Antim Pag

I walk into the hotel room and turn on the TV to know more about the singular event on which the relations on the largest & oldest democracies of the world depend on, at least upto a certain extent. Just guess what’s going on? I bet there isn’t a soul who doesn’t know about the event by now so I’d not go into those details. However if you’re a part of the unenlightened clan, its not too difficult to jump sides. Sort of things being said today have more or less a negative connotation. Why so? Was it supposed to be such a big secret that MPs are bought & sold? Or have a page or two been drawn from the “Melodramatics for Dummies” of Bollywood?

I’m watching NDTV LIVE and the discussion is just copying thoughts out of my mind. A gentleman says “I don’t think the people of this country are shocked, I think they’re having fun!” Indeed I am doing just that. In fact just now I was thinking about it writing the same thing down in the blog & quoting Frank Zappa saying “Government is the Entertainment Division of the military-industrial complex.”

Far from hitting a nadir, the Parliament has graduated today. It has mustered the audacity to admit what it’s incumbents have been doing all these years behind closed doors. It’s definitely a happy day for the Indian Political Scenario on the whole. I welcome it with all my heart. I do not say that such scenes should be repeated, because it is just another excuse for wasting more time, not mentioning walk-outs and adjournments; but there is certainly no reason to term the incident as unhappy. I guess the only ones who do that are the ones who see themselves into the matter directly or indirectly.

While I desperately wait to see what happens to the vote today, which as I expected has been postponed and the house adjourned; it seems to be highly paradoxical & risible comment to end on the note I am thinking of ending it on: “Long Live Indian Democracy! Jai Hind!!!”

Hasmukh :)

Must Love Dogs

Mark Twain said, “Take a hungry dog, feed it & it will never bite you; that’s the principal difference between a man & a dog.” Its about two hours past midnight and I’m having a strong urge to write about the female dog I met on the weekend. By far she was my closest encounter of the canine kind (on the happy side).

I’ve always been impressed by this supposed-to-be-feline-predatory-creature, though why it is called so, I never examined for myself. For once, I knew that whatever the creature’s prejudices towards cats, it definitely is not a friend if you’re 12 years old, it’s the 5:30am, it’s the Gujarati New Year in the chilly winter and the odds are four is to one & other five of theirs are on their way. That fateful day, my cousin brother, who has the portfolio of pranks much more diversified when compared to a margin investor like me, saved the night for me (yeah, the dawn hadn’t cracked yet! And you thought I can’t get up before the sun is halfway around the world?) This was the moment at which, the K9’s canines couldn’t breach my epidermis, but they sure did invoke their fear in my mind.

Since then, I’ve been wondering how can a dog be man’s best friend? I’ve gotten over some of my fears by learning that one is supposed to stand still and let the dog smell you (so the datum is fed into the bio-sensory security systems predating the invention of wheel) instead of running helter-skelter and giving the creature all the more reasons to attack you. The first dog to smell me when I stood still was Brownie…

And then there was Lassie… (the slow-motion dream sequence starts now) I visited my friend in Delhi for the weekend and met his so-called-sister, about 7 months old, white Pomeranian. I am a “quick learner” on my CV, so I employed what I’d learnt just about 6 years ago rightaway and let her smell my feet. At this point of time I was a bit skeptical about her intentions to lick me, but she fortunately didn’t (ok, I’m just a novice, haven’t achieved that high a comfort level, shoot me; because apparently, shooting the dog is a violation of animal rights!)

It was then that classical conditioning awakened the Pavlovian Dog in me. I learnt to love Lassie, because I was desperate to be with my friend & he just wouldn’t let go of her. In course of the weekend, I became used to Lassie so that all my fears regarding dogs were overcome. I used to pat her, scratch her throat & even let her lick me! Though she jumping on me is still out of line, but I wonder how long it would take if I were to go visit her once more.

The inscription on the grave of BOATSWAIN (Lord Byron’s dog) reads:

Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN a Dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.

Little known fact here, Lassie Senior just died a couple of months back. She didn’t have the funeral like Boatswain, least of all a tomb, but her name still lives on in form of Lassie Junior, who is credited to a major extent for helping me get over my fear of her kind and letting me inch closer to my long cherished dream of having a dog. May Dog bless us all…

Hasmukh :)

Sloppy Sunday

Well, today is a lot different in my life than all other days. All these days I've been holding very strong views about almost anything, provided I cared enough for holding a view. May it be the Indo-US nuclear deal or the World Gourmet Summit 2008 in the midst of international food crisis. I used to wonder how can people be so indecisive about issues.

However, I am having the first sunday on the job. Got up late after a long time and don't feel like going for hygiene activities (read bathing, which by the way, I'm highly pirticular about) after the clock has struck 1:35 p.m. And now I think that it doesn't matter if it rains outside or heats up like an oven, I have no intentions as of now to go out anyway. I don't care at this point of time if Soniya Gandhi leads the country or Manmohan Singh does or anybody else for that matter. It doesn't matter to me much if the people really believe about Global Warming to be true or not. I believe the only thing that matters to me right now is the mood of just doing nothing after a long long time. As one of the advertisements of the recent Shoppers Stop campaign goes to say, I’m “enjoying doing nothing” after eons together.

So living up to the feeling, I'm just going to let you imagine the feeling of doing nothing at all and them multiply it by a few hundreds. You anyway don't have anything worth doing if you're reading this in the first place, so I have firm reasons to believe that I'm being successful in my attempt to make you experience what many of us call "vellapanthi".....

Hasmukh :)

___________

P.S.: Yeah, I was too sloppy to upload the post so uploading it at midnight!

Sister's Keeper

Sanmesh Kalyanpur, 13, was escorting his seven-year-old sister Sanjana home after school through the flooded streets of central Mumbai one wet July afternoon last year, when she suddenly started disappearing into the filthy water. Luckily the two had been holding hands, and Sanmesh instantly tightened his grip, preventing her from sinking further.

Sanmesh realized that Sanjana had stepped right into an open manhole. "I’ve got to pull her out", he thought, his heart beating wildly. "Otherwise she’ll be sucked into the hole and drown."

His right hand still gripping Sanjana, Sanmesh reached for his sister with his left and began pulling her. But suddenly, he slipped and fell, his left leg entering the manhole and his right leg buckling under him. To his horror, Sanjana had disappeared in the water.

Fortunately, Sanmesh, a star batsman in his school’s cricket team, hadn’t lost his grip on his sister’s hand. "I can't fall into the hole too", Sanmesh thought, as he desperately groped in the water with his left hand for something to hold onto. Fortunately it closed around the manhole cover.

Carefully, Sanmesh manoeuvred himself into a sitting position on the road with his legs in the manhole, without losing his grip on Sanjana. His arms were aching now, for adding to Sanjana’s 25 kilos was her schoolbag strapped to her back. But with one quick jerk, Sanmesh managed to yank Sanjana out of the water, and, coughing and spluttering, she fell on him, her head on his chest.

As Sanjana, clung to her brother, like a baby monkey holding its mother, Sanmesh bent backwards until he was almost lying on the road. “You can let go of me,” Sanmesh told his sister, “you’re safe now.”

Sanjana pulled her feet out of the manhole and stood up. Then, as Sanmesh, extricated himself, and stood by her, Sanjana began crying with relief. Holding each other’s hands tightly, the two walked home. Luckily, both children had only superficial injuries. And although Sanjana had swallowed a lot of dirty water, she wasn’t any worse for it. But for several nights, Sanmesh couldn’t sleep properly. “Sanjana and I fight a lot,” he says. “She’s a really mischievous kid. But I can’t bear the thought of losing her.”

-Surekha Kadapa-Bose
---From READER’S DIGEST-July 2005.

Hunger

The photo is the “Pulitzer Prize” winning photo taken in 1994 during the Sudan Famine.The picture depicts stricken child crawling towards an United Nations food camp, located a kilometer away.

The vulture is waiting for the child to die so that it can eat him. This picture shocked the whole world. No one knows what happened to the child, including the photographer Kevin Carter who left the place as soon as the photograph was taken.

Three months later he committed suicide due to depression.

http://www.worldsfamousphotos.com/stricken-child-crawling-towards-a-food-camp-1993.html

I received this photograph in a forwarded email sometime back. I wanted to show it to somebody, but couldn’t find it in my hard-drive or in my inbox, so I googled it out. There are quite a few copies of it on the internet, this is the link to one of them.

Everybody of is debating on the page about what is wrong with the system, what needs to be done, what are the duties of the world bodies, rich people who don’t do enough charity and who knows what not. But I want to ask these people, “Did any of you ensure that YOU don’t waste any food?” If you do it & further ensure that everyone you know also doesn't waste any food, in the long run the Aggregate Demand is going to come down drastically. If everybody who eats decides to purchase only that much that he sincerely wants to eat and doesn’t waste any food, this is going to save the life of a significant number of people every year who die of hunger; one way or the other.

“Lofty ideals” you’ll say. I know that charity begins at home, so I’ve made every effort to ensure that I don’t waste any food and also try and ensure that everybody I know doesn’t disrespect or waste food in any way whatsoever.

I’m not asking you to give me blood, time, devotion or absolutely anything at all. All I’m asking is for you to promise me that you’ll not waste any food, ask for only that much that you’re going to eat and make sure that everybody in you share a table with, does the same. This is the least you can do to (literally) save the world.

I may not be alive to see the day when nobody dies of petty reasons. Nevertheless, I would still want that day to arrive. Hope that it arrives soon & further hope that you have a positive part to play in it.

Hasmukh :)

Acclivity

And once more, the Dr. Vikram Sarabhai founded Indian Space Research Organization has done it. On April 28, 2008; I was watching the Loksabha Channel (due to lack of entertainment avenues), waiting for the Question Hour (for those Indians who don’t know, kindly surrender your passports).

The session began with the speaker of the house (Mr. Somnath Chatterjee) addressing the house of the proud achievement which our country accomplished. I am surprised that any major newspaper has not covered it in a big way. Apparently, they were all too busy covering Harbhajan & Sreesanth and the controversy that surrounds.

This fateful day, ISRO executed another satellite launch. Just that this time it was the first of its kind in the world. With the PSLV C-9, the launch vehicle put in orbit a group of 10 satellites simultaneously. Quite something, huh!?

I know some wouldn’t share my pride, but I’ll do what I’ve managed to do almost always: Damn All. And if you don’t want to be damned, you might as well bask in the glory of being an Indian.

Hasmukh :)

__________

P.S.: I see some of the newspapers have reported it, but then tell me honestly; how many of you do read them, eh!?

Power

OK, first and foremost: this hasn't got anything to do with the world power balance, I'm too slaphappy a man to care about the likes.

The power-balance stands disturbed today. Ever since November 8th, 1993 (my younger sister's birth) the power balance in our home has been tilting in her favour. I've had numerous friends ask me about why do I treat my sibling sister so nicely. All that, just changed today.

I've come back home after a long long time, needless to say parents are showering me with affection, the focus of which for the past 15 years had been her, of which for the past 2 years, she was the exclusive one! Now she is just another desperate teen of today. Again needless to say she that throws a lot of tantrums. In one of those many today, I found that she had crossed the limits and had hidden something very personal & sentimental to me... All I did was just take her laptop, change the status of my user to "administrator" & that of all other users to that of "limited user" and then password protect all her files so that only I could access it. I then handed over the laptop as if nothing had happened.

In a matter of seconds, the gargantuan monster I'd anticipated was facing me; only for me to tell her: "What you've seen is not even a fraction of what I can do. Simply because I chose not to, doesn't mean that I CAN NOT make life miserable for you. Now, I'm going out for a few minutes; when I return, I better find things as they were, or they shall be worse for you!" A few minutes later, I recieved a phone call converying successful restoration of my possessions. Of course the war doesn't end there; but then what chance does Pakistan have against India when India declares war (provided India has the political will of course, eh!?)

For a lion who has been vegetarian all its life; this is like savouring the most exquisite venison. Now I understand what joys I've missed all these years & further doubt if the vegan in me shall ever stand resurrected again. But it's definitely not me who's complaining!

Hasmukh :)

Bored

Yeah, that's what I am at the moment...Bored! The studies of this lifetime seem to be over as of now & the next phase of the donkeys' work has not begun yet. So this is the gap between the "Brahmacharyaashram" & the "Gruhasthaashram". Having got nothing to do but to watch movies, enjoy TV & read books; not to mention eat, drink & sleep; I'm getting bugged.

But then, I want to get so bored of getting bored, that I never want to be bored again! So that when the time comes to work, I should not think about how I want free time to do this or that (because I'd've already done it!) though I could certainly use 5-day-weeks. Reports coming in from the un/fortunate souls who have joined their jobs, if are anything to go by, say that its a much more brutal world out there than I'm fantasizing about. That judgement is to be brought a stay order upon right now though.

So much for my boredom, huh!? And just by the way, Mr. Jim Davis; I don't give a damn about your Intellectual Property Rights...

Hasmukh :)

Time out, officially!

There have been times when I came back to hostel from my home & the first thing I do in the morning would be to brush my teeth. But the reasons would be marginally more than habit, hygiene, & worries of increments in dental insurance premia. I would look at the sun in from the window adjoining the basin-mirrors in the hostel bathrooms, and think how the sun would have risen back home and wonder how I’d be home again one day.

Tonight the ball is in another court & it is not going to bounce back. A few hours from now, when the sun would rise, I wouldn’t be able to see it while brushing my teeth…because there is no window besides the wash-basin mirror out here. Times have changed. The reality is that I’m finally home now, and I’d never ever be back at my hostel again… :’(

Using Gujarati (which my friends have got sickeningly used to back at the hostel):

Badho adhaar chhe ena jati veLa na jova par,
Milan maathi nathi maLta mahobbatt na puravao...

(It all depends on the way they see on the parting-note,
The proofs of affection lie not in the times of reunions…)

I bade my last good-byes of various sorts when I got separated from my just-friends, more-than-friend-friends, hi5-friends & so on…

…one, quite silent, because we both knew what was in each others hearts.

…one, mockingly humorous, because our hometown is the same and we shall meet in a matter of days.

…one, where my friend hugged (or crushed?) me tight and we told how we both will miss each other big-time.

…one, just after I felt I had comforted & hugged her, wishing her better times in both the immediate and distant future.

…one, when he hugged me tight time & again, crying like a baby again and again and again and again and again and again.

…one, just a normal casual good-bye, wishing that she be able to squeeze the maximum amount of money out of ICFAI-Hyderabad (a dream come true).

…one, which accompanied me from my room to the main gate, found me conveyance, and kept on standing and waving till the horizons.

…one, highly surprising; when I was sitting in a 7-seater’s convertible rear, she seated in the front seat of a Toyota Qualis coming right behind me on the road & I realized just in time to recognize her and give a flying kiss, only to find her hiding her face in bashfulness.

…and then there were some friends, whom I didn’t feel the need to hug & wish good-bye, because deep down in my heart, I knew that come-what-may, these people will hunt me down from burning hell and give me a moment of heaven by gracing me with their mere presence.

I’m not brooding over the past. Nor am I crying about not being able to live it again. But I still feel sad… & I want to cry because something is with me no more. Just like the time I cried after arriving for the first time in hostel after leaving my home. I know that I left the campus with more happy memories than anybody I know; the need arising here to say that I left with not a quarter, not a third, not a half, but at least hundred times more happy memories than sad ones!

I also encountered police check post during my way from campus to the city (which we’d managed to do without for almost two years now). I also had a close brushing encounter with my dissertation guide, whom I’d told I’d left the campus about a day ago to do away with my presentation early. And all the way home, I sung our farewell song (it is in my Orkut videos) to myself, in a desperate attempt of self-soothing.

It’s 4:40 in the morning (in true MBA style, you’d think) (mind you, the blog may sport a different time due to time-zone differences) & I feel that right now I’m a lot relaxed vis-à-vis how I was when I started typing this manuscript; hoping for good times ahead…

Hasmukh :)

Flames

Have you ever been tempted by somebody cooking Mediterranean food, gently pouring exquisite red wine in a pan and heating it so that it catches fire and shows some of the most enticing colours; colours such that you feel like you want to dissolve in them for the rest of your mortal life?? The only thing that would hamper you from living this fantasy is probably the absence of such conditions in the first place in a day to day life. Well…meet someone who just overcame that barrier and found a way to enjoy the same feeling in a normal Indian kitchen!!!

Actually it’s just that I’ve been trying my hand at cooking lately. My journey in the kitchen dates back to the times when I was about 9 years old when I had my first encounters of the fiery kind. My hunger had driven me into the kitchen and like many other fellow Indians, my cooking started with the good old Maggie 2-minute noodles to satiate my writhing guts. The war on terror (of hunger) has continued unabated since then, just like its namesake; with no hope of a truce in the foreseeable future. 13 years old and I baked my first pizza. (Not joking at all…though it was more of Indian food than Italian & the recipe included some bread, capsicum, tomatoes, onions, cheese & of course ketchup; which due to lack of a better noun would be called a pizza.) Later at the age of 14, I successfully made my first cup of tea without using any clay or a potter’s wheel. Just like the hero grows up in a 1980s Bollywood movie, my cooking continued with stupendous pace with me learning to make laddoos, coffee, shakes, curries & earning a perfect 10 at the age of 20 to make my first chapatti which was just-the-right-thickness, just-the-right-softness, just-right-grilled…and behold thy breath; A PERFECT CIRCLE! (Though this was just a prototype and mass production would take a long long while…& efficiency, another 3 millennia.) Today I learnt to successfully make much-better-than-just-edible dal & rice. And this is where I found the treasures of the kind known only to Mediterranean chefs, (except for all those who also happen to be in direct contact with fire.)

Place: Kitchen at my home
Preparation: “Tadka” for my dal

I started heating the oil and put some “sarso” in it. My hunt for some of the other exquisite ingredients (read Asafetida/ “Hing”) took me longer than anticipated and when I returned victorious to my workstation, as if out of nowhere, I was greeted by the sight of a three coloured flame in the “tadke ka katora”, just like we learnt in our 6th grade text-book!!! And as the towering inferno went higher & higher, and for a cross-section in time, I could unravel the mystery of what would be the feeling of burning the house down!

Thankfully the size of the inferno towered to just about 7” and the fire department’s services were not availed. Much needless to say that I managed to escape without a scratch or a burn (actually I didn’t runaway...to quote from the poem Casabianca, “The boy stood on the burning deck!”). The tadka was then remade by my very educated mother who just showed how to make a proper tadka, (can’t one see anything else except the cliché nine planets?) And when I started boiling it, I put a few “Aritha”s (used to treat hair) instead of “Kokam” (an ingredient that gives tang); identified the error & corrected within a response time of less than 58 million nano-seconds. For the record, the dal was highly delicious & I savoured it with my mother & sister. Hope that in the times to come, I manage to cook up something as delicious everyday with as much fun as today and lesser danger...

Hasmukh :)