations in the States, (she is said to be a king-maker) she saw to it that her voters margin had widened in four States making her Party base spreading gradually in other States, previously confined to U.P only, she is certainly to emerge a power to reckon with in the future. Her party could capture about 20 seats and seven seats in Madhya Pradesh itself.

Now come to the leftists. After the declaration of elections, I was stunned and surprised to see a small news item (some of us call it news in a nut-shell) on the top left side of “Hindu”—“Left Upbeat” with the photo of Comrade A.B.Bardhan, General Secretary of CPI. What for? I couldn’t make out. CPI couldn’t even bag a single seat in any of the four States, the CPI(M) could elect three MLAs in Rajasthan out of 34 seats they contested if I felt like laughing, forgive me Comrade. The next moment I turned the pages looking for a detailed statement by Comrade Bardhan and at last I found out. His statement was not that much an ‘upbeat item’ and it was nothing more than the prospects of the leftists in Kerala, West Bengal and Tripura. Unfortunately I can’t agree with his claim and there are reasons for it.

CPI(M) [ Communist Party Of India(Marxist) ] and other leftists due to the leftist wave prevailing in the State due to anti-incumbency factor related to the misgovernance of the then government under Oommen Chandy, and wide-spread mass-discontent, could capture almost 18 seats out of a total of 20 seats in 2004. This time the anti-incumbency factor is in favour of Indian National Congress and therefore expecting atelast 10 seats is most improbable.

Similarly in West Bengal due to the Nandigram and Singur issues and the related developments still simmering here and there, whether leftists can expect the status-quo or increase the tally is a big question mark. Any how let us hope for the best in West Bengal, unlike Kerala.

The infighting in the CPI(M) still raging on in Kerala, previously it was said to be ideological but the rivalry between the two factions have come out in to the open often crossing the barriers of ideology, I don’t think even Comrade Prakash Karat, Sitaram Yechury, and S.Ramachandran Pillai, can do much to placate the two factions at a crucial moment when the elections are round the corner. While being criticized, casting sarcastic smiles at the remarks of critics, won’t do much benefit to the party. Considering others to be ignorant of Marxist-Leninist thinking will be foolish since many of the critics are yester year activists and supporters of the Party, or leftists without any affiliations to any particular left party. Come what may, a complete overhaul is the need of the hour. A patch-up of sorts will create further problems in future particularly in a Communist Party such solutions are least expected.

Only Tripura is a sure bet, but it has only two seats to contribute.

A hung parliament is likely and therefore horse-traders will have a harvesting time. Such is our fate…Such is our lot…
Se

Horoscope

Abdullah Omar Sheikh,Mussafarabad, Pak occupied Kashmir:

(Date of Birth: 1947 August 14, Time of Birth: 00:00Hrs)

I am a Lashkar-E-Taiba militant. Our organization struggles for Jammu&Kashmir to be integrated with Pakistan. It is my long cherished dream. Will my dream fructify? Will I become Prime Minister? Who might be the cultural Minister? Will the law and order situation be satisfactory? Will my future turn bright?

Answer: Your dream will turn infructuous. Any how there is chance of you becoming the Home Minister. The cultural Minister might be Osama Bin Laden. Your future will be bleak. Any how you might shine in the art of killing. So, beware.

GURUDAKSHINA


“You have accepted me as your Guru ?”

“Certainly guruji”

“Will you kneel down before me and pay obeisance with all humility?
Then give me your thumb as my gurudaksina.”

“Sorry my dear guruji. My name is not Eklavya and you are not Dronacharya. No thanks.”


HONESTY

“Up till now have you committed anything wrong in your life?”

“So many guruji, so many, knowingly and unknowingly”- I confessed to him.

“Have not you repented for the sins committed?”-guru inquired with curiosity in his eyes.

“Repented a lot Guruji, repented a lot”

“Will you commit sins in future?”

“I can’t tell it now Guruji. After all I am only a human being. To err is human, Is n’t so? My entire life is a long history of rights and wrongs. Promising to abstain from sins is, in fact, self-deception. After all my beloved Guruji, who is perfect in this imperfect World?”

“Honesty is the best policy, my kid. You are my model disciple. I am proud of you.”



ABSOLUTE TRUTH

“Forgive me, guruji.I am a bit late.”

“Never mind my disciple. You are forgiven.”

“Oh my God from where you got this skeleton? A shiver ran down my spine. I am so afraid.”
“What for my guruji? After peeling our skin and removing our flesh from our bodies we are all skeletons. Mere skeletons. Similar to this skeleton I hold in my hand? Is n’t this the truth the Absolute Truth?”

(Guruji gets up from his seat)

“From today onwards you are my guruji and I am your disciple.”



ENEMY
“Have you any enemies?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“Only one.”

“Who is that fellow?”

“YOURSELF”
(Dialogue goes on before the mirror)

An Agonizing Memory with a Spark of Hope in Mind

SHORT STORY
Yogesh Bhaiyya is my friend. More than a friend, he is a father-figure to me. Our relationship began since 1990. As the days progressed, we became more intimate and that intimacy is still rock-like strong.

Now he is aged sixty. Lean, tall and brownish, always clad in Kurta and Pyjama, Yogesh Bhaiyya remained pleasant with a smiling face till two weeks ago.

Yogesh Bhaiyya used to wake me up from my deep slumber at sharp 6AM in the morning. From his little thatched hut like tea-shop, he daily brought my bed-time coffee to my room and used to knock at the door, two to three times. I would wake up from my sleep and rubbing my eyes rush to the door, unlock it and open it.

“Ram, Ram, Surendar Bhai”- while handing over the coffee cup, he would wish me with the everlasting smile.

“Ram, Ram, Yogesh Bhaiyya”- I would respond.

After bidding farewell for the time being he would rush to his little tea-shop where his regular customers were starting to visit to have their daily cups of bed-coffee.

Yogesh Bhaiyya is known to almost everybody in the locality, and he had contact with each and everyone who used to visit his shop, being blessed with a photographic memory, he called them by their names with his usual “Ram Ram”.

As the Sun rises in the east, locality begins to bath in sun-light, and also with streets begin to jump to life with vehicle speeding along, Yogesh Bhaiyya’s customers also begin to disperse to their abodes for the day and would start preparations to rush to their working places in the suburbs, by the local trains along with other commuters.

Yogesh Bhaiyya reached his little shop in the wee hours, with an aluminium vessel filled with milk from faraway Goregaon. A hectic day begins in his life before the darkness disappears giving way for the Sun rise.

Yogesh Bhaiyya is from U.P and his residence is in Sultanpur. He has an illiterate wife, a daily labourer and four children- two boys and two girls, all studying in the nearby schools. Once in a year, Yogesh Bhaiyya goes to his native place and after two or three weeks of sojourn in his birthplace, after meeting relatives and friends, exchanging pleasantries with them, travelling through the maize, wheat and paddy fields enjoying the beauty of the landscape, he would make his return trip to Mumbai city, which till recently was his abode for the past fifteen to twenty years. While travelling back to the city and also after reaching the city, Yogesh Bhaiyya suffered from severe home-sickness, the tearful eyes of his wife and children haunted him for weeks and also his beloved friends and relatives and the landscape indelibly imprinted in the inner chamber of his mind. Even while going through such agonies, he didn’t forget to keep his beaming smile intact hiding all his sorrows inside.

While talking about U.P he always went talkative and with one thousand tongues, in rhetorical flourishes, spoke about the world-wonder Taj Mahal-a monument of eternal love sculpted in marble, innumerable tourists from afar, the tonga-wallahs, love-birds walking with hand in hand, pilgrimage centres like Mathura-Sreekrishna Janmabhumi, and long queues of pilgrims to have a darshan of Krishna and Radha, amidst drum beats and loud chanting of devotional songs, Varanasi- the spiritual centre with devotees praying Kasi Viswanatha and the sparkling river Ganga where people take Holy dip praying to the Gods from the bottom of their hearts for the eternal salvation of their ancestors , KumbhaMela at Allahabad with lakhs and lakhs of devotees and Sanyasins, even large number of naked-sanyasins with long beards in meditation, some taking bath in the holy river to erase the sins of yesteryears that is their belief, in short, a spiritual ambience.

Yogesh Bhaiyya’s days of happiness and smile were slowly vanishing from his face. A look of panic and worry began to make appearance on his face. His melancholic look was somewhat a tormenting experience to me also, and I knew the reason behind his sudden change on his facial expressions.

The ‘Son’s of the Soil Policy’ of yesteryears, which lay dormant for years, was again rearing its ugly face in the city. This time their ire was directed against those hailing from U.P and Bihar. The ‘Xenophobics’ were nursing a feeling that their job opportunities and resources were being grabbed by men from U.P and Bihar and they were planning to force them flee from Mumbai to their native lands by harassing the men, women and their children who had come to the city years ago for a living through abusive language and deeds. The ‘Sons of Soil Policy’ believers joined hands and began to attack the taxi-wallahs from U.P and Bihar, burnt their vehicles, demanded them to write the names of their shops on the boards displayed in front in Marathi only, unleashing murderous assaults on flimsy grounds, thus creating a fear-psychosis among the U.P wallahs and Bihari people.

Tension mounted day by day, many among the U.P wallahs and Biharis who had made the city their permanent abode feared for their life with tears in their eyes, started to return to their native lands with blank looks to the uncertain future. That which they could save would not be available anymore and those thoughts were nagging and unbearable.

One day a large number of educated unemployed youth from Bihar landed in the city commuting long distances to appear for a test for the Railway Recruitment Board Exam. An educated young man’s dream is a job to earn a living and unfortunately they were brutally assaulted by the ‘Sons of the Soil’ and prevented them from appearing for the exam. With tears in their eyes, and bleeding wounds, they went back disillusioned and disappointed.

We were all aware of the developments through newspapers, radios, televisions and from those known to us in the city.

Yogesh Bhaiyya was the most worried among the lot and with panic in his face, he always looked around apprehending eruption of violence at any time directed against him also.

“Surender Bhai, I am a very worried man today. I am at a loss to know to find a way out. If I am exiled from this city, what will be my future? My wife and children are eagerly waiting for the monthly money order from me to have their sustenance.” On hearing his worries anger welled up within me, but I am also helpless like him, an entity from another land. Even then, I would pat him on the back and console him. Meaningless, empty, hollow words, I knew. What else a common man can do? Life seemed to be quite absurd in the city.

Unexpectedly one morning I woke up from my sleep on hearing angry shouts, choice epithets and also the sounds of blows and beating with sticks, I jumped up from my bed and rushed to the door, unlocked and opened it in a hurry. To my horror, I could see an unruly mob with long sticks and cycle chains in their hands in front of the little tea-shop of Yogesh Bhaiyya, the shop grounded to the floor and in a mess the mob encircling Yogesh Bhaiyya, beating him, thundering blows on him, kicking him and trampling him like pachyderms with all their anger, shouting ‘Kutha jao Na there Muluk ko, Jaldi chalo Magar Marenge hum’ (‘Run away from here to your native land, you dirty dog.’)

I couldn’t bear the sight. I closed my eyes with my palms for a while, tears trickling down my cheeks, the man whom I saw like a father-figure. I ran to the spot just to embrace him, and console him and if possible rescue him from the hoodlums. Yogesh Bhaiyya was writhing in pain, bleeding from top to bottom, the city itself seemed to be bleeding. I ran towards him, hugged him and wept like a child. Contrary to my expectations, Yogesh Bhaiyya was calm and with his smiling face consoled me in an endearing tone.

“Jane Do Beta, Jane Do, Sindagi Aisa he. Idhar se U.P Ko vapas jane Ke badh Bhi, Hum Milenge.” (“Never mind son, life is like that, even if I am leaving the city back to my native place, certainly we will meet again.”)- on hearing him calling me ‘Beta’ (son) , I was overwhelmed with joy and sorrow and was recalling my late father for a while. Again I felt like weeping to my heart’s content.

Now, Yogesh Bhaiyya is away from me. Everyday I expect some message from him. So far, no reply….I know, one day, he will…

Bhasmasura Alias Frankenstein Monster

You must have heard about Bhasmasura. Otherwise you should. The Asura was an ardent devotee of Lord Shiva and to appease and also to seek blessings from the God, Bhasmasura held a rigorous ‘Thapas’ (Penance), lasting a prolonged period. Delighted with his rigorous ‘Thapas’ God Shiva appeared before the Asura in all glory and halo, blessed the Asura and told his faithful devotee. “I am very much delighted and am proud of you. I am showering all the blessings on you. You can seek any boon from me and it will be available to you. I am that much satisfied with you, my beloved devotee”.

Asura felt much honoured and with all humility and devotion to the God he worshipped for years appealed to Shiva. “Thank God. I need only one boon from you. May your highness bless me with it”- Asura knelt before the God.

“You may ask me. Your wish would be materialized”.- God Shiva promised him.
“I need a boon from you, your Excellency. On anyone I touch with my finger on his or her fore-head,should in an instant become Bhasma(ashes). Without pondering over the covert intention of the Asura, God Shiva blessed the Asura with the boon he sought from him. “May your wish be materialized”- showering all blessings on the Asura, God Shiva wanted to bid farewell from his worshipper.
“My beloved God, give me a chance to test the boon, first on your highness”.

God Shiva was shocked. The treachery unveiled, but it was too late. The boon once given should not be withdrawn, and fearing the worst, the God ran away to escape from the Asura and the Asura followed him with all the might that he had already obtained from the God after a long period of rigorous penance.

Shiva’s running spree gained momentum and at last he decided to approach God Vishnu and kept him abreast of all that happened. Shiva had known that the only escape route from the Asura was through God Vishnu. In the Puranas it was God Vishnu who rescued many a God from the Asuras, who keeping all the treachery in mind, worshipped Gods and caught in their traps.

“Please help me to find a way out of this dilemma. Only you can help me wriggle out of this predicament.” – God Shiva sought solace from his friend.

God Vishnu meditated for a while and came out from his meditation with a solution.

With his divine powers, within seconds the God turned into an ‘apsaras’- a charming lady with the power to distract the attention of the Asura and passed by him. Asura saw her and at first sight itself Asura got enchanted with the pretty, fatally charming lady and implored her to accept him as his life partner.

The lady agreed but on one condition.

“Would you do whatever I might seek from you?”

The Asura instantly agreed and promised her. That much he was attracted and enchanted by her.

“Then you may do one thing. Before my own eyes you may kindly touch your finger on your forehead. The next moment I shall accept you.”

The Asura was relieved and he thought it a simple thing. Without any hesitation, and without thinking too much in his eager to possess the enchantress he touched his forehead with his own finger. Within seconds the Asura became a handful of Bhasma(ashes).

Again with his divine power, the charming enchantress turned into God Vishnu and thus saved his friend God Shiva from the Asura’s trap.

This puranic story of Bhasmasura has some contemporary dimensions.

The whole world is caught in a web of wicked forces and all across the world are lamenting over the fate of an accursed world. Terrorists, like the proverbial Asuras are on the prowl, leaders across the Globe are busy engaged in talks to eradicate this menace from the face of the Globe as early as possible. Otherwise, the fate of this beautiful world will be in shambles, reminding us of the story of Bhasmasura.

On 26 November, a bunch of terrorists with deadly weapons landed on the shores of India, a journey commenced from Karachi of Pakistan, now the epicentre of terrorism, first by a ship and then by a speed-boat across the Arabian Sea with the sole intention of striking at the financial capital of our country wreaking as much damage as possible. Those Jihadists, all except one were supposed to have been killed by our valiant commandos, some must have escaped the net, not sure. It was a meticulously planned execution of Lashkar-E-Taiba of the wretched leader Hafiz Ali Sayed who is presently well-entrenched in his country. Almost sixty hours of incessant battle, two days, three nights, and one morning, the wicked Jihadists of Lashkar-E-Taiba, who soon after reaching the city escaping the dragnet spread by the security agencies(whether there was such a dragnet is another puzzle, the news that the information was already passed on to the Government about the terrorist attack from sea is anybody's guess) formed groups of threes and fours and spread along the city, got entrenched in famous landmarks of the city like, Taj-Intercontinental, Hotel Oberoi-Trident, Cama Hospital, Nariman House, Leopold restaurant, held some people hostage, shot about 55 innocents at the Chatrapathi Shivaji Terminus itself, gunshots, grenade explosions with deafening sounds and cries for help by some victims were heard, but the Jihadists didn’t relent and a carnage of sorts took place, taking the death toll to round about 200 and about 600 wounded and taken to hospitals.

I am not prolonging with an eyewitness account of all that happened on that faithful day( I had already described the entire episode in an earlier blog dated 30 November 2008 ). But I would like to dissect a bygone period and also point out the genesis of the terrorist drama now being enacted across the world.

Among the countries, the first to come out condemning the all sad happenings is surprisingly and amusingly USA, the one nation solely responsible for sowing the seeds of terrorism by playing World Police. That country’s attempt and eagerness for one up-man ship among the World nations was the main factor for all the subsequent happenings, still going on in our world.

Take for example, the history of Afghan imbroglio.
That nation was in the grip of the erstwhile Soviet Union for a while and as already pointed out, in order to contain the main competitor of USA of that period, encouraged the Taliban, Osama-Bin-Laden and his cohorts, provided them with all logistics , all the other help those elements wanted to rescue Afghanistan from the clutches of erstwhile Soviet Union. Now the number one and most wanted enemy in the World is Osama-Bin-Laden and Ayman-Al-Sawahiri, his deputy once the faithful friends and conscience keepers of USA. Look at the ways the history and relationships play in the infinite expanse of time! Quite a paradox!

Till 9/11, USA had an inherent feeling of superiority (even now, when the nation is undergoing a recession and the economy in shambles) and complacency that they were impervious to terrorist attacks and would continue to be so eternally, so they believed. That complacency was broken and with realization that USA was also prone to the machinations of terrorists across the world, Mr. George Walker Bush jumped to the front hiding his fear and uncertainty, displaying a face of courage vowed to every nation that terrorism would be nipped in the bud, and the dreaded Al- Quaida and its vicious leaders would be brought to justice. Bush with his foolish determination to hunt down the Al- Quaida leaders who were said to be the perpetrators, who was said to be the perpetrators of 9/11 World Trade Centre attack, 2001 embarked on his misadventure, went for the jugular of terrorist movement and its leaders across the world. His first goal was to attack Afghanistan and perpetrate as much destruction as possible, hunt down Osama-Bin-Laden and his cohorts supposed to be hiding in the North-West Frontier of Pakistan, believed to be well-entrenched in their bunkers, nabbing them ‘dead or alive’. The powerful president could only play havoc with the nation by massacaring innocents, men, women and children who were not all involved in Jihadist movement and their only wish was to go on with their lives safely and peacefully. The war only helped to shatter the dreams, hopes and aspirations of those innocent people and to escape from incessant bombings and mayhem they fled to neighbouring countries and settled down as refugees-poverty, diseases, malnutrition and hunger killing them in thousands.

But, the men, they (USA) wanted and to be brought to justice still remain elusive even after years of turmoil-but the lessons Mr.Bush still refuse to learn in the fag end of his presidency. The next to enthrone, Mr. Barack Obama is also determined to pursue Osama-Bin-Laden to the end. Obama - peace loving, cool and diplomatic, thus we all say, is keeping the age-old feeling of superiority of the Americans in the comity of nations. Let the time prove it…

Once Pakistan was the blue-eyed boy of USA, George Bush loved that nation and provided that country with all kinds of aid, weapons, food and billions of Dollars as loan. Some of them as grants. Deep down in his heart, his intention was to contain India at any cost, as he had apprehended the ‘phenomenal growth and development’ of India( my good gracious!). Retd General Pervez Musharaff deliberately played into the hands of Bush always ensured to keep the World leader in good humour to extract the maximum from USA. While the General was encouraging and providing all logistics to the Jihadists to destroy the peace in Jammu and Kashmir, whom he called freedom fighters' self-proclaimed champion of democracy Mr.Bush and his GoP kept mum thus giving silent approval to all the heinous activities- the Jihadist elements of Pakistan perpetrated massive destruction in Jammu and Kashmir, killing about one lakh people including our jawans till now.

The same Bush sent his confident the Secretary Of State, Condoleeza Rice to India first on hearing the news of Pakistani Jihadist elements played with fire in our nation, condemning the incident in no uncertain terms. Ms.Rice went to Pakistan soon after the visit to India, met President Asif Ali Sardari and demanded him to initiate tough and stern action against the Jihadist elements in the country as USA was in possession of evidence pointing out to involvement of Pakistani security establishment in the Mumbai carnage. Remember, now India and USA are on good terms particularly after the Civil-Nuclear Deal ‘consummation’ and USA is not that much in good terms with Pakistan because of frequent skirmishes along the North-West Frontier Province and occasional trespassing of boundaries in spite of repeated warnings by Pakistan.

On the pretext of – “Wiping out” the Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) from the land of Iraq- Bush sent lakhs of troops into Iraq and engaged in fierce battle, which started from the year 2003, thus destroying the last remnants of Mesopotamian Civilization, revered and respected by all around the world, killing crores of people including infants, forcing a lot of people fleeing from the country seeking safe havens, Saddam Hussein hanged after a mock trial and installing a puppet Government under Noori-Al-Maliki, an American stooge. Actually it was not the issue of WMD that mattered as Hans Blix, UN Representative after conducting extensive inspection found no such weapons and reported to the UN. United Nations has no value before the eyes of USA and hence ignored report and embarked on a war mission. USA had actually business interests in the Oil-rich nation and to extract the maximum for their use found a pretext in the form of elimination of Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD).

It is worthwhile to note here that even the late Saddam Hussein was a close friend of USA in his mission to annihilate lakhs of Kurds and that closeness ended only when the Kuwait war broke out in 1991 under the regime of George Bush Senior.
Interestingly, the nation keeping the largest number of WMD is USA itself.

Similarly, the Palestine-Israeli issue, and USA always siding with Israel in its efforts to target Palestinians and killing them, has created wide-spread discontent among the Arab Nations and Jihadist elements, thus providing manure to the wide-spread growth of terrorism in various corners of the World.

Muslim community across the Globe deeply dischanted and angered with the USA and thus leading many among them to turn to Jihadism and massive destruction.

Even at this critical moment in contemporary scenario, it seems USA has still not learned much. The nation which once provided all logistical help to Jihadists are now seen engaged in wiping out Jihadism from the face of earth with humble requests from all across the World!

What a Tamasha!
Tail-Piece: I regret having compared God Shiva to George Bush and would like to mention here that Mr.Bush himself has turned out to be a Bhasmasura of the contemporary world. Where is God Shiva now is a billion dollar question.

Neglected Lot Of Mumbai City

Again on Mumbai. Even in the Golden times and now in the worst of times, Mumbai still remains an attraction,enigma and fascination. The other day I rang up a friend in the nearby city and talked about the recent brutal carnage in our dear old city.
“Even after a span of ten years the city still remains an attraction to me. I feel like the city still beckons me. In our times, city was somewhat calm and incident free and now unfortunately it is in turmoil. Law and Order in disarray, violent clashes and murders common in the Metropolis, terrorists roaming and roaring across the city like blood hounds massacring as many innocents as possible, deafening bomb-explosions and mind-boggling and chilling sights of mangled dead bodies and amidst all these the ruling politicians remain passive and also in deep slumber caring two hoots for the hardships of the Mumbaikars. Even in these uncertain times, the city still remains a fascination and attraction. Strange! What about your response?”- I was in a state of curiosity. My friend burst into laughter and it lasted for a few minutes and I felt embarrassed for a while. “My case is also like yours. Several times in a day, mind flies back to the bewitching city and I feel like going back to the dear old city and settle down there. Not only my case, it is the same with everybody who had been to the city in the past. It is such an enchantress. The same enchantress of the yester years. Gateway, Taj Intercontinental, the vast expanse of the ocean, Nariman Point, Marinedrive reminding me of a neck-lace during nights, Malabar Hill, Colaba in short every nook and corner of the city”- My friend uttered those words in a breathless tone.
She was settled at a posh locality in Colaba with her family. They used to take strolls in the city, often visited the Leopold restaurant frequented by foreign tourists daily, Gateway, Taj Intercontinental, parks and beaches whenever they got time. Nostalgia with its full vigour.
I often wonder, why this city still remains attractive and enchanting ever ready to embrace her old and new inhabitants even when writhing in pain due to the present day sorry incidents.

This is not to sing ‘Osana’ (eulogise) for the ever beloved city. This is actually intended to picture the darker side of the city life of which I was a witness and part for some years.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I had got chances of settling at various places in the suburbs. Labour Camp- part of Dharavi, Matunga Road, Parel, Borivalli and Ghatkoper- both east and west.
But most of the time, I was residing at a railway quarter, sublet by a Mangalorean, MahabhalaBhandare. Railway Quarters building No:84, Room No:18, I still remember it. Bhandare was living with his family of five, his wife Thamba, we Malayalees (Sala Madrasis in Marathi parlance) used to call her Amma, always clad in a dark blue sari, with a nose-stud adorned with a red stone, always talkative, daughter Geetha who was working in a private firm at Mahim, a slim, curly-haired pretty girl in her twenties dressed in maxi while at the quarters, she had also a nose-stud like her Amma, their three sons, Ganesh, Thara and Thama going on with their studies in colleges and school. We were three paying-guests, one Ravi, one Madrasi Brahmin, who didn’t mingle with anybody, always unfriendly, one Mr.Kutty, a short-statured youth, we used to call him Tinku and one Mr.Joseph, the senior most among us studying Hotel Management somewhere in the suburbs and My-self, working at the Foreign Exchange Department of a bank at Nariman point in South Mumbai. In one sense we were all existential outsiders, not much friendly with each other, each with his own problems and worries once in a while exchanged smiles. Formal introduction to each other was already over in one or two words.
I had a friend in the adjacent room and whenever we got time we used to walk down the streets discussing various matters both personal, official and city life, in short everything under the Sun.
There was no cooking facilities in our room and hence to have our daily food, both the breakfast and supper, we used to go to a Malayali mess on the outskirts of Matunga area daily in the morning and evening. Lunch was always from our nearby working places either from a hotel or from pav-bhaji wallas with their vehicles parked by the side of the road.
In the early morning after finishing our daily routine, my friend in the adjacent room and myself would step out of our rooms wearing shirt and tucking up our dhotis like typical Malayalees to the Malayalee mess affectionately known as “Sankunni Mess”. How that name got to the mess is still an unknown thing. Because there was nobody with the name Sankunni there.
We would take a few steps along the tarred road and then turn to the left, there were railway quarters buildings here and there both vertically and horizontally, passed through the route and would enter a gully untarred and pot-holed with innumerable slums lined along both sides of the way. In the mornings, it was a common sight to see women in queues with their vessels in front of water-taps to collect water for the day. Their husbands were a rare sight in the locality in the mornings, might have been in deep sleep after consuming illicit country-liquor in the evenings till their senses go out of control- a sort of inebriated condition.
While passing through the way, we used to watch the ladies and among them, one of them caught my attention, a moody, young woman in her thirty’s always engrossed in some thoughts. I used to see her husband, a lean man with untrimmed beard in an old torn dirty shirt and a lungi, always in an intoxicated condition. On holidays in the afternoons while passing through the gully, I could see him with his drunkard friends sitting in a circle playing poker game. Except in the morning, his wife was not seen at the premises. They had three children, all girls usually seen with their mother. In a slum, a mother, father and their three children, living in dire straits- I used to imagine their life with horror and compassion. Their only source of daily existence was the sale of illicit country-liquor to those visiting them.
One evening, I along with my friend reluctantly decided to visit their slum- a small dinghy room with asbestos roof and walls built with tin-sheets, the atmosphere permeated with the pungent smell of country-liquor. Alongside the walls there were three or four benches for those coming to have their drink to settle down, the three girl children could be seen sitting in a corner, playing some games, oblivious of the happenings around them, (innocence personified) the wife and husband pouring the colourless liquid with pungent odour into the glasses and supplying to the clients. Among the clients, I was shocked and embarrassed to notice a police man with his lathi in his lap taking liquor. A model custodian of law and order in the city of Mumbai. My God! The house-owner while supplying liquor to everybody there found time to have a gulp or two once in a while with warm smile displaying his smoke-stained teeth to each and everybody there. The wife even didn’t care to notice him the anger and hatred towards the man visible in her face who tied the ‘Mangalya Sutra’ around her neck once. She might have nursed wonderful dreams while accompanying him to the city after the marriage in the northern district of Kerala. Everybody in the world nurses dreams in their life and weave a lot of attractive pictures inside the inner chambers of their minds. Dreams, we must have, whether they will fructify or not is another matter.
Days went by. Months went by. One day while walking through the gully, we came to know about the man admitted in the Sion hospital, the result of an illness due to excessive drinking, a serious disease often suffered by the confirmed drunkards, often leading to death. It was not about him we worried, but about that lady and her three innocent girl-children. How would they proceed with a penniless existence in the city with nobody to look after them? That thoughts were gnawing, eventhough they were nobody to us and such unfortunate happenings were common in slum areas.
Within a week or two the expected worst news flashed across the area- the end of a sad story.
After his death, whenever we passed through the gully, we used to recall the man, sometimes, we could see the lady with her children in the morning, infront of water-taps with vessels in their hands, but she didn’t seem to notice anybody passing by. The thought about the lady and children tormented us a lot and would think, how they were pulling on their lives without livelihood.
We were mistaken. Livelihood, she had already found out. She had to look after her children. Without her who was their to protect them from the wily people in the area in that part of the city. Along with the sale of liquor she turned out to be a whore selling her body to those who approached her for momentary gratification. But what about her children? That thought began to nag us.
She caught train with them to her native district in the north of Kerala entrusted the upkeep of the children to a distant relative, promising her relative to send money for education and other needs of the children and came back to the city with determination hiding all her tears behind a mask with make-ups and adorned her head with flowers. A new avatar. The birth of a prostitute in the city is not at all a news.
That kind of wretched life went on for a while. A guilty conscience began to prick her constantly and that might have been the reason behind the formal ending of a chapter by bathing in kerosene and lighting of a match-stick....
The incident still haunts me and will continue to haunt me in my entire life even though she was a nobody to me. But was she a nobody to me? No No No….