Gait to Destiny

"That new guy is a real pest. What does he think, he is Rajesh Khanna of Bawarchi? I hate such pseudo-altruists" Ketaki spewed. "I know, these guys think they are one-stop-shop for all problems - Any person, Any issue, Any time, Any where - Raghav the Great has the solution; doesn't matter whether you know him or you wish to seek his succor- Its always there, like the stray dogs on Madhopur's roads" Sudha buttressed.

There was some truth in this late afternoon grumble on the bank of the village pond. Raghav had recently moved in to the house next to Rashmi's, down the Banyan tree. With it, changed the life of Rashmi who was a young widow who till some time back never stepped out of her veiled melancholy. It was as though somebody had inadvertently pressed the 'Pause' button in her life. Every thing was so still and bland like the eroded boundary wall of her two room dwelling. You could sense the pain in the air, even the sparrows had deserted the Banyan tree in front of her house.

Some said, she was ill-fated, others believed she was a sorcerer who annihilated her husband's life. The men always sympathized with her and women never missed an opportunity to nail her. It was not that men of Madhopur were very cognizant and women cruel. Just that, men like all men were from Mars !! Eternally long-faced Rashmi was any day more alluring than the best of Madhopur's beauties, even Takur's city-returned daughter was not a match. Women were women, they abhorred the hushed flutter that Rashmi used to cause when she frequented Lalaji's Kirana shop every Tuesday of the week.

But all this was a full fourteen days back. Time had changed since then and so did Rashmi. From a loner who hardly spoke to herself, she had started music classes where seven kids would exercise their vocal chords thrice a week, week after week. Somebody had suddenly pressed 'Play' and also changed the Channel!!! You could now hear an occasional giggle, and yesterday she had even ventured into Somnath's 'Bombay Fancy store' hitherto a no-stray-zone.

All this was rightly attributed to Raghav and now a cheerful Rashmi had become 'threat numero-uno'. Sudha's husband had started coming home early and Ketaki's younger brother had got a new-found love for his niece and insisted on dropping her every time to the music class!!

The talk of Raghav's affair with Rashmi died a pre-mature death when daadi mai the mid-wife for three generations of Madhopur announced that Raghav was Rashmi's aunt's son- her brother. The women had suddenly lost ammunition to get even.

Rashmi's life was one of the several that Raghav had painted green in the past two weeks. He had fixed job in the city for Abbas, helped the school teacher enroll new students that saved three jobs, convinced Panditji to give his daughter's hand to her lover- the high school passed Kishen and promised ten thousand rupees for a new community well. Raghav had suddenly changed the feel of the place and the yeah with sparrows, even parrots had returned to the Banyan tree.

Every time somebody thanked Raghav, he would say "Life is of twenty days, if you are happy, I am happy". This had become a kind of new anthem. The un-attached girls were betting on their chances and the newly-married one's cursed their bad-luck for saying 'yes' a tad early. Raghav had suddenly become the cynosure. His rough looks, pale skin and lean built did not deter ogling eyes, beauty after all was truly, only skin deep.

But this was just one part of the story. Not everybody was happy with Raghav's homecoming. Rising popularity gave Netaji the Panchayat President, sleep-less nights and Bhiku made it a point to stoke the fire further. After all every additional bit of information was rewarded with a bottle of Tadi the country liquor. The elections were fast approaching and there was a talk of Raghav taking on Netaji. And if that happened, it would mean not only loss of face but missing out on a fortune. Netaji had plans to propose construction of a road and a bus stand on the barren land that he owned. That would make him a rich man for sure.

Being a true politician Netaji was biding his time to level scores, but when he saw Raghav encouraging his son Amit to get friendly with Rashmi, it was the last straw. The camel's back was broken and he had to act. Munna was called immediately.

"Hands, Legs or Ears?" That was Munna style. Whatever his sponsor asked for would be brought. After finishing his prey, he would keep one Ear with him and gift the other to his sponsor.

"Legs, I don’t want that scum bag to wear a shoe again. Reptiles are really beautiful" Netaji responded. Munna started shadowing Raghav but the very next day vanished from Madhopur. Couple of days later Netaji got a message from Munna, "Any other work, I'll be there. This is beyond me, Sorry".

Netaji tried pleading, threatening, goading, Amit into submission, but he would have nothing of it. "I will marry Rashmi" Amit had made it clear. Being left with no choice, Netaji went to the city and got Abdul langda involved. Next day Raghav's mutilated body was found floating in the village pond. The whole of Madhopur descended to Rashmi's house where Raghav was resting, the whole of Madhopur wailed but Rashmi was silent.

Netaji also came to pay his final respect camouflaging the demon within him with his Gandhi cap. Laying the trademark politician's wreath he wanted to slip away when he overheard Ganpath speaking in hush tones to a group.

"His real name is Raunak Singh, the notorious bandit of yester-years. He was in jail for the past six years when his case was going on. He was to face the gallows next week and was out on parole." Mohan lal continued "It is said that he had connections with many big leaders with whom he shared his loot, but when the verdict was announced, he did not even try for an appeal". "A bandit!!! and look at what he has done for us" Naseer said. "But why?".

"What do you do if you know the exact date of your death!!" Amit quized... 'Have you thought about it?"

A jaunt to humanity..

Bus journeys are not something that I enjoy, especially if its a crowded, rickety BMTC ride from Kodihalli to Shivaji Nagar (God bless Volvo!!! and curse the BMTC route schedulers - very few ply on my route!!!). But its something that I have to live with, the tales of my brother's bike driving me and mom promising never to sit next to me when I drive the car are legendry. "Why cant these guys follow traffic rules, there's no lane discipline, Cant that jackass see I've put an indicator !!! ","Stop it... Its you who doesn't know the Indian Driving ways, this is not Muscat with empty six track roads" my brother would say.. (so much to say about my cruising skills...)

Back to the story... this being the case, BMTC is like the un-polished, horoscope matched bride that I have to accept with the Pecos frequenting high healers not even bothering to throw a glance !!! So BMTC it was...

Crowded BMTCs interestingly irritate you with a cacophony of jarring songs (hello.. thank you for being considerate and sharing your music, but no thanks..), loud personal mobile chats (and I thought those deafening trunk-call days are over!!!) and odd scuffle for seats. Move over road rage, bus rage is here..

Its not that I am a saint. If its a crowded bus and I am bundled into one and half square feet of floor space, I make sure that when the bus reaches Shivaji Nagar, I block atleast two fellow commuters who till this moment had snuggled in the seats and now want to be the first one to de-bus (my way of ensuring natural justice, after all I've paid the same fare, if he's got a cozy seat, I have the birth right of getting out of the bus first !!!)

In one such expedition yesterday I saw this spectacle... Two school kids were sitting on the either side of the aisle and as usual I had the comfort of my one and half square feets. The bus was noisy as ever and the two kids were having animated communication through gestures. Then one of those loafer looking (munna bhai types, not the MBBS but the Rangeela types) lean guy with long hairs and cap came closer, showed some gestures and took the kid's seat and made him sit on his lap. My social instincts rattled, another paedophile on the loose, was the first thought (I have heard that crowded buses are their favorite hunting grounds!!).

Not daring to take a pro-active step I just waited for the next move. The two guys started interacting excitedly, not with words or eyes but with hands and I realised that they were deaf n dumb. How did the guy and the kid find that out. Why did the young boy so happily give his seat to that loafer??

The communication continued and from whatever I could gather, pleasantries were exchanged, school, class, and perhaps names too. The new friend made it a point to chat with the other kid sitting across the aisle. This was going on when from two stops further two handsome guys got in. One wore a glass perhaps made out of a Pepsi bottle and the other a bright smile that could give any girl in the bus an instant crush. Well dressed in Spykar jeans, Nike shoes and Jansport bag the guys looked very much a typical suave Bangalore College guys. But what atracted all our attention was that the two guys held their hands close and tight, never leaving for a minute...

Letting the loafer and the kid be, I moved my antennas to cover the new Jay n Veeru in the bus. The two guys came and stood next to our kid. Within a second they started talking (obviously with gestures). Even the two smarties were deaf n dumb!!! But again how did they know and how they started talking immediately? I could see the economic, class and perhaps a religious divide (one of them wore a prominent cross around his neck). But none of it ever seemed to matter.... Have you ever bothered even to smile to a loafer looking guy (not the right kind of guys to mingle with right!!!).

I gave a break to my thoughts and tried to follow the conversation. The loafer seemed to be bothered about the spectacled guy. He enquired about him. The friend perhaps replied that, he was deaf and dumb like them and his vision too was weak. Thats the reason he was holding his hands tight. Immediately the loafer got up and literally pushed the spectacled guy to his seat. The friends resisted, but he didn't want to listen and said he'll get down in next stop or so. So the spectacled guy sat with the school kid in his lap. While sitting he took the bag from his friend and held it for him. All this while the two friends were still holding hands!!!

The next five minutes the discussion was about the spectacled guy and the loafer was empathising. He seemed so genuinely concerned!!! The spectacled guy was definitely from a well-off family and I felt that the poor looking deaf n dumb loafer's situation was worse than the spectacled guy. But here is this guy empathising so sincerely to a far more well off comrade...

I am not sure if my writing does justice to capture the emotions that I was going through seeing all this compassion and camaraderie. The boy's respect for elders, the loafer's empathy about a fellow being, a friend's concern for a semi-blind buddy!!! The heart-felt reciprocation of small favours, the interest that they had in each other's lives, the smile that one person's happiness brought to the other.. seeing is believing... All the people around them were watching them, just out of curiosity and boredom. But they didn't feel embarrassed about their deficiencies, they didn't try and hide it. They kept on enjoying each other's company, not bothering what others thought about them. But believe me, I felt my con-science prick me. I've always complained that I don't have this, I didn't get that, Lord has been partial, but after looking at all this, all I could do was offer the vacant seat next to me to the loafer!!!

God has been so un-fair to these angels and they don't seem to complain. They make the maximum out of whatever they have and don't forget the basic human qualities of compassion, respect and co-existence. The bus reached Shivaji Nagar and everybody jostled to jump out and I for once waited for all including the two kids, the loafer and the two smarties to get out...

The third state- Pure Pleasure..

Its 1.45 am and I am awake. With only the creeping crickets and my dad’s intermittent snores for company, I am pushing myself – one more chapter, one more City...
I hate Chetan, he always does this to me and I end up feeling terribly drowsy the day after.
What differentiates a Chetan Bhagat offering from the rest of the crowd is this magnetism that captivates the readers. After three failed attempts to put the book away, I succumb to the temptation and I have no option but to finish it right away. Just like the smooth Blue Label that my friend wanted to leave it for the next celebration but couldn’t resist sipping till the last drop!!!
Man, this guy knows how to write. He is the Sanjeev Kapoor of urban literati, the offspring of a mating between Adoor Gopalakrishnan and David Dhawan. With his writing nib on the urban youth’s nerves, the realism is marinated with simplicity and peppered with wit and I savour it to the last with the periodic grins.
Love marriages around the world are simple:
Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy. They get married.
In India, there are a few more steps:
Boy loves Girl. Girl loves Boy. Girl's family has to love boy. Boy's family has to love girl. Girl's Family has to love Boy's Family. Boy's family has to love girl's family.Girl and Boy still love each other. They get married.
.... goes the synopsis of this ridiculously predictable, but immensely entertaining book (“2 States- the story of my marriage”).
Although it begins with Krish our Punjab da puttar- protagonist being referred to a psychotherapist as he is deprived of sleep, has refused to eat and googled best ways to commit suicide (obviously because Ananya , the Tam Bram has ditched him), the climax is as clear and obvious as the result of a finals involving India.
But the fun of travelling is not in destination but the journey. The ups and downs that Chetan takes a reader through are a pakka paisa vasool... Don’t get surprised if you get the feeling of watching a Farhan Akthar movie, because it is what it is... fun, urbane with situations that you can relate to, and tongue in cheek one-liners that give you a grin once every 343 seconds. At the end of the 260 odd pages, you end with a warm heart wishing the book had a couple of hundred pages more...
Coming from IIT D and IIM A alma mater, I think an inverted normal curve is what Chetan was trying to fit his writing to. I became an instant fan of Chetan Bhagat when I read his ‘Five point someone’, a definite treat for everyone especially to the ones who’s come through the grind of a professional college. ‘One night at a Call Centre’ was a decent read, but eagerly waiting for ‘3 Mistakes of my life’ seemed more as mistake of my life.
So when I came to know that the fourth book was waiting to be released during Diwali, I only hoped that the curve had troughed and the diwali fire-works would light up the up-ward moving worm. And I must say, he didn’t disappoint. This is, if not the best, truly a better work of his with the trademark Chetan Bhagat wit water marked on each sheet. When the protagonists are in IIT or IIM, you can rest assured that it’s going to be a hell of a ride..
The book is written in Units with Cities as back-drop, so you have Ahmedabad where the boy meets the girl and falls in love, then you have Goa where the two families go to understand each other, or rather make the others understand them. Then you have a tick-tock between Delhi where the Punjab da puttar tries to impress his family n relatives to accept the madrasin and then Chennai where he tries to impress her relatives and then back to Delhi where she tries to impress his relatives and then Chennai where he makes his last ditch effort to save the tottering love life, and then Delhi where he returns dejected and then finally Chennai where the two families meet for the Marriage.
The book is filled with the loud Punjabis, for whom anybody who hails from south of Vindhya is a Madrasi, and Timid Tamilians who can’t spell ‘fun’ (fully filmi !!!). (Disclaimer: the book is blatantly racial and not meant for anybody who is even remotely regionalist). Pathetically trivial but hopelessly romantic, the sweet talk between the lovers is sure to remind you of your first love. By the end of the book, you’d wish you had a Krish or Ananya in your lives.
By no stretch of imagination, is this book going to win an International book of the year award, not even a Ganganahalli English society best author award, (the characterisations are stereotyped, the plot trivially clichéd pot-boilerish) still it will award the publishers with enough cash to literally laugh their way to the banks. The success of this book is the tom & jerry feel, you know that at the end of each series jerry wins, still you wait to watch till the end.
One thing this book has surely done is to re-kindle the book worm in me which was sent to exile by the idiot box and the Infobahn.

You can catch Chetan Bhagat at www.chetanbhagat.com

The Dance of an Elephant... (and no... I don't enjoy dancing !!!)

I've just discovered about a bug that bites me twice a year, year after year; the itch of which lasts a full 2 and half days. The sting per se was not new to me, but the periodicity of it was what made me jump out (albeit in my chequered loin cloth ....) shouting Eureka ... Eureka !!! The symptoms, among others include 'Increased forwarding of group mails n SMSes', 'Butterflies in Stomach while watching TV and listening to Songs', 'Idealistic Bantering' which ends with a cup of Coffee and an agreement that 'nothings gonna change' ... The Character of this bug is that, sometimes it stings out of turn... especially triggered by a forwarded mail that cost only a click..

This bug is as non-discriminating as a Talib and I am sure would have given you a good measure of the incisiveness of its tingle. I know, I know.... enough of buildup ( I am bored too...). The Bug is this itch of patriotism that flares up every time the Calendar Leaf flips to mid- August and late-January. I don't know from where, but I am suddenly inundated with plethora of emotions, a concoction of love, respect, duty, responsibility (and.. and... ah no more words in the thesaurus , you too Brutus !!!) for Mother India... I get all pumped up with 'Ask not what the country has done for you but what you can do for your country' kinda punch dialogs and search for the magic wand with which I'll wish away all the ills of this country.

When the mails list the achievements (of our forefathers of course... luckily they were not as useless as we are !!!) CHESS, ZERO, DECIMAL SYSTEM, AYURVEDA, YOGA, TRIGONOMETRY.... (the list goes on like a Saas bahu serial !!!) and the modesty with which we carried ourselves (and continue to albeit in our means of living !!!); it gives me hair raising feeling; a feeling that can be equalled may be by the one that we had when we saw crybaby SreeSanth take a sitter from Misbah..

Those 5 days I get the ghost of Hitlerian supremacy complex that makes me feel that I am blessed to have taken birth in this astonishing, awe-inspiring wonder land... Then on my way to the office, a look out of the broken pane of the BMTC bus (that I am clinging on to cursing the unshaven, sticky, stinky, illiterate who is trampling my Lee Coopers..) transports me from my dream goody goody Incredible India to the land of snake charmers and elephants. My journey of fantasy TRAMPLED by reality.. (and I thought reality BITES !!!).

The pot-holes of reality, trammels my flight of fantasy grounding me to actuality, resulting in the raised hairs to fall flat like a failed rope trick. And suddenly.. India, the land of kohinoor and TajMahal gives way to starvation deaths and Dharavi; the Butterflies fly out leaving the space to be filled by an eerie feeling of anguish and helplessness..

I am in a dilemma, am I a proud INDIAN or a PROUD Indian (trying to manufacture reasons to pat my back !!!). What is there to be proud of when nearly half of your fellow citizens live on less than 15 rupees a day, when a third of them cannot write their names, when you have the distinction of contributing one sixth of global population, one third of global poors, half of global heart patients and so on... India is the largest democracy, but 50% of them enjoy the holiday watching TV and visiting friends... Who cares yaar, sab chaltha hai !!! Look at the world around you, look at the US 'the land of dreams', look at China ' the rising tiger', look at what they have achieved and where they are... And look at us... a true Meena Kumari movie plot !!!

Today we are celebrating the 63rd Independence Day... Is there anything, anything at all to celebrate???

Not much, if you ignore that when we celebrated our 10th Independence day, 64% our fellow countrymen were below poverty line (today its 26%), 78% were illiterate (today its 34%), we were being haunted by the great Bengal famine which claimed 3 million people due to Starvation and malnutrition (today we are the second largest Agricultural producer in the world), our Foreign Exchange Reserves were USD 637 Million (today its USD 271 Billion).

Today our Softwares, Our Cars, Our Space Programs, Our Cricket team is making the world sit back and notice... If Google earth gives a zoom of 200m, our ISRO's Bhuvan (www.bhuvan.nrsc.gov.in) gives you 10 m (20 times better !!!); If China (known for its cheap products) takes USD 150 Million for a lunar mission, Our Chandrayaan achieves it with USD 80 Million, If Cherry QQ gave a new meaning to affordable cars at USD 4,800, Our Nano, nanoed it to USD 2,500.

India has been in a deep slumber for many many years... Basking in its glorious past, she lost her way, somewhere in the middle when the others sprinted to new glories... But now the giant has awakened... It took the 'Land of Dreams' two hundred and thirty Independence days to reach where it is today, we are just at our 63rd. At this pace, imagine where we would be 170 years from now...

The Elephant has begun its dance, dragons watch out !!!

The First Blood... The packet of joy !!!

What's common between Amitabh Bachchan, Shashi Tharoor, Hilary Clinton and Prasheel??? Well, all write blogs.. Yes guys, finally I've also succumbed to the 'Why not me?' syndrome and here I am pushing my cerebral cortex to churn out something which at the least is readable. I have drawn my First Blood !!!

So friends whoever wish to follow the musings of a convoluted yet utterly plain mind, loosen you seat belts as you can just sit back and relax. While I have promised myself that I'll write only if I have something to write and not for the heck of it, I am not sure if I'll stand by it.. After all promises are meant to be broken !!! I have also promised that my alter ego, the hopelessly Utopian pseudo-perfectionist will not be allowed to high jack this platform... But

again, promises are meant.....

This being my virgin post I am wondering what the topic of it should be? There are lots of problems in this world that needs my attention... miles to go before I sleep!!! So should it be the global warming that should have the honour or the Swine (oops sorry swine.., H1N1) Flu that's having 1 Indian each for breakfast, lunch and dinner !!! The rain forest are depleting fast and terror comes calling from the sea....Where shall I start??? I was mulling over it the 'Calling Bell' called out aloud... At the door was this courier guy with a small sweet box sized packet... My Packet of Joy !!!

I don't like interruptions especially when my fountainhead of creativity is waiting to ooze out.. With all the vexation I opened, first the door and then the packet and there it was... sandwiched in a plastic frame - Tudu Chunda...

My brother had asked me to enquire how to 'Sponsor a child'. This was roughly 3 months ago... a

nd probably in the second mail that he sent from Krakow... The excitement to do something good for Mother India from a newly NRI'd son, I thought... I had similar craving few years back when I left the shores... Not to mention, it died its natural death after a couple of phone calls and few website visits... I thought the same will happen, after all he's my brother !!! But he's proved, he's different!!!

Here it was the photo of the kid 'Tudu Chunda' sponsored by my younger brother from the first salary that he earned; sandwiched in a photo frame sent as a welcome gift by 'World Vision India'. The photo of a 4 year old kid our 'Tudu Chunda'.

I searched for the smile of a kid, the frown of a poor kid, the helplessness of a ill-fated kid but could find none... All I could find was an innocence, an ignorance of his in-human existence and a silent grit. It was as if, he was telling me I'll succeed in life. I may not be in control of my past and present, but I surely am of my future... My first blood, my virgin post, is dedicated to you ... Tudu Chunda, my packet of joy, my source of inspiration ...