Dance Laboratory
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Sunday, November 6, 2005
Brilliance And A Flash Of It
Brilliance And A Flash Of It:
Diwali, the festival of lights,
Came and it went away.
And in the four days,
Shone a myriad work of fire.
The phool-chadi dazzled,
For all of about forty seconds.
And fireworks that make the sky glamourous,
Did so for about four seconds each.
All these were flashes of brilliance.
Now as the four days have passed,
And all back to the daily chore,
The humble bulb as any day,
Lights every house all the same.
Brilliance, it barely exposes itself.
It is there, all through;
Not a soul to realise,
Yet touches deep within.
Brilliance is simple and quiet.
A flash of it, though spectacular,
Dies… a premature death.
Diwali, the festival of lights,
Came and it went away.
And in the four days,
Shone a myriad work of fire.
The phool-chadi dazzled,
For all of about forty seconds.
And fireworks that make the sky glamourous,
Did so for about four seconds each.
All these were flashes of brilliance.
Now as the four days have passed,
And all back to the daily chore,
The humble bulb as any day,
Lights every house all the same.
Brilliance, it barely exposes itself.
It is there, all through;
Not a soul to realise,
Yet touches deep within.
Brilliance is simple and quiet.
A flash of it, though spectacular,
Dies… a premature death.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Baa
Have I ever told you about my maternal grandmother, from Calcutta? Once she told me a story about a sparrow and an elephant. The sparrow would talk to the elephant for hours together, sitting on his back. Everymorning she would come flying, sit on the elephant's back, feast on the parasites and sweet-talk. Also, everyday, she would shit on the elephant's back. Then at dusk she would fly back to her nest.
One winter day, when it was very cold, the sparrow did not come to chat with the elephant. The elephant waited and waited and waited. But she did not come. It was already noon. The elephant started looking for the sparrow and set forth for her nest.
On the way, the elephant saw the sparrow lying on the floor, shivering and cold. The elephant immediately went ahead and shat his load on her. After a while the sparrow managed to dig her way out - bruised and aching beacuse of the immense weight of the elephant's shit. But the warmth of the shit saved the sparrow.
I was all of three or four years old and found the description of "potty" very funny and loved this story solely for that reason. I would have her tell me the story over and over again. I just realise how much this story has shaped me as an individual.
One winter day, when it was very cold, the sparrow did not come to chat with the elephant. The elephant waited and waited and waited. But she did not come. It was already noon. The elephant started looking for the sparrow and set forth for her nest.
On the way, the elephant saw the sparrow lying on the floor, shivering and cold. The elephant immediately went ahead and shat his load on her. After a while the sparrow managed to dig her way out - bruised and aching beacuse of the immense weight of the elephant's shit. But the warmth of the shit saved the sparrow.
I was all of three or four years old and found the description of "potty" very funny and loved this story solely for that reason. I would have her tell me the story over and over again. I just realise how much this story has shaped me as an individual.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
One
It was just One woman in blue and white with commitment, who transformed lives of countless in grief and dispair. Today we call her Mother.
It was just One frail, bespectacled man with vision, who brought us freedom. Today we call him Father.
All it takes is One child's smile, to let go of all enmity.
All it takes is One ray of light, to overcome darkness.
It is just One little planet, in one corner of the whole universe, with some air and water, that makes our world.
Well, each of us has just One life; and if we do really live it, we shall know... the power of One.
It was just One frail, bespectacled man with vision, who brought us freedom. Today we call him Father.
All it takes is One child's smile, to let go of all enmity.
All it takes is One ray of light, to overcome darkness.
It is just One little planet, in one corner of the whole universe, with some air and water, that makes our world.
Well, each of us has just One life; and if we do really live it, we shall know... the power of One.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Stories
My mother, when I was a child, would tell me stories of how our great freedom fighters got us freedom. And I would often think, “Will I not be able to do anything for my people?” Today the picture seems to have changed drastically.
Twenty-six:
A thousand people have perished in the torrential rains that lashed on Maharashtra on July 26. Of course Mumbai was applauded for its resilience and its famed ‘spirit of Mumbai’ that it was back to normal in almost no time. Of course, the government was widely criticized for its inaction about the huge garbage dumps all over the city; and while criticizing, the same people threw Lays wrappers and Pepsi glasses straight through the train window!
Not once in all the conversations I overheard in the local trains, did I see an iota of mourning for all those who died.
After the Tsunami that hit us and many others on December 26, last year, Times of India carried an article saying, “Partying: A Sweet Sorrow”, basically justifying the new year celebrations.
Under the Bridge:
I had noticed a few eunuch prostitutes on the railway tracks. I had seen them walking with their customers on the tracks as well. Once when I went to a toilet on Bandra station, one approached me. I thought I was shocked.
The actual shock came two days later when I saw a eunuch prostitute being fucked in the arse by a man. This was between two pillars of a bridge. That made me weak in the knees.
Last year while I was in Bangalore, Kokila, a 21 year old hijra (eunuch) was raped by a group of thugs who ran away when the police arrived. The police, instead of filing a first investigation report (FIR), went on to further abuse her. They burned her nipples and vaginal area with burning coir rope and shoved a rifle up her arse besides showering her with verbal abuses.
There was a huge protest in the form of a hunger strike, held by the hijras of Bangalore. I went there and sat amongst them and spoke to a few hijras. Some of them spoke impeccable English and said that they had to do sex work because they would not find a job, given their sexuality.
Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, 1860 criminalizes “unnatural offences”. This not only does not recognize hijras and gay men and women, but also criminalizes them.
So, Kokila’s case has stayed as it was since July, 2004.
It took me 5 hours, i.e. till 02:30 am to have the railway police accept my complaint against a policeman, without a proper uniform, with a ten-round-rifle, who was urinating from the ladies first class compartment while on duty, who tried to intimidate me when I confronted him. The police tried everything from straight away denying lodging a complaint, to using intimidating language to stop me from filing the complaint.
Stories:
Guess there are innumerable stories like these. The stories can last for generations. But as sand trickles down the hour-glass, with every story told, there will be new ones to tell.
My mother, when I was a child, would tell me stories of how our great freedom fighters got us freedom. And I would often think, “Will I not be able to do anything for my people?”
Twenty-six:
A thousand people have perished in the torrential rains that lashed on Maharashtra on July 26. Of course Mumbai was applauded for its resilience and its famed ‘spirit of Mumbai’ that it was back to normal in almost no time. Of course, the government was widely criticized for its inaction about the huge garbage dumps all over the city; and while criticizing, the same people threw Lays wrappers and Pepsi glasses straight through the train window!
Not once in all the conversations I overheard in the local trains, did I see an iota of mourning for all those who died.
After the Tsunami that hit us and many others on December 26, last year, Times of India carried an article saying, “Partying: A Sweet Sorrow”, basically justifying the new year celebrations.
Under the Bridge:
I had noticed a few eunuch prostitutes on the railway tracks. I had seen them walking with their customers on the tracks as well. Once when I went to a toilet on Bandra station, one approached me. I thought I was shocked.
The actual shock came two days later when I saw a eunuch prostitute being fucked in the arse by a man. This was between two pillars of a bridge. That made me weak in the knees.
Last year while I was in Bangalore, Kokila, a 21 year old hijra (eunuch) was raped by a group of thugs who ran away when the police arrived. The police, instead of filing a first investigation report (FIR), went on to further abuse her. They burned her nipples and vaginal area with burning coir rope and shoved a rifle up her arse besides showering her with verbal abuses.
There was a huge protest in the form of a hunger strike, held by the hijras of Bangalore. I went there and sat amongst them and spoke to a few hijras. Some of them spoke impeccable English and said that they had to do sex work because they would not find a job, given their sexuality.
Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, 1860 criminalizes “unnatural offences”. This not only does not recognize hijras and gay men and women, but also criminalizes them.
So, Kokila’s case has stayed as it was since July, 2004.
It took me 5 hours, i.e. till 02:30 am to have the railway police accept my complaint against a policeman, without a proper uniform, with a ten-round-rifle, who was urinating from the ladies first class compartment while on duty, who tried to intimidate me when I confronted him. The police tried everything from straight away denying lodging a complaint, to using intimidating language to stop me from filing the complaint.
Stories:
Guess there are innumerable stories like these. The stories can last for generations. But as sand trickles down the hour-glass, with every story told, there will be new ones to tell.
My mother, when I was a child, would tell me stories of how our great freedom fighters got us freedom. And I would often think, “Will I not be able to do anything for my people?”
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Vriksha
A seed of a huge, but very rare tree that bears one fruit with one seed, once in a very, very long time, had just fallen on the ground with a thud. It was all so sudden for the seed, that it did not realize what had happened: it was as if some hook had forked it out of its comfortable slime. It was a tiny little thing, barely any different from a little grain of stone.
It was so uncomfortable lying on the hot, hard ground. It lay there for few hours when a cool breeze blew over it. The breeze was covering the seed with soil when the seed felt something hammering it. It was a bird. The bird swallowed the seed and flew away. Down its throat, the seed was happy. I am back in comfortable slime now. But that was not to last for long. Soon it was submerged in very strong acid. Again, for a few hours, before another thud. This thud was better though. The seed itself was soft now.
It was in a very different place now. This new place was quite dark with only thin and scarce rays of light reaching the ground. It was mid-day, but when looked up to, the sky looked green with brown forks of branches like lightning in the sky on a stormy night. But this was not by any means stormy. At night it was pitch dark and still. The stars -the stars shone even from between the dense mesh of leaves and branches that were so high.
The seed lay there, for a few days motionless, staring at the sky. That night, as it was to looking at the stars, it thought, “there are so many stars that can be spotted, even through that dense canopy that I cannot count till the end of my time.” The seed had a weird feeling inside its shell. It was nearing its end! As it died, it opened its eye, an eye that would shortly enable it to see a world it never before imagined of.
The seed was no more, but a feeling remained. But, there was no seed anymore! This made that whatever that was, quite uneasy.
After a few days, it had become a plant! It looked around at the tall tropical rain trees.
“They must have been seeds too. I never realized that when I looked at them when a seed, that we were basically the same stuff! I never realized that I had it all within me, to reach out for the sun and stars and maybe touch them one day. And one day bear a fruit that would have a seed, so unaware of all the light it seeks, is within! I am…”
The thought was cut short by a goat that ate the plant before it realized. In one moment, it was gone. No thud, no slime, nothing. So much for touching stars. Quite literally, brought down to earth.
There was a void for the next few days. No thought; no being. It looked like there was something there once, that wasn’t anymore.
But the plant had taken root. The life was still there; the knowledge was not.
It was so uncomfortable lying on the hot, hard ground. It lay there for few hours when a cool breeze blew over it. The breeze was covering the seed with soil when the seed felt something hammering it. It was a bird. The bird swallowed the seed and flew away. Down its throat, the seed was happy. I am back in comfortable slime now. But that was not to last for long. Soon it was submerged in very strong acid. Again, for a few hours, before another thud. This thud was better though. The seed itself was soft now.
It was in a very different place now. This new place was quite dark with only thin and scarce rays of light reaching the ground. It was mid-day, but when looked up to, the sky looked green with brown forks of branches like lightning in the sky on a stormy night. But this was not by any means stormy. At night it was pitch dark and still. The stars -the stars shone even from between the dense mesh of leaves and branches that were so high.
The seed lay there, for a few days motionless, staring at the sky. That night, as it was to looking at the stars, it thought, “there are so many stars that can be spotted, even through that dense canopy that I cannot count till the end of my time.” The seed had a weird feeling inside its shell. It was nearing its end! As it died, it opened its eye, an eye that would shortly enable it to see a world it never before imagined of.
The seed was no more, but a feeling remained. But, there was no seed anymore! This made that whatever that was, quite uneasy.
After a few days, it had become a plant! It looked around at the tall tropical rain trees.
“They must have been seeds too. I never realized that when I looked at them when a seed, that we were basically the same stuff! I never realized that I had it all within me, to reach out for the sun and stars and maybe touch them one day. And one day bear a fruit that would have a seed, so unaware of all the light it seeks, is within! I am…”
The thought was cut short by a goat that ate the plant before it realized. In one moment, it was gone. No thud, no slime, nothing. So much for touching stars. Quite literally, brought down to earth.
There was a void for the next few days. No thought; no being. It looked like there was something there once, that wasn’t anymore.
But the plant had taken root. The life was still there; the knowledge was not.
Friday, June 3, 2005
Seated On My Armchair
Seated On My Armchair.
Today I feel so dirty,
That after seven baths,
I feel the same.
And you there,
Who never stepped in the shower,
Do not feel the need.
Of course, one needs to know
What clean is,
To know what is dirty.
I think its an omen:
As I, seated on my armchair, write this,
And water drops...
Off my undried forehead,
Onto this sheet... and blots it.
Today I feel so dirty,
That after seven baths,
I feel the same.
And you there,
Who never stepped in the shower,
Do not feel the need.
Of course, one needs to know
What clean is,
To know what is dirty.
I think its an omen:
As I, seated on my armchair, write this,
And water drops...
Off my undried forehead,
Onto this sheet... and blots it.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
So Much Love
It was high tide under a near full-moon at worli seaface. It was quite late and so it was not too crowded. Above the water, a barn owl hovered against the breeze. About 20 seconds, it hovered and then swooped down on what I presume must have been its prey and perched on the branch of a tree. It was National Geographic live!
“Looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” asked a pot bellied man.
“Yes, very.”
“Then why do they say that it’s evil?”
“I do not think so.”
“My folks say that the thing you admire is the devil”
I do not reply and just move two steps away.
“I have killed four of those” he continued “wrapped them in a polythene bag and put them under a bus.” And then he laughed a very Bollywood villain laugh…
I just moved on.
I grew up with barn owls living in our roof. How many people asked us to kill them!
Bad omen:
It is quite ironic that owls are, in India, considered both the vehicle of Lakshmi and a bad omen!
Now, I have been thinking about omen for sometime. And I think owls are bad omen; messengers of bad news… They tell you when you have rodents infesting your fields. It’s amazing how fear makes you do manic things. Burst your eyeballs because they show you a bad picture!
Okay, drawing a grotesque picture isn’t the intention here. Last night, a fledgling sparrow was lost. It sought refuge in my house. At night, I sat by its side and slowly put my finger by its side. It hopped on to my finger. It slept on my futon last night. Early this morning, as I was about to leave to purchase an ink dropper (to feed the bird), it flew to my window. The mother was outside. I just opened the window and mother and offspring were reunited.
How easy it is for these so called lesser beings to sense and respond to love! I couldn’t help but wonder how much love there is in this world.
“Looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” asked a pot bellied man.
“Yes, very.”
“Then why do they say that it’s evil?”
“I do not think so.”
“My folks say that the thing you admire is the devil”
I do not reply and just move two steps away.
“I have killed four of those” he continued “wrapped them in a polythene bag and put them under a bus.” And then he laughed a very Bollywood villain laugh…
I just moved on.
I grew up with barn owls living in our roof. How many people asked us to kill them!
Bad omen:
It is quite ironic that owls are, in India, considered both the vehicle of Lakshmi and a bad omen!
Now, I have been thinking about omen for sometime. And I think owls are bad omen; messengers of bad news… They tell you when you have rodents infesting your fields. It’s amazing how fear makes you do manic things. Burst your eyeballs because they show you a bad picture!
Okay, drawing a grotesque picture isn’t the intention here. Last night, a fledgling sparrow was lost. It sought refuge in my house. At night, I sat by its side and slowly put my finger by its side. It hopped on to my finger. It slept on my futon last night. Early this morning, as I was about to leave to purchase an ink dropper (to feed the bird), it flew to my window. The mother was outside. I just opened the window and mother and offspring were reunited.
How easy it is for these so called lesser beings to sense and respond to love! I couldn’t help but wonder how much love there is in this world.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Left-Right, Tick-Tock; Grand Old...
Left-Right, Tick-Tock; Grand Old...
At about 6:30 this evening, my dad and I left for our lawyer's office at Marine Lines. We decided not to travel by car and went by train. The same 9 match boxes we used to use to travel before 1997, when we did not own a car. I remember how I used to be in tow, dad taking me to Mafatlal swimming pool. We would have jalebis and gathiyas after the exercise.
So, we got down and on Marine Lines station, and walked to the lawyer’s office.
Of left-right and tick-tock:
Getting off one of the 9 match boxes, we started walking towards the lawyer’s office. It was the evening rush hour and on one of the two lanes of the narrow roads and the narrower footpaths, were so many people moving at a constant speed, in one direction as if hypnotised all at once, towards Marine Lines station. They were all so precisely spaced, like not even Shiamak Davar's dancers are on stage, and a lot of them were synchronised. It was like an army... left-right, left-right. Their one free hand moved like the pendulum in my grandfather's clock... tick-tock, tick-tock.
Grand-old things, grimy and beautiful:
So, my dad and I, we entered into one of the old grimy buildings there. It was old and grand: dusty, grey all right, but it made a very aesthetic appeal to me. It had this amazing vibe. On the first floor was the small-cause court lawyer's office. The lawyer too was a grand old man of 86 years. His tie was loosened, and his hand shivered; but the man was in total control. He had this amazing vibe...
The amazing middle-class:
Dad had left for work at 8am and we left for the lawyer's office the moment he returned. We were there till 9pm. The man at 58, just works ceaselessly! It feels good to be working with him these days. I know that this isn't any exceptional case of a hard-working man making it on his own. One thing I've noticed though, these are men of modest means, by any measure of comparison with us twenty-year-old-sons.
Enemy:
In the lawyer's office, was a sticker that read: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him. If your enemy is thirsty, give him to drink. This will heap burning coals on his head." Above this sticker, was Mahatma Gandhi's portrait. Don't know what it was supposed to mean....
So, we climbed into one match box of another 9 match boxes and returned to home. Had dinner, watched Indian Idol....
Goodnight!
At about 6:30 this evening, my dad and I left for our lawyer's office at Marine Lines. We decided not to travel by car and went by train. The same 9 match boxes we used to use to travel before 1997, when we did not own a car. I remember how I used to be in tow, dad taking me to Mafatlal swimming pool. We would have jalebis and gathiyas after the exercise.
So, we got down and on Marine Lines station, and walked to the lawyer’s office.
Of left-right and tick-tock:
Getting off one of the 9 match boxes, we started walking towards the lawyer’s office. It was the evening rush hour and on one of the two lanes of the narrow roads and the narrower footpaths, were so many people moving at a constant speed, in one direction as if hypnotised all at once, towards Marine Lines station. They were all so precisely spaced, like not even Shiamak Davar's dancers are on stage, and a lot of them were synchronised. It was like an army... left-right, left-right. Their one free hand moved like the pendulum in my grandfather's clock... tick-tock, tick-tock.
Grand-old things, grimy and beautiful:
So, my dad and I, we entered into one of the old grimy buildings there. It was old and grand: dusty, grey all right, but it made a very aesthetic appeal to me. It had this amazing vibe. On the first floor was the small-cause court lawyer's office. The lawyer too was a grand old man of 86 years. His tie was loosened, and his hand shivered; but the man was in total control. He had this amazing vibe...
The amazing middle-class:
Dad had left for work at 8am and we left for the lawyer's office the moment he returned. We were there till 9pm. The man at 58, just works ceaselessly! It feels good to be working with him these days. I know that this isn't any exceptional case of a hard-working man making it on his own. One thing I've noticed though, these are men of modest means, by any measure of comparison with us twenty-year-old-sons.
Enemy:
In the lawyer's office, was a sticker that read: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him. If your enemy is thirsty, give him to drink. This will heap burning coals on his head." Above this sticker, was Mahatma Gandhi's portrait. Don't know what it was supposed to mean....
So, we climbed into one match box of another 9 match boxes and returned to home. Had dinner, watched Indian Idol....
Goodnight!
Wednesday, February 2, 2005
Marathon.
Marathon.
Of late there has been a lot of sad stuff happening. But here's a different story. I participated in the Mumbai marathon on Sunday and was it fun! Thousands of people assembled in front of Chatrapati Shiviji Terminus (formerly Victoria Terminus) at 7am, all set to run! Money was raised for charity and how? Those who did not participate too were part of it. They came in thousands cheering us on from both sides of the track.
The participants came in all shapes and sizes. They were grandfathers, grandmothers, mothers with their kids tied to their backs, amputees on wheel chairs or with Jaipur legs, blind people with guides running with them, young, fit people, fat, slim people..... There were various categories: 5km, 7km, 21km and 42.195km. On Sunday the distance just did not matter, it was the spirit that did and no one was complaining!
On finishing 36km, I noticed that my shoe-lace was loose and I sat down to tie it, when I heard a muscle in my left leg snap. With 6km to go I was cheered on by the spectators who shouted out "Bharatmata ki jai" as I limped to the finish line. The cheering was on non-stop for the entire 42km!
On Sunday, everyone, be it the elite from Cuffe Parade and Pedder Road or slum-dwellers of Dharavi and mill-workers of Parel, was one! The euphoria was in the least Fantabulous! I have never before had the sense of unity, love and pride that I did on Sunday. On Sunday, Godot arrived!
Of late there has been a lot of sad stuff happening. But here's a different story. I participated in the Mumbai marathon on Sunday and was it fun! Thousands of people assembled in front of Chatrapati Shiviji Terminus (formerly Victoria Terminus) at 7am, all set to run! Money was raised for charity and how? Those who did not participate too were part of it. They came in thousands cheering us on from both sides of the track.
The participants came in all shapes and sizes. They were grandfathers, grandmothers, mothers with their kids tied to their backs, amputees on wheel chairs or with Jaipur legs, blind people with guides running with them, young, fit people, fat, slim people..... There were various categories: 5km, 7km, 21km and 42.195km. On Sunday the distance just did not matter, it was the spirit that did and no one was complaining!
On finishing 36km, I noticed that my shoe-lace was loose and I sat down to tie it, when I heard a muscle in my left leg snap. With 6km to go I was cheered on by the spectators who shouted out "Bharatmata ki jai" as I limped to the finish line. The cheering was on non-stop for the entire 42km!
On Sunday, everyone, be it the elite from Cuffe Parade and Pedder Road or slum-dwellers of Dharavi and mill-workers of Parel, was one! The euphoria was in the least Fantabulous! I have never before had the sense of unity, love and pride that I did on Sunday. On Sunday, Godot arrived!
Monday, January 10, 2005
Edge-ucation?/lost among pigeons and crumbs.
Edge-ucation?/lost among pigeons and crumbs.
A student of Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS), where a friend of mine studies, committed suicide the night before last. This was the fourth incident of its kind in four years! The reason for this suicide is not known, but most of these are said to have happened because of attendance problems. Students failing to maintain 75% attendance in each semester are expelled from the institution and are required to start from the first semester if they wish to finish their degree.
A couple of weeks back I was discussing an issue taken up by a lecturer, a senior official at the RBI, at the BSE with a friend. At the end of the conversation she said, “You seem to have been preparing hard for group discussions (GD).” (management students require doing so to get admissions in B-Schools).
So everything one ‘does’, all conversations ‘made’ are to pass an examination or go through a GD! Of course, a leading coaching institution chooses to call it ‘Edgeucation’.
The Tsunami led the students of TISS to demand from the institution a relief camp in Tamil Nadu. On being told that it would happen when TISS assesses the situation and sets a concrete objective, the ‘seniors’ launched a procession. Now that the trip is finalized, the seniors want to wait until the on-campus recruitment is done with.
Students will have to do 30 days of extra field-work if they opt out of the Tamil Nadu trip. That is what happened of it. The students now are upset as it was supposed to be a voluntary trip! India surely doesn’t need the compulsory military service rule.
What is the purpose of education? Sounds like a very clichéd melodramatic question to me; but am quite often led to think. Stories of fifteen-year-olds ending their lives because they did not score too well in their tenth grade exams are not new news that are printed in newspapers every June, when results are declared. Students distributing sweets for passing the exams (is a custom in India), and at the same time are weeping rivers because they scored ‘only’ 94% and will not get admission in VJTI (one of the top engineering schools) are a common sight.
Why? Why when Kerela boasts of 99% literacy rate because 99% of the people there can write their names? I have no answer. Seems we all get lost among pigeons and crumbs.
A student of Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS), where a friend of mine studies, committed suicide the night before last. This was the fourth incident of its kind in four years! The reason for this suicide is not known, but most of these are said to have happened because of attendance problems. Students failing to maintain 75% attendance in each semester are expelled from the institution and are required to start from the first semester if they wish to finish their degree.
A couple of weeks back I was discussing an issue taken up by a lecturer, a senior official at the RBI, at the BSE with a friend. At the end of the conversation she said, “You seem to have been preparing hard for group discussions (GD).” (management students require doing so to get admissions in B-Schools).
So everything one ‘does’, all conversations ‘made’ are to pass an examination or go through a GD! Of course, a leading coaching institution chooses to call it ‘Edgeucation’.
The Tsunami led the students of TISS to demand from the institution a relief camp in Tamil Nadu. On being told that it would happen when TISS assesses the situation and sets a concrete objective, the ‘seniors’ launched a procession. Now that the trip is finalized, the seniors want to wait until the on-campus recruitment is done with.
Students will have to do 30 days of extra field-work if they opt out of the Tamil Nadu trip. That is what happened of it. The students now are upset as it was supposed to be a voluntary trip! India surely doesn’t need the compulsory military service rule.
What is the purpose of education? Sounds like a very clichéd melodramatic question to me; but am quite often led to think. Stories of fifteen-year-olds ending their lives because they did not score too well in their tenth grade exams are not new news that are printed in newspapers every June, when results are declared. Students distributing sweets for passing the exams (is a custom in India), and at the same time are weeping rivers because they scored ‘only’ 94% and will not get admission in VJTI (one of the top engineering schools) are a common sight.
Why? Why when Kerela boasts of 99% literacy rate because 99% of the people there can write their names? I have no answer. Seems we all get lost among pigeons and crumbs.
Saturday, January 1, 2005
"Comon Dhruv... get over it."
31st night was quite spectacular! I was in my room praying before
going to bed and within a few minutes was woken up by what sounded
to me like gun shots(these days I do not seem to see but tragedy),
it was fire crackers. Noisy and colorful. The already bright Mumbai
sky at midnight was even brighter and glittering. Cheeks glisten
when tears roll down. Times of India, that day had a headline on the
front page that went 'Celebration: a sweet sorrow' or something
something like that. It basically justified new year celebrations.
It talked about getting over what has happened in the past. Fuck,
how can something like the Tsunami be over and be regarded as past?
We are in the middle of the whole thing. 150,000 people dead and
counting!
A lot of my friends were partying that night. Nothing agianst that.
(This is not moral policing. Not a Shiv Sainik.) But most of them
were: "C'mon Dhruv, get over it". "Even we observed a minute's
silence at 12", said one. Anyway...
When Cars fly:
So today my mom and aunt returned from their tour of north India. We
were going to my aunt's, when we drove past slums of Kurla. The
slums are on the sides of an elevated road. There is no railing, or
side wall or any sort of protection! On the edge of the road were
children shitting (in the mornings, even adult men do it). If any
rich drunk lost control of his expensive SUV(remember Salman?), at
least a few people would die, not too many... Of course the drunk
will pay the families off. If a heavy duty lorry would, The driver
would lose his feet, because he couldn't apply the brakes; hands,
because he couldn't control the wheel; and eyes, because he couldn't
see(This is a true incident in Kolkata). Of course, the roads are so
beautiful that a tyre burst in the truck is inevitable. May be the
SUV had a trye burst though. Oh I saw a speeding red ferrari there.
It just needed wings.
We sure have a lot of respect for humanity and life! Shiv Sena of
course is one of the best example by wanting to drive out non
Maharashtrians out of Mumbai to decrease the congestion and
increasing the quality of life here!!!
"C'mon Dhruv, get over it."
Will we ever have another reason but Cricket that will unite the
nation? Another Sourav to lead? Another Irfan?
C'mon Dhruv, get over it...
going to bed and within a few minutes was woken up by what sounded
to me like gun shots(these days I do not seem to see but tragedy),
it was fire crackers. Noisy and colorful. The already bright Mumbai
sky at midnight was even brighter and glittering. Cheeks glisten
when tears roll down. Times of India, that day had a headline on the
front page that went 'Celebration: a sweet sorrow' or something
something like that. It basically justified new year celebrations.
It talked about getting over what has happened in the past. Fuck,
how can something like the Tsunami be over and be regarded as past?
We are in the middle of the whole thing. 150,000 people dead and
counting!
A lot of my friends were partying that night. Nothing agianst that.
(This is not moral policing. Not a Shiv Sainik.) But most of them
were: "C'mon Dhruv, get over it". "Even we observed a minute's
silence at 12", said one. Anyway...
When Cars fly:
So today my mom and aunt returned from their tour of north India. We
were going to my aunt's, when we drove past slums of Kurla. The
slums are on the sides of an elevated road. There is no railing, or
side wall or any sort of protection! On the edge of the road were
children shitting (in the mornings, even adult men do it). If any
rich drunk lost control of his expensive SUV(remember Salman?), at
least a few people would die, not too many... Of course the drunk
will pay the families off. If a heavy duty lorry would, The driver
would lose his feet, because he couldn't apply the brakes; hands,
because he couldn't control the wheel; and eyes, because he couldn't
see(This is a true incident in Kolkata). Of course, the roads are so
beautiful that a tyre burst in the truck is inevitable. May be the
SUV had a trye burst though. Oh I saw a speeding red ferrari there.
It just needed wings.
We sure have a lot of respect for humanity and life! Shiv Sena of
course is one of the best example by wanting to drive out non
Maharashtrians out of Mumbai to decrease the congestion and
increasing the quality of life here!!!
"C'mon Dhruv, get over it."
Will we ever have another reason but Cricket that will unite the
nation? Another Sourav to lead? Another Irfan?
C'mon Dhruv, get over it...
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