Every Dog has his day

Have you been in a horrific situation with a tinge of comedy, where reacting to the comic element might become disastrous for you? Here is one example I was told by a friend who stays in China.

A newly wed couple had shifted to Bejing, China. The husband was posted on a project and was to be on site for a couple of years. It was the guy’s third visit to the city and he had been staying there for a stretch that lasted more than six months at a time. The newly wedded wife was a staunch vegetarian, detesting the kind of food that was served in the Chinese restaurants. Oh! And I forgot to mention, she was a complete animal lover. Dogs specially.

Over a period of time she adjusted to the food and people, and the usual routine of life her husband was prone to. So, after a couple of months, the wife insisted on buying some stuff for the house. One weekend they decided to go shopping. They strolled the inner streets and looked for specialities they could buy and decorate their home. As they shopped, the wife saw a man with a wonderful dogs. A dog lover that she was, she immediately was attracted to them and rushed to pet them. One of the dogs she found extremely cute, and wanted to buy him at once. The husband was reluctant and argued that they would not be able to take him back to India when they left. The wife, however stood her ground not budging an inch. She was lonely, she said. A dog as a companion would keep her occupied when the husband was at work. The husband asked the man – How much. The man replied back in completely broken English $$$yuan. The husband took out his wallet and offered him the money. He said – again in fragmented English – One hour – here! He pointed to a shop. – If not here, ask there!

The wife was elated. She was completely thrilled. There was a bounce to her walk, a ring in her talk. The husband had never seen her so happy. They shopped around and returned to the place where the man had promised to be back in one hour. He was standing there. But there was no dog around. Both of them went to the man who was talking to another Chinese man.

Seeing the husband, his eyes lit up and put forth a plastic bag saying – here is your dog..

“2 Bucks"

Inspired by a true event and written with inputs from Col. Ramesh Sharma

Sarojini is just one year old. The last time I left from home, she would lovingly call me Dada. Her melodious voice that broke into a gibberish were the most beautiful moments i got back from home along with the warm kakras wrapped in a towel for the train journey. I would not have known that these moments would have been the last ones when i spent with them. Every time I came back home it would be scene of celebrations at home and every departure to the ‘front’ would be like a mourning. 

I remember the first time i had met my wife. She was young, hiding her shyness behind the bright yellow ghunghat. But her smile shone through her ghunghat into my heart. Soon we got married, and her shyness had disappeared like a fragrance in the wind. She would keep talking till her jaws ached and I would listen to her talks till my eyes fell asleep. We became best of friends but before we realised, time had disappeared like the fine sand between the tender fingers of life and it was time to part. Her silence on that day was the most unbearable. I could have borne a thousand bullets on my body, but this pan was of a different kind. Her tears were unstoppable. I knew then that my biggest strength was now my biggest weakness. During the train journey, I could not sleep a wink. Her smile would linger like an illusion in my eyes and if my eyes drooped into slight drifts of sleep, her mindless laughter would wake me up with a jolt. But my Country was to be guarded and protected, the enemy to be kept at bay, so that the vast land of hardworking people could make us the best nation in the world. It was my pledge to die for the country, my country men, die for the  honor of my regiment and its "izzat". 

Another bullet hit the glass window hard throwing it into splinters. Sandwiched between the wall and the truck, I had hardly any space to move. The terrorists had occupied the mosque and had held innocent people hostages. The encounter was long and bloody. I was out of ammunition. There was continuous firing from the upper tiers of the minaret. The entire nation was being divided. The war that was supposed to be kept at the borders had seeped into the country like cancer. The war now had to be fought from within. In every part of India, we are seen with hatred. Human rights activists clamor at our door step making noise of deaths during ambush as inhuman. I often wonder in agony, are our lives worth nothing? It is so easy for activists to stay behind closed doors in the security of their homes and point fingers at us calling our actions inhuman. Would they stand in front of these firing terrorists and get the hostages their freedom? A hand grenade blasted a little distance away from me and I was shaken from my thoughts. I saw Major Ahmed running towards me from behind a broken wall. The dust gave him cover. He took cover next to me. He was grinning from ear to ear.

 'I am out of ammunition, Ahmed.' I tell him. 'Give me some'

 Ahmed fires above the wall, still grinning like a jackass. 'Why should I give it to you?' he asks me.

 'Why not?' I ask him. 

'You haven't bothered to return me the 2 bucks you owe me from the teen pati  card game you lost a week ago!' 

'I will return it as soon as we get back' i promised him. 

'No I need it now. What if you get killed today? Then you will never give me back my 2 bucks!'

I search my pockets. Ahmed falls next to me. A bullet has pierced the skull on the upper eyebrow. Blood is gushing out. I hold him in my arms. His eyes mock me. I pick up his gun. I have to avenge his death…the death of a brave soldier, the death of my fallen brethren. I keep firing, the hostages must be rescued and the mosque has to be returned to its sanctity, for Ahmed, for Ahmed's wife, for Ahmed's children. He died in battle, a proud death. He gave his today for our tomorrow. It's now my turn to either victory or death. In war there is no second place. Win or die.

Autobiography of a flower

I am a flower. A flower that blooms and wilts. I live a life that lasts not more than a few days. Once I was a bud. A little bud in a vast flower garden. The gardener would come and look at me as he did with the other buds. He would water me and then talk to me. He would tell nice things, he would tell me that one day I would bloom and make some one smile. I wondered how.

In the days that I was a bud, I would wait, looking at other flowers that bloomed. They bloomed and the gardener would pluck them up and put them in a basket. I wondered, how I could make someone smile. Then one day when the sun rose, light blinded me for a while. I was in full bloom. I looked into the eyes of the sun and bathed in the warmth it shone on me. And then abruptly I was cut. My fate ended up to be the same as the other flowers I had seen bloom. I lied there in the basket. I was tossed and swirled as the gardener took me from basket to basket, and then to a pickup truck. I fell asleep, and then when I woke up, I was in a little shop. Around me were other flowers, they were all of a different kind, they were of different colors, probably a different race. They all looked beautiful. The florist had arranged so many of them together like a painting. People peeked in and picked up a bunch. Every time they did, they had a smile in their eyes.

Then, one day, the old florist picked me up. She softly touched me, and gently plucked out the wilted petals. She then handed me over to a young charming boy and tells him – I am sure she will love it. She then looks at me and tells me – Little flower, make his day.

The young boy clutched me with all his heart. His eyes nervous and his mouth chattering away in a nervous tone. We then reached a little park. The boy stops, hiding himself behind the bark of a huge oak tree. He then breathes deeply and turns back. With great courage, he approaches the girl. The girl, pretty that she is, is red with anger. They talk, she yells. The anger melts down into sobs, and she looks away. He gently goes behind her and brushes me on her cheeks. She turns around looking at him in his eyes. They kiss. He drops me on to the ground.

The sun rises, and lowers itself. It is almost evening. A little boy picks me up. I remember his face from the window at the florists shop. He looked at the flowers and then counted the pennies in his pocket. With depressed eyes, he left. He picks me up with great care and dusts me off. Happy to hold me, he runs and holds the hand of an old man. He holds on to me with care. He has got tears in her eyes. ‘Tears of happiness’ I think to myself.

We enter a huge building. A pretty lady lies in bed. She looks frail, but her anguish dissolves as she sees the boy. The boy runs and jumps on to the bed and hugs her. I see tears rolling from her eyes. She holds him tight and tells him ‘I love you’. The boy tells her – I love you too. He hands me over to her. Her eyes fill with tears and she kisses him on the forehead. He sits on her lap and they talk for hours. When the sun has hid behind the far away mountains, he kisses her goodnight and leaves.

The mother looks at me for a long time with fondness. She looks at me and tells me – I love you. I become the little boy. She then takes me and keeps me carefully in a big fat book that seems like a diary. I become her memory. I become a thought.

I become immortal.

Is India truly democratic?

To find a solution we need to find the problem first. And the problem would not be the politicians but a system that allows corrupt people into politics. The corrupt have raided and raped the system and the results of it are for everybody to be seen. So going back to where it all began, the drafting of the constitution, I did a Google search and this is what popped out- http://lawmin.nic.in/coi/coiason29july08.pdf It is a huge one and I plan to read it soon. Unless we do not know where the problem lies, how do we treat the sickness is what my mind is pondering.

Seeing the assembly elections and the fallout of the Maharashtra Government and appointment of the ministers, there was a fallacy that came across in my mind of the democratic set up of India. Further, this was also reiterated in a radio channel and I felt there might be many more who think alike. The fact that – Are we truly a democratic country?

Looking at the current set up, we have two elections, the Rajya Sabha (Assembly) elections and the Lok Sabha (Parliamentary) elections. At this level, the elections are democratic, where the people elect their representatives who would then head to the state assembly or to the parliament. But what happens after this is highly questionable. The fact that the politicians who are elected being clean and without criminal records is a completely different issue. But what is important to be noted is the process followed hence forth in the formation of the Cabinet, both in the Assembly and in the Parliament. Here the selection process starts. Witgh already many corrupt politicians going into both the houses, here there is a high chance of horse trading possible. The selection of the ministers become something very vulnerable to corruption. With party chiefs of the ruling party deciding who should be which minister, he becomes the most powerful person and buying and selling of posts could become the norm.

Thus we would get politicians and not leaders as the head of the state. Ministers who fail will step down and new ministers would come, but accountability will always be a question that will never be answered.

I can think of two approaches.

a) To make an election within the Assembly/ Parliament with candidates vying for the post. This would make the system a bit transparent, but horse-trading could become rampant on the flip side.

Or

b) The election mandate should include voting for three candidates at the same time. 1) The Prime Minister, 2) The Deputy Prime Minister and 3) Their local representative to the parliament and likewise for the Assembly elections 1) The Chief Minister, 2) The Deputy Chief Minister and 3) the MLA from the local constituency.

I would feel very positive if option b is exercised, since it would help us electing a leader based on the country consensus than the whims and fancies of a political party chief. It would also put on a huge responsibility on his shoulders and take accountability for the ministers appointed, else he face the wrath of his countrymen.

I have learnt... - revised

Ok. Here is a new set of revisions in the I have learnt... post

...that life is little, but it is the element of time that makes it a bit too long
...that life is not about being secure, but not feeling insecure
...that we can seek happiness, but can choose to be happy.
...that love is an illusion and life is full of magic
...that sorrow is just another feeling
...that we mistake to find happiness in relationships, when relationships are just a part of happiness.
...that we die, but our thought doesn’t.
...that we own only that much land where we stand on.

...That we need to love life, and life will love us

An uneasiness of the so-called 'Revolution'

Yesterday night, a disturbing thing crossed my mind. This revolution (if we can call it) that has taken such momentum, is this just a result of people’s anger over repeated anger or is there something more to it? Why did this not happen earlier? Ever since 1947, over 4100 terrorist attacks have taken place all over India. Why hav they never got so much importance as this attack is getting? In a way, I am glad that this revolution is taking place, but on the other hand, the underlying reasons that I see are also a bit disturbing.

If we look at the terrorist attacks in the past, blasts in trains, busses, in a taxi, at railway stations, these were places the common man visits every day. They are killed, many are left disabled and yet they resume the next day to their respective jobs. The glitterati and the industrialists called it resilience. I believe it is just that if they did not go to work, they would not know where they would pay their next month’s bills, the milkman, electricity, telephone bill, grocery bills, school fees, college fees, and so on… They had no choice. Yesterday, a radio station played an interview with an American who was amazed to see how the people of Mumbai were back on their jobs just three days after the siege ended. In New York after 9/11, people were scared to get out of their homes for a week. I would say, if the US citizens are paid a minimum wage by the government to the unemployed, they would rather sit secure in the houses than venture out. If it was the same case in India, people would have preferred the same. We are no different human beings, but we do know that our Government does nothing for us and hence we have to fend for ourselves. If we had the time and money to take care of our families we would have fought the government, stood up for our needs, but the daily necessity to feed our hunger makes us ignore all this and get back to work.

So what is different now from the past? Why will this revolution sustain, if it sustains?

This time the target was The Taj and The Oberoi. How many of the common man might have ever entered the Taj. The exterior photos are the only things a common man can relate to. They don’t have any reason to go to the Taj. The food is expensive. Only the high class (exponentially rich) can afford this kind of luxury. Why is the peace march around the Taj and Oberoi and not at CST or Vile Parle, which were also targets of the terrorists? The reasons are quite obvious. The rich and the powerful, don’t frequent busses or trains. They sit in the luxurious confines of their car to go wherever they have to go. Every time a calamity strikes the city, they are the least affected while the poor homeless person on the street is affected the most. Why is it that everyone is asking Raj Thackeray, where he is? Why didn’t the same people strike back when he and his goondas ran rampant the city? Again, the reason is quite simple. The affluent class were relatively unaffected. It was the poor and the average middle class who bore the brunt of the carnage, the blasts, and the attacks. This was happening when the affluent class were talking about the resilience of Mumbai sipping fine wine and dining at the Taj and the Oberoi. Now after these attacks, they know what the common man has felt for a long time. They now fear their own lives and thus they have come out in huge numbers.

But all said and done, as I have reiterated in my earlier posts of America coming together for one reason, I think India has a reason of its own now. For whatever reasons, it is time to stand for one common goal.

Independence.

Independence in the true sense. Independence from terror, from corruption, from poverty, from political leadership to true leadership. The midnight of August 15th 1947 bought in freedom of India from the British, but there is still a long way to go till each citizen of India gets his/her freedom.

The Gateway Peace March - Photoblog

©Photographs Copyrights with Prax

It is time...

Umpteen number of times have we been bombed, massacred, killed, we have lost our fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, wife, many have even lost their limbs. But the city still thrives. Self-proclained lovers of the city burn public property, hold the city to ransom. Yet we live on. A politician is made, a government is questioned, but in a few days everything is forgotten. The opposition blames it on the government, but I am sure, deep down, they must be relieved that they were not sitting on the throne, else they would have been the target of the opposition today.

LK Advani is already leveraging this event to gain the electoral seats in the Rajasthan Elections. RR Patil said this event as a small incident in the big city. The Congress states that atleast their ministers resigned while none of the ministers of the NDA government resigned following attack on the Parliament.

What a pathetic state of events in a democracy!

Politicians resign instead of being accountable of their lacunae. It is such an easy life for these politicians. They screw the life of the common people and when they are questioned, they resign. I feel there should be a bigger punishment to these politicians. They should be barred from politics forever.

India, for a long time has been the victim of lack of accountability. Babasaheb Ambedkar’s picture indicates him pointing, indicating the direction for growth, but we Indians take it as a sign of blaming the other one.

Why is it that the ministers don’t feel the need to spruce up the security system? Because they don’t think security is an issue. They feel secure under the cover of police security and NSG Commandos covering up their ass.


The ratio of police to people in India is the least in the world. We have 2.6 police officials per 1000 people. An average in any other country is 10-15 per 1000. How do we increase this? It is a difficult task, but one which needs tremendous insight and a passionate vigor to resolve it.

The police is known as the most corrupt in the state. The book Carnage by Angels by YP Singh states the shambles our police force is in. If we look into the cracks, there are many things that might shock us beyond our imagination.

A constable gets a paltry amount for his service, something around Rs. 7000/- per month. This, for putting his life on the line, working for more than 12 hours a day, to be cautious of the criminals with political connections, (you never know that the criminal you are arresting today might be the minister giving orders to you tomorrow) and also facing the flak for intelligence failure of the Governments divided security procedures and eventually facing the bullet of a terrorist. Is this amount enough to live a healthy life? Can he give the best education to his children? Will he be entitled for a loan to buy a house of his own? An eventual answer is No. So he has to get to corrupt methods and this has infinite repercussions on himself and the society on the whole.

What can we do?
Probably separate the police from the ministry to the Judiciary. This would ensure that the police would not need to please politicians or beware of the politics that happen at the highest levels. This ensures that the police would do their duty at the best. Increase the salaries to Industry standards so that kids today can consider it as a sound, clean and a patriotic profession.

This way might have its own negative implications, but then evolution of a concept would weed out the negativities and bring in a more positive approach to the security of the country and reduce corruption to a great extent.

As a common man, what can we do? We as individuals do not have any power. The power is only when we come together and stand against it unified. It takes a common cause to unify. And 26/11 has bought in the cause.

History has seen revolutions happen. As Hitler states in Mein Kampf - History has to be learnt not for the dates but to understand the reason and the forces behind such revolutions. We have our reason. And it is time for a revolution.

I will be standing at the Taj tomorrow. And I know I will not be alone.



Image Source: REUTERS. Photographs by: Arko Datta & Amit Dave