The way forward - I

       When someone convicted of murder, adultery, rape or any other crime is publicly executed using guns, knives or stones by religious zealot in any country the reaction of the people is to the effect of saying that it's shameful and no one should be punished like that. This is often followed by asking ourselves whether we're living in the stone age. But when they encounter the news of a similar crime in their own country the reaction is almost completely opposite. People who advocated abolishing the capital punishment outright suddenly start demanding a public execution of the culprit. No discussion of the law or the sense or right and wrong. Just a demand of the capital punishment in a gory way.
       Why do people behave in this hypocritical way? One thing to notice is that  they are identifying with the one they're seeing getting hurt. In the first case the only story to get published is the crazy punishment given to the convicted and the victim in unknown to the intellectuals passing judgement on the sentence given. The only people they see getting hurt is the convicted and they naturally side with them. In the second case - when the crime is the current national topic of discussion in their own country - they see the victim getting hurt a long time before they see the culprit getting convicted and subsequently sentenced appropriately. So, naturally, they identify with the victim and demand justice accordingly. In other words, we're not demanding justice for the person, we're just demanding the justice we want if we're in place of the one we're identifying with. That's selfishness & ignorance. That's the inability to objectively see things as they are and to side with what's right.
       What should we do to eradicate ignorance? We already have problems like hunger, abject poverty, over population, diseases, corruption, inflation and so many more. Does it make sense to target fighting ignorance before them? Absolutely not! And that's the reason we'll fight all these problems at the same time. Not only that, as I argue in this series of posts, fighting ignorance can actually make fighting the other big problems much easier.
       Here's how I think we should start. Lets start by asking questions. Lots and lots of them. Obviously, a lot of them would turn out to be stupid ones, but, so are the demands of hanging someone publicly. Slowly, but surely, we'll learn to ask the right ones.
       Just a few days ago my sister gave birth to a baby boy. And the father was not allowed to look at the newly born for many days just because of some stupid superstition which could cause bad things to happen if he sees his own child even once before, like, 40 days. 40 DAYS! He obeyed and did not question how that can happen. It's dogmas like these that we've been systematically indoctrinated with for centuries that saddens me the most about our modern society. It's this unreasonable following of one's own version of religion that has damaged our society so much for so long. And it's people's fear of reprisal if they ask why things happen that saddens me even more. Every child is afraid of the dark, but, the real tragedy of life is when grown up men are afraid of light! Everyone knows the father saw the child many times - it's impossible to be in the same smallish hospital room and miss that sight -, just not formally. And everyone knows that nothing bad will happen because of it. But, still a lot of people will go on following the inherently stupid customs just because of fear of something bad happening. Here's a question I have for each one of you who believe in superstitions like these: do you really believe that you're God is so sensitive that if you see you're own newly born he'll be so angry that he'll go on to even cause a fatal accident or disease to one of them? If the answer is yes, then I think you're God is probably named Taliban in His own country!
       This mindless indoctrination of kids has resulted in a society where literacy is fairing better than education in every chart imaginable. This has resulted in a society where a Dabangg earns more than 200 Crore Rupees and a Gangs of Wasseypur is barely mentioned. This has resulted in a society where even respected news channels visit colleges to ask students about their opinion on the punishment that should be meted out to a rapist or terrorist and don't invite someone like Prof. Amartya Sen in the studio for a detailed discussion on the right course of action for the country. So, let's ask each each other when we laid the foundation to allow our culture to degrade so much. Let's ask how we can contribute to bring back the glory days.
       Let's ask each other why eating non-vegetarian food is permissible after praying and not before it.
       Let's ask each other why a cat crossing the road before you're able to can cause your accident to happen.
       Let's ask each other why should a bigger Shiva statue be bathed with much more water than a smaller one right beside it.
       Let's ask each other why capital punishment is appropriate in one country but not in another.
       Let's ask each other why we waste a lot of food in parties, but, have elaborate reasons to prove why we should not give it to needy thereby making them habitual of it.
       Let's ask each other why we have so many opinions and ideas about so many things, but, are too lazy to vote.
       Let's ask each other why we don't negotiate before buying expensive stuff at shopping malls, but, fight for 5 rupees of discount on 2 Kilograms of tomato.
       Let's ask each other when we're starting to think objectively, analyze dispassionately and act swiftly.
       Let's ask each other when we're starting to actually grow up!

Why there's no place like home...

       Been there. Done that. Alright, shorty! Good for you. But you've lived like a king (or queen, of course. I don't wanna die!) only at the place you call home. And, fortunately enough, I have one too. And there's no place like it! Not in this world, for sure.
       It's not that I've realized this fact suddenly, out of the blue because of some divine intervention or just like that. It's just that my recent trip to my place reinforced this fact so much, so well and so deep that I can't help but write about it for no darn reason. I had already done, like, a six trillion dolalrs worth of shopping in the last month itself and had traveled a bit and now it was time to go home. You know, the real home. And here's how it went. Hold your breath...
       The occasion was...damn, I don't need no occasion to go to my native place, but, still...that my younger sister will be getting married in a few months and she was also coming home along with the even younger one. The whole family was gonna be together after quite some time, which in itself is a reason to celebrate. Plus I don't go home very frequently so my parents were really excited. How really? Really, really! This is - for the most part - not only comprehensible, but, desirable as well. Cuz you know, I'm the son! (Believe me, I've seen, no, known, parents who just hate to be with their kids. And to be honest, knowing their kids as well, I can tell you that it isn't their fault to literally hate being with their kids. Some people spread happiness wherever they go. Some people spread happiness whenever they go. That's how the world works.) Now, it is okay to expect your parents and old friends to wait for you to be with them anxiously. Your parents love you and your old friends want to get drunk with you for, you know, old times sake. But, how do you explain when your mom tells you that your neighbours and relatives are anxiously waiting for you as well. Well, I can. The reason is that every single family in my vicinity runs an unlicensed marriage bureau and I, they think and make me feel, am the most eligible bachelor in the city. 'Nuff said.


The Indian Railways
       So, I'm ready to board the Indian Railways from Pune once again. Second class sleeper. Some people never learn, right? Yeah, they don't. And that's what makes this world funny. I'm honoured to be contributing positively to the Gross Happiness Index (?) of the planet. I repeat, as I often do: If you don't have the balls to hold your breath for half an hour or so, you shouldn't be boarding the Indian Railways. Also applies to people with breathing ailments like asthma. Trust me, you poor asthmatic passenger, you have a better chance at surviving the trip if you can hold your breath instead of trusting your inhaler. It's a Friday evening and I start from office early (The best way I've figured out to leave office early is to do so on Fridays when you have a bus, or a train to catch) and reach the railway station. Another reason I like to travel on Fridays is because a lot of girls like it too. Don't we all like a lot of things just because girls like them too?! Well, you can mock me as much as you want, but, I'm a proud feminist! Women are ruling the third major rock from the Sun and you better keep the Queen happy! ;-)
       Not too much time for departure and the train is there on platform no. 1. The first thing I do is find my seat and adjust my luggage. The seat no. is 6, which means I'm one of those sitting closest to the toilets. Yes, The Indian Railways' toilets. Oops! And the second thing I do is to look at the passenger list sticking beside one of the doors. Not to make sure if I'm on the list, but, to check out who else is there. Ms of any age don't interest me at all unless there's an F of a reasonably acceptable age sitting beside them. But, that's for later. For now I mentally make a note of all the F-16s to F29s mentioned on the reservation list so that I'll walk past their seats and check them out when my back starts paining sitting on the rock hard seats. Not much luck in there. Two F-14s, an F-18 [a cute, animated smiley] and an F-33. Well, lets revise. I don't want to travel among the hottest possible angels every single time, but, what's the deal with so many M30 to M45s. Okay, now I get it. I'm sitting in the Pune-Patna Express and all the Patna residents are going back to their respective native places too. Alright, dear God! By now, I've accepted that I'm not your favourite creation, but, don't you have an obligation to at least bring my stress level down a bit on a day in which I fixed two production bugs and convinced the QA people about the invalidity of another, gave a 2 rupee coin to a beggar who tipped-off another beggar that I'm giving money and told a girl with the cutest possible voice over a phone call that I wasn't looking for a job change right now irrespective of the size of the company with the opportunity to spoil my life in??? (The bug was not going to be marked invalid and I was the one to fix it, the 2nd beggar kept standing 3 inches away from me demanding her and her little kid's fair share of the national GDP for, like, 15-20 minutes and the company I didn't even consider going to is...kinda...really, really big.) They say LUCK is Labour Under Correct Knowledge, but, the "Knowledge" part is something that makes me come back to square one every single time.
       I frown, curse my very existence and sit near the toilets. All of the people sitting in my compartment - and there were, like, a million of them - had Patna written all over their foreheads, their accents, their topics of discussions and the uninteresting looking snacks they make with murmura and peanuts. It takes me 20 minutes to reach my luggage under my seat and get the book I packed ever so cleverly so that I could take it out to read while traveling just in case I don't get a chance to talk to interesting and/or cute fellow travelers. The book is The Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevara, the Argentine - and later Cuban - revolutionary about his travel adventures. (No, I don't think of him as a terrorist, as one of my friends does. But, that's a topic of another discussion. Most people I've met with his picture on their T-shits think he's some musician. It's funny because it offends people with left-leaning thinking like me and we think of such people as typical right-wing morons. At least I do.) Awesome, awesome travel diary. I read it for another hour and I'm in another world. The overwhelming crap smell doesn't bother me anymore...
       Ninety minutes of an out-of-body experience later the dust starts settling, my back starts paining, the crap smell becomes unbearable and the local anecdotes from Bihar become much more interesting (I assume that with the increasing sound levels of laughter they draw) than just a revolutionary's travel account of an amazing journey through Latin America in the 50s on a bike. I stand up and start walking with the book in hand in search of the mysterious F-18. The reservation chart said she must be sittin' just a few compartments away and my mind adds 'all alone, with a graceful smile on her face, her hair flying in all directions because of the wind coming in through the window just for her' to the railways' reservation chart description. She doesn't turn out to be what I imagined (honestly, prayed for, begged for), but, considering others I'm traveling with, who doesn't like to look at a babe during a journey, however fat, dusky (dark?) and out of proportion she is?! Time to come back, reclaim your all important upper berth and sleep! No, dinner isn't an option. After all, I've booked seat no. 6 in Pune-Patna express and 90% of taste is smell. ZZZZZzzzzzz.......
       It's 7 in the morning now and the residents of the ultimate destination of this train have started babbling again. This time it is about making this country a developed one and why the first woman Prime Minister of our country was [an expletive even I can't write here]. Always good to wake up to knowledge flying through the ears. You know, in the morning we are more receptive and learn easily. I lie down for about 15-20 minutes (yes, that's how long I take to actually get up after waking up), I think I've had enough knowledge to be able to get into any Ivy League B-school. I get up, put my shoes on (which for the most part is the only difference between my night clothing and the day one on weekends) and head towards the source of the foul smell that initiated my waking-up process. Take a crap in the so-called western-style toilets (frankly, I couldn't believe the railway guys could put western-style toilets in Pune-Patna Express, but, they did and that was the reason I found one not being used) and wash my hands with toothpaste. Yes, toothpaste. I forgot to purchase a shampoo sachet before boarding, which acts as a soap for me during train journeys; easy to use, available everywhere and smells good enough to forget the typical railways crap fragrance experience I have to go through for 15 minutes prior to using the shampoo. Then I brush my teeth with the same toothpaste and no matter how much you ask I'm not going to tell you about the process used to separate the toothpaste for use in two entirely unrelated tasks generally carried out one after the other on most days. My plan is to patent the process and earn money every time someone uses it while traveling the Indian Railways.


There's no place like home...
       I decide to take a morning walk to measure the length of the train, which turns out to be not-too-much. My ever-optimistic internal self tells me there are beautiful faces to be seen in this not-long-enough mechanical caterpillar. I see almost none and come back waiting for the journey to end. It's almost 11 now and we must be reaching in a few minutes. To pass time I start smiling to my fellow travelers over their not-so-funny comments on the news stories they're reading from some Hindi newspaper they just purchased. After 3 minutes the bubble bursts and it becomes unmanageable to decide whether to smile or frown as I'm, by now, being bombarded with loud stories from 4 different news-readers, all reading different pages of the same newspaper in our compartment. I take another walk. Damn, I'm becoming impatient. However much I try to be normal, I always become impatient and over-excited to be home and the last half an hour is like a day.
       Here it is! That's my city. Jabalpur.Wo-hooo!!! I'm home. This is the Madanmahal station and is closer to my home than the other one, but, doesn't have an official stop. The train slows down to a seemingly manageable speed and I jump. With the weight of my luggage and that of my own I've put on for the last 1 year, I lose my balance. After a second or two and tumbling once or twice on the platform I hear cries. "Oh my God!" "Is he okay!" "Pagal hai!" "Marega ek din!" I stand up, dust myself off and don't pay any attention to anyone on the platform. The hardest part is not to have any expressions on my face to show that I'm actually feeling a concussion growing on the back of my head and it's paining like hell. 
       Out of the railway station and it's a different world every time I come here. Small city, established among plateaus, nice, easy climate, and lots and lots of places to visit. But, it's my home I'm longing for. Now, just because it's your city doesn't mean you own it. 3 dozen cycle and auto rickshaw owners around me, asking me, no, telling me to board their vehicle. I brag to a cycle rickshaw-driver that I'm from the city and I even know all the turns and speed-breakers and I am able to convince him to take me home for just 20 bucks, which was actually - I'll later be told - too much and "I've become stupid after living in big cities for a long time."
       As much as you want to spend more and more time with your girlfriends and boyfriends, there's nothing that is remotely as inexplicably touching as a long and silent hug from your mom. Most of my neighbours are out of their houses. I can't remember I've ever seen so many genuinely happy faces together outside my neighbourhood. At least not because of me. I'm a Rock-star!!! There's no place like home...
       Now, it has been an unwritten rule in my family for the last 2 decades, the first thing my mom asks me is "Kya khayega?" There's no place like home... I remind her I had told her that I'd have palak paneer when I talked to her while in the train. Turns out the question was asked just as a continuation of the tradition and palak-paneer is ready. I only have to take a bath and be at the dinner table. I don't take a bath and no one insists me to have one. After all I'm the son. My dad is the sweetest and the humblest possible dad ever. Doesn't speak much, but, just loves to see me by his side. But, it's an unofficial mother's day today and I'll be lying down on my mom's lap talking do dad about the well-being of all my relatives on his side, making my mom jealous and she's the one feeding me from her hands. Best mom ever! Best palak-paneer ever! There's no place like home...
       The whole of the day is spent sweet-talking what my life's been since the last time I've been here and my epic trip to Hyderabad and trash talking all that bad has happened here ever since. Dad's into politics and is a centrist. I'm into politics too and am a left-of-centre guy. Big, long discussions. He always lets me win. Best dad ever! There's no place like home...
       My sister is to come at 9:30 in the evening and I go to bring her home from the railway station. Hellos, hugs and we're out of the station on her TVS Scooty pep. I had sold my bike a few weeks back. And its moments like that one that make you regret the cool and smart decisions you thought you've made when you've made them. Jabalpur cantonment is the best maintained area of the city and is between our place and the railway station. Ummm...the smell of the city, the cool, familiar breeze and the sight of the same people at the traffic signal, gas stations, ATMs and all...people we've never-ever talked to, even while using their service, but, their sight feels comfortable, familiar, my own... There's no place like home...
       Bear hugs, even heavier delicacies in dinner, stories, good-nights and we sleep. The next day is the one we have virtually nothing to do and spend all of it wandering around, washing clothes, disagreeing with everyone on everything and telling friends I'm there. I also met two new neighbour families who seem to have understood very well the rule of our neighbourhood that I'm a celebrity there and treat me like one. Hot, steamy food with awesome smell caressing my nostrils arrives at dinner time from 4 neighbours. Hell, I am a celebrity! My sister's furious as I'm a spoiled brat and in my presence she's not taken care of, but, seems to have made peace with destiny. She's a celebrity in her would-be in-laws' home and I've made peace with destiny as well. There's no place like home...
       Have to wake up at 4 in the morning to bring the 2nd sister home from railway station. And THIS is the reason why most trains are not on time. Brothers who have to wake up so early to go to railway stations pray for the trains to be late. But, as all of you know, I have a love/hate relationship with God and he seldom listens to me, if at all. Mom is already awake at 3:30 and the loudspeaker calls to the Indian Railways Inquiry Service wakes me up as well. The train's on time, but, my sister's cell phone seems to have run out of power. I reach on time and find my sister easily. We reach home and some more bear hugs, ginger tea and 60 minutes of story-telling later everyone screams "poha-jalebi?!" almost simultaneously. The only way to describe it is: Divine! There's no place like home...
       It's almost shopping O'clock and we're mobilized as if some country has attacked India. The ladies board a rickshaw and I'm with my dad on the Scooty pep. As we're about to take off, Vibhu comes. He's one of my best friends and is almost as awesome as Barney Stinson. He's on his sister's Scooty pep and offers to come with us at the shopping store. When we reach, the first thing my mom senses is a conspiracy. She says Vibhu has come so we can skip selecting clothes and go wander like idiots around the city. I reply that now that she understands, I don't have to make stupid excuses. We take an off on his Scooty pep in, like, 20 seconds as if some country has attacked India. I listen to his story of how he was tricked by the barber into spending 500 bucks when he kept saying "yes" to every procedure he was suggested. Stupid is as stupid does. We go the Kingsway bar (and restaurant) and order Bacardi white rum, you know, for old time's sake and revise our epic story of "Beer Charh Gayi." More on the story some other time. I, being the nice, family guy that I am, order mocktails. Not because can't drink alcohol, but, because it is forbidden for me. No, it's not my mom. And you know who it is. Plus this place serves the best mocktails available. Who says you can't have fun without alcohol! Plus...they also serve the best sizzlers possible. And I. Am. A Foodie. And the rest is history.
       We come back to find no one at the store and come back home. Vibhu lives 200 metres from my place and drops me outside my house. I start spreading mouth-freshener in my mouth to all corners shown in toothpaste and toothbrush advertisements and walk to the door. Locked. I call my sister and she tells me they're at some other sari store in the same area. I walk to Vibhu's for his vehicle to go to the other store. When I reach I meet his parents and they have a couple their age as guests. I ignore the guests. Uncle calls Vibhu, who's upstairs, but, we can listen to him talking on his cellphone, the 4th he's purchased in the last 6 months. Me to his mom: "आंटी लड़का हाथ से निकलता जा रहा है. बहुत बात करने लगा है फ़ोन पर. कोई फ़ोन वोन गुमे नहीं है उसके. वो सब लड़कियों को दे देता है और आप लोगों को बोलता है की गुम गए. अब इसकी शादी करा दो नहीं तो बात हाथ से निकल न जाये..." She cuts me short: "हाँ इसीलिए तो आये हैं ये अंकल आंटी लोग. जा ना तू ऊपर चला जा...वही है विभु." OH. MY. GOD. I just screwed his chances to actually get married... Lets go upstairs. I tell his sister what just happened while he's still talking on his phone and she found it difficult to laugh without making the uncles and aunts listen to it. Ten minutes go by and I get nothing to eat and Vibhu's sister and I conclude that I've actually done my job. I will later come to know what I've done was a good thing as it was easy to guess what the girl would look like by looking at the DNA she'd have inherited. I spare no one I encounter from laughing their [you know what] off by telling them this story. I inadvertently screwed and saved my best friend's life just by being myself. How many people get to live a life like this one?! There's no place like home...
       The next day is spent in shopping for yet more clothes and jewelery. I have a say in everything, being the unofficial head of the family, and what I find good is purchased. While we're home we watch a few episodes of Lost I brought in USB drives to give the series even more fans and fanatics. Then the next day we select the decoration, place arrangement and other things of the banquet hall we've selected for the wedding. I get to meet a few engineering students whose parents think I'm Bill Gates or something and send their kids to me for advice every time I'm there. I advise them to do what they want, enjoy life and study well (it's so easy being a mentor, isn't it?!). We make  a list of the people to invite in the celebration and, as expected, have disagreements over who to invite and who to leave out. But, you know what, I have the final say in every single thing. Whoever I select is on the list. By the end of the day the old routine again becomes normal. Meeting old friends, having disagreements in everything, slacking, planning to tell mom that the first chapati's going to be the last as I'm already full (because I have to eat, at least, 5 or 6 more after I say it's my last), making fun of TV serials my mom watches, pillow fighting with sisters, clicking their pictures when they're not looking their best and laughing over them showing it to everyone and all... There's no place like home...
       We get up again the next day for yet more shopping and eating out. I make fun of the shop named Rinkle Garments (who'd name a clothing store with a name rhyming with wrinkle?) and the photos of Karan Johar and Angad Bedi on a shop and Raymond's showroom respectively. By now I've forgotten each and everything about the world outside my own city and am just too satisfied where I am... Free... Together... Alive... Lively...
       But, everything ends... And so does this trip. It's time for me to go back to where my livelihood is...leaving the place where my life is... The best way to love something is to realize it might be lost. And here I am...re-living every moment of that week by writing my mind out...missing each of the moments I lived completely...cherishing each of the disagreements we had for no darn reason...looking at each of the funny pictures I took of everyone and everything around...laughing over how I almost screwed-up my best friend's life... But, wait a minute, where are all the pictures of the girls I must have been shown by my parents, relative and neighbours??? Oh, man! That excitement of meeting me was genuine and not because they had to show me pictures of girls they want me to marry?! Oh, man!!! There's no place like home...

One who travels much eats much...

       As the title suggests, this  post is about travel. And eating. Lots of eating. Lots and lots of it. I've completed my quota or 2 serious posts before light and palatable ones. So, here it goes.

       It happened two weekends back when I traveled to Hyderabad, the City-of-Pearls. And do you know why? On the occasion of rakshabandhan. Yes, I know it was on tuesday, the 24th. The only time it'll be difficult for you to be with your loved ones is when you want to be with them. I didn't have a holiday on 24th and neither did my two sisters. So, we decided to go to Hyderabad on that weekend, where the youngest of them stays and the other one would be coming there. We planned our schedule immaculately for the two days we'll be there. From shopping (a horribly expensive festival for brothers), visiting historical places and eating out to accommodation and coming back and all. But, planning is the devil in all plans! Including ours, of course.

       So, here's how it went. In other words, here's how I spent one of the most satisfying, belief-shattering and mind-blowing weekends of my life so far...

Ammmaaaaaaa.....

Friday, the 20th

       Now, who suggested me to travel in a bus from Pune to Hyderabad?! Friend, you're screwed!!! You literally are!!! My schedule for the weekdays was painful enough;it isn't easy to stay in your office from 10AM to 11:30PM the whole week and still decide to go-along with your plans to travel on friday night. Plans, huh?! So, I decide to take an off from office at 8:30PM; the bus was to come at 9:30. Just a mile from office, and I got a lift from a colleague. Thanks Rahul! Yes, there are people in my organization who regularly leave the office premises before midnight. It isn't always cool to be in the minority. I reached by 9, had a lot of Pav Bhaji by 9:30. And then a bit more. The bus was (expectedly) runnin' late, I was hungry and the Pav Bhaji was just super-awesome. The only question was: how am I gonna remove all this butter all over my palms and fingers? Well, this restaurant actually had soap with the handwash. No, I really live in Pune, guys. Believe me.
Me to Rahul: "Goodnight, Rahul. No, I'll be okay. I'll wait here at this...what's the name...yeah, J K Travels."
Rahul to me: "Chal phir, Abhishek. Happy journey! And, see you on monday."
Me to myself: "Don't talk about monday, please! I'm gonna have nightmares in the bus, brother."
       Goodbyes, goodnights and here I am. At J K Travels. Not alone, though. A couple of hungry looking young guys, a hungry-for-sex looking 30-something lady working for our very own J K Travels, a couple of ugly-looking (real ugly!) young girls with backpacks and a few stray dogs around us. Me to myself again, "If those chicks are travelling with me, I'm out of this trip. No questions asked!" Well, everybody knows by now: Just because I don't want something to happen means that it will! And it did. The chicks go to Hyderabad every weekend. Or so they told me without asking. And I ask you all to just imagine how I spent the next 90 minutes there. Alive. Well, somehow. In Pune, the 9:30 buses usually arrive by 10:30, I'm told. But 11:20?! Man, how in hell do you expect me to not say a word when you finally reach? But I didn't. I was too happy I had an imaginary chance to escape ugly-chicks. They told me their names, but, south indian names are just too difficult to remember when you're terrified of a weekend of disaster waiting for you with its arms open and a cunning, monalisa smile on its face.
       I put my luggage in the luggage cabin faster than I can imagine, take out Otrivin (I snore real-loud 'coz of the cold I get with an AC runnin' 2 feet above my head) and board the bus faster than Usain Bolt can imagine. Seat no. 12. Beside 11w, a window seat. And who's sitting on the window seat? The girl who, by just her split second smile, made the aforementioned ugly chicks responsible for all the global warming in the world. How do you spell horror in Telugu, btw? Don't bother imagining, please. I suddenly felt I wasn't sleepy after all the week of 10AM-to-11:30PM. Nightmares while you're awake kinda don't let you feel sleepy anymore. But, I still try and after half an hour of constant nightmarish trying, I succeed.


Saturday, the 21st
       Woke up at 7AM with a hangover not caused by alcohol. Beautiful day outside. I spread my arms, take a big yawn and look the other side. Oh my god! You scared me, 11w. Don't ever look at me like that. Well, you're not gonna have any chance with that anymore. We must be reaching in an hour or so. Oh, right. Lets ask the conductor. "Bhaiya kab tak aayega?" "Abi time hai. Bata denge jab aayega." Man, why do I sense the worst. I look around and still see marathi written all over the walls and shops. Oh. My. God. I look at 11w and....!!! One person's misery is another's yebbadebbadooooo...
"Itni dheere kyu chala rahe ho, bhaiya? Abi to maharashtra me hi hain."
"Arre bhaiya tire puncture hai."
"WHAT???"

Ammmaaaaaa....

       When fortune turns against you, even jelly can break your teeth. This wasn't even jelly, I suppose. It was thin air. They come at 11:20PM, start late, drive slowly, make me sit beside ugly chicks and now have one of the two rear left tires flat! It's in times like this that you start believing that nothing is ever so bad that it can't get any worse.
       I keep on sittin', waiting for the journey to take it's (due?) course. They stop at a restaurant. The regular highway restaurant with lush, beautiful greenery around, a candy store at a corner, workers with filthy clothes and lots of space to walk around and curse God to send you to this planet. The conductor suggested me to have my breakfast as we wont reach before 2. Man, we wont reach before 2? And you want me to eat more. I gotta take a crap, brother. Not breakfast. But, I eat. One who travels much eats much. One more thing I notice is that you only want to brush your teeth before breakfast when you're travelling. Inexplicable, huh?! Oh, crap! (the metaphorical one.) I didn't pack my toothbrush. May be God loves me so much now that He wants me to come back to him. Are these signs??? Well, lets pay more attention and look around carefully. May be these are signs.
       We board again. No sign of how the puncture will be fixed. Still runnin' slowly. The only recourse is that it's still runnin' surely. After 20 minutes, we stop. Oh, the puncture repair guys. I love you all.
       We get the repairs, I click a few shots of the place and the long road ahead and carry on.

The long road ahead...

       It's 2PM now and I see an unknown language written on the walls and shops and some famous south indian movie stars' posters all around the city and know we're almost there. What is this place where you're stopping me, sir? Miyapur, ,Hyderabad. Man, I suddenly remember Gurgaon. I never thought I would eat 100 grams of dust an hour in a city other than Gurgaon. Happy to know there are other millennium cities in the world. I call my sister to know where to come. InOrbit is the place I'm told to come to.

       I board an auto rickshaw and get the most amazing welcome to the city I could imagine. We're standing at a red signal and there's a couple in front of us. The girl sitting behind is wearing a shortish t-shirt. And when you wear those and lean on your boyfriend sittin' in front, you show your lower back and a bit of you know what. Another big boy is standing on his bike beside and is probably eating paan. Almost everybody eats paan in Hyderabad. The big boy with the big mouth could eat ten at a time, I suppose. I was probably true. The signal turns green, the boyfriend in front of us starts his street-hawk on the top gear and before he has any chance to release the clutch and accelerate, the big, paan-eating boy beside us pukes all of the litres of red paan liquid inside his mouth on the visible area of the girlfriend's lower back! All at once! And takes a left turn and leaves. I went blank! All of what I learnt about the world in the last 25years just seemed incomplete. All my concepts of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness seem hazy and out of date. How do you react to this shit, man?! I'm stunned and look at the auto rickshaw driver. He's as normal as a Hyderabadi can be. Tells me this happens all the time and that these girls come from Mumbai and corrupt the culture here and that is the way they should be dealt with. Phew! Privileged to see the local culture in the first 30 minutes of reaching.

       I reach InOrbit and see no residential area in sight and there's a shopping mall, instead. Named InOrbit. Call my sister and she tells me she's coming down. From InOrbit mall. "You called me in a shopping mall at 2:30 in the afternoon? Sister, I'm wearing the same clothes and shoes for the last 40hours, have eaten as much as my weight, haven't brushed my teeth and haven't taken a crap and you want me to shop???" The next I knew was that this was deliberate. I would be taking a crap there in the mall itself, wash my hands there, will eat even more and shop if I want something more; I still have some space in my luggage bag after all. So, I go to the toilet and it's an altogether different world then the multinational companies' stores outside. But, here's the rule:when you gotta go, you gotta go. And I went... And how! God doesn't hate me as much as I think he does. And while taking the shit I suddenly think, "Have I checked whether there's any soap outside?" Oh, crap! Another metaphorical one. With a real one as well, if you ask me. But, God doesn't hate me so much, after all. There was some soap. I use it until only a few drop remains. There could be other unlucky good-for-nothing-idiots out there beside me who, you know, gotta go.

       I go outside. We shop for a few things I hated to pay for. And have food again. Delicious, Hyderabadi delicacies, however vegetarian they were. And I eat again as much as my weight. The reason why those spicy things were tasting sweet in short intervals was that I hadn't brushed my teeth, I was told. Ice-cream time! And I dont pay for it. Yippeeee!!!

       Now is the time when we're supposed to look for a place to stay. A few friends of my sister reach at the mall come and request, no, insist us to stay with them. This city knows how to make the tourists happy, as has already been proved bye the events of the day so far.We catch another auto rickshaw to wherever we were going. One good thing about auto rickshaws in Hyderabad is that there's no mandated or even prescribed way in which they should carry out their business. And I did not experience the real consequence of this tradition until the next day. So, no prescribed manner means that they can make any number or people, go to any place, charge whatever they want and can pick up other passengers on the way to already sitting ones' destination. We reach 80 rupees, 3-3.5 kilometers and six trillion pot holes later. I had already had long waits and a long journey from Pune to Hyderabad, but, this one seemed to be the longest. And I felt most bones in my body crying out loud to just stop and begging me to commit suicide.

       Now, it's well into the evening and the Sun is going down. Beautiful dusky feeling, cool breeze and a sprawling, busy crowd is what I notice. I crave for some Jack Daniel's in situations like this, but, decide to consider myself lucky to even have some hot tomato soup in dinner. After all, I don't associate Hyderabad with any of these things.
       Here's where I see for the first time something that was part of the picture in mind constituting this city. A not-too-wide, not-well-paved street with many houses and a predominantly local-looking population. This is the legendary Hyderabad I was looking forward to. We reach my sister's friend's flat and the first thing I have in mind is using the washroom to the fullest extent possible. And that is what I do, indeed. Have a bath, wash a handful of clothes and see that it has started raining heavily now. "Will these clothes ever dry?!" No answer. I still put them on a rope and sit comportably with the new guys to get to know about them. 10 minutes of experience sharing later another one of them comes with a big, big carrybag in his hands. Doesn't seem to be food to me. Oh, man! It's samosas, pav bhaji and other heavy snacks. Am I supposed to, what, die munching food??? No answer! Laugh it off guys, but, there'll be a time when your girlfriends and wives will be fed-up of feeding you and then you'll remember me. For now, please pass on the plate with samosas here. Awesome! One who travels much loves to each much.
       "So what now?! Why are you looking at me like this, sisters? Oh, of course I remember. Here are your rakshabandhan gifts." Boy, it's much easier to console yourself after mistakenly transferring ten thousand rupees to a wrong account number. But, it's rakshabandhan and every brother has an obligation to be guillotined in public. Here's my chance and I take it with courage. Topic change!
       "So now what? So, there's another friend who has a bigger and a better place for us to live? And he's married as well? And we're going to his place? Why now, yaar? I'm tired." But, we go. With my all my bag and baggage. Another 80 rupees, a few kilometers and a million twists and turns later we reach. It's a big, beautiful house in which this beautiful looking, newly married couple was living. We again sit down, get to know each other, share experiences, be comfortable and the wife dissappears in the kitchen to make my worst fears fresh. Impossible! I can't eat anymore without exploding is the only argument I have left to save myself, but, in vain! Just the two of them living there, away from their families and now they have guests. Indian people are the best hosts in the world! So much so that they don't refrain from insisting their guests a bit too much sometimes to have food with them. And I had had my full quota of being the guest for the day. Result: I eat more! And just because I don't explode gives the hosts more ammunition in their plans to be the best hosts ever! (Frankly, they were!) Time for the sweet dish. We eat more. Time for sleep. The longest day imaginable to me is over.


Sunday, the 22nd
       The first thing I'm told when I wake up is that I snored last night and really loudly, for that matter. I hit back saying that I'm getting fatter and fatter everyday and they are responsible for most of the fat in my body now. Gotcha!!!
       So what's on the cards for the day? A trip to Golkonda Fort. Wow! But, after we have breakfast. One girl in a kitchen is enough. Too are just too many. And three is Armageddon. But, all of them happen to be awesome with their culinary skills, thankfully and so, we have breakfast. A lot of it, again. Time to have a bath. Lets go. Now, wait a minute. Did I pack my towel and other clothes back while they were hangin' on the ropes? Nope! I ask for Jesus' number. Not the Son-of-God Jesus, but, the friend at the last place. Sister's cellphone says "Flat Jesus", but, I watched The Hangover just a few days back and read it "Fat Jesus". No, really. The towel and other things are safe there and I use a borrowed one that was already a bit wet. Not commenting on it anymore, for God's sake.

       Time to go to Golkonda fort, a big, circular in design fort built by a mughal emperor with a long and complex name. Another auto rickshaw ride with a zillion twists and turns on a slope later we reach there. And the first thing we notice is that it's big. The second thing I notice is that there are a lot of foreigner cuties there. The third thing I notice is that all of them are much taller than I am. And then I stop noticing for obvious reasons. So, we enter, take tickets, avoid tourist guides and enter the main gate. We Indians think that we know all about the places we visit and avoid guides. But, we do not!

The Golkonda Fort

       Here it was standing a symbol of Mughal pride. Beautiful, awesome, grand from inside and outside. We saw the place where the queens used to bathe (not a private place for the conservative Mughal Empire, if you ask me), the places where corpses were washed, the 300 pound weight to test who deserves to be in the royal army to the trashes of garbage and names of couples written, sorry inscribed, carved on the walls. Man, this is history standing here in front of you and you're throwing non-biodegradable garbage around it? Bad!

       We eat (again) and finally find some dustbins to throw the trash. Come back, have lunch (sorta again) and we leave the most wonderful hosts ever with pledges to be in touch and visit each other again. One of my sisters leaves for her city and I'm with the other. We decide to go get the towel and stuff from Flat Jesus and then decide what to do before my 9:30 bus to Pune leaves. All of a sudden it starts raining heavily. We still go, take our things, make new pledges, thank our friends for the awesome hospitality and go to KFC.

       Now one great thing about Hyderabad is that everyone speaks Hindi, although it is written nowhere. The language is just super-awesome. It's exactly what we see in the movies. So we talk to people (in Hindi) for the way to KFC, and reach there. I was just too full to the brim with food, but, my sister wanted a few specialties from KFC. That is where I notice the most peculiar thing about the people there. The girls there love gold! They love it to death. What they hate to death is getting their eye brows and upper lips done and waxing their hands. I suspect it because every single girl in KFC has the same love/hate relationship with those things of carnal gratification I mentioned. As for me, I have a love/ate relationship...with food. Hi hi hi...

       Bull ride time, now! Lets go to InOrbit mall again. Not too far from there.

"Bhaiya itna khaya hai abhi. Na kar paoge!"

"Hath kangal ko aarsi kya, aanti! Aaja dekhte hain..."

Kaa kuhte hain...

       After riding the crap out of that mechanical bull, we shop for a few more things and finally decide to head back to our places to wind up the trip. I take my luggage from my sister's hostel and take an auto rickshaw again. One last thing. Milind, Bunty, Narendra, my friends, I'm never gonna mock you guys for watching those south indian movies. I've now seen it all and don't suspect you guys that its not true. They can actually ride the auto rickshaws like they do in those movies. It's 8:30PM and the driver's taking a road which has never been taken before, ever, and is switching from a combination of just front & left tires to the one of just front & right ones every 3 seconds. And I'm pretty sure I flew in the air and experienced weightlessness about 60 times in 3-second intervals. The bull-ride experience came in handy here, I guess.
       I reach on time and, inexplicably, alive and in one piece. Ask a paan shop owner where the spot to catch the bus mentioned in my tickets was and, as was evident by the look on his face, disappoint him by not purchasing anything from him. Oh, now I remember. This is the spot where I had the paan-spitting-on-that-girl's-lower-back welcome to the city. It's about time and I wait sitting somewhere beside the pavement and start recounting my experiences and smile. Then I notice people noticing me dreaming. I silently laugh over them. They have no idea what I've gone through in the last two days.
       Almost all the bikes I see on the road have 3 people sitting on them. No cops, no traffic cops around. Then, I take a look around the place and there are  like a million posters and hoardings congratulating Chiranjeevi, the unimaginably famous actor and politician in the southern part of the country. It's his birthday today, which is a reason enough to cut a thousand trees for wood, paper and paint.
       I call the contacts mentioned in my ticket and they tell me the bus will be there in about 20 minutes. Lets stand where it stops. I have more luggage than I brought in the city, my legs are paining, I'm tired to death and have to stand...carrying the luggage as the floor is all wet with rainwater. The silver lining is that I don't have to munch on dust for dinner. And when you've had as much food as is mentioned so far in this post and are standing...gravity starts to do its tricks on the food you have inside you, not just on your feet. I need to take a crap, again. And then, I need some sleep!
       I wait for almost 90 minutes (as per my watch) for their 20 minutes to complete, trying my best to divert my mind towards anything but the havoc gravity was wreaking inside me. At 11 in the evening in that part of the city the only place where you see sufficient light is on a billboard in the corner congratulating Chiranjeevi. That and the fact that I'm in the city for the first time and the road is almost deserted and without street lights is scaring the crap out of me. Which is why it becomes even more difficult to hold ground against the will of God. 11:15PM and here it comes! I make Usain Bolt ashamed of himself again and board the bus.
       One last lesson while travelling is this: if you're in a situation remotely similar to mine, don't keep water bottles with you. It's much easier to resist thirst than the overwhelming urge to take a pee-pee. And the roads in the country compound the problem. But, all is well that ends well. Here's a married-looking, iPhone using woman in her late twenties or early thirties on the window seat. She smiles as she sees me. A regular feminine smile that makes you forget all that is happening inside you and release endorphins that relaxes you. I smile back and sit down. Before long, before I realize, I close my eyes and look back at the weekend that is gonna change me forever...a trip to the City-of-Pearls, without biryani, without a visit to Charminar, without visiting the old-city and talking to the legendary old-city-guys...but, complete...more than complete...much more than complete...

Why I'm not proud to be an Indian anymore...

       August 15, 1947. Every single citizen of my country who has gone through elementary school knows and remembers this date. It was the date India became free. Free of all the shackles, of all the persecutions of the British rule. Free to decide her own destiny, to start on a new path...a path of self determination and of values, as the Mahatma wanted.
       And here it is again. Tomorrow, we celebrate our Independence Day again. Celebrate freedom. Celebrate self-determinism. Celebrate liberty. Celebrate an amazingly rich heritage and culture. Celebrate a culture so old and diverse that it seems to be older than history, older than tradition, in fact, older than all of them combined together. Celebrate a growth story in the making. Celebrate the metamorphosis of our very own nation from a situation of being in the clutches of poverty and backwardness to the one of having a growing influence around the world. Celebrate a new-found power to be able to make a difference to the well being of this planet itself.
       And that begs the question: how much of it is actually true? How free are we, if at all? How proud we actually are of our country? Now, before we move on, lets put one thing in perspective. Irrespective of what the title suggests, I love my country. And I love her like anything. And no matter how many books I write on the subject, I'll never be able to completely explain how much I love my great nation. Its just inexplicable. Irrational. Devoid of all logic and reason. Hell, love needs no reason... None, at all. But, it isn't irrational-or even wrong or immoral-to not be proud of what or who you love. It isn't.
       So, what's a country, by the way? What constitutes a nation? Is it geographic boundaries? Nope! Where's the love or pride in real or imaginary lines drawn on the face of the earth?! Is it the clouds, the birds, the trees, the landscapes, the rivers? Nope! Where's the love for a nation because of flora and fauna?! It's people. A country is not a place, its people. It's what her people are, what they do. As a whole. There's no India without Indians or an America without Americans. I am the country. You are the country. We are the country. We are not Indians. We are India.
        And I'm not proud of it. I'm not proud of what I am...as India. I'm not proud of what you are...as India. It's not that I'm not proud of what India has been for the last 5000 years. I'm just not proud of what it has become. And now it seems to be on the verge of an inflection point. We can either go up to heights unreached so far, or to depths unimagined so far.
       So, the reasons. A few days back I received an text message from a friend, which read like this: We live in a nation where pizza reaches faster than ambulance and police. Where you get a car loan at 8%, but, education loan at 12%. 76 policemen are killed mercilessly, but, the media is busy covering the wedding ceremony of a failed sports-person. Where rice is 70Rs per kg, but, sim cards are free. Where everyone wants to be famous, but, no one wants to work hard for it. And so on... And most of it is true. We've become a nation of unpleasant paradoxes and uncalled for hardships. It is in this nation that a few friends in a group discuss for hours at a corner pan shop about how to make ours a developed nation, but, don't want to work at their parents' shops, study to get good jobs, or even respond to their moms calling them to get a few household chores done. It is this very nation, which is the road accident deaths capital of the world, but, I don't need to take a test to get my driver's licence, just need to give a few more bucks to the RTO agent. It is in this very nation that tonnes and tonnes of food grains rot every year, but, do not reach the needy (hopefully, they might reach the poor, now). It is in this very nation that parents expect their children to be educated by the teachers alone and the teachers think they're paid pennies to do a noble job and that they should be  sewing woolen clothes or practice absenteeism instead. It is in this very country that the politicians and ministers don't even refrain from gulping down money out of the expenses for fallen soldiers' coffins and caskets. It is in this very nation that corruption in education, judiciary and the public distribution system have only helped in bringing down the speed at which the benefits should reach the poor to a crawling minimum. It is in this very nation that pseudo-intellectuals and opportunist politicians use their oratory and writing skills to promote terrorism and divide the country on the basis of rich-poor divide, caste, religion and other irrational reasons just to increase their TRPs and be the centres of attraction. It is in this very nation that we have billions upon billions to spend on building and maintaining nuclear arsenal and expensive defense deals, but, do not have any money to pay poor victims of displacement because of building of new dams, or other commercial projects.
       The list can go on and on...but, that's not the point. The point is: when did it all start? And why has it carried on for so long? Why haven't we done anything about it? And here's why I'm not proud to be an Indian anymore. The reason why all of that happens is because we let it. Bad politicians are elected by good people who do not vote... Morons are ruling the country because we let them rule. Every country has the government it deserves. It is healthy to be reminded that we do not sin by commission only, but, often by omission as well; not just by doing something we should not, but, also by not doing what we should. India is poor because we're too comfortable with what we have and too lazy to do something about it. Our education system sucks because those of us who are fortunate enough to get good education don't consider it their responsibility to do something about those less fortunate.
       In fact, we are so used to our horrible situation that we would go to great lengths to ensure that everyone around us thinks that the situation is so irrecoverable that there's no point looking for a solution. And we do it just because we don't want to involve  ourselves in doing something. There's a good-for-nothing politician in all of us...and he's ruling this nation. He's the one who's not letting this great nation break the shackles of poverty, illiteracy, corruption and inequality. He's the one who's responsible for spreading procrastination and irresponsibility among all of us like plague. And it's time we kill him. It's we kill him for once and for all. And its time we wake up and make another tryst with destiny like the one Pandit Nehru mentioned in his independence speech on the eve of India's Independence. It's time we remember once again how rich our culture is, how old and meaningful our tradition is. It's time we remember what one of our own great souls, Swami Vivekananda, told the world what we are and what we have to offer the whole world. It's time we remember what we ourselves are, as individuals, as groups and as a nation... And, I tell you all, we're capable of being the best...by far!!! Let us all be brave enough to face our hardships head on and humble enough to remember the solutions of our problems and pass them on to posterity... Let us all plant trees even when we'll not be the ones to eat the fruits from them... And as the clock ticks towards another midnight to mark the beginning of another Independence day, may we all have the courage not just to celebrate it the way it should be celebrated, but also to understand what our forefathers sacrificed to give us the chance to say we're free...what they went through to plant the tree of freedom and liberty...a tree that's growing each day and they're not there to enjoy the fruits...

Biased darwinism...

       I remember reading an NYT article titled Wall Street Smarts in which an obviously wise man, not a so-called financial pundit, was talking about why the 2008 financial collapse happened. If you haven't read it (and don't want to click through because you are as lazy as I am), here's the summary. So, the financial meltdown happened because "smart guys" started working on Wall Street. Yes, you read it correctly. My compiler didn't respond the first time either, but, then, I decided to read on. And I did. So, the question is: how's being smart detrimental to an industry? And also: weren't smart guys already working for Wall Street? Well, read on.
       So the wise guy answers: NO! Both letters capitalized, as you might have noticed. So, what used to happen was that the real smart guys didn't use to go work at the Wall Street. They used to do-guess what-research and teaching. In the best of the best Ivy League business schools. Then who worked for Wall Street behemoths? The lesser guys. The second graders. They got jobs in investment banks and all and many opened their own financial firms. And they did a good job. And earned a lot of money. And bought beach-houses. And private jets. And yachts. Man, helluva good life they were living.
       Then the smart guys came into picture. They saw their second-graders enjoying their lives in their beach-houses and yachts and all. Hell, they could do much better and earn far more money because, well, they were the smart guys. And they did. They came to work there, for the behemoths and for the smaller firms founded by their well-known second graders. And they did do a better job. You know why? Yes, you do. They were the smart guys. And then they bought beach-houses. And private jets. And yachts. And man, helluva good life they were living.
       So, what then? Well, they were the smart guys. They could do better then the second-graders. And, here's the beginning of the meltdown, they became greedy. One beach-house isn't enough. Is it?! One yacht isn't enough. Is it?! Hell, no. So, they, the smart guys, conceived the most complex financial instruments possible. Derivatives. Didn't the second graders object? How could they? The instruments were conceived by the smart guys. And they knew how smart the smart guys were. And they did an awesome job. Not just of earning boatloads of money and purchasing ever more beach-houses and yachts, but, also of increasing the complexity of already complex financial instruments. And they killed us. They killed us all. They took other people's money and invested it in financial instruments so complex they ultimately they didn't understand them themselves.
       Meanwhile, a (supposedly) wise man devised the central bank monetary policy in such a way that more and more people got access to dirt-cheap credit from banks with no regards given to their ability to pay back. Hell, they could get loans to repay loans. Sounds like heaven, isn't it?! And the economy grew. And grew like anything. For decades. Ballooned. The American Dream was finally coming true. Everyone happy. Everyone having homes. And second homes. So what if they were over-leveraged?! So what if the savings were zero and the credit-card debts were ballooning too?!
       And the bubble burst! And here we are. Thousands upon thousands without jobs. Thousands upon thousands of homes being foreclosed by the same banks. Hardly the American Dream!
      And how do you feel when you read about big corporations (including Wal Mart and Goldman Sachs) getting themselves insured against their employees deaths? Against the employees' knowledge. The poor employee's family gets thousands of dollars of hospital bills when his family loses its only bread winner and the employer gets millions of dollars in insurance money. Is this the capitalism we ever wanted? Is this the American Dream? Survival of the fittest. Let the weak collapse and make way for the strong. Damn Darwinism if this is what it does to poor. It's just common sense that in this Darwinism the rich become richer and poor become poorer. The rich devise the system! That's no Darwinism because it's not natural selection. It is just a way to glorify killing people using words rather than swords. Its just a way to glorify profit taking from other people's suffering. Going to wars when it is profitable. Its just a way to fool poor just because they are poor.
       I also remember once reading about the man who created and established the first real Indian conglomerate, JRD Tata, when he said. "I don't want India to be a superpower. I want India to be a happy country." When one of the richest Indians of the time says something as profound as this, I think I'd rather read it again and again. The US spent about 225$ million a day on its war on terror, which would be enough to prevent all the millions of people who died in Africa because they could not afford medication or did not have access to clean drinking water. If we really want the whole world to be happy, I bet we have enough money to do so! I feel ashamed to be part of a planet where people are killed-directly and otherwise-just so a select privileged few can profit from it. I refuse to live in a world like this... And I am not leaving!!!