I don’t like going to Delhi anymore .Since Mom Dad shifted to Nigeria, Delhi seems very empty. There is no Mom there to fuss over me and their house in Sarita Vihar is locked up.
This time when I went to Delhi on work, I decided not to stay with my friends, but to go to my Granny’s in Greater Kailash. And re-learnt all that a great Indian Family stands for.
The GK home is the one we stayed in when my parents moved back from Syria and I came back from the hostel. All my remaining school and college years happened in that house. Many years later when I moved out of Delhi and my parents moved their residence to Sarita Vihar, the GK house would have unexpected guests who were my long lost friends. All my hostel friends remembered was that my grandparents’ surname was Rekhi and that the house was behind the M Block market.
The house was always full -what with the multitude of cousins growing up there and a constant influx of guests.
This time, the house felt so empty. All the kids have grown up and flown the coop. They have moved to other cities and countries to create their own lives there. My Mama was so delighted that he came home early to make sure he was around when I came. My Mami spent her afternoon cooking up my favourite dishes and my loving Nani waited!
I walked into memories that evening. Of my aunt, 4 years my senior, making my life miserable because I had called her a bitch. In her logic, if I called her a bitch, it meant I called my Nani a kutiya and my Nana a dog and she threatened to tell them all. I was so petrified that I did not call or write to them even once from Syria that winter.
Of my young cousin Pooja, who sat in my lap all the way to Kashmir, merrily pissing on me when she wanted to. Of her falling in school and breaking her teeth and suffering miserably because of them for many years.
Of my cousin Chandan, who I adored and who called himself Tandan Lekhi. Of him getting ready the moment he would realise my granddad was ready to go shopping.
Of the 1984 riots, when Lotty Mama disappeared for hours and people were frantic because Sikhs were being brutally murdered. And of the time when everyone thought that the mob had reached our house because Chandan zipped up his private parts and all the women went hysterical.
Of my Nani and Nana - diametrically opposite, but so tuned to each other. Of my Nana making his favourite eggs for me when I was all alone, studying for my exams. Of Lotty Mama and Tina Mami getting me food late night while I studied and they were out partying. Of Paras being born there and falling and breaking his teeth and ingesting poison.
Oh! There were memories and memories and I slept among them all that night.
And realised that growing up meant that all that was precious to me at one time is now present only in my memories. That we forget that it is not only our parents and siblings who make up our whole world. It is also the extended family that loves you dearly and is there with you every single step of your journey.
All their love was expressed to me in that evening I spent with them, reminiscing about old times, sharing gossip and in the tears that sprung in their eyes and their tight hugs when they had to let me go the next day.
I have another house in Delhi that I can call my own, even when Mom and Dad are not there. And feel so blessed because of that!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Crazy Indian Democracy
I love India and her crazy sense of democracy. And I am amazed that we are still a nation! This hodge podge nation of diverse peoples still survives. That we still have some sort of a functioning democracy!
It is so easy to criticize India for what she has not achieved, but look at the assets we have:
- for a country with different religions, communities and castes, we are pretty cool. There could have been more riots over differences, but by and large, we co-exist peacefully. That does not mean we don’t bitch about other religions -sure, as a Sikh I am appalled by the number of gods and rituals and superstitious beliefs my Hindu friends seem to have but I love them and their festivals in equal measure.
- The ease with which you can stay in any part of India, to conduct business or pursue education. In China I was told that people who come into Beijing to work are considered immigrants and do not enjoy rights like the Beijingers do. In India, we may crib about north and south divide - how Panjus are belligerent and Tamilians supercilious, but we have the freedom to go and settle down where we like. Therefore, when MNS and Shiv Sena talk about Maharashtra for Marathi Manoos, we can all scream and shout and revile them.
- The freedom of speech - perhaps this is what we Indians love the best about our country. The Print media may be bought out, TV bribed to say the right things about the government, but now there is the active social media network where you can say what you like.Nobody can haul me to jail for criticising my government.
- So what if we have not learnt the art of giving to NGOs and strangers....each of us does try to improve the living standard of the people who work for us. And if the kids of my maids and driver grow up to choose other professions and make more money than their parents, I would think we have given something small back to the society.
- Yes, we have little civic sense. We spit and piss everywhere and throw fruits and paper even out of BMWs. We think a line is meant to be broken and rules are meant to be bent or broken. But in moments of crisis, when the official system fails us, it is the very same ‘uncivic’ people who rise to the occasion to help.
- Yes, In India nothing works if you don’t have contacts. But you don’t have to be rich to have those connections. Good relationships and networking at any social strata gets you that benefit. And there is some merit in that too, when everything is not driven by the rule of the book.It helps in emergencies when you need a doctor, a loan or even vegetables delivered late night to your home.
Sure we have a long way to go...we will learn in due course how to create a civic society that cares about its people! We will have more accountable bureaucrats and politicians and there really will be ‘equality’ for all.
Till then, lets be grateful for what we have!
It is so easy to criticize India for what she has not achieved, but look at the assets we have:
- for a country with different religions, communities and castes, we are pretty cool. There could have been more riots over differences, but by and large, we co-exist peacefully. That does not mean we don’t bitch about other religions -sure, as a Sikh I am appalled by the number of gods and rituals and superstitious beliefs my Hindu friends seem to have but I love them and their festivals in equal measure.
- The ease with which you can stay in any part of India, to conduct business or pursue education. In China I was told that people who come into Beijing to work are considered immigrants and do not enjoy rights like the Beijingers do. In India, we may crib about north and south divide - how Panjus are belligerent and Tamilians supercilious, but we have the freedom to go and settle down where we like. Therefore, when MNS and Shiv Sena talk about Maharashtra for Marathi Manoos, we can all scream and shout and revile them.
- The freedom of speech - perhaps this is what we Indians love the best about our country. The Print media may be bought out, TV bribed to say the right things about the government, but now there is the active social media network where you can say what you like.Nobody can haul me to jail for criticising my government.
- So what if we have not learnt the art of giving to NGOs and strangers....each of us does try to improve the living standard of the people who work for us. And if the kids of my maids and driver grow up to choose other professions and make more money than their parents, I would think we have given something small back to the society.
- Yes, we have little civic sense. We spit and piss everywhere and throw fruits and paper even out of BMWs. We think a line is meant to be broken and rules are meant to be bent or broken. But in moments of crisis, when the official system fails us, it is the very same ‘uncivic’ people who rise to the occasion to help.
- Yes, In India nothing works if you don’t have contacts. But you don’t have to be rich to have those connections. Good relationships and networking at any social strata gets you that benefit. And there is some merit in that too, when everything is not driven by the rule of the book.It helps in emergencies when you need a doctor, a loan or even vegetables delivered late night to your home.
Sure we have a long way to go...we will learn in due course how to create a civic society that cares about its people! We will have more accountable bureaucrats and politicians and there really will be ‘equality’ for all.
Till then, lets be grateful for what we have!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Rakhi Brothers??
As a young girl, the only time I missed a brother was when it was Rakhi time....and sisters got gifts from their brothers!
I never quite understood the concept of making a rakhi brother. Boys were classified in three categories for me - the first were the ones I liked/crushed on and definitely had no sisterly feelings towards them. The second set of boys were my bum chums - people I liked to hang out with. I felt affection but no lust or sisterly love for them. And the third group was the one I was totally indifferent towards....ones I felt absolutely nothing for!
I hated it when our conservative school wanted us to tie a rakhi on the boys of our school and that was the first big conflict I had with my teachers.
Back then, it was so difficult to make them understand that I did not want to make the boys my brothers.I was considered very impudent and ‘fast’!
Ofcourse, I gave in to the pressure one year and went to tie ‘rakhi’ to my friend’s younger brother in the boy’s school .That was only because I was crushing on another boy and this would have been an opportunity to see him and chat with him.
I have watched with amusement when my male friends have made ‘sisters’ of the hottest girls in our batch .No way would the hot chick have noticed my poor friends, but by becoming ‘rakhi’ brothers, they could now cosy up to the girl of their dreams, hug her and share her confidence! Perfect relationship!
I am constantly on Nishna’s case to not make a ‘rakhi’ brother and warn Udai to not get a ‘rakhi’ sister.It is blasphemous coz no-one, and I mean no-one compares or matches up to your own sibling. Years later, when Paras came into our lives, I was 16 and Rano was 13. And we knew the sheer joy of a brother. He was way too young, but still utterly protective and indulgent with us. And I bet I could not have loved anyone the way I love my own brother and everything he stands for! He is my parent’s gift to us and the house I will always consider my own.
And the only one I can kiss, hug tight and give my life for!
I never quite understood the concept of making a rakhi brother. Boys were classified in three categories for me - the first were the ones I liked/crushed on and definitely had no sisterly feelings towards them. The second set of boys were my bum chums - people I liked to hang out with. I felt affection but no lust or sisterly love for them. And the third group was the one I was totally indifferent towards....ones I felt absolutely nothing for!
I hated it when our conservative school wanted us to tie a rakhi on the boys of our school and that was the first big conflict I had with my teachers.
Back then, it was so difficult to make them understand that I did not want to make the boys my brothers.I was considered very impudent and ‘fast’!
Ofcourse, I gave in to the pressure one year and went to tie ‘rakhi’ to my friend’s younger brother in the boy’s school .That was only because I was crushing on another boy and this would have been an opportunity to see him and chat with him.
I have watched with amusement when my male friends have made ‘sisters’ of the hottest girls in our batch .No way would the hot chick have noticed my poor friends, but by becoming ‘rakhi’ brothers, they could now cosy up to the girl of their dreams, hug her and share her confidence! Perfect relationship!
I am constantly on Nishna’s case to not make a ‘rakhi’ brother and warn Udai to not get a ‘rakhi’ sister.It is blasphemous coz no-one, and I mean no-one compares or matches up to your own sibling. Years later, when Paras came into our lives, I was 16 and Rano was 13. And we knew the sheer joy of a brother. He was way too young, but still utterly protective and indulgent with us. And I bet I could not have loved anyone the way I love my own brother and everything he stands for! He is my parent’s gift to us and the house I will always consider my own.
And the only one I can kiss, hug tight and give my life for!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Syria in 1982
In 1982, my sister and I were surrounded by hundreds of young Syrian soldiers who serenaded us with Shammi Kapoor songs! Even today,while I don’t remember anything much of my times then, that crisp, cold Feb morning when we escaped from Hama is vividly etched in my mind!
Dad was posted at Hama, Syria from 1979 to 1985. There were few Indians and no Sardars in Hama and we would be mobbed in the market because the locals thought my Dad was a Maharaja and would chase us all around.
Like today, even then Hama was the hotbed of politics. Muslim Brotherhood was the party opposed to President Assad and every now and then, there would be minor flare-ups. (At one place Dad was going to be shot because his beard made the police suspect that he belonged to the rebel Muslim Brotherhood party - fortunately a man from his factory bailed him out).
We knew family times were ahead when at night there would be gun shots. Dad would not go to work next day, we would have leisurely meals, watch Junglee and Disco Dancer on TV and play cards all day long. The fighting would last a day or two and then the humdrum of life would take over again.
One February’82 evening we went to the market to pick up weekly supplies, but there was a Hindi movie playing in the local theatre. (Syrians were in love with Junglee Shammi Kapoor and Raj Kapoor). We watched the movie, ate dinner and came back without any shopping.
That night, there was a lot of gun fire exchange. And this did not let up for the next few days. We did not dare to go out into our terrace because everywhere you looked, there were tanks and smoke and fire. Hama was burning. At the end of the 7th day, there was no food left. For the past few days, Mom had stopped waking us up in the morning because it meant she could cut out one meal from the meagre supplies we had. By the end of the week even the powdered milk and mashed potatoes were over.
That was when Dad decided that we were going to leave Hama. Mom packed up our passports, dollars and some change of clothes. She wore a bright pink saree and used her red lipstick to make a HUGE bindi on her forehead. A young Jordanian neighbour who attended college in Hama asked my Dad if he could accompany us.
So the 5 of us piled into the car and left our colony. The roads were deserted, many houses had been shelled and there was debris all around. The moment we hit the City Centre, about a 1000 soldiers descended upon us and surrounded the car. My Dad spoke fluent Arabic but pretended to know none, while Mom kept up the litany of ‘Hindi, Hindi’. In some time the commander of the army walked up to our car. He asked my Dad to leave the car and come with him for questioning.He asked the Jordanian boy to step outside too - that was the last we ever saw or heard of him.
Mom decided to go with Dad and asked my sister and me to lock up the car and sit. I was all of 13 and Rano was 10 and what followed was the most bizarre experience of our lives. Hundreds of young soldiers stood around our car singing ‘Ayyaya Suku Suku ‘ from Junglee and ‘Tere man ki Ganga aur mere man ki jamuna ka, bol radha bol sangam hoga ki nahin’. Then someone would start chanting ‘ Indira Gandhi, Shammi Kaboor’ (they could not pronounce p) and all of the rest would join in!
On the left of our car was a school building and scores of young men and boys were standing shirtless in the cold Feb day. Some 10-15 of them would be hustled into the school building and there would be gun shots. Then after sometime, another lot would be pushed into the school.
I have no idea how long all this lasted - Rano and I did not know whether to laugh, cry or to be scared without our parents!
Eventually Mom and Dad came back alive to the car.Just as we were about to leave, gun fire exchange broke out in the next street and our car also packed up. It was a surreal experience - tanks and soldiers on the move and my Dad standing with the bonnet open in the middle of it all! Eventually some soldiers gave the car a push, the commander gave us an escort and my Dad drove top speed out of Hama.
Rano and I came back to India for school without going back to Hama that year. Many years later when I re-read the history of Syria, I realised that the Feb82 crackdown was the most brutal one ever that crushed out the Muslim Brotherhood. Seeing Hama burn again hurts and it is upsetting to think how many more young men and boys will lose their lives this time round.
Dad was posted at Hama, Syria from 1979 to 1985. There were few Indians and no Sardars in Hama and we would be mobbed in the market because the locals thought my Dad was a Maharaja and would chase us all around.
Like today, even then Hama was the hotbed of politics. Muslim Brotherhood was the party opposed to President Assad and every now and then, there would be minor flare-ups. (At one place Dad was going to be shot because his beard made the police suspect that he belonged to the rebel Muslim Brotherhood party - fortunately a man from his factory bailed him out).
We knew family times were ahead when at night there would be gun shots. Dad would not go to work next day, we would have leisurely meals, watch Junglee and Disco Dancer on TV and play cards all day long. The fighting would last a day or two and then the humdrum of life would take over again.
One February’82 evening we went to the market to pick up weekly supplies, but there was a Hindi movie playing in the local theatre. (Syrians were in love with Junglee Shammi Kapoor and Raj Kapoor). We watched the movie, ate dinner and came back without any shopping.
That night, there was a lot of gun fire exchange. And this did not let up for the next few days. We did not dare to go out into our terrace because everywhere you looked, there were tanks and smoke and fire. Hama was burning. At the end of the 7th day, there was no food left. For the past few days, Mom had stopped waking us up in the morning because it meant she could cut out one meal from the meagre supplies we had. By the end of the week even the powdered milk and mashed potatoes were over.
That was when Dad decided that we were going to leave Hama. Mom packed up our passports, dollars and some change of clothes. She wore a bright pink saree and used her red lipstick to make a HUGE bindi on her forehead. A young Jordanian neighbour who attended college in Hama asked my Dad if he could accompany us.
So the 5 of us piled into the car and left our colony. The roads were deserted, many houses had been shelled and there was debris all around. The moment we hit the City Centre, about a 1000 soldiers descended upon us and surrounded the car. My Dad spoke fluent Arabic but pretended to know none, while Mom kept up the litany of ‘Hindi, Hindi’. In some time the commander of the army walked up to our car. He asked my Dad to leave the car and come with him for questioning.He asked the Jordanian boy to step outside too - that was the last we ever saw or heard of him.
Mom decided to go with Dad and asked my sister and me to lock up the car and sit. I was all of 13 and Rano was 10 and what followed was the most bizarre experience of our lives. Hundreds of young soldiers stood around our car singing ‘Ayyaya Suku Suku ‘ from Junglee and ‘Tere man ki Ganga aur mere man ki jamuna ka, bol radha bol sangam hoga ki nahin’. Then someone would start chanting ‘ Indira Gandhi, Shammi Kaboor’ (they could not pronounce p) and all of the rest would join in!
On the left of our car was a school building and scores of young men and boys were standing shirtless in the cold Feb day. Some 10-15 of them would be hustled into the school building and there would be gun shots. Then after sometime, another lot would be pushed into the school.
I have no idea how long all this lasted - Rano and I did not know whether to laugh, cry or to be scared without our parents!
Eventually Mom and Dad came back alive to the car.Just as we were about to leave, gun fire exchange broke out in the next street and our car also packed up. It was a surreal experience - tanks and soldiers on the move and my Dad standing with the bonnet open in the middle of it all! Eventually some soldiers gave the car a push, the commander gave us an escort and my Dad drove top speed out of Hama.
Rano and I came back to India for school without going back to Hama that year. Many years later when I re-read the history of Syria, I realised that the Feb82 crackdown was the most brutal one ever that crushed out the Muslim Brotherhood. Seeing Hama burn again hurts and it is upsetting to think how many more young men and boys will lose their lives this time round.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
At 13
As I see Nishna enter her teens, I am struck by the difference in her growing up years and mine.
I had 2 pairs of bell bottoms and some other random clothes that I wore in turns and perhaps wore school or Gola shoes; Nishna has a cupboard full of all kinds of clothes - dresses - tube, spaghetti, short, long, shorts of all sizes, t-shirts in all hues and shapes, shoes - platforms, wedges, heels, flats, open toed..the list is endless
Holidays meant travelling in the train in a coupe with an icebox full of ice and drinks, a surahi of cool water, puri aloo for meals and going off for a month to Nani or Dadi’s house. There, the house would be full of cousins of all ages and we were left to our own devices. Now, holidays mean planning for an international trip, something that will expose kids to global trends and help them become comfortable in the shrinking world. The holidays are choc a block with activities that are all duly recorded in photos and videos - to be shared with all.
Post school time was for sleeping, reading, studying, probably quickly hopping across to the GK market to eat papri chaat. There was one family phone that operated on the blessings of the MTNL guys and the usage was strictly regulated. Games we played were pithu, lagdi tang, chor police and hide and seek.Now post school activities are centred around bonding with friends on bbm, facebook, gmail and personal phones and watching TV! Games are played on the PSP, Wii, X-Box and other devices.
Birthday parties meant that I could take my close friends (usually 2) to Nirulas for a pizza, ice-cream and drink. Now, parties are about dresses, music and dance. Girls skype each other before each party to show off their clothes and shoes.
I was in a hostel and at 13 was getting introduced to English music that the American Khalsas brought into the school. Nishna knows all the latest music and pays for nothing - downloading all on her iPod and other devices.
Studying meant learning by rote and practice all that my ICSE and CBSE books taught me - never mind if I understood anything or not. Now, research happens on the net and Nishna is being trained to ask questions!
Parents were someone I was scared of. I could not have used bad language in front of them, spoken about naughty stuff - Now kids think of nothing before saying it all in front of us.
Having a boyfriend was taboo. Even a male friend! Now Nishna tells me to be nice to the mothers of her close ‘male’ friends, whether I like them or not!
Yet, some things remain the same - peer pressure, study stress ,body image problems, hormonal changes , temper tantrums and the feeling that parents are strict and don't understand anything. That everyone else's teen years are better than one's own!
What would I not give to be 13 again!
I had 2 pairs of bell bottoms and some other random clothes that I wore in turns and perhaps wore school or Gola shoes; Nishna has a cupboard full of all kinds of clothes - dresses - tube, spaghetti, short, long, shorts of all sizes, t-shirts in all hues and shapes, shoes - platforms, wedges, heels, flats, open toed..the list is endless
Holidays meant travelling in the train in a coupe with an icebox full of ice and drinks, a surahi of cool water, puri aloo for meals and going off for a month to Nani or Dadi’s house. There, the house would be full of cousins of all ages and we were left to our own devices. Now, holidays mean planning for an international trip, something that will expose kids to global trends and help them become comfortable in the shrinking world. The holidays are choc a block with activities that are all duly recorded in photos and videos - to be shared with all.
Post school time was for sleeping, reading, studying, probably quickly hopping across to the GK market to eat papri chaat. There was one family phone that operated on the blessings of the MTNL guys and the usage was strictly regulated. Games we played were pithu, lagdi tang, chor police and hide and seek.Now post school activities are centred around bonding with friends on bbm, facebook, gmail and personal phones and watching TV! Games are played on the PSP, Wii, X-Box and other devices.
Birthday parties meant that I could take my close friends (usually 2) to Nirulas for a pizza, ice-cream and drink. Now, parties are about dresses, music and dance. Girls skype each other before each party to show off their clothes and shoes.
I was in a hostel and at 13 was getting introduced to English music that the American Khalsas brought into the school. Nishna knows all the latest music and pays for nothing - downloading all on her iPod and other devices.
Studying meant learning by rote and practice all that my ICSE and CBSE books taught me - never mind if I understood anything or not. Now, research happens on the net and Nishna is being trained to ask questions!
Parents were someone I was scared of. I could not have used bad language in front of them, spoken about naughty stuff - Now kids think of nothing before saying it all in front of us.
Having a boyfriend was taboo. Even a male friend! Now Nishna tells me to be nice to the mothers of her close ‘male’ friends, whether I like them or not!
Yet, some things remain the same - peer pressure, study stress ,body image problems, hormonal changes , temper tantrums and the feeling that parents are strict and don't understand anything. That everyone else's teen years are better than one's own!
What would I not give to be 13 again!
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Aarakshan/Reservation
I was delighted when I turned 18, because that very year, 1989, the Indian government decided to lower the voting age from 21 years to 18. I could now cast my vote and decide who my leaders were going to be. I went proudly with my Dad to the polling booth at Greater Kailash, was thrilled to get the black ink on my finger, went behind the screen and cast my secret ballot!
I voted for VP Singh who was an upright politician with tremendous goodwill.I loved him till he got bitten by the Reservation bug and wanted to implement the Mandal Commission recommendations. In college, we were flummoxed by the decision. We had studied hard and fought tooth and nail for admission into coveted courses and colleges in the Delhi University.And now, on the basis of the heinous Hindu legacy of caste, India was ready to write off a number of seats in colleges and government organisations to those who belonged to the backward classes? Where was the walking into, nay striding into the 21st century, building on India’s competencies?
But we were young, full of enthusiasm, confident in our belief that we would protest and the government would change its mind. We made stickers on ‘Anti-Mandal’, ‘No reservation’ and distributed these on the major traffic junctions. We wore Anti Mandal t-shirts and participated in demonstrations against the same. Rajiv Goswami tried to immolate himself and there was distress and a huge uproar. That year, DU exams got postponed because of the protests and weeks that the colleges shut down.But this was a political decision - one aimed at garnering a larger vote bank, much like the slums in our cities do. There was no pulling back.
In these 20 odd years, it would be worth a study to see how much the OBCs have progressed because of the Reservation wand - one that made eunuchs of regular people like us. Today, many of those seats go empty while the truly deserving ones have to struggle hard, getting above 95% to get into any college of repute.
My disenchantment with my voting rights, my inability to make a difference to my own life because I am in the minority hit me big time. The disillusionment with the politicians who deliberately ruined it for us was intense. It also angered me that I had equal voting rights as the others who contribute nothing to the system, live off it like parasites and who my tax money is supposed to support.
Perhaps I was wrong in never going back to vote. And I have watched with growing horror how there are few educated leaders and all corrupt politicians and bureaucrats who run the show. How this democracy has become a sham and is now moving towards and oligarchy, with the power vested with a few.
And yet I am not sure that my vote will change anything. Ever.
I voted for VP Singh who was an upright politician with tremendous goodwill.I loved him till he got bitten by the Reservation bug and wanted to implement the Mandal Commission recommendations. In college, we were flummoxed by the decision. We had studied hard and fought tooth and nail for admission into coveted courses and colleges in the Delhi University.And now, on the basis of the heinous Hindu legacy of caste, India was ready to write off a number of seats in colleges and government organisations to those who belonged to the backward classes? Where was the walking into, nay striding into the 21st century, building on India’s competencies?
But we were young, full of enthusiasm, confident in our belief that we would protest and the government would change its mind. We made stickers on ‘Anti-Mandal’, ‘No reservation’ and distributed these on the major traffic junctions. We wore Anti Mandal t-shirts and participated in demonstrations against the same. Rajiv Goswami tried to immolate himself and there was distress and a huge uproar. That year, DU exams got postponed because of the protests and weeks that the colleges shut down.But this was a political decision - one aimed at garnering a larger vote bank, much like the slums in our cities do. There was no pulling back.
In these 20 odd years, it would be worth a study to see how much the OBCs have progressed because of the Reservation wand - one that made eunuchs of regular people like us. Today, many of those seats go empty while the truly deserving ones have to struggle hard, getting above 95% to get into any college of repute.
My disenchantment with my voting rights, my inability to make a difference to my own life because I am in the minority hit me big time. The disillusionment with the politicians who deliberately ruined it for us was intense. It also angered me that I had equal voting rights as the others who contribute nothing to the system, live off it like parasites and who my tax money is supposed to support.
Perhaps I was wrong in never going back to vote. And I have watched with growing horror how there are few educated leaders and all corrupt politicians and bureaucrats who run the show. How this democracy has become a sham and is now moving towards and oligarchy, with the power vested with a few.
And yet I am not sure that my vote will change anything. Ever.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Who bombed Mumbai?
Ashwin Sanghi’s book ‘Chanakya’s Chants’ ruined whatever idealism I thought there might have been in politics.
So I have become cynical about many things. For instance, is Kasab (in custody) the real terrorist who was unleashed in Mumbai that fateful July night? Is it not eerie that the only terrorist who was caught on the cctv cameras was the one finally arrested, and is the only one who survived? Could it be true that there is no Kasab and that ‘details’ of his trial are released periodically to showcase how mean the terrorist is and how ethical we are in giving him a fair trial?
So who bombed Mumbai?
The Pakistanis - Maybe! They have enough troubles at home and a terrorist attack on India is a good diversionary tactic. Besides, they can’t really take off on the US, can they, for coming into Pakistan to ‘eliminate’ Osama? (btw, is it only good timing that the US found Osama now? When Obama was having problems at home? Now people are all praises for his leadership!)
The BJP/Shiv Sena/RSS - Maybe! To bring to fore the inability of the Congress to protect its citizens. None of their moves have borne any fruit - Ramdev has been discredited and even Ayodhya is not attracting enough attention to create fire. A series of bomb blasts in Mumbai is awesome fodder.
The Congress - Maybe. The party is under tremendous fire for inaction and its inability to rise out of corruption and other scandals. Citizens and civil society groups are asking too many questions ; the tv channels also do not give them breathing space. So a ‘terrorist’ attack on Mumbai is a quickie to deflect attention. Sure, the Congress has come under fire because of its inability to protect Mumbaikars, but their lament that Pakistan is out to destabilise India has many sympathisers. Ofcourse we Indians hate Pakis for the way they terrorise us!So, Congress loses a battle, but wins a political war!
Wah! I love this politics business, where everyone is suspect and everyone has an ulterior motive! And anyone could have bombed Mumbai!
Actually anyone - the real estate sharks, the migrant population, the kids who don’t like school, people who wanted a holiday the next day, Ram Gopal Verma who wanted candid shots on his new movie on Maria Susiaraj and 26/11! Anyone could have bombed Mumbai !
The only sad bit - Mumbai has zero infrastructure development and its once impeccable police is corrupt and dances on the tunes of politicians. And yet, Mumbaikars go about their business, not because of their resilient spirit, but because it is an expensive city and people have to work and earn a living.
And I don't think there is a Chanakya in any of the parties who is strategising all this for India's benefit. Atleast the Chanakya of the 3rd BC had ethics!
So I have become cynical about many things. For instance, is Kasab (in custody) the real terrorist who was unleashed in Mumbai that fateful July night? Is it not eerie that the only terrorist who was caught on the cctv cameras was the one finally arrested, and is the only one who survived? Could it be true that there is no Kasab and that ‘details’ of his trial are released periodically to showcase how mean the terrorist is and how ethical we are in giving him a fair trial?
So who bombed Mumbai?
The Pakistanis - Maybe! They have enough troubles at home and a terrorist attack on India is a good diversionary tactic. Besides, they can’t really take off on the US, can they, for coming into Pakistan to ‘eliminate’ Osama? (btw, is it only good timing that the US found Osama now? When Obama was having problems at home? Now people are all praises for his leadership!)
The BJP/Shiv Sena/RSS - Maybe! To bring to fore the inability of the Congress to protect its citizens. None of their moves have borne any fruit - Ramdev has been discredited and even Ayodhya is not attracting enough attention to create fire. A series of bomb blasts in Mumbai is awesome fodder.
The Congress - Maybe. The party is under tremendous fire for inaction and its inability to rise out of corruption and other scandals. Citizens and civil society groups are asking too many questions ; the tv channels also do not give them breathing space. So a ‘terrorist’ attack on Mumbai is a quickie to deflect attention. Sure, the Congress has come under fire because of its inability to protect Mumbaikars, but their lament that Pakistan is out to destabilise India has many sympathisers. Ofcourse we Indians hate Pakis for the way they terrorise us!So, Congress loses a battle, but wins a political war!
Wah! I love this politics business, where everyone is suspect and everyone has an ulterior motive! And anyone could have bombed Mumbai!
Actually anyone - the real estate sharks, the migrant population, the kids who don’t like school, people who wanted a holiday the next day, Ram Gopal Verma who wanted candid shots on his new movie on Maria Susiaraj and 26/11! Anyone could have bombed Mumbai !
The only sad bit - Mumbai has zero infrastructure development and its once impeccable police is corrupt and dances on the tunes of politicians. And yet, Mumbaikars go about their business, not because of their resilient spirit, but because it is an expensive city and people have to work and earn a living.
And I don't think there is a Chanakya in any of the parties who is strategising all this for India's benefit. Atleast the Chanakya of the 3rd BC had ethics!
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