Black and White

“It has become impossible to live with you, Nalini. Either you get help or get out…” A pause followed. “Out of my life…” Another pause, a very short one. “Forever”, he added as an afterthought.

A curious eavesdropper, I am sure there is at least one, would think that he is struggling with his words and choking with emotion. However, I am not fooled. I know the ulterior reason why I am asked to get out of his life. But I am determined to put up a fight. I don’t want to lose him, for I love him very much. Though not a feminist, I believe that a man should not dictate a woman and order her on what or what not to do. So, who does he think himself to be, to command me out of his life?

I decide to prod him a little and to let him bask in the contentment of controlling me. So, I inquire, “All right, tell me what am I supposed to do?” He assumes a benign countenance and says, “Let us visit Dr. Benegal. He is the leading authority in treating personality disorders. If you dislike him or his treatment, I will never ask you again.”

I am flabbergasted. I gape at him, open mouthed, quite forgetting that I am expected to give an answer. I take a sip of the iced tea and draw a deep breath. Because, I know that my response is going to be long and bitter. But he surely deserves it, for his impudence.

“How… how dare you? You are bringing this up again and again. We already had been through this, earlier. You had pestered me to see a doctor a couple of months ago and I did. Did that help? One tiny wee bit?”

I pause for breath. Vikas knows that I am not yet finished, so he does not interrupt.

I continue, “What did the previous doctor say after looking at all those innumerable reports? Do you remember what he had said? I imagine, not. To quote him verbatim, we are very fortunate that Nalini is not yet really unwell. So we can definitely hope for her to become as normal as anyone else. Can’t you see how preposterous that is? On one hand, he said that I am not unwell. Which obviously means that I am well. On the other hand he said that he will make me well. This is…”

Vikas does not give me the chance to complete my tirade, I am sure he sees this as one. He interrupts, “He had also said that reports don’t usually capture the abnormalities of personality disorders till it is almost very late. And, most of those tests were pretty basic stuff like electro cardiograms, brain scans and so on. Besides, Dr. Rao is hardly a mind doctor. You had insisted on going to him because you knew him from a long time and were comfortable with him.” Vikas changes his tone to an almost imploring one, for the benefit of others no doubt. “Please Nalini. Let us go to Dr. Benegal. For just this one time. For old times’ sake.

That brings in a flood of memories and I am overwhelmed for quite some time. Ah! Good old days.

Curled up in the bed together, we used to envision a world devoid of everything except him and me. That was our absolute fantasy. We even used to call ourselves Adam and Eve. Yes, it might seem childish, even silly now, but what the heck? We were young and more importantly, Vikas used to love me. I cannot help but grimace at the use of the past tense.

“I have had a talk with Dr. Benegal yesterday.”

My reverie is broken and I again stare at him.

“Dr. Benegal says that the treatment should be psychotherapeutic. In addition to this, tricyclic antidepressants or mono amine oxidase inhibitors can also be administered.” Vikas clearly has some problems pronouncing those unpronounceable words.

In normal circumstances, I would have laughed. But this is not funny. Vikas pauses as if giving me a moment to let this sink in. He continues, “Dr. Benegal says that desensitization techniques can also be helpful. He…”

“Would you mind explaining in plain English what all that gibber means? Or do you think that I am too stupid to understand it? I have every right to know what you and Dr. Benegal, whoever it is, are planning for me. Just so that you know, I don’t have an iota of faith in your doctor. Most of them are quacks. In fact, larger the reputation of a doctor is, the more the chances of him being a quack are. I am sure that both of you are plotting against me to send me to some asylum permanently.”

Vikas calmly takes out a piece of paper from his pocket and starts to read.

“In psychotherapy, the focus is on feelings rather than thoughts and would emphasize on the clarification of the defenses of isolation of affect and displacement of hostility.”

He looks up from the paper to see if I can make out something of what he has read. I try to keep my face as impassive as possible.

He continues, “In desensitization, a hierarchy of increasingly anxiety provoking stimuli is constructed and the subject is systematically exposed to these stimuli step by step. This helps in…”

I have had enough of this. I burst out, “What all you are doing here is to provoke me to the highest levels of irritation compelling me to react. You then call me mentally sick and give a fancy name of a personality disorder. Do you think it is fair?”

Vikas throws up his hands in frustration. I squint my eyes a little and say, “This has got something to do with Swati, hasn’t it? I am sure she is in this plot too. Don’t tell me I am wrong. Because I know I am not.”

Vikas looks defeated. “Swati is just a friend, Nalini,” his voice rises with every word. “I have already said that many times. And it is the end of it”

“No Vikas, it is not the end of it.” My voice rises as well. “Have you ever seen me interact with men, except on business? Do my male colleagues call me when I am not in office? Have I hugged any one of them, anytime?”

“I have already explained that, Nalini”, Vikas says in that irritating tone of his, as if explaining things to a four year old. “Swati had some problems at her home with her husband and her mother in law. The other day, she was sharing her woes and I was just trying to comfort her. That’s all. You have misunderstood us.”

“Yeah? Is that how you put it?” I shoot back. “You must understand that a murder is a crime in whatever circumstances you had committed it and you are always punishable in a court of law. Do you have to hug and comfort her, even if whatever you are saying is correct? Don’t you have any morals at all? Can’t you distinguish the right from the wrong?”

Vikas looks hurt and he does not make an effort to look at me. He focuses on his napkin instead and says, “You have become very rigid and stubborn. It is like you have become entrenched in your own beliefs of what is right and what is wrong. Worse, you demand others to conform to your way of doing things. You always place this so called ideology and correctness before love and your continuous feedback is beginning to get on to my nerves. “

He pauses to let me give a chance to say something. I don’t. He continues.

“Why do you have that overwhelming urge to be in control of the environment, Nalini? Can’t you just let things as they are, at least one time? Can’t you behave as the other people do, just for once? Why do you always view the world through clearly defined black and white realms? Why do you…”

I raise my voice to cut him midway. “I cannot have this conversation anymore.” I say with the tone of finality. “I am your wife and I will not get out of your life just because you say it. Neither will I consult a doctor just because you think I have a personality disorder. Don’t forget that if not for me, you would have been bankrupt years ago.”

Vikas smiles as if he has heard some silly joke. “Cutting down all the expenses, some essential ones too and hoarding away money is hardly called as being prudent. If I have not known you, I would have thought that you are a miser. I am sick of those endless arguments whenever we have to spend some money. In fact, every single decision that you have to take involves hours of brooding and debates. Accept the fact that continuously making correct choices in life is practically impossible. And you need not be obsessed with all those tiny details and rules at every second of the day.”

He pauses but continues almost immediately as if he has suddenly remembered something.

“Worse is when you keep on visiting the past and ruminating over every single decision and activity. It almost seems that you are living more in the past than in the present. You have become very volatile with violent mood swings. I can never predict how you might interpret each of my words. You always seem to misunderstand even small jokes and harmless sarcasm for insults and political incorrectness. After that, there is no saying on how you might react. The expression of anger always seems to come out naturally and in excess.”

I am past caring and in rage now. Why would I not be? If you had to face this from your spouse, will you not be? I throw my napkin on the table and scream at him to shut up.

He looks towards the skies as if trying to invoke the wrath of Gods on me and then at me, in my eye. “I repeat, Nalini. It has become impossible to live with you. Either you get help or get out.”

He draws back his chair and storms out, leaving me stranded.

I cry.

Howard Roark

The only hobby that I really have, in spite of quoting several in networking sites, is reading. Barring a couple of exceptions, I have never read the same book again. One of the books I cannot resist revisiting again and again is 'The Fountainhead', the classic by Ayn Rand.

Yesterday, I finished the book for the 'n'th time. As always, it left me dazed; the sheer boldness of the ideas and the presentation of such intangible thoughts have always mesmerized me, to say the least. As always, Howard Roark, the protagonist of the book captivated me, totally.

For years, Howard Roark has been one of the most popular characters in the world. Back in the days when the agents working in an Indian BPO had to take an American pseudonym to appeal more to their Western clients, Howard Roark was the most sought after name.

For the uninformed, Howard Roark is a brilliant young architect of the modern school, whose bold and innovative designs are rejected by large segments of society. He believes in the merit of his revolutionary designs and has the courage to stand for them in the face of an antagonistic society. He is presented as the author’s version of an ideal man — one who embodies the virtues of Ayn Rand’s Objectivist philosophy.

Roark is the antithesis of contemporary belief that an individual is molded by social forces. He is not the product of his upbringing, his economic class, his family, his religious training, or his social background. He is a product of the choices he has made.

Roark is an example of free will — the theory that an individual has the power, by virtue of the choices he makes, to control the outcome of his own life. A man’s thinking and values are not controlled by God or fate or society or any external factor — but solely by his own choice. Others (like Peter Keating) may choose to submit, but Roark will not. He is his own man. He is a brilliant thinker and he acts on his thinking. He is not a hypocrite.


This got me thinking. What if, Roark, retaining all of his other characteristics, had not been brilliant? Could he have afforded to live like he did? What would he have achieved even if he had lived the way he did, had he not been the best in his profession? Simply put, can a lesser intellectual mortal hope to be a Roark?

I had a classmate (let’s call him R) in my MBA. R was 22 years old, the youngest in our class. Nobody in the class really knew him let alone be friends with him. Even the professors, for some reason, always ignored him. In fact, we realized his existence only when, one day in the second month of our first term, the finance professor made fun of him with his mid term answer paper. You see, we were asked to calculate the net returns on two investment schemes and suggest which of them was better. There were fairly complicated formulae involved and my solution which had received ten out of ten was three pages long.

R gave the solution (unfortunately, the wrong one) in two lines flat. It did not involve any numbers or calculations; it was in plain English and based on simple logic. When our professor asked him about the calculations, he said that there was no need of any. There was a considerable mockery of him, but he did not react or accept that his solution was preposterous. He reasoned that even with using all the formulae of the text book methodology, the final answer could still have been wrong. The same way, his approach and logic had not been incorrect. But the final result went astray due to a bad assumption he had made.

I cannot help but compare R with Rand's Roark. Like Roark, R was shockingly original. He always presented something very novel and revolutionary. He was subjected to considerable degradation and humiliation. Others either avoided him totally or tried to help him, which R always refused. He was considered arrogant, brainless and lazy. Still, he refused to yield to others' standards of academic excellence. He always stood for what he represented and at no point of time, betrayed any of his ideals. He was a very sharp contrast to some others who seemed to shine the professors’ shoes for research assistantships and scholarships.

But, was he brilliant like Roark? Well, if he was, he certainly did not seem so. Throughout the two years of MBA, R was always at the bottom of the class. Not even in a single course, did he manage at least a ‘B’. His CGPA was 5.67 (out of 10), the least in our class. Even in extra curricular activities, he never stood out. The last I heard of him, he was doing a distance course in psychology and working in a C rated B school as a part time instructor for 'Business Strategy'. A very mediocre life with no achievements of any sort, at all. Therefore, I am forced to conclude that he is not an intellectually gifted individual.

In 'The Fountainhead', Roark says that man has always been an independent thinker and all the progress of the world has been brought by independent and original thinking. Roark, himself, was brilliant and the best architect among the lot. Therefore, he was able to make a difference to himself as well as to the society. He could erect some architectural marvels which were hailed as the best by certain sections of the society. Thus, he got an opportunity to put forth what he practiced. But what about the lesser intelligent people? Can they afford to live like Roark? Even if they do, what do they gain out of it? How do they contribute to the society? In my previous example, what did R gain? What did the society, at large, gain from him? In such a case, is it not more worthwhile to, maybe, live like a Peter Keating or a Toohey? Why not?

History has given us many achievers. People resembling all the four principal characters of 'The Fountainhead' – Keating, Toohey, Wynand and Roark have contributed immensely to the way we live today. They were successful; many of them went to become immensely rich, most of them changed the way people were living. In my opinion, therefore, it might be wrong for everyone to try living like Roark. Not everyone can benefit out of it. Not everyone is advised to do it.

Girl at the bus stop - Part II

I try not to appear too thrilled at the prospect of having a coffee with her. Inwardly, I am beaming like a little kid who came across an abandoned ten rupee note. I pause a moment as if to evaluate whether my busy schedule can accommodate a cup of coffee. Then I say, “Sure, where to?” She points across the road and says, “Over there”. I shrug and we start walking towards it. I think of a hundred ways to start a conversation but cannot zero on one. She seems absorbed in something and does not talk either. We cross the road amidst blaring horns and the mad rush of vehicles. She holds my arm lightly and my heart beat doubles. She releases it as soon as soon as we are at the other side of the road and for a fraction of a second, I am stupidly sad that the road is not wider.

“My boyfriend once said that I can cause traffic jams. Now, I know, he was lying.” “What?” I am flabbergasted. She smiles, revealing her lovely teeth. “I said somebody once said I can stall traffic at my will.” “You said your boyfriend had said it”, I say accusingly. I try with all my might to force a smile on my face, but it simply wouldn’t come. She shrugs indifferently. “My ex, actually. It lasted very short.” “Oh, I am sorry”, I manage to lie. She lifts her eyes, “Oh, don’t be. I am not. He was an annoying prick.” “So, what about your current boyfriend? Hope he is a gentleman.” I congratulate myself for phrasing it so intelligently. Surely, she would have to reveal whether she is with someone or not, now. Predictably, she says, “Well, I don’t have one now”, she shrugs again. Before I can say something, she continues, “So the lady is on prowl again.” We both laugh.

I guess that breaks ice and over the coffee at the road side, we start talking more uninhibitedly. I gently enquire about her family and she rolls her eyes. “Nosy, aren’t you?” I give my sweetest smile and manage to find out that her father is in some government service (I forget the specifics), her mother is a homemaker and she has an elder brother who works in Delhi. We finish our coffee and she thanks me for my company. “Oh, no formalities please.” I say magnanimously and she smiles. This brings our small date to an end.

That night, as I lay down mulling over the day’s events, strangely, I cannot think of anything else other than her. She definitely is the girl of my dreams. Calm, confident and self assuring. Wow, what a girl. And, she surely must like me too, the probability of it being towards the north of 99%. Else, she would never have asked me for coffee. I convince myself that she did it only to get an opportunity to talk to me. To know me and let me know about her. Else, she could definitely have had the damn coffee in her office, if she really wanted it. What could be the motive behind her rushing to the bus stop in spite of a ‘splitting headache’, as she had put it, and then wasting 15 minutes in a shackled tea stall on the side of the road? To talk to me, of course.

And that gripping of the shoulder while crossing the road. How can I forget that? She had said that she was born and raised in Bangalore. Said that she spent close to two decades of her life in that city and also knew all the prominent food joints and discos of the city. She must have crossed busy roads millions of times before. Why then, did she need to hold on to me?

And that short talk about her boyfriend. I remember a little incident in my office, a couple of weeks old. In a conversation with my boss, he had asked me whether I have a girlfriend or not. Though in not so many words, I had made it very clear to him that it is none of his business. And here she is, confiding in an almost total stranger, about her love life. Why would she do it, unless for an ulterior motive? Surely, both of these incidents relate, don’t they?

Am I in love? It sure looks that way. And the million dollar question is; is she attracted to me? She sure is, screamed the whole of my heart and a part of my brain. Yes, she is; I convince myself again. I could see that in her eyes, in the way she was talking to me. Oh, we have a cute little love story. A love story that started in a sultry bus stop of Chennai. Leading to… who knows? I decide to get closer to her. Find out more about her; try to make her accept me as a friend, the best, if possible. Maybe, start seeing her too. And finally propose to her.

I will first ask for her phone number. Will call her this weekend. Invite her to a movie. Better, call her for a shopping spree. No girl can resist it. Yes, that’s it. Will get her phone number tomorrow.

Suddenly, a wave of euphoria sweeps over me and with the image of the girl at the bus stop before my eyes, I become oblivious of the world around me.

Girl at bus stop - Part I

“You too are late today”, she says. “I know”, I reply. “My boss wanted to talk to a client just when I was about to leave and I had to stay back for it. How was your day?” “Fine, today I finished my piece of code and released it for testing. I hope the testers get kind. Else I am screwed”, she says. I cannot think of any suitable reply so I just say “Good”. She starts to say something else when the bus numbered 60 is spotted. I also notice it but pretend as if the bus never existed. “Ho… you are lucky. Here comes your bus.” “Oh, lots of people inside. I think I will take the next”, say I. “No, silly. The people standing inside are getting down. There are even seats available. Bye and have a good time”, she sings gaily.

I try to smile at her, curse the bus driver and make a deliberate slow walk hoping that the bus leaves before I get in. But the bus conductor sees me (bad), recognizes me (worse) and blows his whistle indicating to the driver to stop (worst). I board on the bus, turn around and find her smiling and waving at me. I too do the same and settle down beside a window.

I had first met her six months ago. It was my first day in Chennai and like all the people in Chennai who don’t speak Tamil; I was having a horrendous time. None speak Hindi and few, English. I found her in the bus stop, arms folded, cool and composed, looking confident of anything and everything. She did not look like a Tamilian and with the earphones on, was probably listening to FM radio. I asked, “Mount Road, bus no.?” I did not want to speak good English as I found that it embarrasses people who are not fluent at it. She removed the earphones and said, “That is ok, I speak English.” I said, “Oh, I am sorry. I just wanted to know which buses go to the Mount Road from here.” “60”, she said. “There are also a couple of others but I am not sure. Plenty of 60 s on the road, though. Look, there comes one.” Impulsively, I turn around and made a dash for it. Only a little later, I realized I did not even thank her. How mean it must have looked. I thought I would make it up if I meet her again.

It was again around a month later when I met her again. I was there in the bus stop desperately trying to shake off a guy who wanted me to buy some Tamil books. It was then that she appeared. “Mount Road, bus no.?” she said smiling. “Hey, hi. How are you? Long time, no see?” I greeted her like an old friend. I did not really intend to be so informal but the words had come out tumbling. “Doing good. So you recognized me?” she said. “Why, of course. Did not see you for quite some time. Were you out of town or something?” I enquired as politely as I could. “Actually yes. I was in Mumbai. Was working at the client site for a short while. So, got used to Chennai?” she asked.

I weighed upon the question a little. If I say no, I could take the opportunity to ask her something about Chennai and our conversation and acquaintanceship might grow. On the other hand, if I say yes, I might appeal to her as a confident and a capable person. I decided to take on a middle path and diplomatically said, “A little. Actually decent enough, but not very well though. So you are here everyday?” “At almost the same time. Between 7:00 and 7:30.” She seemed quite outspoken and looked comfortable. I liked her attitude. Her poise and grace. Her self assuring manner. No unsolicited bashfulness. Yet, so Indian. No airs or hint of arrogance, yet cool, calm and so confident of herself.

Over the next few weeks, I met her more often. I started looking forward to our brief meetings. Each not more than five minutes at the most. Some days, I missed my buses to meet her. Would wait for 15 – 20 minutes for her. Every time we met, it was always I who would have come to the bus stop first. Nevertheless, I was happy, took her for what she was, a stranger girl in the bus stop providing my otherwise boring, insipid life with a little life and romance.

Today is the first day when I find her in the bus stop before me. Is she waiting for me, missing a couple of buses in the process? The thought, in itself, is so heartwarming that I smile. I do not have a way of knowing it for sure so I believe it is true. “So, what’s up? You look great today”, she says. I smile and say, “You too”. She winks and says, “I know”. Then a brief silence as we both watch a fat policeman stop a mid size truck before asking for papers. I start to think hard. How do I proceed further than ‘Hi, how are you? How was your day? Bye.’ How do I get to know more of her? Abruptly, “Say, would you care for a cup of coffee? I have a splitting headache and I am badly in need of caffeine.”



(To be continued...)

Incredible India

Let me start this with the following questions –

How many of us know where Croatia is? What is it famous for? What are its landmarks? Who are its neighbors? What are its currency and capital? In which continent is it, at least?

Well, when these questions first occurred to me, I had to use Wiki. For, I did not have the faintest idea what Croatia is, though I had a vague memory of hearing the name somewhere. Maybe, most of you have fared better than me. Now, why are we talking about a remote Central (or is it Southern?) European country with a population of just about an Indian city? We will see, in a couple of minutes.

With a culture older than more than five millennia, Egypt is a benchmark example among countries which are committed wholeheartedly to their tourism. Tourist police are almost everywhere and even help tourists settle payments with cab drivers. The job of a guide is taken very seriously in Egypt and there is a four year certified course to become one. All Egyptian guides are mandated to be multi-lingual and most of them can converse manageably well enough in international languages like English, Spanish, French, and German. Many can speak a reasonably good Hindi and Tamil too.

We have talked about two seemingly disparate situations and though they might seem so, they are not. Kindly allow me to elucidate.

India spends considerable budget on ‘Incredible India’ campaigns both in India as well as in abroad. Even, the buses of New York City are not spared of posters talking about how India is an irresistibly ‘Incredible’ tourist attraction. During the week of 22nd Dec to 29th Dec ’08, there was a series of ads in the New Yorker, marketing India and its tourism to prospective foreign tourists. Most of the ads are commonplace, ones which we normally don’t give a second glance. However, there was one sentence which refused to leave my mind. This is reproduced below –

“If you are seeking peace and fulfillment, visit India.”

Nothing can be a bigger joke. We have not forgotten the case of the young British girl, Scarlett Keeling in Goa, have we? On the last week of November, 2008, the multiple terrorist attacks rocked the financial capital of the country, Mumbai. At least 13 foreigners were killed. Besides these very specific ones, continual attacks on cities like Delhi, Jaipur and Hyderabad completely contradict the image of a peaceful and harmonious country we so desperately want to believe we are living in.

Actually, harassing a tourist visiting India, starts even before he lands in the country. A foreign tourist coming to India, sometimes, has to wait a month for an Indian visa. Pardon me for this, but heck, a US tourist visa was easier to get on a Muslim name in October 2001. Seriously. And, this is all happens before India even gets a tourist. Imagine what he will have to undergo after he actually arrives into the country. At the end of the day, the poor tourists who visit India end up hating the country. Not their fault really, you cannot blame them.

There is neither protection nor appropriate guidance to foreigners. The historical sites are badly littered and lazily maintained. The female tourists are leered at, openly. In fact, many guidebooks suggest that they wear loose, long clothes as a way of avoiding unwelcome attention. The Indian tourism ministry is highly incompetent and soporific. The infrastructure at most of the tourist spots is minimal and dismal. Still, we managed to coin a catchy phrase called ‘Incredible India’; and based on historical data and evidences, projected India to be the largest tourist destination by the 2020. If we go by the historical data, France, which attracts close to 20 times the number of tourists to India every year, will have the entire mankind in Paris alone by 2020. Okay, I am kidding. But you get the message, right?

In India, we boast of a rich heritage and culture which is at least 4000 years old. Probably, the only civilization more ancient than India’s is the Nile Valley civilization of Egypt. After reading about Egypt and its extended care to its tourists, I wish I can say the same things for Indian tourism and Indian guides too. I wish. I remember when I went to Kanchipuram, Tamil Nadu; I was taken for a ride just because I could not talk the local lingo. How bad can it go for a foreigner? It can be hell, actually.

A relatively obscure country like Croatia gets more foreign tourists (consequently more global recognition and revenue) than India. In fact, double the number. India, on one hand, houses acclaimed monuments like the numerous palaces, forts, wildlife parks, sanctuaries, temples, and landscapes. Still, only half of the tourists what Croatia gets!

To summarize, what if we have a 4000 year old history? What if we have several thousand historical sites in the UNESCO’s care? What if we spend millions of dollars every year on senseless advertising and marketing of Incredible India? With a population and size of an Indian city, Croatia gets more than double number of tourists than India. And Croatia is the 126th largest country in world! Don’t we need to take a leaf or two from Egypt’s book, the way it treats its tourists who come to marvel at its age old culture and heritage?

What do we need to do then, to correct the existing problems? Well, there are really a bunch of activities that the Government of India needs to undertake. That also means that every aspect of the tourism industry needs to be worked on. Since I don’t expect the GOI to go through this article (and they are bound not to care even if they do), I will not go into the details. One more politically correct reason why I will not give my ‘Pearls of Wisdom’ is for the simple reason that I am not competent enough.

Probably a better question to ask is what we, a common and a middle class person like you and me, can do to help protect the country’s image and build a better reputation? Can we do anything at all?

Of course, we can.

Please help tourists feel welcomed in this land of ours. True, we being the helpless middle class of the country, cannot do everything for them. But, let us help them as far as we can. I have seen countless foreigners made fun of, in the tongue they can’t understand, when they try to ask directions for a place. Also, the prices are named exorbitantly for a foreigner, just because they can’t bargain well enough. Exploitation is rampant in all forms. And we can prevent most of these. Can we not?

Heck, even the beggars haggle with them when they are given Rs 2. They demand Rs. 10. Somebody selling trinkets for Rs 10 hikes the price to Rs. 100 when he sees a non-Indian. The conductor of a public transport facility does not bother to return the change to a foreigner. I had witnessed a highly ludicrous incident a few years back in Puri, a pilgrimage center in India. There was this foreign tourist who, by accident, walked into the temple with his footwear on. When he was pointed out his mistake, he apologized profusely and left the queue to do the needful. Still, a local policeman caught sight of him and he was asked to pay Rs 5000 failing which he was threatened with jailing for a month. Truly, India is Incredible!

A foreigner, wherever he is caught sight of, is flocked by people asking for money. I don’t understand how we manage to assume that all foreign tourists are rich? Well, most of them are on as a tight budget as we are. Not all of them are Bill Gates, are they?

How many times did we, you and me, try and stop the incidents of the above sort? Did we do our part in welcoming a guest? Unfortunately, these kinds of incidents are so commonplace to us that most of us don’t even give a second glance. We, the Indians with a rich heritage and culture, have always believed that a guest is God. ‘Athithi Devo Bhava’ has been a guiding principle in our history. Still.

Recently, I came across the website – http://www.atithi.org.in/ reflecting some of the sentiments and ideas worded in this article. Though, in itself, this is a highly commendable initiative and a starting point, India needs more of these. Instead of getting hooked on to catchy phrases like ‘Incredible India’, instead of feeling proud of the millions of dollars spent in meaningless advertising and instead of fooling ourselves of the power of India Inc., let us do our bit to help welcome the tourists to our country.

If Croatia can do it, so can India.

Night Fall - by Nelson DeMille

What is common between Captain Jack Sparrow and John Corey? Both are the main protagonists of a form of fiction. Both are raunchy, sarcastic with a wonderful sense of humor. And both mouth wonderful one-liners.

‘Night Fall’ is a thriller written by Nelson DeMille that stars John Corey. This book has been in existence for a while now but I got my hands on it quite recently. At the outset, this book looks menacing, running close to 600 pages. But once you start delving into the story; the dialogues, the punch lines and the humor engulf you. Some of you may even curse the author for not making it bulkier.

This is a typical western thriller set around an ex-NYPD detective and his wife who go about investigating a plane crash that took place five years earlier. Though the official reason for the crash was documented as a mechanical failure and the case was closed, Corey has reasons sufficient and powerful enough to believe otherwise. Even coping up with numerous forms of political pressures and non-cooperative bosses, he struggles to get his hands on a piece of evidence which would help justice prevail.

The plot, in itself, is neither novel nor captivating. I mean, seriously, how many hundreds of books have been written on the above lines? Writers like Frederick Forsyth and Robert Ludlum must have written at least fifty books between them, with not very different plots.

Then, what makes this book different?

‘Night Fall’ does not have the serious tone akin to the other books of the same genre. At times, the grim tale is narrated to the point of being frivolous. Quite often, the reader is distracted to forget the main plot of the book and he ends up enjoying the humor in the previous event. The plot, in itself, is wafer thin and about a hundred questions are left unanswered. The ending could have been much better and more conclusive. It seems that DeMille suddenly ran out of both steam and ideas to bring the book to a more logical and justice-always-prevails ending.

The character of John Corey stays with you even after you have finished off the book. His witty one-liners and ‘pissing matches’ (as the author calls them) with his bosses and colleagues, not to mention his wife, are charming, to say the least. Just to give you an idea –

(John Corey is to go to Yemen on a special assignment)
Lady Lawyer: Who do you want to have the power of attorney?
John Corey: Who did Elvis Presley use?
Lady Lawyer: How about your wife?
John Corey: You mean if I am missing or kidnapped, my wife will have access to my checkbook, savings account, credit cards and my salary?
Lady Lawyer: That’s right.
John Corey: What if I show up a year later and find out I am broke?
(The lady lawyer laughs)

Go for this book if all you need is a good and entertaining read. Go for this book if even a lack of a strong and concrete plot does not bother you much. However, if you are also a serious reader like me and want a more profound and satisfying read, there are many better ones to choose from.

This 'Associate' is no catcher

‘The Associate’ is the latest feather in John Grisham’s cap. Figuratively, yes. Metaphorically, no. For, it is nowhere near the master’s best. From the author who has given us books like ‘The Firm’, ‘The Broker’ and others, this book is actually a disappointment.

Like most of Grisham’s literature and as you might have figured out by the name, this book is set in the world of law. The main protagonist of the story, Kyle McAvoy is fresh out of an Ivy League college and on his way of becoming a full-fledged lawyer. Like the rest in his class, Kyle is also in the process of picking up his career and future when a few bad men catch up with him with his dirty dark secret from the past. They threaten to expose his butt for all to see if he does not obey their orders. What follows is a brutal blackmailing game and the goons keep on getting more and more menacing. Whether or not Kyle manages to get out of their clutches forms the book.

The plot is thinner than a metal foil on Indian milk sweet. In fact, the entire book can be reproduced in less than ten lines without missing anything substantial. As said earlier, the story is set in the world of lawyers, law firms and law suits. This is exactly where John Grisham belongs to, but there isn’t anything either fresh or profound. After the first hundred pages, the book becomes annoying and the only reason why it is still bearable is because of the ingenious style of Grisham’s writing.

There is one activity that I must remember to do when I get my hands on a soft copy of this book. I need to Control F for ‘bill’ (as in ‘billing’) and see how many times has this word been used throughout the book. My personal bet is, close to a thousand times. Ok, I am kidding. But seriously, it must be at least five hundred times. I wonder, do law firms are really so notorious for billing their clients?

If this is the first time you are reading a John Grisham, ‘The Associate’ is not a bad place to start. But if you already are a ‘veteran reader of legal thrillers’, going back to ‘The Firm’ even though you have read it earlier, is not a bad idea.

A bed of roses

I travel back in time. I am a sixteen year old, now. Papa comes to home from office. I am in front of the idiot box not really enjoying the interview going on with some artist. Papa winks at me when he catches my eye and I know he has a gift for me. He takes out a book from his briefcase with the triumphant air of a magician conjuring a rabbit from his hat. I snatch the book from his hand and am thrilled to see that it is the book I had been pestering him from days – the latest Robert Ludlum release. Old times were wonderful. Why can’t I remain at sixteen forever?

I travel back some more. I am a ten year old now. I am elated today. My 5th grade results are out and I stand first in class. Papa is out of town and I badly miss him. Mummy takes me out in the evening for a treat. We have an ice cream and a cola, a rare privilege for me as I am not allowed to have that in normal circumstances. She then takes me to the park. The Deshpriya Park. I spend about half an hour there, chasing butterflies and swinging on an old rusty swing. We watch an Amitabh starrer, eat outside and I have a sound, snoring sleep with full of lovely dreams. Oh, why can’t I be 10 years old till eternity?

Fast forward to today. I am middle aged, slightly obese and diabetic, doing a thankless job in a worthless life. When was the last time I smiled? When was the last time I laughed so much that I thought I would burst? My boss at work does not care for me, my parents are too old to be bothered with my troubles, my children are too young to appreciate what I am doing for them and my husband… Ah, my husband.

We are together for almost 15 years now, married for about 12 years. He has always been a warm and a wonderful person, a good husband and a doting father to our children. I never had a problem, an issue which I could not talk to him over. He is a kind, sympathetic and understanding soul. A man faithful to his job and faithful to me.

Then; when, where and what actually went wrong? Why am I not happy and in love with life anymore? I do not have an answer. I am not even sure whether something is really erratic, or am I being irrational. Hmm… confusion playing its best.

Sheila, that is my younger, just started going to school. She is all what a four year old is – bubbly, cheery, fussy and gibbering most of the times, even in her sleep. She is the apple of my eye and I adore her. She is sluggish in the mornings when she has to get ready for the school. Our maid, Rakhi, has enough experience on her hands to handle Sheila but my child insists that I should be the one to attend to all her chores. Every morning is a nightmare for me; waking up Rakhi at 5 AM, for she tends to oversleep; instructing and supervising over the preparation of breakfast and lunch; waking up my husband, all the way trying to resist his early morning charm.

There was a time, now it seems another age, when we used to spend at least half of an hour in bed after waking up, every day. Raj used to joke that a bunch of Australian researchers have proved that sex is the healthiest way to start a day. It burns up all the surplus calories of the previous day, which otherwise, are accumulated into unsaturated fat. Other times, we used to cuddle and talk. Just talk. What a glorious way to start a day. Now, talking has become so rare that I think blue moons are more common.

After this, comes up the most difficult time of my day; have to wake up the children. My eldest, Aryan, is an eight year old and already quite handsome in a devilish way, just like his father. He has inherited his father’s hazel eyes and along with it, a fiercely independent nature. He likes to do everything on his own and scowls quite violently even when I, occasionally, need to correct his shoe laces. He does not let me comb his hair or wash his hair.

On the other hand, my Sheila never seems to be able to do anything without her loving mommy. Right from the Good Morning peck till the Good Night kiss, she insists that her mommy is with her all the time. She seems to be taking delight in my instructions, my holding of her and even in the howls and shrieks that I give her. Occasionally, when I go to school to get her home, she proudly shows me to her friends and says, “That is my mommy”. I can sense the envy with which the other children watch us; God alone knows what she tells them about me.

I try to spend as much time as it is humanly possible, with Sheila. I cannot go to her school everyday to feed her the lunch nor to bring her back to home after school. My work does not provide me that luxury. So, Rakhi fills up for me. But after coming back home from work on the weekdays, and during the weekends and occasional holidays I get, I try to spend as much time as I can, with my children. Aryan does not like me doting on her. Though he does not say it, I think, he thinks that others will think sissy of him. He prefers talking about cricket and football with his father or playing with his war planes. At times, both father and son settle on the couch watching a Harrison Ford or a Bruce Willis movie. But my motherhood does not allow me to leave him while attending to Sheila all the time. It is a four way game between us in our family, Sheila constantly demanding my attention, I trying to include Aryan too, Aryan fleeing to his macho father and Raj patiently asking me to attend to Sheila while he takes care of Aryan.

Sometimes, I wonder, why cannot Aryan have an ounce of Sheila in him and vice versa? Then, I would not have such a hard time balancing between both of the children. Both Sheila and Aryan have exactly opposite demands of me and with my limited time and patience; I find it very hard to meet them. Many times, I have tried talking with Raj over this. He does not even seem to think of it as a problem. “I remember the tough time I gave to my mother when I was a child. He is my son, isn’t he? What more did you expect out of him?” he would say with a wink and a dismissal wave of his hand.

Office used to be a place where I longed to go, even on a Monday morning. I had worked very hard all my initial years and have risen fast up the hierarchy ladder. Now; the work is tough, responsibilities are higher, reprimands are severe and the pressure unbearable. My boss is a typical Prem Chopra (a baddie in Indian cinema during the 1970s) sort of a guy. If the office gossip is to be believed, he is very kind, almost paternal to an unmarried girl; but is as lecherous as one can be towards a married female. Though, till date, he has not made any definite move towards me, he sure drops hints from time to time. No report of mine has ever been accepted without a change. Sometimes, he wants statistics to support a claim that I make. At other times, he wants me to delete the numbers that I add as an annexure. “Statistics is like a bikini”, he would say, “They show what we don’t want to see and hide what we want to.” Every comment of his has a sexual connotation, is vulgar or aimed at the nudity of women.

It is almost every day that he tries to make me stay late in the night. Every evening, when I am winding up things, he remembers something so very important and urgent that it needs to be done ‘right away’. I try to remind him that it is already late and would do it first thing the next morning. He would smile and show his crooked teeth and say, “Procrastination is like masturbation, darling. In the end, you are just screwing yourself.” I wonder where he gets all those quotes. Having nothing better to do, I guess, he searches for them all the day, typing ‘Vulgar quotes’ or ‘Proverbs with sexual connotation’ in Google.

All of this seems very amusing to Raj. He laughs till his belly aches and he cannot laugh anymore or till I threaten to kick him in his balls; whichever is earlier. Once, when I urged him very desperately for a suggestion on how to deal with it; he had said, “Why don’t you resign, honey? You know, you don’t have to work. I earn enough to sustain us in comfort. You can give more time to the children and watch them grow. You will not have too many pressures to juggle with and life will be easier for you.” I remember blasting him for that. I had raved and ranted for more than 10 minutes non stop. Reminded him that I am also as much educated as him. My parents also had big dreams for me, just like his. What about my career, if I resign? Am I to remain a typical housewife and keep depending on him, financially, for the rest of my life like a typical housewife?

Raj had not said anything during my continuous harping. Neither did he try to stop me. When I paused to catch my breath, he had quite simply said, “It was just a suggestion, sweetheart. You don’t have to listen, if you don’t want to.” Though I was a little sorry about it sometime later, the ridiculous simplicity with which he gave me his ‘suggestion’ as if I did not have brains to identify such an obvious solution; had maddened me.

Never again did Raj venture to give his idea of a solution to my problems. On the other hand, never did he give me an idea that he is least interested to listen to me or to spend time with me. It is as if he neither has a will of his own nor his preferences. He seemed to exist for the sole purpose of pleasing me. I still discuss my problems with him. Oh wait, did I say ‘discuss’? Discuss is supposed to mean a two way talk, right? All right, I stand corrected. A more accurate sentence is – I still talk over my problems with him. And he is still a very good listener, as he has always been. But he does not offer me any suggestions on how to deal with them. All I can get from him is something on the lines of “Oh, poor you”, “I feel so sorry for you”, “Don’t worry, things will change for good,” and so on.

If on a Sunday afternoon, I want to go out; he just asks me where I want to go. Then he acts as if he has been waiting all his life to go there and then we simply go. No debates, discussions, arguments, counter arguments on where to go, where not to go, and the reasons for the same and so on. He still winks at me every morning, when I wake him up, and holds my hands suggestively. There are times when I relent, and there are times when I irritatingly shake his hand away. He is always quick to grasp what I mean and almost always does what I want him to do.

What exactly is my problem? Why can’t I be happy with the life I have? Seriously, what is wrong with my life? A very loving and doting husband, a husband that a girl can only dream of, but only one in a million gets; two lovely children; a plush bungalow with a maid servant and a chauffeured car, all paid by the company where my husband is working; a decently good job in a fantastic organization with a six digit salary for myself… and still unhappy. Why exactly am I so pathetic?

I, no longer, have time for my friends. I seem to find time and energy to visit even the marriages of close friends and relatives, only with utmost difficulty. At times, when I am not able to do so, I convince myself that I have never liked either the bride or the groom or a parent on either side. An occasional drink or a movie with a friend has become so rare. Except for Sweety, who is still my best friend, the others have even stopped calling me for one.

I am annoyed with Sheila because she wants me to be with her all the time. She adores me, dotes on me; still that does not help it. I want her to be a bit more independent of me and stop crying for me all the time. I guess, that is a tall demand from a four year old, but that still does not stop me from wishing it. I don’t like when Aryan does not need me much. Of course, he loves me. But why can’t he be a bit like Sheila at least on some occasions? I have a vulgar boss at work; surely this is a problem for many other women as well. Why am I being so sensitive towards it, then? Instead of looking for an effective way of countering it, why am I over reacting to it? A good job will definitely have its share of pitfalls too, won’t it? And Raj… I don’t even understand why he is doing that he is doing right now. Is he just giving me space in my high pressure life? Or did I suck out all the happiness of his life and made him miserable? I frankly don’t know.

Why have I become so fussy? Why am I demanding more and more from a person till the point they stop giving all together? Why am I looking for perfection in all the relationships? Is it really because of all the pressures that I have to handle at work and home, as Raj delicately hints, sometimes? People say that motherhood is the noblest and most difficult profession. Maybe, I am not made to be a wife and a mother. Or maybe I am not a capable woman to handle work, husband, children, friends and so on; all at the same time.

Many times, I tried to talk to Raj over all this. But I could not muster enough courage for it. I am frankly afraid of what he might say. I do not dare to know what he thinks of me and my situation. What if he thinks that I am suffering from some personality disorder? I feel it is better to let the matters rest and live the life as it is, instead of confronting Raj and then face the worst.

With no one to talk to, nowhere to go, and not knowing what to do to better my life; I continue to live. Hopefully, things will change at some point of time, for the better. With hope galore, I look forward to that day and to that miracle.

My take on Oscars

The big wait is finally over. A. R. Rahman is the first Indian music composer to win an Academy award. He is the first Indian to win two Academy awards. 'Slumdog Millionaire' won 8 awards including one for ‘best motion picture’ and another for ‘best director’. India and Indians across the world are so proud that their chests may burst with pride.

But, what exactly should India be proud of? What did we actually achieve? Well, as always, I have got a little different view of the whole thing.


First –

When and where did India or Indians win 8 Oscars? Rediff had an article titled "India conquers the Oscars". Congress described SM as a 'film of India, by India, for India and for a global audience'. The father of the obscure lead girl of the movie, Friedo Pinto said 'The film has done everyone and the country proud'. This was a headline in another popular news website, Yahoo. It was a 'clean sweep' at the Oscars, according to many media sources.

I fail to understand this completely. SM is a British film made with most of the crew being non Indians. Yes, the actors are all Indians. Yes, the film is based on India. Yes, the Mumbai slums have been captured quite 'brilliantly' on camera. But, let’s face it. Neither India nor Indians have won 8 Academy awards. There were only three awards won by Indians. If winning an Oscar is truly a monumental achievement, let us be proud of the 3 awards that Indians won. In our quest to 'prove' to the West of what we are capable of, let us not inflate our achievements.


Second –

India is a country with around 1.2 billion people. Picture this with 0.3 billion of the US, 0.02 billion of Australia, 0.08 billion of Germany and 0.06 billion of UK. In 2008, an Indian won gold in a singles event for the first time in Olympics. Till date, only 8 Indians won a Nobel. Compare this with Ireland which also has won 8 Nobel prizes while its population is a little over 4 million, about 0.3% of Indian population.

Though winning accolades tastes sweet, I think the logical question that should precede is 'Why the hell did it take so long?' This question, when attempted to answer, would be more helpful, rather than puffing out chests in pride and try staying un-burst.

Just an analogy to support what I am trying to say above -

Suppose, for a second, that there is a race among five people. Does the fifth person who finishes the race get any applause? Well, last time I checked, he does not. Now, extending the same analogy a little further, suppose that one of the five participants is running with a prosthetic foot. Even if he takes double the time than the winner to cross the finishing line, he gets a warm and encouraging applause. I am sorry for this politically incorrect comparison but this is how it feels.


Third –

Why the hell are we so desperate and eager to receive a pat on the back from the West? Like a school kid who wants 'Very Good' from his teacher, India is constantly striving to be worthy of approval from its big brother in the West. On one hand, we talk of being a superpower, the world's largest democracy and sustaining 8% growth every year; on the other hand we have this hypocrisy, if I may be bold enough to call such. What hell breaks loose if the panel at the Academy Awards does not like / understand the Indian music?

I still remember when Bill Gates was here in India for an event (nothing related to his altruistic activities), many major Indian newspapers carried a story saying that he ate an idly with his hand, instead of using a knife / fork / spoon. This was interpreted as if Mr. Gates fell in love with the spicy Indian food. Oh please, does it affect the country in one single way? What harm is there if a Bill (Gates or Clinton) does not like Indian food?


In the relentless quest of pleasing others, one tends to lose his individuality and identity. The same is true for a country as well. Though there is nothing wrong to be more westernized, in thoughts, actions and attitude; I am of the opinion that the approach we are taking is flawed.

On Sri Rama Sena and Valentine's Day

Thank God! Valentine's Day is finally past. Since the infamous pub incident in Mangalore, India on 24th Jan ‘09, the so called moral police have been threatening to intervene and impede the celebrations on the D Day. Police force (not the moral but the real one) has been alert and common people like me, apprehensive.

Yes, like everybody else in a democracy, I too have opinions, some very strong ones. I intend to put forth them. But first, a little background on the unfortunate Mangalore incident. A snippet from a popular news website says,


“A 40 member team allegedly of the Sri Ram Sena attacked a pub on Balmatta Road in Mangalore and assaulted two girls. The Sri Ram Sena justified the incident by stating that this was a spontaneous reaction against those girls who flouted the traditional Indian norms and levels of decency.”


Now, even as this piece is being written; the incident has been highly politicized while the core issue burns somewhere at the bottom of the rubble. Politicians are making accusations left and right, every person aspiring to assume a political office has a scapegoat in the opposition and everybody claims he is innocent.

Picture this. The Sri Ram Sena chief alleges that the media ‘blew the incident out of proportion’. I am totally lost. There have been innumerable MMSes evidencing the act. It is clear that two hapless girls were slapped, kicked and had their hair pulled. Then, how is the usage of the word ‘blowing’ relevant? These videos and MMSes are evidence of a crime committed. Am I missing something here?

The Congress is using this incident to tarnish BJP’s image (if there is one!). The BJP is accusing Congress of feeding unwanted information to the media and sensationalizing the issue. Almost every political party has taken a side particularly in light of the impending elections. WOW! What a mess. Maybe I am being a little too cynical but this can happen only in India. Still, the Indians are proud of their country.


“Mera Bharat mahaan”
(My country is the greatest)


Even as the pub incident is still fresh in human memory (at least that is what I would like to believe), warnings have been issued by Sri Ram Sena and Mr. Bal Thackeray (we all knew he would come into picture sooner or later) prohibiting celebrations of all sorts for Valentine’s Day. The common man (more aptly, woman) is urged to remind himself of the great culture India is the mother of. Valentine’s Day has never been part of India’s rich heritage and never will be. Unmarried couples, if spotted together in public places, would either have to embrace siblinghood or marriage. The reason? Elementary, dear Watson. Indian culture does not permit unmarried couples to loiter hand in hand.

There have been some bizarre statements made. Some of them are listed below for reference, in case they have gone unnoticed or forgotten over the time elapsed, since. For, the human memory is short and Indian memory even shorter.


"The women taking part in the Miss World contest were selling their bodies. We protested based on the principle that a woman's body is not available for sale."

"There is a BJP government in Karnataka and the Opposition would do anything to ensure that name of the government is tarnished. I think that this entire case has been framed."

"Girls should be taught better values and their safety should be ensured."

"There is a need to preserve our culture and there is no denying that. In fact, we will continue to fight to preserve our culture."

"The Sri Ram Sena is not a political organization. We are not interested in politics and we are not rowdies. We only preserve the values and culture of Indian society."

"Our team members would have a video camera and also a turmeric stub. If our team member finds anyone dating, we will force them to get married. We will take the couple to the sub-registrar's office and the marriage will be solemnized."

"If girls and guys could date in the open then I see no harm in them being married off."

"Valentine's Day is an example of anti-Indian culture and we urge educational institutions and the police to help discourage this."

"All the members (of Sri Rama Sena) have been directed not to intimidate the students and make them understand about our culture."

"What is this Valentine Day? In what way it is related to Indian culture? It is a rotten imported culture thriving on the neo-rich with easy money to squander."

"The day symbolizes a ‘materialistic and immoral' lifestyle."


Phew! This was something. I have neither conjured any of the above statements nor used them out of context. These have been picked from interviews given by the self appointed Indian moral police and published unabashed in the different forms of media.

The Sri Rama Sena and Mr. Thackeray seem to be obsessed with the rich Indian culture of past. But what exactly are the cultural aspects that they are trying to uphold? Am I the only person who is clueless here?


Indian Culture


Please do correct me if I am wrong. I am neither an expert nor a historian. What all I am is a voracious reader and an avid researcher.

Indian culture had never preached against affairs. If this is false, and indeed, if Indian culture talked against having affairs (both pre-marital and extra-marital) then how did Kama Sutra come into existence? The entire epic was about having sex with someone other than a wife. Most of the cases, it is a prostitute or a concubine (mistress). Of course, a woman used to be butchered if she dares to think about a man other than her husband. Most of them still are.

Also, polygamy was in such a common abundance that it was never deemed to be wrong, for a man. Every man of a reasonable high social standing and affordability had multiple wives. In addition to this, he also had a list of mistresses. Of course, a woman was supposed to have only one husband. A woman could not marry again even if her husband had passed away. Worst of all, she was expected to cease living along with him. This practice is called Sati; the wife was burnt along with the corpse of her husband, alive.

Now, coming back to our day, as per the protests raised by Sri Ram Sena, pubs are not discouraged, per se. Men are not being pressurized not to go to pubs, dance and get drunk. Men are not being beaten by the Sri Ram Sena volunteers in the name of upholding Indian tradition. Women, on the other hand, are being punished. Beaten for going to a pub. Assaulted for having a boyfriend / lover. Is it a naïve attempt to drag back the country to the Stone Age, when the so called rich Indian culture was rampant?


Valentine’s Day is not applicable to India


This is one of the most preposterous statements I have ever heard in recent times. For argument’s sake, let me accept this. Then, what about Independence Day, Gandhi Jayanti, Children’s Day, Martyr’s Day, Republic Day, Christmas and so on? This list can go on and on. If India is celebrating Valentine’s Day due to the heavy and unwanted influence of the West –

a) Celebrating Independence Day on 15th August is inspired from the Independence Day of the US, 4th July.

b) Celebrating Gandhi Jayanti on 2nd October is inspired from Washington’s Birthday celebrated in US on the third Monday of February.

c) The Martyr’s Day celebrated on 30th January is inspired from the Veteran’s Day of the US.

d) Christmas and New Year’s Day are also inspired from the West. Why are we not proud of our ancient lunar calendars and celebrate New Year’s Day based on them? Why do we need to follow Gregorian calendar for celebrating the first day of a year? If we are celebrating Christmas just because India is a secular state, how about Moharram, Bakrid, Mahavir Jayanti, Id and so on?

Furthermore, Father’s Day and Mother’s Day are also inspired from the West. India never had these in place before it started to ‘learn’ from West. Why are these days not being opposed?

So, basically, it is ok to learn from the West. What is not ok is learning the ‘bad things’. If this is the argument, then who will decide for the country as a whole on what is good and should be learnt and what should not be? Tomorrow, if I along with a group of fanatical friends decide that every house should feed at least two destitute and homeless everyday and we go about forcing and assaulting people who do not obey this, am I committing a crime or not? How and where do we draw the line what a common man can do and what he cannot do? Can a common man decide what the country as a whole should do and what it should not?


Mass Marriages on Valentine’s Day


This is so ridiculously amusing that the people who said this need to be institutionalized for a shock therapy. What have these people got to do against love? Are all these men broken at heart once upon a time in their life?

Married couples can display affection for one another in public. No problems with that. However, unmarried couples cannot, as the Indian culture and tradition do not allow this. Where and why? What is the reason and rationality behind it? Is it saying that a couple cannot be in love before marriage? As I have already said earlier, this is outrageously insane.

And, if this self appointed moral police force spots an unmarried couple, they will be ‘forced’ to embrace either siblinghood or marriage. There are at least four different and very specific incidents on 14th Feb ’09 which are hard to ignore.


a) A man was forced to ‘mock’ wed a donkey amid cheers and boos in Rourkela.

b) In Belgaum, a girl was forced to tie a rakhi on her partner’s wrist to prove their siblinghood.

c) Both the faces of a couple were blackened with soot as they were, no doubt, failing to live upto India’s rich culture.

d) A 16 year old boy and 15 year old girl were forced to marry in Patna, India.


Is there any sense and rationality in these actions? Well, I fail to find any, if there is. In the name of democracy, we are killing it.

Solution, then? Ok. I will attempt to give my version of a solution. As always, there will be people will refuse to agree with it, but then, this is a democracy where everybody is entitled to an opinion and a voice.

Round up the people responsible for this stupidity and lock them up in prison before their powerful political sugar daddies even get a hint. Stop taking their interviews and publishing their views (which are insane and dangerous). This will help not turn them into overnight heroes. Let us be patriotic of our motherland and proud of being citizens of this great country but let us refrain ourselves from being chauvinistic. Every culture and tradition has pitfalls and over a period of a time, people learn imbibing from other cultures and incorporating in their culture. I guess, Charles Darwin called this as ‘Evolution’. In management parlance, this is called ‘Change’. As all know –


“Change is always constant”


Let us learn, albeit little, from countries like China and Japan. The way in which they retained most of their traditions and culture in spite of such a rapid pace of advancement, industrialization and westernization are commendable, to say the least.

My Story - Part 2

Vishal is surprisingly warm and polite when I meet him. He suggests we meet somewhere to discuss on how to go about the assignment. I mention ‘Library’ and he smiles. “Library is not a good place to discuss, darling. Ms. Gupta is going to roast you alive, if you talk in her castle.” I look questioningly at him as If challenging him to come up with a better choice. “Café Coffee Day at 6 PM, today. And please don’t be late. I have an appointment to keep at 7 PM.” He neither asks me for my consent, nor my availability. In fact, he does not leave me any room to vote or voice for anything. So I just nod; feeling, and possibly looking dumb.

I wait for him for over an hour when he finally arrives at 6:40 PM. He, sort of, ramp walks to my table taking as much time as possible, all the way, smiling and taking sadistic pleasure out of my discomfort. I grit my teeth and try a plastic smile which refuses to come.

When we finally got up to leave at about 9 PM, we had talked about everything except the assignment. Rather, I talked and he listened. He asked me questions about virtually everything. Right from the first memories of my life to my first boyfriend, I found myself confiding in him on all. What I thought about the college, my classmates, the professors, my parents – how I sometimes feel stifled and suffocated in their over protective demeanor. To this day, I cannot find a logical reason as to what prompted me to do so. I had never opened up so much before anybody ever before. I always had boundaries with all the people I knew. And somehow, I completely trusted him and confided in him. Put words to my innermost thoughts and feelings to somebody who was a complete stranger. Worse than that, to somebody who I thought I hated. Maybe part of me liked him, maybe it is because I had not had a decent conversation with anyone in days or maybe it is his kind, gentle and understanding way that goaded me. I did not know that and I did not care. He had been a very good listener, nodding and punctuating at just the right moments and bringing out the feelings in me which even I was not aware that existed, till that point of time.

“It was great, knowing you and getting to chat with you”, Vishal says. Sub consciously, I start to search for a tinge of sarcasm and instantly rebuke myself for being so cynical. “Same here”, I say. He offers his hand and says, “Friends?” I take it and smile, this time honestly. He drops me at my hostel and mockingly blows a kiss at me. Then, without waiting for my reaction, he leaves. For the first time in days, I feel warm and cheerful. I like the feeling that I am experiencing and I like him.

This date, if I may be bold enough to call our meeting as one, helps me a lot to regain my lost self confidence and esteem. I begin to enjoy the college and my life became fun filled again. I keep meeting Vishal on and off in between classes or in the cafeteria. He is always polite, though not necessarily friendly. Our chats were limited to a ‘Hi’, ‘Hello’, ‘How are you’ and so on. He never prolongs the talk and though I want to, I never seem to be able to do so.

And then, I stop bumping into him all together.

After very careful and discreet enquiries, I find out that his GRE has drawn very close and he will come to college again after taking the exam in Bangalore. I don’t know why, but I start praying for his high score.

My prayers are answered when reliable sources inform me that he has secured 1560 out of 1600 in the exam and he will make it to the top universities of the US. I am very happy for him and make a very strong mental note to congratulate him, the next time I see him.

We meet, in Barista this time, a few days later. This time, our meeting is not pre-planned. We, in fact, meet accidentally. For some reason, he is all alone with a chocolate cake and an iced tea, when I walk in, along with my usual set of friends. My eyes lit up as I spot him and before I can put on a more appropriate expression, he catches my eye. He smiles, friendly actually, and gestures me to join him. Shamelessly, I desert my friends and go up to his table, pull a chair and sit down.

I remember every single moment of our ‘date’, that day. Every single minute. Every thought which had crossed my mind. Every small incident during those three hours in Barista. It was on that day that Vishal had proposed. He had proposed and I had accepted. Why will not I? For what reason?

We start with his recent success in GRE. I congratulate him and he had thanks me, a little too profusely as if I am the reason for his good score. The conversation flows freely and he talks about his dreams, aspirations and goals. He is very optimistic and full of hopes of making it big in life. I admire the way he is, so passionate about his dreams, his career and his life. So full of life. Maybe it is his charm. Maybe, his wit. Maybe, his personality. Whatever is the reason, I feel incredibly drawn to him. I don’t take much time to think when he let his heart out. I did not need to. It is, without doubt, the biggest decision I have ever made in all my life. And, the best decision I have ever made in my life. The decision I have never needed to regret, not even once.

There is not a twist in my story. My life is not an Oscar Wilde story, however much the readers may like it to be. Neither it is sad, poignant, or thought provoking. Life has been kind to me and God, merciful. It is four years now that Vishal and I are happily married. We are expecting our first child in a couple of months. All through these four years, Vissu has been most understanding, considerate and good to me. He is the best husband any girl can dream of. And I think I am really lucky.

My Story - Part 1

He is the prince of my dreams, my obsession and my mania. Just a word with him, a sight of him, a feel of his breath, his touch; and even the most depressing times turn cheerful in an instant. He is my retreat from the cruel world. Oh, how safe and protected I feel when I am in his arms. I can forget the world and all the hardships I am facing when he talks to me in that smooth mellow, a la Johnny Walker voice. I can spend an eternity leaning my head on his shoulder and listening to that voice of his. God knows how many countless hours of my life I have spent that way.

I still remember our first meeting as if it has occurred only yesterday.

It is my first day in college and predictably, I am very nervous. I must be very naïve, perhaps ‘stupid’ is a better word, for; I approach a group of seniors to ask the whereabouts of the first year computer science engineering classroom. Before I can realize what is happening; I have sung a song and have saluted half a dozen ‘Sirs’ a dozen times. I am also asked to frog leap across a flight of stairs and as I stand there, pondering on what to do next, a light tap on my shoulder startles me.

He is lean, tall; with an angular face, aquiline nose and a two days’ old stubble. He is in a crumpled tee, faded low hip jeans, a Nike waistband and a red baseball cap. The first thought that comes to me is that he is super sexy, cool and ultra confident of anything and everything. He is also chewing gum and I can not but marvel at his fine set of teeth. They are very orderly and even the faint traces of nicotine on them seem to add on to his charm. He gives me a re-assuring smile and I am instantly comforted and begin to feel braver. I smile back at him, a nervous and polite one, and look accusingly at my tormentors.

“What is going on here?” he thunders. The tormentors’ jaws drop and they seem bewildered at his unexpected arrival. He glares hard at them and not getting any answer, turns to me. Something tells me that he is not on their side, maybe his voice or simply because I want to believe it. Before I can check myself, I blurt out, “I am being ragged.” “Is that true?” he asks in a tone that sounds menacing, at least to me. Not waiting for an answer, he turns to me and asks in a gentler tone, “Your first day in college, miss?” I smile and nod in affirmation. “Which department?” he asks. “Computer Science, my rank in the entrance exam is 18”, I say with a tinge of pride, not bothering to disguise it. “That’s wonderful”, he says smiling broadly. “Come, I will show you to your classroom.”

He begins to lead the way and after managing to shoot a look combined with hate and triumph, at my tormentors, I start to follow him. As I catch up with him, I say, “Thank you Sir, this is very kind of you.” “Oh, come on, that is nothing”, he says with a dismissal wave of his hand. “By the way, I am Vishal, computer science, third year. “I am Priya”, I offer my hand and he touches it lightly and smiles. “I guess we will meet in some courses, then”, I say. “Yeah, in some labs too”, he replies absent mindedly. This, for some unfathomable reason, makes me very glad and I begin to look forward for the same.

We cross the stairs and turn around a corner into a narrow corridor. I struggle to keep pace with him. Though he appears to be a bit on the thinner side, he seems athletic and quite handsome in his own rugged way. I notice that nobody bothers me anymore when he is with me, though there are curious glances from time to time. We are now directly opposite to my tormentors, though on a different floor. I throw a furtive glance at Vishal. Hmm… Vishal, interesting name. Vissu is a nice nickname to that and I smile at the thought.

I am completely lost in my thoughts and do not anticipate his halt. He stops abruptly and I bump into him. He turns back and says in mock seriousness, “What is the matter with you, lady? Do you have to follow me even when I am going to take a leak?” Peels of laughter shake the whole area and I suddenly realize that I am in front of the men’s restroom.

As I stand there, red with embarrassment and humiliation, unable to decide what to do next, Vishal crosses his arms and leans against the wall. He looks at me triumphantly, as if he has won a lottery. My brain screams at me to run away from the place, to turn tail and flee; but my legs refuse to obey. In the same mocking tone, he says, “Now darling, you are not supposed to complain to strangers that you are being ragged. And baby, once you are here, your rank in the entrance exam does not count anymore.” Slowly, I gain control on myself and with hot tears running across my cheeks, I make my escape from there.


Over the next couple of months, I slowly adjusted to the occasional ragging, and writing the lab reports and records of the ‘Sirs’ and ‘Madams’. The events of the first day in college and Vishal had terrified me so much that I constantly avoided everyone like plague. I never had a real conversation or interaction with any of our classmates too. College was no fun, as it is supposed to be, without any friends. I missed my old friends and my school desperately. What a fun filled life, I lived there. Why could not I have been there forever? What made me join engineering, of all the courses available? Why did I have to choose this college, of dozens of colleges available? Life has become dull, monotonous, terrifying and totally devoid of all the fun.

And then, one day, I thought I will have an attack.


Mr. Pravin Kumar Awasthi is a tall and robust looking man with big black curly hair and a huge moustache. His eyes are always blood shot and he appears to be perpetually in a bad hangover. He has a loud booming voice and he holds the entire college in terror. Everyone, including the principal and the management, it is rumored, is petrified of him. As luck would have it, he is our professor for English.

During an English class, one Friday afternoon, Mr. Awasthi is giving weekend assignments, and as always, his assignments are meant to be done individually and not in teams. As for me, I am asked to prepare a list of 500 most frequently occurring words in the questions of exams like CAT, GRE, GMAT and so on. Though I have a vague idea of what these exams are, I must confess that I cannot comprehend on how to go about it. Bewildered with the tough task ahead, I sit down and make a mental note to go and see Mr. Awasthi later and seek his advice.

I meet Mr. Awasthi later in the evening, on that day. He makes it very clear that his assignments are never altered once they are assigned. In case I find it tough to complete, I am free to take assistance of some senior, for instance – Vishal Bharadwaj, who is going to appear for GRE this year. “A very bright lad, I am sure he will help you”, he says. My heart sinks, hearing the dreaded name again, but I manage a smile and walk out of his office.