Rats

So far I believe I have killed 5 rats. Rats have always posed big threat to me, primarily they cause lot of damage even to things of no use to them, like books, paper and cloth and also, in case of those big mice, they are a compromise with hygiene thus a risk of diseases. When I arrived in Ashram, one thing that gave me sleepless nights were chaos of mice in night. I was so disturbing that even thoughts of quitting internship cross my mind. I did not expect luxury in the village, but then I will be happy even if I get a small but clean hut.

I had no clue what to do. I did not have that box in which rats can be caught. In the village, I asked one gentle man, Bangari Ji, who had expertise in kitchen garden, although sometimes sold some unique sized product of his farm for handsome prize. He did well in treating disease of vegetables, so I thought he might as well suggest something for rats. He told me to make small rolls wet flour along with broken pieces of glass. Rat will instantly die as glass pieces will be too big to get down his tiny intestines. When I shared that novel idea with Claudia, she found it gross and evil. Next he suggested complicated methods of using leaves and oils of certain plants. On the way back I saw a simpler solution of Mortien Rat Kill. I found out that a couple of those were available with Ashram also. So I used those cakes. Although cake was not found next morning, but the rat had his night thereafter too. It turned out that those cakes had expired and hence were ineffective. I got 6 sachets of brand new cakes next day. And it worked. I had peaceful nights. But one day, we opened one room in Ashram, and it smelled gross. We found the victim of my rat kill cakes there, and from the malodor it felt that expiry date of the rat was at least a week old. He was a big fat horrible carcass.

I had relief for a month until I was moved to another room. New rats found their way here. They punched holes in plastic containers, leaked a mustard oil bottle and nibbled on bathing soap. What did they achieve in doing this? I suppose they don’t eat plastic or soap or drink mustard oil. I was forced to another Rat Kill cake. I found that their main source was bath room, so I placed on there and on in front on room. Every time I would keep rat cakes in night, first thing I will do to look for no signs of the cake. The one in front of my room was gone. I was happy. The one in the bath room was still there. I noticed that in the night I also left the instruction paper that came with cake, next to the cake itself. I wonder if the mice read the instruction when he arrived at the cake and thus comprehend my intention and left the cake unattended.

Yeh Delhi hai meri jaan

People in hills in general and at the NGO in particular are very respectful. First of all, I never hear ‘Tu’. It’s mostly ‘Aaap’ and sometimes ‘Tum’. Okay I do not mean to say that respect is reflected only through the pronouns we use to address others. But at places where it is, like this one, then being addressed as ‘Aap’ makes me feel respected. Even those, who have more experience than my age! , they call me ‘rajeevg’ and ‘aap’. Surprisingly, this ‘rajeevg’ does not sound as Bihari ‘rajeevg’.

Recently when I went to medical hospital, the doctor was quite ill mannered. The generalization that government doctors will any way talk like they are obliging the patients will not be valid here. The other doctors Dr. Rana and his daughter were quite charming. Fuming at the outrageous attitude of that medical superintendent I filed an RTI for the information I attempted to request for, politely. Back at NGO, I explained what triggered me filing the RTI. I told that I was deeply offended by the way she talked to me. Everybody in the village talks with so much respect, so I wasn’t used to this kind of behavior. Dimri Ji told that she was from Delhi. I felt so small in this one piece of information. Why do Delhi guys have to be so high headed? When I wrote ‘Yeh Delhi hai meri jaan’ entry in my blog earlier, people were all offended about my opinion on Delhites, but that observation of mine is quite clear and correct and one does not need to wear microscope to see this.

Today, while I was going to bazaar, as usual in hills, I forgot the way and took wrong turn. But I realized that and turned back. Finding me confused, one lady from a group sitting near Swajal tap asked, ‘Kahan se aa raha hai, rasta pooch nahi sakta, kahan se hai’.
I was shocked. I was at least expecting, ‘kahan jaa rahe ho’ if not ‘Ko jaani, kakh batan aani’ . All the way to the market, I thought about this. I intentionally took the same route while coming back to encounter the lady again. Before I reached the tap again, I met some women of that group. I was ready to let my anger out by asking them if that’s how they too usually talked.
Before I could say a word, I saw the familiar Garhwali smile and the first woman asked,

‘Bhaiyya, rasta mil gaya?’
‘haan’

I got some encouragement and noticed that they were dressed in Garhwali form. I was too disturbed earlier to see what they were wearing. I asked the girl behind, ‘Didi, gobar khad gaddhe se le jaa rahe hoya seedha’
‘Khaad gadhe se , bhaiyya’
‘Kisne banwayaa, Swajal ne?’
‘haan, isi saal’
‘accha, kaunsa? Keede waala? Vermi to mil gaye the na’
‘haan haan, bhaiya bhaat khao’
‘nahi, bas dhanyavad’


As I moved happily little ahead, I met another woman.

‘bhaiyya, mila gaya tha rasta bazaar?’
‘haan’
‘badi jaldi waapas aainch tum’
‘didi, aap yahin rehte ho’
‘nahi bhai, me dehradun rehen, yeh to inka gobar le jaa rahi hun’

I was joyous to know that even though she was from town, she knew Garhwali and spoke Hindi with Garhwali accent and respected people like anyone here in Garhwal. But I was yet to see the other that rude lady. So I asked this one, ‘didi, who jo behenji udhar baithi thi, unka ghar kaunsa hua?’
‘Bhaiyya, who to delhi ki hai, bhai ke ghar aa rakhi’
‘Well, that explains it!’

On my way up, when I arrived at the tap, I saw the uptown woman still washing clothes under the tap. I noticed her hair and dressing style. She was alien. Without saying a word, I moved on.

I guess to respect someone, one doesn’t need to be a villager or city dweller or illiterate or educated. It’s a common sense. The woman from Delhi immediately assumed a higher position for her in the group because she was Delhi. One might argue that the lingo and style that I despise might actually be the culture of Delhi. Well then, Delhi must be culturally very poor and this culture thing is as much clichéd and futile as the undying spirit of Bombay. I wonder even in Haryana, which is supposedly famous for its raw language and habits, people speak this way with strangers.

Yeh dilli nahi ban sakti meri jaan unless it raises it culture quotient.

Happy Deepawali

They say that a picture speaks thousand words

Another place, Another home, Another family, Happy Deepawali

Me and Julie

Initially I did not like her, like any one else from her species, in fact I did not even know until recently if she was she or he, because people would address her as he only. I got to know her gender only after she gave birth to four little angels. It’s surprising that I have been staying in Ashram now for close to 3 months without worrying about dogs. Rather I feel affectionate towards Julie. Earlier I would always hesitate to go into a house where there’s a sign beware of dogs. In such homes, I would ask from outside itself if the dog was tied or not. In fact, sometimes I would enjoy showing third finger to dog. But here at Ashram, first of all, for the first time, I am not scared of dogs and there are two of them. Four actually, there are two puppies too. I treat them like another occupant of Ashram, saying Hello when I pass by them. Things actually changed after Claudia left. Before that, I was too absorbed in conversations with Claudia to even give a look at these dogs. I would try to stay away from them. Once, I was having lunch, and Julie came and sat right under my chair. The moment my leg touched her and I realized this, I sprang from chair, shaking the whole food table and thus almost giving a heart attack to Claudia. She told that she was surprised that Julie sat under my chair, even though I did not like her then. I think over last few weeks, Julie also understands that I don’t dislike her. Earlier, when I would try to go close to her or touch her, she would kinda bark, or go away or become alert, but now she just politely closes her eyes or does not react. May be in sometime, she might reciprocate the affection as she does to other people in Ashram. I guess the relation between me and Julie is improving because she has seen how much I love her kids. First time when I tried to touch the little Frank Jr and Sophie, Julie barked and almost hit my finger. But now when I cuddle them, she doesn’t react. She’s is just silently happy that there’s one more to the army of people who shower affection on her children. It’s quite magical actually. Kids on streets in cities do not get so much love as these puppies do. Who ever comes to Ashram – new or old, just loves them, and does baby talk to them. Most strangely, Me. I wonder if ever touched a dog before this. But when these puppies are around, all my fondness comes out. Sometimes I let them probe or lick my shoes when they try to climb on to me, by placing there tiny paw on my shoes. When they walk and do kinda rap through their neck, they really resemble the little toys we see in stores, who does things or dance or walk through some spring action. But I am yet to become fully a dog person. I don’t touch them quite often, as I have fear that there might be some insects or diseases in their hair. The way even kids in Ashram keep the puppies for long in their lap and remove dirt or insect from their hair and body, I can’t do that now, may be for hygiene and fear factor. Plus I feel tired of washing hands every time I am done with them. Amit Ji in Ashram already told that there are small lices or insects kind of thins with Julie, which she has transmitted on to cane chairs which she naps upon in the afternoon. Since then, I have stopped sitting on those can chairs. Now if I can’t share a chair with dogs at this stage, how can I possibly jump straight to the level of having the puppies sleep with me. I think all of this might boil down to faith. If I had my own puppy, personal one, then I would have taken care of him, given him bath to him and then I would have belief that the puppy is clean and stay with me like another human being, and I wouldn’t have any doubts about him. As long as I don’t personally take care of the puppies in Ashram, the suspicion might prevent me from going too close to them.

My introduction in my own land!

Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own country. Off late, when I go somewhere and I am asked for ‘aapka parichay’. In my introduction, I say, ‘Rajeev Gupta, Gairsain’, which I guess should be sufficient. But they insist in asking, “No, where are you from? Which organization?”. They want to get out of me, that I am from Delhi and that I work with SBMA. I go to market, after little conversation, I am asked, “where are you from, you need a lodge?”. Recently, I visited a community health centre in the village, and I wanted to ask the doctor why the costly medicines are never available with the dispensary and if she is allowed to prescribe such medicines. So I went up to the doctor, and told her that I needed some information from about medicines. She asked me for introduction. She spoke further only when I told her that I was from the NGO. Now that she knew I was from NGO, she asked why would NGO be interested in this information. That’s why I did not want to divulge that, because after that, the conversation takes a different turn. In fact, so many people come to this only medical centre from remote villages. I am sure the doctor does not know them either. But she doesn’t ask them their introduction when they come for treatment. Or perhaps she does not bother to know a patient as long as he doesn’t do the abnormal task of questioning. Similarly, when I went to Krishi Mahotsav, and tried to make my point, the government adhikari asked me to give my introduction first. Why do I have to be from any organization to make myself heard? Can I not talk and ask because of the fact that I am an Indian? Do my wearing jeans and tshirt and sometimes a cap and clicking pictures make me any less Indian and I look like being from Africa, or America or Europe or Pakistan? The only explanation I can think of is that there are millions of India’s that exist with in the Indian Republic and each of those tiny India’s consider the others as a different country. With so much of diversity, such dilemma and identity crisis are bound to be there.

Accountability of a people’s servant

It was my 3rd visit to Krishi Mahotsav today. It was at Maithan, which meant I went down around 200 meters in terms of altitude, thus it was very warm there. Initially, I was sitting in shade, but my buddy sun wanted to see me, although I did not and thus began the game of hide and seek. Whenever a patch of my hand was under sun, I would move my chair a little towards left. In no time, I was almost stepping over the chair of old man sitting next to me, thus there was no left left! So I got rid of chair and came close to what we all become after death – soil! Although the sun chased me down there on ground ttoo, but now I was more absorbed in the conversation that was going on between the adhikari’s and the farmers. Farmers complained that adhikari’s were listening so much but there was none who was even taking down the suggestions. The speaking adhikari, dude from Horticulture department pointed to another adhikari Mr. Tamta sitting next to him saying that he was writing, seeing that the poor Mr. Tamta started opened a register kept on table, I hoped at least then he had started writing. Everybody was saying that unless there is something done on these suggestions, there is no use of such fancy events as ‘Sarkar Kisan Ke Dwar’.

Then came the golden idea in my head. I grabbed the mike, and in presence of Pradhan Ji, senior members of village, the chief guest, who was a wise farmer and ex-armyman (which explains why is he hardworking and smart farmer) from the same village and the adhikari’s, I said, “Why don’t’ we all give two months of time to the adhikari’s and ask them to send a written report to Pradhan Ji which will give brief on all the activities that have done on the suggestions”. I felt like telling the adhikari, “listen dude, deal is simple, if you belive in every word you speak today, just write it, sign it and give today’s date.” This changed the faces of adhikari’s. Spontaneously, in front of public, they could not say or do much other than nodding in yes, as it was under normal circumstance, the ideal thing. And why should not. When I work at a private company, my boss does ask me question like, ‘Rajeev, when can we hope to finish this’ or ‘where are we on that research task’. People in private sector have to give weekly reports. And in private sector, less number of people have their stakes. But here, 1 billion people are the bosses of the government adhikari’s, 1 billion people have their stakes in the adhikari’s work. These government adhikari’s are ideally the people’s servants. They work for government and the government is ‘for the’, ‘by the’ and ‘of the’ people. In fact Nehru mentioned on becoming the Prime Minister that he was happy to be the first servant of the people of free India. So, all government officers and employees should give a written promise when they assure to deliver something, and should give at least a monthly report on where they are. Else, flyovers and highways will continue to get constructed till eternity and we will never get to drive. New hospitals will continue to get erected, but people will also continue to die pre-mature death because of lack of medical facilities.

Learnings from Swades - Education

I just read a small interview of a kid from SIDH. He studied in SIDH’s primary school. Now SIDH’s education is different from conventional education, because SIDH does not give education compartmentalized in different subjects through text books. It focuses education from within the village’s resources. A kid reads about trees, the occupation of people in village, the social structure in village etc.. and learns to express his understanding and learning through poems, essays, drawings and other creative forms.
Now when this kid applied for admission into government middle school, he was to write an exam. The syllabus and structure of the exam was little to alien to kid. In kid’s own words:

Through our project work, we learnt about trees but also about life. We learnt to
write poems and stories. We learnt new words. We learnt to write letters to
friends and the elderly. However, in Hindi (understood as a subject to be learnt
for the Board examination) we had to learn seven poems by heart, we had to
learn about our country and about other countries. We had to read stories and
learn how to answer questions on the story. We had to learn how to summarize
the poems we learnt. We had to make sentences in Hindi and learn what is a
noun, pronoun, verb, subject, etc.

[Taken from UNESCO Report on SIDH]

Now my question is why the kid has to forcefully learn about other countries or other cities/places in his own country? When I was in school, all through primary and middle school and even in class 9, I was made to absorb information about different countries, cities in world, many of which I could not locate on map until recently when I am 24. Do kids in Germany or Canada learn about India, its geography, its climate, its political structure? Many of the grown ups in other countries do not know even the four metro cities of India. Those who know often know them by colonial names of Madras and Bombay.

Is it just the question of developing countries knowing about developed ones? Will that be enough to justify our syllabus’s carrying writings on developed world while not the other way round? In this regard, I would like to quote Late Mr. Pramod Mahajan who I once met during the shoot of the Karan Thapar’s show ‘The Big Question’ on DD1. In response to question of one of the audience on the show, he said, “No, we can never take advantage of US, only they can take advantage of us.” But then we might as well go as far as saying why on earth do we need to learn another language called English? Of course, 99.999% of Indians learn English not out of interest but out of force or necessity. Here’s there’s a difference between force and necessity. When we were kids, we were not wise enough to know the need of a language, thus, we were forced to learn English. But, many people do courses like Rapidex English Speaking Course or some crash course from British council or Inlingua. That’s called necessity. It’s like me learning now at this age, French because I need a job in Paris or in French Embassy here. People might as well argue that because of English or know-how of western countries, we are doing good business and have advantage over many countries in Asia, who are left behind in this wave of outsourcing.

Or is something other than developed vs developing or strong vs weak? Is it that India is one of the few countries who have such education system, while others, irrespective of being developing or developed, eastern or western, rich or poor, have a curricula for school which encourages kids to learn about their place first, live in their place, develop it and then if he has interest, he can himself look for other countries on web, books, newspapers, magazines etc.?

Morning Walk

Although the movie with the name was drab against the high hopes I raised, but the experience I had in the morning during walk was amazing. I was amazed to see how flexible my day is. I got up in the morning at 6 and felt very cold. It was like Tabu felt cold on her first morning in New York. She took a shawl out of trunk and wrapped around. Similarly, first thing I did after getting up in the morning was putting on jacket and a mufflour all around my neck and head and ears. I have been here for over a month now, but these days may be because I am in the spirit of namesake, I felt as new today here as Ashima Ganguly felt on her first day in New York. After guarding myself with woolen I paid visit to toilet. Sitting on shit pad, thoughts started arriving in my head, and I was little pissed off with that. At least in the morning, these thoughts should give me a break. I am yet to be done with morning call, and thoughts are trying to find room in my head. I really should start some form of meditation, I desperately need that. So I tried to flush the thoughts out by closing my eyes. I had brushed my teeth the previous night, so I did not feel as bad, as I would have otherwise felt. Closing my eyes, I felt that I should sleep more, but as I came in the room, I saw at clock and realized that I had slept 8 hours. Had I been in city, I would have rushed to bathroom or to stadium for running, or to gym, trying to waste as little time as possible. But now, here when there’s no hurry to do things, when there’s no deadline to meet, I just lazily got down on bed, eyes half closed, sometimes staring through the bluish surrounding outside of early morning, sometimes covering my head with quilt to avoid the light from the same window. In this pleasant cold, it is so pleasant to just lie down silently in semi-sleep state. At 6:30, I felt I am not getting any sleep anyway; I should get up and take a walk. When I was in Noida, my morning itself will start with confusion and indecisiveness. When my eyes open up in the morning, I would be wondering if I should sleep more or is it enough. Then when I decide I should sleep little more, then after few minutes of that semi-sleep state, I would struggle to confirm to myself if I am getting sleep or wasting time in bed. Now, here in the village, that state is less intense and I come to that point of beginning of struggle quite late. After I woke up completely, I put my earphones and sneakers on, and put camera in pocket and started walking. I was busy with thoughts and music in ears, but some part of me was also silently and pleasantly enjoying every breath of fresh air, of the sight of fluttering of leaves of very few non-pine trees which are lining the road. Soon I saw couple of school girls with big pair of flowers of white ribbons on their heads, which looked funny and cute on them. Sun had risen but it was beginning to bless this side of the hill. At some point, my walk was almost matching pace with that of sun in rising up here. So in few minutes, I was touched by the first rays. As I was walking up, sun started showing up, playing peek-a-boo through pine trees. And now was the rendezvous with sun, we were almost face to face. I was bathing in his warmth. Early morning sun and setting sun offer unique and pleasant warmth, which is not scorching. I was hearing the beautiful lullaby from Omkara, ‘Jag Jaa’, I started singing the same as if praying to Lord Sun. I took plenty of his pictures. He must be feeling shy of this paparazzo. As I walked forward and continued to hum I met this old frail man who I would often see while running. Today I stopped and talked to him. With the lens of my Canon SX110IS, I captured the contours of his face.



Each wrinkle on his face was telling a tale from his enormously long life. He knew little Hindi. Somehow, I find such folks in Garhwal, who do not know Hindi, from a different world. Their ancientness invokes curiosity in me. We had almost no common language, but still we managed to talk and enjoy each other's company! I used signs, little Hindi, he replied in little Hindi and more Garhwali, I smiled, he smiled,, sometimes must be feeling that I am stupid on simply smiling in response to his cryptic questions in Garhwali! I managed to learn that he had come to attend nature's call of the morning, somehow, the elderly still feel, "log bahar hone undar kyun jaate hain". One has to be from north India to appreciate that deadly one!

From the eyes of an ant.

Every day I come to work, but I never observe myself while working. Just imagine an ant sitting in some corner of your cube, and gazing constantly at you every day. Here’s what an ant wrote in her diary about me.



This guy with different hairstyle comes everyday to this place. Then he sits silently and keeps banging some keys for most of his day. Sometimes, raises his head, he looks around, put the mouth of a bottle in his mouth, and then resumes staring at the colorful screen in front of him.

Giving up on love

After so many love failures in the beginning, I am tired of all these chasing after chick games. I think I should quit now. If it has to happen, it will happen anyway. Love is not something you have to make efforts to find it. It’s not like clearing some exam or job interview that you will have to make efforts for. After all, this damn fist shaped thing in the left side of my body does not follow any of the written/ unwritten rules of human beings. It has its own language, grammar, codes – all of which is beyond comprehension of any one. And quitting is good. The efforts I was putting in this ‘seeking love’ process can be better used at work, where I do expect results to come out, as that work is a linear process. You work hard (albeit with some smartness), you get results, you get promotion, and you feel happy. But you go out, you strain your eyes in catching one glimpse of that b’ful gal, or you are driving, you see a gorgeous face in car going next to you, you try to maintain speed with her vehicle, only to discover that while you were having great start of morning in admiring beauty, you ran into another vehicle in your front, or you got challaned for over-speeding! So I have decided now, I will not give second looks to a girl. It all begins with that second look. Your sight happens to fall on some sweet gal, next you give second look, then you follow her, try to find out details, if successful after lot of hard-work, you get her number, and if lucky, you will get coffee date, but all these come with an expiry date of 3rd date, after which it’s a break up, as she announces, “I got engaged!!”. Did I hear from someone now, ‘well it never started in the first place’? Well at least for cupid-hearted-extra-romantic fellows like me, it already started from that second look . Hence proved  no second look => no love lorn hearts.

Irony, as I conclude this brief, mere naina dhoonde mere naina ko. Will this heart ever stop beating for someone else? I know realize how much sense those non-sense movies ‘Dil to Pagal Hai’ and ‘Dil hai ki manta nahi’ make.

Uncle Uncle Uncle

Uncle Uncle Uncle

Of late when I meet some married acquaintance of mine, I am getting a new tag – ‘Uncle’. When ever I visit his/her family, the kids address me as uncle. Or that friend will ask the kid to ‘say hello to uncle’. I remember when Papa’s friend Sanjay ‘uncle’ used to visit us, we would call him uncle only, and he used to be of same age as I am today, and he too was unmarried. In fact, there were lots of Papa’s friends who were uncles for us. So for my married friends, it’s perfectly fine for them to find an uncle in me for their kids. But I fail to find a fixed point in time line when I made this transition from ‘Bhaiyya’ to ‘Uncle’. Or was it rather a gradual transition? Whatever it may be, it hurts to feel I have aged. A ‘Chaachu’ might have felt pleasant and less age defining! But then it would have become a formal relationship in Indian set up, whereas ‘Uncle’ is a freeway relationship, you get in and get out as and when convenient!

But the uncle episode gives me one more reason to run away to US of A, where everyone other than father is uncle/sir. And when you are not addressing someone by uncle, you address him by his name, even if he is your step dad of twice your age, “Hey Bob, didn’t Mom come with you today?” 

How much is too much?

How much is too much?

We often start liking someone or something too much. But sometimes we go so far in liking that we start getting bored of it. It’s like too much of sugar in pudding is also distasteful. I used to like Rajbhog a lot. Every time I go out for eating, I would invariably have Rajbhog as sweet dish or in dessert. But now I feel sick of it. Mere sight of it pushes me towards throwing up. Similar experiences with couple of other things and people make me wonder, in the process of cuddling something, when do we realize the point beyond which our affection for that thing takes a downward curve?

I have been listening to Raag Tilak Kamod a lot. I listend to all its versions I could find online – instrumental – shehnai, sarod, sitar; vocals – by many different artisits; and even film songs which were purely in this raag. When I get up after a nap, often the first words are the lyrics of this lovely song, ‘neer bharan kaise jaaon’ in raag tilak kamod. Now I have started having fear if I should stop liking it so much lest I should grow dislike for this beautiful music too? Does that love hate relationship hold true for music too? Can we possibly stop liking something ourselves voluntarily? Is there an on/off button for it? And if not, what about the pain when the other party in the liking process becomes unavailable or start disliking me? What if I love chicken and there’s a bird flu? What if I am madly in love with someone, but she magically finds out that button to stop liking me?

PEACE

PS: kehet Ravi Jain suno bhai saadhu.. at least in a relationship (including friendship), if we manage to come out of that downward curve once.. then begins a never ending upward curve of eternally blissful relationship.

BhaiSaahib

It was Saturday morning, I was goin back to home after a tennis game, when I saw Sandeep Laxmi Sri Pada, my colleague, getting down from a rickshaw. He addressed rickshaw puller as “bhai saab”. That was a first to me. I never heard any rickshaw puller being called ‘bhai saab’. I don’t know whether it was out of respect, or Sandeep would use this for any stranger. Nor do I want to generalize that all people of Andhra of south India are polite with others. All I am saying is that it was a pleasant sight. That rickshaw puller must have felt happy. In fact we should call every one – plumber, mechanic, waiter, maid – as bhai saab, and do away the north-indian, “Bhaiyya”, that way, Marathi’s in general and Raj Thakeray in particular would also not be offended  as they keep complaining that bhaiyya’s from UP and Bihar intrude Maharashtra.

Eastern Purity

It all triggered with the morning visit to Mother Dairy today. I saw a gentle man putting a white hanky on his head as he approached a small gurudwara. A very small gurudwara which might as well resemble a house. He closed his eyes and stood there at the gate for few moments. The faith that I saw he had in god, and the faith in that minute he spent there was overwhelming. I have waited many times outside temples for my friends offering prayer inside, or waiting in queue [temples around Jama Masjid attract huge crowd] for their turn to offer prayer. Generally this happens on Tuesdays. I don’t have any issue getting inside an have a word with almighty, but I enjoy more waiting outside, I get the delight to watch! Last Tuesday, I saw Prateek standing quietly with closed eyes and folded hands, as I waited outside. The innocence on his face and the faith that the situation exhibited was enough for me get that rare standard emotion, “I wanna die here.” That’s how I felt when I saw Darjeeling for the first time or when I saw river Ganga in Rishikesh. These feelings are inexplicable by a word but I would like to coin a phrase, “eastern purity”. This is what I find most appealing about Asia and more so about India. The mandir, the masjid, the ganga, the flute, the Hindustani classical music, the morning, the sitar, the feminism – all these go into formation of ‘eastern purity’. Everyday, I see some lacunae around me to crib about India. But whenever this sense of ‘eastern purity’ prevails over my head, all cribbing fade away.

My (mis)adventure with sports

I have written enough lecture about road discipline, humanity, cleanliness etc., etc., so let me not bore you with the preaching. I will write now of sports, particularly my misadventure with sports.

Cricket. – FORTE FOR MOST OF YOU



First a confession: I have no interest in cricket what so ever. I can’t even list the 11 players of Indian team and this has always been a constant source of embarrassment, more so when girls discuss about certain match and I am dumb. Hence, I have been accused at time of not being a true Indian.



When I was in class 3 or 4, my parents bought me new bat from. Next morning I went to some park with kids from our neighborhood to play cricket. Not just I was denied any chance of batting, I forgot to collect my bat while coming back only to come home to hear, “you are not going to play with those kids again”

As I grew up, I would try to go to park with another set of kids, as our home was shifted. While fielding I always used to pray that ball should not come to me, because when I would try catch ball, I would get to hear this from you, “you think ball is gonna lovingly come to your arms, why don’t you move.” I think I was little like Rohan Awasthi of Taare Zamin pe! By the time I was in class 8, I was too conscious of that disapprobation administered to me! So I stopped playing cricket. Forever. But later when I was in college, I had really awesome friends (read ramjane , kumar!) who would invite me to play and give me batting. I would be invariably bowled out in a maximum of 3-4 balls.

I had much fervor for batting until recently; I would trade with kids near my home the kites that land on my roof, for chance of batting.

Oh my god! I just revealed to you guys that I don’t know flying kites either..

Okhay enough of dhoni and ganguly..


Basket Ball



In school, I attended coaching for sometime, and most of the times, coach would exhaust me in the warm up itself. But things changed dramatically when I went into college, I thought that now I m in the best college in the country, what more do I want. Now I will do everything and anything I like, one of them being basket ball. So I was there on court on 3rd day in college, without fear of ragging! I was sincere at practice, would come to court at correct time. One day we were playing zone defence. I was playing centre, when suddenly the coach came on me and said, “what the hell are you doing, you don’t have brains ? You think by jumping like monkey, you can bloc the offence” and little more he said. You guys might be thinking I was this close to tears, but I actually was very close to bursting into pearls of laughter, but that wasn’t visible on my face which was inexplicably grim at that time. So seniors told after the coach left, ‘kid is finally ragged’.
Of all the sports I liked basket ball most, but somehow couldn’t be regular , may be because wasn’t doing good at it. Once in several matches I would get to shoot, mostly I would pass the ball, but sometimes I would become selfish and attempt, and very rarely those will convert into basket, and those ephemeral moments would drive me for the next few days. In my 7th semester, I made it to waiting list of team! I was very happy as that mail containing the list for Inter IIT basket ball team players was sent to all. But the wait turned out to be eternal as none of the permanent players fall ill before tournament.

Athletics and others.




















I took up athletics in college only. In fact I was never more serious about sports than in college. I worked for long jump, and 100 metres, again for the annual Inter IIT sports Meet. As far as physical efforts were considered, the task was quite demanding, and I was putting my best foot in. finally I the day of selections came, I borrowed my friend’s boots. I missed tutorial class to attend the selections. But could not measure up to the coach’s expectations, so was told, “try next time… goodluck” and walked back from that vast athletic field.

Before attainting myself anymore, I will conclude, I have had been an outstanding sports man, I mostly stand outside the team .

Hypocrisy at its best

TOI reported today that ‘Speaker’ Somnath Chatterjee and his colleagues had to spend extra time circling because a southern China flight took more time to clear the runway. After Mumbai attacks, the same damn TOI complaint of high VIP security for MP’s and MLA’s. Now the same TOI is reporting about little extra that a VIP had to waste because of some technical snag. Common men including me face similar situation so many times, those are not reported. It is by reporting such incidents that media enhances the VIP image of a person.

Mumbai Terror Mubai Terror Mumbai Terror Mumbai Terror Mumbai Terror

That’s what is happening all around us everyday, right? In today’s TOI, caption of marathon foto on front page is ‘mumbai runs against terror’
My question is for how long? The so called 26/11 took place on Nov 26 last year. Of course I do not want people to just forget and take no lessons from the tragedy. But at the same time, I do not want this tragedy to be felt sad about FOREVER. And more importantly, it’s gross to see media – print or otherwise – deriving fodder out of this tragic incident. Their work is to inform citizens, and not influence their opinion or keep things alive in people’s memory.

But what irks me even more is the hypocrisy. After this article , I might be accused of indifference to the sorrow of terror victims but what should the media guys be accused of when they did not give even half as much coverage to guwahati blasts (which took place more recently ) as they are doing even to this day to Mumbai attacks. Guwahati and other north eastern cities suffered from blasts last year too. And they too suffer huge casualty. But these are reported for a day. And then forgotten. Why will not people form north-east complain of feeling detached from India? No wonder entire region is inflicted with insurgency. Why entire nation cried, Mumbai we are with you? Has one ever read, “itanagar, we are with you” ?

No wonder people coming from guwahati to delhi sometimes say they are coming to India!

Crusade against print media.. continued

Few weeks rather months back, I wrote to The Hindustan Times for giving some coverage to non-south-Delhi areas too. The report gave information on plantation drive during monsoons in Delhi.

Here's what he wrote.
"First of all, the story had many points. The major point was the booming business of nurseries due to early monsoons as the first sentence corroborates.
The second important was voluntariness of youngsters who could be called to give a helping hand as their vacations were on when monsoon had hit.

Plantation drives do happen. there's nothing new in it.
It was only early monsoon which made Hindustan Times publish this story. Focussing on plantation drives was not our focus.

You should read the story again!

As far as other areas are concerned. Check this sentence..
.....Gautam Pandey, who is spearheading a campaign named Hands For Trees (HFT) around
Chirag Delhi, Vasant Vihar, Dhaula Kuan and some areas in east and north Delhi......

Anyways thanks for your feedback..
We always welcome our readers to give their valuable responses.
"

Then I shot back with:
"
Well I read the story quite nicely first time itself. I am not trying to deny your first major focus and second major focus. I am concerned about the examples you took for your focus, which were mainly from south Delhi. I don’t understand why you wrote about early monsoon and plantation drive stuff, I nowhere , in my mail, doubted the reason you published the article. Hence I will rather encourage you to read the mail again!

And as you yourself pointed out in your reply here, “some areas in east and north Delhi...... ”, why ‘some areas’, when you can write chirag delhi – vasant vihar , you could also give some examples of those ‘some areas’ as well. I am sure the picture that was attached in that article was also not from those ‘some areas’ but from south Delhi only.

Anyways, thanks for your reply. I have wrote a couple of times to columnists of HT Brunch, only to find no response. It was heartening to see that your cared to reply.
"


That was the end, no more communications. My further correspondences to even other columnists or reporters are met with no reply. Looks like they have directed my mails to spam!!