The Voice of Jay

The Black Devil

2012-01-22T10:34:00.000-08:00

“Know what JJ, you’re like a brother to me man,” said myfriend PK with that particular look which suggested he wanted to take advantageof me. Everybody does that, I just don’t know why.

“You know there’s this land I’ve taken as a tenant.” WhisperedPK. “It’s screwed up in a court case.”

“This property which was leased out to one Ramesh Naik forten years by the landlord and we took the land after his agreement ended. Nowwe’ve been cultivating the land till date and suddenly this Ramesh guy comesand says the landlord and I forcefully evicted him from the land.”

“So he’s filed a case to get back his tenancy?” “Yes, andworse still, he’s got pretty strong evidence-all the past bills and receipts,all the bloody paperwork. We fear the landlord might also back him. No lawyer’staking our case.”

“And why tell me this?”

“Word on the farms is that you know a pretty good lawyer.You know, the guy who pulled off a public interest litigation case for thefarmers club”

Damn. People think Ihave loads of high profile contacts as I work in the media. I do know somepeople, but I dont let other people use my contacts. Worse still, this guy wasafter the ace up my sleeve.

I scribbled a number on a little chit and offered it to him.

“Tried that, it’s not reachable.”

“In that case, Mr PK, I can’t help you. The only thing I hadis the guy’s number and now he’s probably changed it.” “Hey just please try and locate him man, youwork in the media! Nothing’s impossible for you!...for the old times sake!”

I would have doneother things but what he was asking now was equivalent to catching the flowingwind. They say the guy is so skilled in property matters that his friends callhim “the lord of the lost lands.” He isknown to keep a mysterious black diary which records the cases he has foughtthe mistakes he has made and the lessons he has learnt from them. It is fromthat diary and from the deadly deals he has made both inside and outside the courtroomthat he gets his code name

The Black Devil.

For the old times sake, I agreed to hunt down Black Devil.

It was a difficult task because for all his talent in law,the Black Devil has one terrible drawback. This whimsical ‘landlord’ generally swingsto the tunes of fusion music and occasionally dabbles into photography. Theonly thing that can get him working on a case is his mood. He does what he wants the way he wants. Otherwisejust forget it.

I didn’t know his address, he had changed his phone and hisown office was, as usual, closed. Butjust then I had a crazy idea.

I sat in my office next morning searching for press notesabout all the music concerts going on across Goa-there were about ten. Theblack devil had a good ear for music so he’d obviously choose the best onesamong the concerts and the best were as always at Kala Academy.

I dashed in into the auditorium, straight to the first seatto the far left of the stage. Hello there, Devil”. The lanky dark man swingingto the tunes of ongoing music opened his eyes. “Hello JJ. Good to see youhere.” “good to see you too Devil, I….” “Listen to the drummer. You know he’splaying a Kayada in Hindustani classical music even though it’s western…”

I waited until the concert ended, partly enjoying it myselfas the black devil explained how to compare western and Indian musical noteswhile listening to a fusion concert. I made my move when the music neared itsend. “You must listen to the usionconcert by renowned Goan musician Ravi Chari next week. I’ve got the passes.”

The devil smiled and nodded in acceptance. “Meet me in theKA canteen at 5 in the evening on the day of the concert. I will give you thepasses. The concert starts at5 :30” I told the Devil, satisfied that he hadwalked into my trap.

The concert was real, the passes were real but the timewasn’t.

“The concert starts at 7. I called you little earlierbecause I have a case for you.”

To my surprise, the black Devil laughed out loud “I knewthat from the beginning! Knowing you, you won’t go around distributing passesfor free right? I also thought its time I warm up my law skills for a change.” heopened his black diary.

“What’s the case?”

I immediately outlined the case which he noted in his diary.He picked up his briefcase. “You’re not staying for the concert? “No. one shot,one kill. One task at a time. Now seeyou in the court of law.”

The case came up for hearing in the civil court next daywith the plaintiff Ramesh Naik praying before the court that he was forcefullyevicted by PK and the landlord from the land he had been cultivating and demandedthe restoration of his tenancy.

“Let me bring to the notice of your honour, that the case ofthe plaintiff is that he has been forcefully evicted by my client and the landlord frim the suit property.” Argued the black devil citing various SupremeCourt judgments. . “I completely deny this statement of the plaintiff as it is fraudulentstatement made to mislead the court.” Heexhibited the copy of the expired lease agreement

“Even if we hold that the plaintiff was forcefully evictedfrom the land, he is not in possession of the property. The case is not maintainablebefore the honorable court as the jurisdiction on the issue of declaration oftenancy lies with the learned Mamletdar” he thumped his file down on the table with a theatricalaggression

Thanks to the Devilsimpeccable stand, the suit of the plaintiff was dismissed. “lets make further preparations” the Devilwhispered to his client “the case will go up to the high court. Please call thelandlord, I got a plan”

Satisfied that the previously hopeless case had been swungin his favour, PK met the Black Devil at his office the next morning. The duston the files indicated that the office had not been opened in months.

“so whats the plan? Asked the hopeful PK.

“You Mr. PK are surrendering your tenancy.” “what?” “ I have already negotiated the termsof settlement with the landlord. Now sign these documents.” “No.” “if you don’t,I leave the case.” “Umm.. Can I please use your toilet?” askedPK. “sure.”

“Oi JJ,” screamed PK as he narrated tale up to this point stating that far fromgaining anything in the matter, he wasnow losing what he had. “Trust the Devil PK. Do what he says. You both gainfrom it.” I replied.

PK and the landlord met with the Devil signing an agreementoutside the court which stated that the tannency was surrendered in 1985 whichwas way before filing of the civil suit by Mr. Naik! “Now, in exchange of thissurrender, you,, Mr Landlord will agree in the high court that PK here is your tenant.” It was a dubious and dark deal. The landlord in a euphoric mood after gainingback his disputed property agreed the same without a hitch when the previous tenantappealed to the high court. PK was the man!

The tenacious plaintiff dragged the issue further draggedthe issue to the supreme court, only to be directed by the Supreme Court thatthe jurisdiction to decide upon tanency lay with the Mamletdar. The case nowstood before the Mamletdar where plaintiff filed for restoration of possessionand declaration of his tenancy.

“Aha! Now its time we close the case.” exclaimed the blackdevil. I might need a little help from you here JJ.” He explained. “ make contactwith Ramesh Naik.

“I advise to withdraw your case Mr. Naik” the black Deviltold the old lease holder. “or else your legal hairs and mundkars are waitingto file a complaint against you for not bringing them on record as parties toyour disputed property. Agree to vwithraw the case and I will see to it thatyou get at least a part of the property. ” Afraid that his off the record hairsmight force him to partition what little property he sought, Ramesh Naik agreedto the proposal. “good. Lets meet.” Said the black devil.

He now held a final meeting between Ramesh Naik, PK and thelandlord while I sat as observer.

“I am delighted to inform you Mr PK and Mr Landlord thatRamesh has withdrawn his case by his own consent. No force, no pressure.” TheDevil said. “now coming to you Mr. Landlord. I suggest you sell the property onopen market and share the amount with my client. If you don’t, a criminalcomplaint will be filed against you for constructing back dated documents inorder to disposes my client who is enjoying the peaceful possession of thisproperty.”

Upon being remembering that it was a 1985 document signd in2012, the landlord had no choice but to agree. The property was then sold to a third party and both PK and the landlord got considerable money with Ramesh Naik getting the sum for two of thetotal seven parts of the huge property. The black devil had kept his promise.

“Where were we on the music front now?” asked the blackdevil coming back to sanity while I was still dazed by his insane moves insideand outside the court. “why did you give a part of the property to Ramesh Naik.?There was no need! The guy was completely ruined as it is!” I asked.

“it was a prt of the plan. It will help protect the housesof the Mundkars situated in his part of the property. “ said the black Devil. “Thelandlord would have evicted them if he’d gotten a chance.”

“you rock at this profession man! I will bring you morecases. You’ll be the Prince of Properties!” I exclaimed.

“No. we’re done with the cases for now. Want to come do somephotography in the evening light?” he said as if the whole drama had nothappened at all.

The Black Devil is more interested in playing the game oflife enjoing lolling in the green lands rather then making money fighting forthem. In fact fighting for lands is also one of his cherished games. He playsit if he wants, plays it the way he wants, refusing to be subdued by circumstancesor people.

A truly free spirit.

New Years Blog 2012

2012-01-01T11:00:00.000-08:00

Aha! New Year! Any resolutions? Reflections?

None to be frank. It’sa new year, a blank sheet and I am going to start scribbling afresh.

I may not have a resolution but I have a vision- internetadvocacy.

It’s been an interesting journey trying to figure out how wecan use the internet for activism and perhaps more. I stumbled upon the world history educatorsblog where an innovative history teacher gives different online tools tointegrate education with new media. We in India certainly need to makeeducation more interesting and less stressful. The tools discussed in the blogmight also help elsewhere in things like journalism.

So, I want to open tuition classes where I will try andteach students using online tools and apps. Come, ask questions, explore and becurios not quiet. I am already teaching history to my 15 year old cousin using interactive Age of Empires game package, history channel documentaries and qwikies. Check out this Qwiki on the Mauryan empire for example

View Maurya Empire and over 3,000,000 other topics on Qwiki.

Interactive online education- that’s my first vision.

Here is one more blog which deals with ideating. Havingcreative ideas and marketing them online is its main focus. The blog tries to explore how you can usesocial media to track thinking trends online and how you can become a thoughtleader by building an online community centered around the topic of yourinterest. Of course, you have togenerate quality content and build a discussion around it wisely enough to makepeople want to follow you. The peopleassociated with this blog hold a live twitter chat under hashtag #ideachat onevery second Saturday. Here is the chatroom and here are the chat timings. Anyone having a twitter account is welcometo participate

So, I want to write a book. The publishers may criticize it,reject it or edit it in ways I may not approve of. My plan is to build apowerful online community, publish an e-book and market it myself. Or, I canpublish a book myself and use the internet to market it instead of roaming thestreets begging customers and retailers to buy it.

That’s my secondvision.

While browsing through articles on new media I also cameacross quk.com which allows you to stream live videos even from your mobilephone. The free version of the site allows only 25 videos live streaming andthe premium version costs only about $5 still expensive but kind of affordable.

This site can be a good tool for citizen journalists.

I work at a newschannel with limited staff which takes a whole day to create one news bulletinaird at 8 pm I create stories to suitthe interest of the channel. Aconsiderable part of or nes content is depressing.

What we need is a live online news channel which gives onlygood, optimistic news.

That’s is my thirdvision.

The internet is at the core of my vision. I believe It is at the core of our emerging society.

If it is not, we’ll put it there!

So come, let’s get wired in 2012 ! ! !

Happy New Year!

random mussings

2011-12-23T00:49:00.001-08:00

Just read an article on how social media has become big inbringing about social change. However, I guess that Internet has become vitalto change in societies which are oppressed places where the Internet is perhapsthe only medium of free expression. In such places like the Middle East, people communicate their genuine feelings on the internetand people take it seriously.

I don't want to comment on how is Internet affecting socialchange in India but at least in my surroundings, my friends dismiss socialnetworking as a waste of time when I see it as a new medium of communication. Nobodythinks reading a blog is a useful exercise and my efforts at Internet advocacy andteaching people to blog have earned very little results.

Out of the five people I tried to teach; only one has takenup blogging. (read his blog here)

People have raised issues like medium of instructions andmining in goa on the internet but the way I see it, the campaign has not mademuch of a social impact. People in Egypt coordinated demonstrationsusing social networking. I tried to organize a party using social networkingand the move terribly failed. May be it was because it was just a party. But I timeand again wonder how I can get people to take social networks seriously anddabble successfully in citizen journalism.

How do I get there?

I tried to build a story on mining in goa using storify butcould not find much information because not many people talk about the subjectonline. Here’s the story

Athena

2011-12-14T20:11:00.000-08:00

“Congratulations! You’ve been promoted!” boomed the editorof our great news channel on a brightMonday morning bringing to me immense joy-which was short lived. “Thank you sir!” I said beaming with joy “oh,no need to thank, we were running short of staff for the Sunday news bulletin.I figured you’d make a good subeditor for Sunday.”

Damn.

I used to be a video editor for Sunday bulletin in my earlytime at our great news channel. The sub-editor designated for that day had leftthe channel in pursuit of better opportunities and senior subeditors were beingrotated on Sunday duty. However, the management seemed to figure that one yearof experience must have given me enough skill to handle this terrifying job noone was ready to accept permanently.

The office wore a deserted look on Sundays as most of the staffwould be on leave. The bulletin would often consist of stale news aboutcultural programmes or inaugurations of public utilities like toilets andbridges. Our office full of hardworkingGermans on weekdays would be chilled and laid back like Greece on weekendsresulting in inevitable draught of revenue-fresh news.

I came to the office, triumphantly sat on the chiefsub-editors chair and for the first five minutes had countless daydreams while enjoying thefeeling of being a boss. However, whenthe video editor knocked on my cubicle citing that he had received no scripts,panic began to set in.

Clicking furiously on my system, I found that only fourstale stories had been dumped making a bulletin of about four and half minutes.The rest would have to be found and exaggerated and if need be, created!

Sending the sole reporter I had at my disposal to scavenge the city for news, Ibegan to wreck my brains to twist the stories published in the news papers andsqueeze them into the Sunday news bulletin. Reading the news paper is the cleverest thing I did that day. The front page carried a news about Greekdebt crisis and the moment my eyes fell upon the word Athens, my panic wasreplaced with hope. I had found my savior.

A journalist who could pull news out of raw info like amagician pulling a rabbit out of his hat. The say she knows everything andeveryone in the corridors of power and thus they call her after the ancientGreek goddess of wisdom.

Athena

“Heyy, Wazzup!!” she shouted in her usual excited tone themoment I dilled the phone. “Listen, if you’re calling to get the sunburnpasses, call Odette...” “I am in no mood for party Athena, I am the sub-editorfor Sunday bulletins its messed up big time.”

“Draught or plenty what pains do you bear? Today is Sunday!Why should I care?”

Ah, now that I forgot to tell you. Athena’s brain overflowswith poems and puns. In fact her addiction to puns combined with her healthycherubic constitution like a cute panda has earned her the nickname the giantpun-da.

“We’re short of stories. It’s a draught.” “Alright so letsspin a story then! Get back to you soon” Aha! The ever busy Athena had foundtime to help a pauper in need! I thanked the almighty from the bottom of myheart.

Athena worked as a subeditor for ‘the other great newschannel’ who is our competitor. She had some pretty good contacts and she couldbuild stories from scratch without getting off the desk, an art she would useto help me out today. “alright now get all the news papers you have in youroffice and find the story that you think is the most awesome. “Goa barge ownersassociation calls for strike.” “barghe owners huh? Ok, now Mukul Jadhav is thepresident of GBOA. I will text you his number, send your reporter to take asmall one minute byte.”

“Done.”

“So that takes care of one story, how much is the totalbulletin now?” “Seven minutes” “JJ, athirty minute bulletin includes a ten minute beak which means the finalbulletin should be twenty minutes.” Athenawas really getting into the mood. “You will need about 7 more stories. How muchtime do we have?”

“Four hours” I was panic struck again as I noticed time wasrunning out.

“Alright now most of village gram sabhas are held onSundays-you’ll find the advertisements in the papers announcing the villagemeetings” “Found. They’re all special meetings to discuss the Goaregional plan. We've got some visuals, I will do a story.” “Oh no you don’t, lets have some fun here!” “What?”

“Lets do this story my way” “you mean the social network?”“Exactly”

Fine, I typed a newsitem

“While the opposition to regional plan continues in Gram Sabhasacross the state, the social networks are no exception”

What to do next?

“You on Twitter? “yes” “awesome now find out what people aresaying about regional plan on twitter. Use a hashtag to find info.” I quietly did some googling and found that there was no hashtag for Goa regional plan2021. “No hashtag? Alright we’ll create one.” Within minutes, information and online reactions from dozens of people about the regional plan began surfacing on Twitter with a consistent speed.

"You're using fake accounts to project mixed popular reactions. Ahtena, is a public lie!"

"What nonsense? the accounts may be fake but the information is genuine! we do this all the time! its not lying, its spinning! it is called the art of spinning!

“ now, the information is available on twitter under the hashtag #RP2021. She stated “I willbuild a little story using Storify app. You record the movements on thecomputer, write up a voiceover and record it directly. Understood?” “Yes.” Ilied while googling desperately to learn what is Storify and how can I recordmovements on screen directly. It took me one hour to learn these things. Athena took oneand half to build a story out of online responses of her own fakepersonalities. I wrote a quick voice over and let it roll.

“Done.” I told her.

“Goto freeplaymusic.com and find some good music for the story. Make it a littlethree minute documentary and your bulletin is done.”Wow! I felt liberated a major part of the product wasfinished. Obeying Athena’s instructionsto the letter, I had twisted the newspaper reports to make some average news items. Only five moreminutes of footage was required.

“Five minutes huh? Ok, you may not like this, but lets take the art of spinning to the next level.”

Oh my god, what now?

“Let’s do a story on European debt crisis.”

What? Didn’t she know ours is a small LOCAL news channel?

“Yes, we link it to Goa citing how tourism in Goa isaffected due to troubles in Europe!”

But we’d need some data for that. Statistics! Where do I getthat from?

“Travel and Tourism Association of Goa. Ralph D Souza is thepresident. Tell him to mention June or July2011 tourist figures and just say that it was all due to European debt crisis.” But tourism is already low in monsoon “exactly! and they cinside with the Greek austarity vote! ”

But then how are they linked to the European crisis? “Duh, what’s the need? Justget a person in authority to say it is so and it makes our news.” But the…” “JJ we’re professionals doing abusiness, not social workers doing people a favour. NOW DO WHAT I SAY”

I did what she saidfor the sake of work but the feeling of guilt at having to make a mountain outof a molehill that I got that day has only increased as I continue to work inthis field doing things beyond a common mans wildest imagination. Even as I slowly gather skill in art of which Athena is the master,Athena’s words continue to ring in my ears whenever I question my professionalactions

“Draught or plentywhat pains do you bear,

I’m not a social worker why should I care?

I am a journalist I publish your issues

Not wipe your tears with love-filled tissues

Protests by peace corps or military sorties

To hell with their causes they’re just good stories

Heartbreakingfunerals or jubilant parties

NEVER GETINVOLVED, THEY’RE JUST GOOD STORIES”

Note: storycompletely fictional.

Change on the cards

2011-12-01T22:31:00.001-08:00

People, I’ve been scribbling stories and poems on this blogfor quite some time now. This blog has become moderately popular-and thatitself has created a problem.

I cant upload anything else that deviates from the corecontent of this blog which is poems andstories.

Many of my friends will tell you that I don’t generally talkbut when I start talking, I cent seem to stop. My new job has given me anopportunity to talk about social issues but nobody in my office has time tolisten. So I got fed up one day and opened another blog just to talk aboutcrazy ideas I have about how we can improve the world.

Its called Crazy diaries.

Please visit it to help me become more aware about how wecan resolve issues that trouble our society.

Also, I did not dare move this blog (the voice of jay) orconduct any experiments to learn more about blogging so I use crazy diariesmore as a playground where I can write irresponsibly unlike VoJ :)

So please feel free to read, comment and help me learn more.Also I am considering changing the narcissist sounding title and web address ofthis blog which has given me nothing but controversy :)

Anyway, that change will take some time to come. We can enjoythe status quo for now.

Clash of the Titans part 4

2011-11-10T08:10:00.000-08:00

Soon enough, to the jackals dismay the case stood in the high court. The applicant was Vassant the farmer who could not read or write. His petition was admitted no doubt, and as the case involved a serious environmental issue, the court provided him with a lawyer to fight for his noble cause. Amicus Curie. The bloody devil knew he could not handle the case so he made a scapegoat out of a poor farmer and obtained a lawyer from the court itself. wise man, very wise indeed.

The arguments began with Durga developers citing that the construction was completely legal and in accordance with the outline development plans. They had all the licenses and even the permission of the concerned village panchayat.

“But my lord, the area under construction is in fact a green zone!” argued the Amicus Curie referring to the regional plan. “ I beg the court to consider the immense loss of green cover that may be caused by this construction.”

“Nonsense,” the construction company stated. They had a copy of the outline development plan which classified the area as a settlement zone. Durga Developers had nothing to do with zoning process! However, all things said and done, going by the earlier decisions made by the judiciary in such cases, the court followed it usual course of action. Taking swift measures to curb environmental loss, the court passed a stay order on the construction.

“I must say you argued pretty well” Espana said to Amicus Curie as we moved out of the courtroom. “Me? I was only arguing what I was told. The true mastermind of this case is that black man” he pointed to the city below in the direction of the black devils office. “The Black Devil.” Espana smiled. “Smart man, I am going to pay him double the fees!” “Don’t even think about it.” I stopped her. “he’s already got enough money out of this case.”

The bloody devil had ghost-written his own case. He got money from the jackal pretending to leave but chose to draft the case back stage, charging fees from the farmers club. I lingered behind a bit till I was out of Espana’s earshot and made a brief phone call. “It was I who gave you the case. Where’s my share?”

“Your work is done before you said it boss! Check your account.” Said the Black Devil before hanging up.

the end

Clash of the Titans part 3

2011-11-10T06:58:00.000-08:00

The jackal stared at the legal notice in his post box in genuine surprise. “i don’t understand this. A farmers club appears out of thin air- overnight and sues my company! Now, this man, this petitioner, what do you know about him?” “How would i know? I am a stake holder in your company!” i gave a calculated reply. “Can you tell me which vehicle he drives? ” Vehicle? What was the need to know that?

“I’ll show you a little trick i learnt in college” he said as i made a few phone calls to find out the details of Devils vehicle. “Its a black Ritz with this particular registration number.” “very well.” Muttered the jackal as he opened the website of the Directorate of Transport and clicked on Vehicle Information-Find by registration number. “Now, according to the registration system, this car is registered in Ponda. There’s the name of the owner-black devil alright.” He now began working furiously going on to the website of Goa State Chief Electoral Officer. “Click on search electoral roll, enter the name of the guy and there you have it! His election card details, name of the father (which he down) and his ADDRESS !!!” He got up from the computer table and began to browse through the telephone directory.

“Hello, this is the jackal from Durga Developers; can i talk to the Black Devil?” the jackal had zoomed in on his target like an American smart bomb. “Good evening Devil. I am calling from Durga Developers. I believe you are filing a petition against us? Let’s settle the issue before it escalates. Care to meet me tomorrow in my office? No? Oh you would like Miramar beach huh? Done.” The jackal filled in other minute details and arranged a meeting. I would be in attendance as an observer.

***

the jackal looked deep into devil’s eyes for several moments before uttering a word. “Devil.” It was a call-cum question checking devils identity. “jackal” devil mimicked the jackal with a smile. “the petition, what will you get from defending an invaluable farm land?” said the jackal as coldly as Davey Jones in Pirates of the Caribbean film series. “the land belongs to some of my close friends.” replied the Devil. “Well then how about changing your close friends? Make friends with people who give you privileges and not poverty” the jackal got down to business. “i believe you comprehend my statement.”

The Black Devil permitted himself a heartfelt smile. “i have already left the poor friends sir.” He told the jackal indicating he would accept some 'generosity'. “such litigations don’t pay much. I have given up the case. I am afraid I am not the man who can resolve your farm land mess anymore.” “You gave up the case?” Espana blasted in surprise and anger. “i know enough not to mess with the builder lobby dear.” The devil made a remark looking at Espana but aimed at the Jackal. “Ah, i like your ability to resolve matters quickly.” The jackal shook his hand swiftly passing him a Rs. 10000 cheque. “It was nice meeting with you Mr. Jackal.” The Black Devil smiled as he prepared to leave. The two turned and began to walk away in opposite direction. “ I got to go to my office” I slipped out of jackals company to join Espana and the devil

“You’re leaving the case?” “ I am not even filing the petition” “huh?” Espana was shocked too! “Vassant is doing it.” The devil took out a photograph of a farmer from his pocket. “you’re going to be his lawyer?” “nope. I am out of the picture! I don’t exist any more.” He smiled and drove away. “THIS! Espana shouted in frustration. “THIS IS YOUR TRUSTED LAWYER?” “oh he’s just cleared his own name from the case” I speculated “he must be up to something. Trust me."

click here for part 4

Clash of the Titans part 2

2011-11-09T19:07:00.000-08:00

The lanky young man opened the files carefully to avoid staining them from food residue scattered on the table of Kala Academy’s cheap open air canteen. “The farmers are still producing?” “Yes! We’re trying to form a farmers club to gain a better foothold.” informed Espana. “You will be weak if you choose to fight the case individually. A farmers club will strengthen your case.” observed the lawyer “what do you mean your case? Is it not ours? Are you not taking the case?”

“Establish a united front and i will defend you.”

“Dude, you can charge your fees but get the organization registered- it’s the only thing remaining.” “Alright. In that case, I accept your case.” Exclaimed the Devil bringing relief to Espana. “Good. Here is an advance of Rs. 2000. See you next Saturday on the farms!” Espana threw a wad of cash before the Devil like a pampered princess throwing gifts at her servants and walked out planning her next move. “She does that when she is excited.” I explained her actions to a bewildered Devil as i hurried behind the girl. “Wait.” Whispered the black devil clasping my shoulder.

“I am fresh out of college with no experience and you are dragging me into a high court case.” “You are a bright and wise man Devil. You can handle this.”

i petted my own back for getting the black devil to accept Espanas case.

I had interest to defend in Durga Developers. Getting Espana’s case to an inexperienced lawyer would ensure she lost the case. But giving her the idea of filing a petition and giving her a lawyer would improve my image in Espana’s eyes. It was a good game but Espana’s next move complicated my position.

***

“Since when did you start giving preference to your great news channel over your family business JJ?” The Jackal asked in voice devoid of emotion. “What are you talking about?” “Don’t act like you don’t know. Your news just jeopardized our budding business deal.” Having no clue of what he was talking about, i told the Jackal i got no time to watch our great news channel and i would get back to him after verifying what had happened.

What had happened gave me the shock of a lifetime.

The news of the said land grabbing had made it into the day’s headlines on our great news channel. That was not the problem. The revelations made in the news would affect the reputation of Durga Developers. That wasn’t the problem too! The script of the news item was written exactly the way i would write it. My style, my words but not my news. In an ingenious maneuver Espana had as always put me in soup while avoiding getting caught herself.

I was back on the phone trying to explain the jackal that i was not behind the news. “Then who is?” “i cant say. We’re not allowed to expose the names of script writers.” I replied. “But I can tell you there will be a series of follow up stories on the issue so prepare yourself for a huge setback.” “hmmm.” The jackal hummed like a tiger growling under its breath. “Thanks for the vital piece of information JJ, I will stop the follow up stories.”

And stop they did -with direct orders from the editor. Durga Developers had offered the channel a hot advertising deal worth Rs.50000. the deal was simple. Stop the negative publicity and we’ll make your purses overflow.

“Damn! looks like the builder guy has noticed our activities” Espana coolly reacted to the events. “The good news is, our farmers club has been registered and we’re filing the litigation now!”

***

Click here for part 3

Clash of the Titans part 1

2011-11-09T09:03:00.000-08:00

Solemness filled environment as the office staff stood in line with necks bowed like soldiers paying tribute to martyred comrades. One of our colleagues was leaving to pursue better opportunities but anticipation of the void that would come with his departure made everyone nervous.

“It’s been great to serve with you people,” noted the outgoing sub-editor of our great news channel. “i am leaving. But i would like to repay the immense debt of our great news channel by recommending a worthy successor to my post.” He paused to deepen the impact of the statement “who?” asked the editor listing potential new recruits in his own mind. “She is a free spirited and creative girl.” Informed the departing officer.

“Her name is Espana”

“Espana?” I smacked my forehead loud enough to attract questioning glances. “Nothing, she’s just a good friend of mine. I am very excited at this, hehehe..” The next 15 days passed like wind in a canyon with me having nightmares about what Espana might pull me into when she started working at our great news channel. And the inevitable day finally dawned upon us.

“ Aloha! JJ! How’s life?” Espana sank into a chair beside me “its gonna be fun working alongside you man, i had to pull a lot of threads to be here you know!” “Don’t tell me you fixed the interview and walked yourself into this job” “hee hee hee...” Espana gave a mocking laugh and dived into the files spread before her.

Espana was regular and committed to her job but she left early on Saturdays “to do some photography in the city in evening light” and worked overtime on Mondays “to make up for Saturdays”. Good. Logical reasons. But why would anyone be so punctual to follow a hobby? Why would anyone make up for loss so prudently- unless he or she wanted to avoid attracting attention? “oi Anish,” I summoned a reporter. “do me a little favor, check where that girl goes on Saturdays. And yes, don’t let her see you otherwise we’ll both be in soup.” The reporter who had been curious about this cute girl from the beginning was more than happy to get this new job.

Anish informed me that Espana visited a bunch of fields near the city to meet with some farmers. My instructions to stay out of sight of the girl prevented him from knowing what was being discussed at these meets. “Social work.” I guessed the reason for Espan’s new secret venture. “That girl is addicted to social work.”

“So, are we off to another farmers meet now?” i cornered Espana the next Saturday. “What? Oh, just tracking a potential story, politicians grabbing fields and selling them to developers” “ oh, but according to records that i have gathered-under Right to Information state that one of the plots belongs to this person” i pointed to the name of her grandfather written on the document. “It’s your land. And you wish to save it from the developers.” The exposure brought shock to Espana’s face but she decided to trust me. “Would you like a coffee?” she made a request in imperative tone. “Yes, i have just one question to ask over coffee. Why are you opposing the sale of a land valued in crores?”

“not just mine, its a whole bunch of fertile farms.” Replied Espana. “And It’s my ancestral property, stuck in a developer-politician nexus.” Espana pulled out some documents from her black backpack. It was newly released regional plan 2021. “Now, this is the regional plan which classifies the fields in our vicinity as green zone. Strikingly, the Outline Development plan of the PDA (planning and development authority) reclassifies this land as settlement zone!”

Two different agencies had two different plans. The difference clearly suggested influence of the local MLA. The crazy girl would be in direct line of fire of a politician. “Sell the land, Espana, we can’t lock horns with the dark and powerful politicians.”

“Listen, from what I have learnt, a builder is planning to develop this land. My plan is to stop the builder. That way we may not come to the attention of the politician.” And the company developing the land is? “Durga Developers” Espana uttered the name of the company like an assassin acquainting himself with his target.

“HOLY HELL!” I shouted in a mixture of fury and fear. This company was owned and operated by the ruthless coldblooded Jackal. The worst part was that i had a stake in it too. “What happened.” “Nothing...just chocked on food.” “So help me with this case man, i need all the help i can get” Espana brought on the catch 22 i feared. Help Espana and face economic loss, defend family interests and lose a friend.

I chose what they call the middle path.

“This firm is owned by the great Jackal.” i told the girl. “i cannot help you directly in this case. One way you can win is by filing public interest litigation in the high court.” “High court eh? It will be a huge affair.” Espana contemplated the impact of the move. “Look, you won’t have to get involved directly.” I coaxed the lady into accepting my bid. “A friend of mine is a good lawyer. File the petition in his name and no one will know its you” I said “his name is Black Devil. We’ll meet him on Sunday.”

Click here for part 2

Road to salvation...

2011-10-09T00:45:00.000-07:00

I had begun traveling the road to the decision one year ago. I took the decision today as the goddess of my world, my mom believed today is an auspicious day to start new ventures.

I renounced defense studies.

I think putting this up on my blog will make it official. It will serve as a reminder for my terrible memory.

My journey to this point was arduous, like a struggling drug or computer game addict. I was an addict of the ‘new great game’. The treacherous labyrinth of international politics, arms race and intelligence agencies creeped into me like alcohol and cigarettes creep on to people. i had studied realist theory of international relations down to the last word. “All nations posses hard and soft power and they use it for selfish motives.” I enjoyed Pakistan’s fall from grace like a sports fan enjoying a good game. I monitored the Korean conflict with the zeal of a football fanatic following a league season. Humanity was nonsense, the UN was a joke.

When i took up a job in a news channel, i took interest in court cases and drug stories.

My line of thought and job had its consequences. A beautiful girl wrote a poem for me once. It was like this

Just like a free bird

I want to fly high,

cage the wind in wings

and kiss the blue sky.

In the lap of moon

silently I want to lie,

and tell the rain to pour down

when the Earth is hot and dry.

Happily fluttering my wings

and listening to the song of streams

filling everyone around with colours of happiness

Is my life’s secret dream.

I thought I’d have a little fun with her and parodied her poem.

Just like a powerful drug lord

I want to get high

Bribe the goa police

And secure my drug supply

In the lap of the CBI

Quietly I slip a lie

An tell the cops to stand down

When the market is hot and drugs are in supply

Happily muttering to myself

And smoking grass in the streets

Filling everyone around with drugs and distress

Is my life’s secret dream

“You’re so negative!” Her reaction to the parody rang the first alarm.

Another friend wished me Happy Dashahara the other day and i reacted saying that 6^th October was in fact the anniversary of the Yom Kippur war. Her reaction was the second alarm.

I decided to renounce violence there and then.

The ‘Poem-gate’ affair as I call it, had really moved me though. It was in November 2010-the beginning of journey to salvation. The journey was riddled with difficulties. Soon after i sowed the first nascent seed to humanity, the Arab Spring started. Bosses at the news channel suggested i give some international news for daily ticker and i was again following the Middle East. Some defense related books i had ordered online before ‘poem-gate’ also arrived at the same time. I decided to donate them to my friends and announced on Facebook that i was going to renounce violence. Just than, Israel-Turkey relations deteriorated over the flotilla issue and The Jordan time sent me regular updates on Facebook. I had forgotten to reshuffle my preferences in the virtual world.

I still couldn't keep myself from reading George Tenet's “At the Centre of the storm, CIA in America’s times of crisis” I decided to learn guitar to keep myself away from those terrible books. A friend from the University days was there. She gave me an autobiography of a soldier in some civil war in Africa.

I donated all my defense related books to friends stating that i was renouncing violence. No one believed it. On the contrary, they seemed to think i was suffering from a temporary humanity attack which had been occurring off and on since poem-gate affair late last year.

I time and again forgot my own vow to stop making violent parodies of my friend’s poems. This time i intend to remember the promise made to my friends to give up violent parodies and write only good things. I will put the promise in beautiful lyrics and make it into a vow-poem and i am going to buy a nice golden ring this Diwali so that i remember that my hand is only meant to do good things.

Juggling The Job (part 3)

2011-10-01T08:29:00.000-07:00

Espana arrived at the daily bread with a laptop and a CD. “This disc will help you do a follow up story on illegal mining scam in Goa.” She turned on her laptop and started browsing through some video files. “Today i will reveal the identities of people you have called.” Espana began to unleash the truth as a guy talking about mining scam appeared on her computer screen. “This is A.”

“Its the director of mines!”

Espana flashed a mischievous smile. “This is ‘N’. She clicked another video. It turned out to be a member of legislative assembly.

Holy hell! , all the other people i had called were MLA,s , government officials and activists. I assumed Espana did not tell me their identities calculating that i would lose my confidence if i knew i was talking to powerful people. But that left one question.

Why go through ‘our great news channel when she is already a good film maker?

“Look at how they reacted when i tried” eapana brought ‘A’ back on screen.

“sir, i am a documentary film maker. I want to make a film on illegal mining in the state. Can you please give me some data? “not until this Shah commission mess settles down. “ “can you talk on camera?” “ no comments.” “sir, i believe the directorate of mines is understaffed and cannot act against illegal mining, that true?

“Yes. We lack manpower.” “You lack manpower even as other government jobs are having a windfall gain of new recruits. Why?" “Working at the mines directorate needs technical knowledge.” “People say you are keeping the office understaffed on purpose so you can say you cant act. It’s a scam.” “Are you recording?” “No sir.” “Good. Because if you record or quote me on that, you are going to be in big trouble girl. Now please go and let me do my work.”

“And the same people rolled out red carpets for the media!”

“So you posed as a reporter of our great news channel.”

“No. i knew a few reporters there, they helped me. The government honchos remember my face and my voice so i can’t go there can i?”

“now that we’re done, take back your phone.” “Whoa! Not my phone man! Call ‘Owner’ in the contact list and return his phone na plase, i wont be there tomorrow.” “where are you going?” “I am off to Malaysia for a couple of months! Do you expect me to hang around here after making a documentary on such a hot topic?”

“when are you leaving?”

“Now! Within two hours!

“Espana,” i prostrated before her wanting to kiss her feet. “you are the goddess of lies.” “oh no, give this expression to the corporate and government honchos who allegedly pulled off a mining scam worth Rs. 10000 crore! And you know what, only 9 out of some 300 mines in Goa re legal put that in your news!

Good luck and Ciao!”

(story completely fictional.)

Juggling The Job (part 2)

2011-10-01T08:17:00.000-07:00

Aha! First day on the new job! The king of the cubicle sat gazing at his computer, his mind, blanker than the screen before him. It was boring but peaceful day. in a moment filled with dullness, Espana's old phone lying in the corner caught my eye and i got curious. Why was she so careful with that piece of junk? What was in it?

I began to browse through the contacts. There were no names but only single letters and initials. ‘D’....... ‘A’........ ‘ I.R.’........ ‘H.L.O.’....... ‘A.G.’...... i was really tempted to call someone and find out who they were, But then came a call from the eccentric Espana.

“Hey, just a little favor man, take that magic phone and call ‘A’. Ask him for an appointment, help me get an interview na please! I will edit it and give a part you for your news!” “fine” it was my first day and i had no work anyway.

“Good morning sir, i am calling from our great news channel. I wanted a small byte of yours regarding illegal mining scam. “Our great news channel eh?” boomed ‘A’. “Fine”

“ I will send our reporter Espana over in a few minutes.” “ok”

I spent the next hour having fun online after which i had to go meet Espana at the usual restaurant. “oi JJ! You just made my day man!” Oh my god, The last time she had said that sentence, i had ghostwritten her project. The sentence had since then been our codeword for ‘sigh, it’s finally over.’ Yes, we had been in soup so many times before that we designed a codeword to signal each other that we were safely out of a tight spot.

“What did you just get me to do?” “Ah, i will tell you, but first, make one more call na please!”

This time i dilled ‘N’ “good morning sir....our great news channel...mining scam Interview tomorrow at 4? Thank you.”

Why couldn’t she just tell me who i was calling? “JJ, its a tricky situation, trust me i can handle it and i will tell you everything on the fifth day of working on our great documentary.” “our?” “well, you’re arranging the appointments!”

Over the next two days, i called one C.A., one I.R., one D.S., complying with espana’s instructions without complaint. On the last and the fourth day, my patience ran out. “Today you make only one call.” Espana said. “To D.K.” “Today is the fourth day Espana. I reminded her. Tell me who DK is. Tell me everything. “no. make the call first. “no, i will ask DK who he is.” “trust me JJ, you dont want to be in soup with Dk, not with DK.”

“Aaah, so much concerned are we?” her extreme caution was annoying me now. “I will ask him no matter what. “Oh, alright but one condition. If he demands your identity, you are Denzil Rodregues.”

“Good morning sir...mining scam interview? No comments? Hey, every other guy we called gave the details. Why are you not complying? Who are you man?”

“do you have any respect for my position?” DK questioned me. “if i say no, it means no. who are you? What are you working as at ‘our great news channel’?

“i am denzil rodregues. I sit at the reception desk.” “OK denzil. I guess i will take your case up with your boss.”

Damn. Who is this guy?

I learnt about DK’s position within minutes.

“JJ, please see me in my cabin asap. “Announced a stern editor on the intercom. What i faced in editors cabin was not music. It was thunder.

“It seems you called up the chief minister and demanded an interview regarding illegal mining.”

“CHIEF MINISTER?”

“Are you on drugs or something JJ? You call up a person, schedule an interview and dont know who he is? And what was your purpose behind giving a false identity? ” i could not reply, having gone numb out of fear. “Now, i have replied to the minister stating that Denzil Rodriguez no longer works at our great news channel. I will keep you in service as your little tricks have given us some quality news. Now get out of my cabin and end this drama within 24 hours.

"Hahahahaha....” Espana laoghed out loud when i alerted her about the situation. “oooh, you sound so cute when you are afraid! Come, let’s meet at ‘Daily Bread’."

(continued ...part 3)

Juggling The Job (part 1)

2011-10-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

I had decided to take a vacation of 365 days the day i finished my studies. But even when the university left me, my devilish friends stayed on. The trouble they caused, continued.

“Good morning Mr. Jay Joshi. I am calling from “our great news channel.” We received the CV you sent. Would you like to come for an interview tomorrow?”

Within 48 hours of its commencement, my yearlong vacation received its death threat

“Huh?” I was perplexed. “I sent you my CV?”

I didn't even remember typing out one!

Something was wrong. Anyway, speculating my hyper active mom to be behind this, I decided to ruin the interview and approached the office of the said news channel.

The first shock I got was when a panelist at the table mentioned my talents. “So Mr. Joshi, I see you travelled quite a lot in the Middle East and Latin America.”

The memory of my dad telling me we couldn’t afford a trip to Andaman flashed in my mind.

“Sir, can I take a look at my CV?” I made a request in a diffident, fading voice. “I believe I submitted an older version of my bio data. I wish to make some additions” “Fine” they said.

The bio data was something as follows

Name: Jay Joshi

Educational qualifications

· Secondary School Certificate with 90% from Don Bosco High, Panaji

· Graduated with first class in mass communications from S.S. Dempo college f arts and science

· Master of Arts in international studies with first class from Goa University

Languages known: English, Hindi, Konkani, Marathi, French, Spanish, Arabic.

Countries visited: Oman, Jordan, Mexico, Brazil, Costa Rica, Thailand, Canada.

Experience: independent documentary film maker since 2010

Even more puzzling was the photograph. It was me, dressed in a suit, standing outside the Zarzulea palace. My face had been photo shopped on a picture of the King of Spain! It was a subtle gesture- a signature.

España

I would deal with that witch later. Now, I had an interview panel to repel. I simply decided to answer all their question s in negative and walk out.

“you’re an avid traveler,” began one of the panelists. “ so tell us a bit about the current condition in Oman” “i am afraid i have no knowledge about the country sir, “fine” cut in another guy “lets come to local scene then.” “What do you think about the politics of Goa?” “Goan politics is a complete mess, and the members of the legislative assembly are known by the people as and The Forty Thieves.”

“What problems do you think are a dominant theme on the forum of Goan politics?” “I would say nothing has yet reached the forum of politics. Issues like rampant mining and corruption have dominated the public debate but have failed to affect the unscrupulous political community.”

“Alright, last question.” “What do you have say about corruption?”

“Zilch! I don’t care! What’s the use of me thinking or saying when no one including me is doing anything about it?” I boomed “screw politics. I m selfish thug”

To my delight, all the panelists were now uncomfortable. I was told to go sit outside while they huddled in to have an animated discussion. I was confidant of my ‘disappointment quotient’ no one could stand me as it is. When I decide to be irritating, I am dangerous as a drunken monkey with a sword in his hand.

But my drunken monkey avatar proved counter productive in those corridors of the media! “we like your honesty” they said “you’re hired”

I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. I was accidentally hired. I decided to purposely get myself fired. I made a mental note to device a harakiri strategy over an evening tea and moved to the second task at hand. That bloody chick, that witty witch, devilish damsel...

“what the...why the...why me?” i couldn’t speak out of rage. “Oh, looks like you got the job! So how’d you like the photo?” “i will not work.” “You don’t have to!” “what do mean?” “let’s have a coffee at the usual place.” Part request, part order, she mumbled an invitation and hung up the phone.

Next moment we were in ‘Daily Bread’. “All you have to do is to help me a little with my documentary.” España explained as she rummaged her black backpack. This back pack was full of mysteries like a magician’s hat. The last time i had tried poking around in it, i got bitten by her pet guinea pig. On another occasion i had found eighty thousand rupees stuffed in an air sickness bag. Now she pulled out an old mobile phone from it.

“Now listen carefully.” She handed the phone over to me “take this phone and use it only to call the numbers that i tell you to call.” That’s it? i just call people? “Yes. You just call and get answers to questions I tell you to ask. Nothing more. I promise you i will wrap it all up in three days. What do i get from this? “Information for your new job and writing!” Ah, Now that was my weak point.

“Three conditions.” España snapped as i turned to leave. “You don’t ask the person at the other end who he is, don’t call anyone unless i tell you and in case someone asks your name, you are Denzil Rodriguez” “life without lies is peaceful and blissful, España” “Only lies help you survive in a world of liars, JJ”

continued...part 2

School :( :X

2011-09-05T19:52:00.000-07:00

Aha! Teacher’s day! You might wonder why I am bringing up the topic here rather than my current affairs blog. It’s because teachers day brings back terrible memories. Memories of school days when I was an idiot caught up in a brutal system.

I was not a complete blockhead. I understood what the teachers taught, I listened in the class, but, sometimes I would retreat in my dream world. It happened mostly during history and geography lectures. As the teacher told the story, I would see in my minds eye what might have happened there on the battle field, how fascinating social life might have been in ancient and medieval India!

When geography teacher spoke about the beauty of this world, I would imagine myself standing on ghats of the Ganges, the Himalayas or the jungles on the banks of Amazon. It was so amazing! I would get lost imagining things and miss the rest of the lecture.

That is why, I could answer oral questions but I could never write a lengthy answer to satisfy the examiners. I never saw studies as studies. I just enjoyed history, civics, and geography classes.

I feared the numbers. I still do.

I can tell you the names and achievements of tens of emperors but I was never able to memorize mathematical formulas. I m equally bad with monetary transactions. Once I had two plates of bhel, each Rs 25,I gave the guy Rs 100 for the first plate and then again Rs 50 for the second. I was thinking straight-two separate plates = two separate transactions. This was in 2010.

I avoided science like a monk giving up material world. I was never mad behind Mendeleev like the rest of my friends. I stayed away from him and his table with the zeal of a vegetarian avoiding meat. I just could not remember it all!

Confusion in my brain was rampant as to which organ secretes which fluid. To this day i know only one of Newton’s laws. “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction so don’t trouble other people.” I remember it because my neighbor screamed it at me when I broke his window while playing.

My mom tried to walk me through math and science initially but even she could not comprehend the syllabus in standard 9 and 10. Then i tried tuitions. I am awesome at forgetting stuff. The tuition teacher would be irritated like hell. I would come home, hide my face behind the math text book and cry.

My mom noticed it sometimes.

She told me the story of ugly duckling. I would be all ears, urging her to tell the story over and over again and she would gladly do it. She would urge me to be patient. Subjects of my choice would be available in college.

I was good at learning English but my talking improved only in college and it became awesome when i went to the university. My mom taught me English. I liked to listen to the lecture at school too but the students would make hell of a noise and disrupted the class of the lenient teacher. All my English teachers were lenient. All of them complained about my terrible handwriting.

I even managed to write lengthy answers in English paper. But the, by the time i reached the essay part, it was time out. I lost lots of marks for spelling mistakes. Result: low score.

There was one guy who went totally bonkers trying to get me to listen- the music teacher. I actually wanted to learn computer but it was open only to students who had scored a certain amount of percentage (computer had tremendous clout in those days). I lacked it. The other choice was art. I sucked at it. And so it was. I ended up in a music class. I did not want to learn music. I sat in a corner and wrote poems. Everyone tried to get me to learn music. They just gave up on me in the end-even the headmaster.

I joined extra classes of computer at school. They started teaching from the history of computer and steps of computing and things like that. It was boring but at least I got to play with comps. My perception of computers changed one day when my uncle bought a new pc.

I was incidentally returning home from another boring comp class when he hailed me into his shop. “So you learn computers no?” he asked “show me what you got” no sooner had i started explaining him the history of computer, he shouted “don’t mind the crap they teach you son, I will show you the real thing.” He connected the internet and opened a chat room. “This is the real way to use a comp.” before the certified teachers at school got around to teaching it, I was sending regular e mails to my pen pals in the US.

I burnt my science and math textbooks to ashes after passing SSC. No doubt I scored low and was officially declared to be a second class student. My mom told me I really belonged to the first class. I am proud of the fact that the bosses in my office say the same thing.

I gave four interviews and almost got myself jobs when I did not want. No one examined my certificates. So I am beginning to doubt their value. I scored a distinction in French language and first class in creative writing in English at the university but did not collect the certificates.

The school gave me a low ranking by making me study subjects I did not want.

Despite the low scores, I am a confident and respected man

AND I HATE SCHOOL

The (literary) alter ego of Natasha

2011-08-22T04:06:00.000-07:00

The privileged and powerful world of mass media is besieged by certain curses. The incompetent people suffer the wrath of their bosses. The competent ones are haunted by enemies they make in exposing different scams. The later is true especially about crime reporters.

Crime is a quicksand that only pulls you in once you step into it. I got entangled into this mess due to a chick-the one who has always put me in trouble, the one who is invisible and elusive like that Charlie character in Charlie’s angles movie. Her name haunts my mind like ghosts haunting a spooky castle

Natasha.

Once, she promised to meet me and did not show up. The second time, she appeared and vanished before I could think of what to say. Annoyed by her unstable nature, I decided to capture her elusive character in a character sketch. This shrewd and witty character would be a composite personality derived from the two most dangerous professions on earth- journalism and law. Natasha would be a character with the profession of a journalist and qualifications of a lawyer.

The topic was finalized. Time for research.

I decided to follow some hot court cases and approached the editor of our great news channel. “We have some reporters already deputed to some sensitive cases.” said the boss. “But you can follow a corporate rivalry case between two health care companies over who runs this district hospital”

Not a bad start. It was a light case. Two companies, Shalby group of hospitals and Radiant Life Care Ltd. were fighting over who gets to run the district hospital in public private partnership with the government. The government had issued the letter of intent to Radiant which had asked about Rs. 1.97 crore per year to run the hospital and refused to consider the tender submitted by Shelby on the ground that it did not adhere to the prescribed format. Shalby had offered to run the hospital for free (In the end, the court directed the government to consider the existing offers afresh and to set aside the letter of intent issued to Radiant.). I dug up the background of the whole case, went up and talked to the lawyers of both companies to observe the way lawyers behave, noted the gist of their arguments and filed a report.

The problem was that it impressed my superiors. “You’re pretty good at this man” they said. “Take one more case” Now, I was staring down at document relating to the famous Medium of Instruction case. Fuming in rage, I set off towards the high court.

Ending a privilege only allowed to indigenous languages, the government had decided to release grants to English medium schools in the state. The conservatives rose up in agitation and filed a petition to reverse the government decision. The petitioner argued that the decision did not follow mandated procedure. There was no academic authority under RTE act 2009 or an advisory board under (Goa state education act) appointed by the government to implement this decision. The circular drawn up by the government with regard to the decision was being styled as the order of the government. If it was so, the circular was not drawn up in the name of the governor.

“Superb case man.” I whispered to a cherubic bald man beside me. “Petitioner rocks!”

“You support the petitioner?” he threw me a questioning glance. “Of course I do! Cant you see, the government is screwed unless it somehow changes its circular to adhere to the procedures.” I replied. “Ah. Excuse me please...” the guy rose and went up to the Advocate General. After an exchange of ideas, he came and resumed his seat beside me.

“I would like to seek seven days time to amend the circular my lord!” exclaimed the advocate general to my horror. The guy beside me was smiling. “You saved my case.” He whispered. “Pity you let down your own side.”

The court granted time to the government to amend the circular.

The petitioner came up behind me. “Did you just tell the deputy director for education to amend the circular?”

“He was the Deputy Director for education?”

“You just ruined my case boy. I will have you on that.” Holy cow! Both my reputation and my enemies were multiplying.

“Awesome story” exclaimed the editor when I submitted the report. “One more case” This time it was a hearing on a powerful politician’s bail application on charges of illegal mining.

I was being sucked deeper into the world crime and court cases with every passing day. My name was now listed in the police records as crime reporter and the police department was making various attractive offers. “Would you like to accompany us in a drug depot raid?” “Would you like to have an interview with Maoists we caught?” “Can you help us track down the inmates that ran away an hour ago?”My colleagues had put up a board outside my cubicle reading ‘Jay Joshi: Crime Reporter.’

My peaceful life had been turned upside down. I had entered a world I never wanted to be a part of. Arrests, raids, murders, scams, I did not wish to report this. And yet, they thought I was a natural at it.

Why did I end up here again?

Natasha.

Once, that girl had me stuck alone in Tirakol fort, once I waited for her in Kala Academy so long that security got suspicious and threw me out. Now, I was stuck in the dark world of crime. “by God I will make that girl pay” I swore under my breath. Just then my phone beeped. A message from Natasha

“You do a story on me

And I will knock out your tooth

Proceed further despite this warning

And you face a defamation suit”

I sighed and dialed a number. “I need a lawyer…” I hissed.

(Events and characters in this story are completely fictional.)

Our Headquarters

2011-08-17T08:00:00.000-07:00

It’s been almost a year since I started working for our great news channel. I have used this time to patiently observe the staff so I get some characters to write abut. And oh, the happenings at our office get awesome and weirder with every passing day! I always refer to our channel as Our Great News Channel (OGNC) because sometimes I think we’re like the Soviets- we make not have the quality but we have the pride!

But then, by nature and by work, we’re like the British.

Just like the famous 'Six', we have our office on the banks of a river. It is located in a huge (by Goan standards) 7 storey tower behind a public toilet in a corner of Panaji bus stand. The passageways are filled with smell of fresh cake from ‘Great Bakes’ shop on the building’s ground floor. If you come at the correct time, the elevator smells of ladies perfume, thanks to someone from Cosme office on the fifth floor.

Our floor of course bears the most sacred number-007.

Our similarity with the SIS doesn’t end here. Despite all efforts from our ‘brighter’ and ‘smarter’ staff, the ‘Americans’ that is ‘our competitors’ end up getting the better part of sensitive information.

Now that I am here, things have begun to change. :)

The eyes and ears of OGNC are of course, the reporters. I call them ‘the blood sucking ninjas’. They make money giving publicity to people’s problems. The ninjas dance to the tune of the assistant news editor. Due to her rank and her job, I call her ‘Lady Eliza.’ She decides what and what not to cover. The honorable baroness, battles crap all day, buried behind her computer and screaming on her phone, surrounded by invitations to various press conferences. If you are in good relations with the lady, she might send you to cover a conference at the Taj Vivanta or a fashion show by Wendell Rodricks. If not, you find yourself roaming on streets, asking pedestrians what they think about rising inflation.

The man with the magic wand however, is the editor, fondly called Lord Nelson because of his liberal style of leadership. In times of desperation, he uses his old boy network to fish out information to make some good news.

The most interesting of all is the sub editing staff. The people manning sub editing section of our great news channel have only two moods. They’re either angry or enraged. I however, am the most sane, pleasant and cool character in the whole sub editing department because I handle very sensitive stories like ‘milk price increased by Rs. 3’ or ‘stray cat enters police headquarters’ etc.

If I give you details about the rest of the crew manning the section, they will sue me.

The video editors (read Qs) are like cunning foxes. Their greed for better visuals is unending. They get the fastest, coolest computers that run without ever getting stuck! They have soft music playing and they get to draw cool graphic pictures all day. Compared to the sub-editing section where comps almost always crash, there’s no music (it disrupts concentration needed for writing), the video editing section is heaven! Despite all these facilities, the video editors are innovative enough to find issues to complain about. See? We have a really smart staff!

Now, the kinds who are in-charge of feeding the visual-hungry video editing division are the cameramen. These people are mostly out in the field and I don’t get to spend much time with them. Almost all the cameramen are burly, muscular guys. So I am not going to say a word wrong about them. I love my life

So that’s it. I am still a junior at the office. The security guard thinks I am office boy and office boy thinks I am a sub-editor. The cameramen think I am a reporter. I do video editing on Sundays and sub-editing on weekdays. So both sub-editors and video editors think I belong to the other section.

Officially, I am a librarian.

Daydreams of a city dweller

2011-08-12T23:33:00.001-07:00

I think the city of Panaji is like a beautiful painting and you cant take your eyes off it. Roaming the city in late evenings after office has become my hobby. I don’t walk. I don’t do anything on my own account. The streets come alive and pull me on and the sea sings songs of joy.

Miramar beach is my trusted friend. It is here that I built my first sand castle as a kid. It is here that I wrote my first poem . I shared my grief here with the sea and tears from my eyes fused with the waves to become a part of their calm humming that provides hope.

There is this place, elegant as a nobleman, charismatic as a leader, whoprovides a peek in the corridors of power. The hill of Altinho-abode of the ruling elite. Sometimes I stand before the Archbishops House and pretend I own the place or stand on the heights of Altinho imagining I rule the city spread below. The mentions and bungalows of the city’s powerful barons, the sophisticated black coated lawyers at the high court and government motorcades zooming away with panache are provoking for one’s ambitions.

Opposite to the imposing Fidalgos of Altinho, is the loving seduction of Kala Academy and its feast of performing arts. A lifetime is not enough to savor the delights it has to offer. If you are fortunate enough, you get free guitar concert from the students who practice their lessons out on the lawn. Its an amazing (and sometimes hilarious) sight.

Every time I roam the city, I am left feeling like there is something still left to explore. I am left longing for more, and then I remember the river. The river that just flows on. Indifferent to the casino ships dotting its waters, indifferent to fishermen circling its depths, indifferent to the bustling city on its banks, the flow of the river reminds me to let go, to move on and head home.

The tale of two Djinnies

2011-06-18T05:32:00.000-07:00

Monsoon heralds the beginning of the new academic year and brings joy to all. To me, it announces the end of the party season. My uncles used to drop me back home with a bag full of fresh cucumbers and lots of good wishes for school.

I hated monsoon for that. It brought me back from the cave of Alibaba that was my grandmother’s house. It brought me back to this cruel world of studies from the magic kingdom of stories. Above all, the uncles, my two Jinns would vanish behind a curtain of rain- not from the sky but from my eyes.

My cousins Sushrut Ria and I called grandmother’s home “Magic Kingdom”. As dark clouds vanished and winter approached, the magic would spread its wings. Like intelligence agents, the uncles knew before we did, the dates of our mid term break. Afraid that my mom will deny permission to go to the magic Kingdom, I would plan my escape a week before the Diwali brake.

Bal mama’s shop of electrical appliances was on the way to my school. He used to wait outside his shop in the afternoon. I climbed straight into his car and we would sneak off to an udpi restaurant named Public Café to grab a batata wada. From there, Mahesh mama would smuggle me onto grandmother’s house while Bal mama came back to his shop and pretended he hadn't even seen me coming! The drama ended when my grandmother would make a call to my mom. She was the only person to who could handle my quick tempered mom. Sushrut stayed in Margao. He also would be at the grandmother’s house when I arrived. To this day, neither Sushrut, nor uncles have revealed to anyone how they managed to get him there.

The smuggling operations completed in lunch time, the uncles would go back to their respective shops. Mahesh mama sold refrigerators, washing machines and TVs while Bal Mama was a state wide distributor for tube lights bulbs and wiring and fitting stuff. He was rarely found in his shop and was always behind the wheel of his tempo traveler transporting huge quantities of goods around the state. At times his tempo would be empty and we kids would turn it into a dance floor. He sometimes took us with him on his delivery trips to various cities and villages despite protests from the over protective grandmother. She had a reason to be afraid.

Traveling with Bal mama meant we’d be feasting on outside food.

Food was something Balmama loved. He taught us all the table manners. He took us to the finest of hotels but on one condition. We would have to go home and have dinner properly again, or else grandmother would find out we’d eaten outside.

Bal mama would never say no to a demand for food and fireworks. He would take us to the best fireworks shop in town and just stand there with his hands folded. All we had to do was to point our fingers to the stuff we wanted and it was ours! No questions, no denial. He would quietly takeout his wallet, pay for our shopping and tell our servant Vassant to load the goods in his tempo.

Mahesh mama’s USP was humor. He could make chocolates appear from thin air. When we requested him to teach the trick to us, he said it was a dark magic acquired from one baba Bhannat Dev (literally baba awesomeness) who lived on the hills on the other side of the village. Years later, I found out that this baba awesomeness was the owner of a cashew factory down the hill who sent lots of chocolates and cashews for us with our uncle.

He specialized in giving excuses. This art he taught me and I used it creatively in school and even at the university. If he came home late, it was because he had stopped to ‘mend a punctured bulldozer’ on the way. He sometimes did not have lunch because he had had ‘Gazali fry’ (gazali =Konkani for chit-chat) with his friends. A dish again prepared by the baba on the hill. It simply meant he had eaten out but he disguised the truth so as not to offend our little souls. He cared a lot about people. He spoke truth in disguise, an art I picked up from him and use in my writing!

A friend of Mahesh mama owned an ice-cream parlor. Mahesh mama made sure that the fridge would be full of ice-cream the whole time we were at the Magic Kingdom. The best, often went to Ria for she was the youngest. The second best came to me because Sushrut was the more matured, the one who could ‘understand’. Now both Sushrut and Ria are gone. I get the best!

The fireworks still comes from Bal mama in Diwali, the three cousins now smuggle kids of the uncles to finest restaurants and beaches in Goa preserving their own tradition. (The mature and understand Sushrut pays all the money.) My writ still runs supreme when I visit the Magic Kingdom. The new king size fridge still spills over with ice-creams and Mahesh mama’s daughter wonders how I can make chocolates appear from thin air. I tell her I learnt the art from a white wizard in the hills of Ponda. (my dad). The three cousins now continue to uphold the rules and tradition of their uncles

Never brake a promise made to children
Never raise your voice in front of children
Your wish is my command!

Both my uncles were jinns in every sense of the word. They lived in a house built in 1960s by my grandfather. It was old and leaky and sprawling with cobwebs and lizards. “I hate this house” I had screamed when I was 7. A non poisonous snake was found on the roof exactly above the place I slept at night. Struck by panic, I had demanded a new house on the spot. “I want a new house.” I had shouted at 2 in the morning, refusing to sleep till the uncle had ‘promised’ to built a new house.

"You wanted a new house." Mahesh mama told me one day. "Here it is!"

Even after 17 years, my Jinn had remembered the wish of his little master and fulfilled it!

We have decided to call name it “Ajol” (आजोळ) meaning grandmother’s house. It reinforces the special bond the place shares with us!

Natasha is coming!

2011-05-19T11:07:00.000-07:00

I looked on as the chits of paper burst into flashes and crawled into ashes. It was a relief. All the bills of the restaurants I had visited had been destroyed. “oi JJ” whispered the Jackal “what do we do with the bottle?”

My god, my heart sank. If my father discovered the bottle of wine hidden in my closet, he would fry me alive. “We will look into it later” I announced. I had another more pressing concern. Restoring the money I had stolen from my dads account.

“Bloody Natasha” whispered the builder “Unreliable chick”. “Very dangerous” agreed the Jackal.” “Damn girl” I completed my part of the cursing.

It began on a warm summer Sunday. My holiday started as usual with a sneak peak at my Facebook profile. And there it was. Scribbled across my Facebook wall, a massage from Natasha. “ I am coming” It announced bluntly “on Fridy the 13^th” “Holy shit! Its one week from today!” speaking to myself in panic, I fumbled with the phone to try and plan a Goa trip for Natasha. With both my parents out of station for a couple of days, I had to find someone to guide me through the planning.

Within minutes, the man who knew everything about roads and restaurants in Goa appeared before me. “Natasha is coming. Suggest a restaurant.” I coolly stated what I needed from him. “Ahem…” the builder wiped his glasses and scratched his bald head. “You see, I was out of station for past few months. Several new hotels have been opened in Panaji recently. How about we try them out? You pick one that you like.”

We started from hotel Sartaj, the cheapest tolerable restaurant in Panaji. “err… this is not what I had in mind” “oh!” he chocked on his soda-lemon, “yus yus, it’s a bit dingy, but its my favorite! Alrite, so you want the class type eh?” he rose. “Off to Hotel Fidalgoooo”

“Cannot afford, please contribute!” I screamed looking at the bill. The next day we tried Hotel Texas the day after that, Master Chef. With three days remaining for Natasha’s visit, I discovered that my entire salary for that month had been spent on fuel for body and fuel for my car.

“Bastard!” I reprimanded the builder “where do I bring cash from to impress the girl now?” The builder shook his head violently “I m sorry man, I m really sorry, you can borrow from me if you want.”

Borrow? Hell, I am respectable man I never borrow from anyone when I have my dad. Dad was out of station. So, I turned to the only ‘family’ I could trust and borrow from. The Jackal.

“Ten thousand rupees huh?” The Jackal stared coldly at my face. “Why come to me when you have the money?” “Dad is out of station” “Who needs dad? We need his signature.”

“Forgery!” my feet went cold.

“What nonsense, it’s only your dad. What belongs to him belongs to you.” the builder offered consolation like a true friend. “How can you steal from yourself?” asked the jackal. Trembling like a criminal, I took out the document I could find containing my dad’s sign- my school report card.

“Stop.” hissed the Jackal when I was about to scowl my dads signature onto the cheque book I had smuggled from his drawer. “A left hander cannot forge a signature made with right hand. The tilt and fluency of the letterswill differ significantly.” He pushed the cheque book to the builder “you can do it.”

Now it was the bald man’s turn to panic. “It’s your idea! Why don’t you do it?” “I hurt my hand in yesterday’s basketball match.” The treacherous engineer now started coaching the builder in signature forgery. “Remember, avoid shaky handwriting. Do not lift your pen in the middle of the signature and above all, the signature on the cheque should not be exactly similar to that on the report card.”

“No similarity?”

“A signature is something people scribble absent-mindedly. If it is too perfect, it means it’s done with great concentration. Only a diffident forger will ‘concentrate’ leading to a perfect signature and get himself caught.”

“There is only one trick to achieve these things.” The Jackal closed his eyes mimicking a meditating monk. “Keep your mind calm.” “Alright” the builder took a deep breath to calm down his mind. “Practice…practice ….practice” he practiced the sign 10-12 times on a sheet of paper and then went for the chequebook.

“Voila!”

A cheque of Rs. 10000 from my dad!

“You never told me it involved a lady.” The Jackal whispered with a grin as we came out of the bank. “I can help you with the tourist spots. Now that you have cash, you can try the water sports too!” “Think about it.” he pressed his argument at my denial. “The chick will be impressed.”

The mention of the girl melted my heart.

Now we were at Calangute. “All packages of water sports for three” the jackal placed an order and hopped onto a banana boat. After banana boat, water scooter and Para-sailing, half of our funds and all of our stamina was exhausted. As I counted out the notes to pay for the sports, the builder blurted out his irritating trademark line. “Need to eat.”

A quarter of the remaining half was thus spent in a shack where food cost three times the average. “This girl,” the builder enquired sipping his soft drink “this girl has a lot of knowledge about wines you say” I nodded. “Well then why not buy a good wine from the money that is remaining?”

“Awesome!” the jackal bounced up as if he had got an electric shock. “ I will buy you the best wine in town.” He snatched the wallet from my hands and walked off only to return with an expensive bottle of Red wine.”

“My whole family does not drink! I shouted “my dad will kill me if he sees the bottle!” “who says you’re keeping the bottle? You keep it in the car; we go meet the chick, hand over the bottle and then go collect your dad.”

“Agreed.” I kept the bottle in the car. One day to go before Natasha arrived and relieved me of the bottle. We decided to spend the night deciding on which beach and which restaurant to take her to.

Just as we were about to finalize the plan, my phone beeped. “ok guys,” I announced triumphantly “a message from Natasha.” The duo readied their notepads and pens to note down the time of her arrival. “Here it is” I stretched their curiosity further.

I got a heart attack when I read the message.

“ TRIP CANCELLED”

“WHAT THE….” The builder smacked his forehead. I began to experience shortage of breath and Jackal began to pace up and down the living room in thought. I calmed myself down and began issuing orders for a clean-up operation. ““We must destroy all the evidence of spending as we cannot justify it now.” “Burn all the bills and delete all photographs.” “Oi JJ” whispered the jackal “what do we do with the bottle?” ““And how do we replenish ‘dead funds/dad funds’ the builder’s sense of humor sharpens in times of danger. “MY GOD, I was enraged. ‘IMMA KILL THAT GAL”

The next day, I donated the bottle to the Jackal and borrowed Rs. 5000 from each of my two uncles telling them my mom needed the money.

Now only one question remains

How to tackle mom?

Help of Nations!

2011-04-13T11:01:00.000-07:00

Tell you what, we see people around us. They are ‘made’ by the influence of people around them. I want to tell you how I was made what I am today. I am too absent minded to notice people around me and see what they are doing. I read book, international relations is my favorite topic. Reading about different cultures and countries shaped my world view.

I was not made by people. I was made by countries.

Three nations gave me three values.

1. Britain.

An Englishman is the epitome of confidence and pragmatism. The Brits have a small island with little resources. They solved the problem by developing a powerful navy and colonizing other nations. This came from the basic perception of the people. The British are superior to the rest of the world and are born to rule. I got one value from the land of hope and glory. No matter who says what, I am awesome! Born to command, not to serve.

2. Israel.

The Israelis in early 1940s were men in rags. Persecuted in Europe, hated in Palastine, they had nothing but a dream to build a nation on the Promised Land. And they had a visionary leader. They left no stone unturned to achieve their dream. They formed Haganah and fought the numerically superior Arabs, arranged illegal immigration networks to ship Jews to Pelestine, gave military training to every citizen to handle any situation. The Israelis responded to adverse situation by building an invincible army. I learned three values from the promised land.
Desperation, agility, innovation, and a never say die spirit.

3. Italy

The country of fashion and beauty. Gucci, Prada, Armani…the best fashion houses, the birthplace of Ferrari cars! The land of art and fashion, food and drink and oh, don’t forget the wine! There is so much beauty in this world! When I sit and write good stories, I remember Italy. They have the world’s best art museums, best wines and even their language is said to be one of the most romantic! Italy and its legacy of artists like Michelangelo, Caravaggio etc remind me that the ultimate goal of life is to create and to enjoy something beautiful!
‘Bel Paese’- beautiful country, Italy is nicknamed. She gave me an eye for beauty!

Now I am in France. Thinking about romance.

Anyway, these are the countries and cultures that influenced me.

Hope you too have abroad world view
Pick a cool country and let it shape you!

The Motto

2011-04-02T11:35:00.000-07:00

A feeling of escape was clearly visible on the faces of men standing around the crackling fire. It was finally over. Bloody Education.

“Glad you guys made it through” I congratulated my friends.

“Wasn’t as cool as it was when you were around” the Jade Buddha smiled. “Guys, we’re here to party! Stop lamenting about the past. Live in the moment. “ Espana brought us all down on the ground.

“Speaking of parties, “the Jackal burst out “how about we play a little game?”

“Bring it on” “Aha!” “Name it! I’m in!” everyone exploded. “Fine.” The Jackal cleared his throat and explained the game.

“I believe that nations are just like individuals. They have a national character, a personality, strategic goals and above all, a motto to remind them of their goals and the core values that they follow as guidelines in their foreign policy. “

“If you as an individual had to choose a motto to guide your life and remind you of your principles, what motto would you choose?”

Now that was an interesting game.

“Nile,” He fixed his piercing gaze on the cherubic chick beside him. “You have been silent for a long time. How About we start with you?”

The girl’s brow tensed in thought. She gazed at the sea for a few moments and replied solemnly. “Uddharet-atmanat-manam" (उद्धरेत आत्मनात्मानं )

“The Geeta!” Jade Buddha exclaimed. “why this?” the jackal interrupted. “It’s indeed a hymn from the Geeta.” The Nile explained. “It means a man should emancipate himself through his mind. I believe in optimism. An optimistic mind is able to achieve anything. Always have a positive attitude. You next.” She now pointed at the Jackal.

“Excuse me, can I borrow your translator?” the Jackal only uttered the question as he snatched Espana’s laptop and typed out his motto.

Modis omnibus.

“Hey!” Espana snatched back her laptop and read out. “What is this?”

“By all means.”

“I will leave no stone unturned to achieve what I want. Ethical unethical, I just don’t care. I think consistent efforts and out of the box thinking matters the most in achieving your goals. ” said the Jackal.

“Why Latin?”

“It’s the language of the Romans. The language of Ceaser. It is to cultivate the attitude of a conqueror. To remind me that I am born to rule”

“Peace.” Jade Buddha interrupted. I think you are able to focus your energies on your goal only if you have a peaceful mind. Om shanti Shanti shanti shanti (ॐ शांति: शांति: शांति: ) is my motto”

Keeping with the rules, JB now outlined the significance of his motto. “There are three kinds of disturbances in this world. First from the people around you, second from problematic health of your own body, third, from distractive thoughts in your mind. May there be peace with the people around you, peace in the cells of your body and peace in your mind. Thus three times Shanti,”

The next moment, without warning, all the eyes stared at me. “Faith, Nutrality, Pragmatism.” I announced my motto. Faith in myself, neutrality of emotions in success or failure and pragmatism in decision making are the values that I believe take us to the top.”

I swiftly passed the parcel to Espana.

“knowledge.” Said the multilingual scholar. “Knowledge is the most important asset in the world. Peace of mind can be achieved through knowledge of spirituality. Means can be applied to gain the ends through knowledge of practical world. If I have knowledge, I have the confidence to do anything!

That’s it just one word. Translate it in any language you like!”

“awesome!” the Jackal reacted to the outcome of his game. “Now that we have found our guiding principles, raise your glasses”

“To awesomeness of life, that has been in the past and will always be in future!”

Sorrow of an 'honest' tourist

2011-02-24T00:33:00.000-08:00

Get me the local flavor,

Oh, get me the smell of the soil

Of the nature and the people

That for this land moil.

The true spirit of this land

Lies not in the pubs and the clubs

It hides in the springs and the fields.

The food and language

Traditional knowledge

Culture and customs

Is what we seek to know

Mingle with the fisher-folk!

Speak to the sea!

But no,

we loose our health and wealth

In the bar and the casino!

Exploring the society

Its history and mystery

Is the true purpose of tourism

What we do in tourisms name

Is alas, utter barbarism!

Freakonomics!

2011-02-15T04:22:00.000-08:00

So, I got this awesome job with a news channel. I joined and started out with an average performance. But within a month, my performance skyrocketed. I became a favorite at the office and my ideas began to revolutionize the channel.
What happened?

Freakonomics happened.

While I was still a fresher, a trainee in the corporate world, I was given some time to observe the workings of the office. Lot of free time, to kill which, a friend gave me this book. What was in this book? “Incentives” she said. That’s it.
Must be some high end economics book, but something’s better than nothing, so I set out to read it.

It was awesome! Out of the box application of economic principles focused on one assumption- people react to incentives, positively or negatively. You can solve any question, yup, ANY question using a correctly created algorithm and finding the correct data. That’s what the book tries to say. People don’t react to incentives in a predicable manner, there might be very different reasons behind some actions that people take rather than what we think must be the obvious reasons. Anyway, I was intrigued by the book and had a new motto.

If no work, do Freakonomics.

However, my workload rose before I got around to finishing the book. Now I was transferred to the video editing section and my colleague though it would be a lot better if I read some technical stuff rather than this freak-book. First he tried to persuade me into giving up Freakonomics but no. it was too late. I was addicted to it. The book just took me over.
As soon as I found free time, I sank into the book till somebody shook me out of it. My boss D’Souza was now as concerned with my mental health as a rehab worker with that of a drug addict. But I was busy wondering how could i observe the world as minutely as the authors of the book did?

According to him, I was on the verge of losing my sanity due to the book. Impressed by the language in the book, I had begun to change the language of the stories wrecking havoc in the sub editing section! As if that was not enough, i met the reporters and demanded more thoroughly researched reports, taking the air out of their reports by asking very pointed questions.
There was a reporter working on the police-drug lords nexus case and he brought in quality stories. Based on my newly learnt assumption that reasons behind certain things are not what they appear, I put forth an idea to him. From what I knew, the Russian and the Israeli mafia are fighting to capture the drug market in Goa. All the people arrested by the police in relation to drug paddling are Israelis. Is it really the police or are the Russians getting Israelis arrested to make their business secure?
“So go get me an interview of a Russian” I commanded.
The guy went white as a ghost hearing the word Russian. No locals dare walk on the coast sprawling with foreigners especially drug dealers after dark. “You are mad.” He whispered. I am not giving any more drug stories!”

The steady stream of drug related news to our channel thus died down. “Who told you to go do hula-hula with the reporters?” Thundered the Czar of video editing section Mr. D Souza. "Now don’t leave the videoediting desk. EVER.”
Fine! It only made me happier as I could utilize the time till a story came from the reporters to the sub editing desk and from there to the video editing table, to read Freakonomics! And so it was. Me and my book, peacefully huddled in a corner. I did not disturb my colleagues. Forget talking, I didn’t even have time to look at them-not even the girls! “The guy is insane” they complained. The moment these complaints reached Mr. Dsouza, he decided to end the game once and for all. He just hid the goddamned book.

The next day, I was as restless as an angry bull. Just when I was about to read how real estate agents cheat people into selling their houses for less than the actual cost, the book disappeared. I craved the book like an insomniac craves sleeping pills.
Drug dealers they say have some extra secret stocks stored separately to keep the market running in case of a police raid. I had a copy of freakonomics e book for just such an emergency. Someone found and deleted that too. But hey, they didn’t know who they were up against. Now I drew out my secret weapon- Freakonomics blog

To my pleasant surprise the blog turned out to be even more interesting. Ironically the first post I read on the blog was about the value of public commitments. Yet here was I, refusing to commit to anything but freakonomics. But you know what, techies are smart. Video editors are techies. They just blocked the blog.

Then, I found Freakonomics radio!

Aware that the video editors might do something freaky again, I came to the sub editing section and sat quietly with headphones on my ears. Looking at my face full of contentment like an ascetic who just gained salvation, a sub-editor looked onto the computer screen.

“What are you listening to?” “Freakonomics radio.” I offered him a headphone. It was a podcast about how can incentives be used to improve the American education system. “Hmm. This thing is good man.” He was really getting interested. Seizing the opportunity to spread the knowledge, I told him that there was a book named freakonomics too.

“Ok, let’s see what’s in the book” he said. The next day, he became a freakonomics man. I on the other hand, went and sat on another computer near another sub-editor’s desk. He asked “what are you listening to”, I told him about the book and he was hooked on to it. Within days, the whole sub editing section was discussing how terrorists can be caught using economics to create a perfect algorithm, thanks to Superfreakonomics- the sequel to Freakonomics.

The language of the news reports now matched that of the book and reporters were being pressed for more details and faced questions they never even thought of from the sub editors. The video editors were now asked to make some graphs or pie charts because the S.E. (sub editing) section demanded that the stories become more knowledgeable and not just explicit and explosive.

In a bid to understand what had caused such upheavals in the SE section, some of the video editors caught the air of the book. Understanding that it is not just economic incentives that drive workers performance, the video editors began to demand small perks like better chairs in the office and some music for a better work environment because they had learnt that even smallest of the small incentives can lead to totally unintended reactions from different individuals.

When the language used in the news reports suddenly became awesome, Mr. D’Souza suspected I was doing all the stories. But no, when he found that the whole sub-editing section had ‘freaked out’ he decided to take the matter to the editor. The editor, having heard rumors of some addictive economics book had haunted his staff decided to see for himself what the book was all about. He would announce his verdict at the monthly staff evaluation meeting.
The next day, all visitors to his cabin were greeted by the sign DO NOT DISTURB.

At the end of the month, the monthly meeting was held to review the performance of the staff.
“I have noticed that there is this book which has virtually taken over our office” the editor proclaimed. Mr D’Souza nodded in approval. The staff would now be taken to task for diverting their mind to this trivial book. “After going through the book, the management has finally come to a decision.”

“The book is so motivating that we suggest entire staff read it. It will help us try new ideas and improve the quality of our channel.” Mr. D’Souza’s jaw fell out.
The next day, my missing copy of Freakonomics was back on the table and Mr. D Souza was deeply absorbed in his own copy, too busy to check my reading :)

Story completely fictional

España

2011-01-20T18:30:00.000-08:00

Tiptoeing inside my own house like a burglar, I glanced at my reflection in the sliding window in torchlight. Reddened face, disheveled hair and lined face. “Damn you España”

Covering up the misadventures of this girl has given me more headaches than Iran Contras gave the CIA chief. What was I doing this late hour of night? Hiding illegal money while the girl, who had brought it upon us, slept soundly as a baby. Thanks to her, I have now become a master of cover-ups. The heist that she had pulled now however, had given me insomnia.

It all started as an innocent cruise in the deep sea, plans for some drinks and party. But given the nature and actions of España, it just had to go off the wire. This girl is an unstoppable storm and intelligent as a Mafia don. Her knowledge spans into all things that are fun. From playing the guitar to wine tasting to making animation films and yes, a hidden talent, the root behind the name I give her.

“You can speak Spanish?” I gasped at her in surprise watching her inquire her way to a bar on board the ship speaking fluent Spanish to its Mexican crew.

“Sí. That is why i chose this ship for a trip. Marsala Superiore por favor.” That was a wine order.

“So, wazzup in your awesome life?” She spread out on a sun lounger sipping her fortified Marsala. “Guess I can sit and write a story here. Its good weather out here on the deck.” España shook her head considering my idea. “have you thought of anything yet?” “No, just waiting for ideas to come”

Do you know where you will find the most interesting characters for a story?” her eyes narrowed in consideration “ In the casino!”. She whispered partly to herself and partly to me. “C’mon,” she rose. “let’s go to the casino.”

“WHAT? I have never gambled in my life!” “so have I, but whts there to see what is it like?” this girl is going to get us both jailed if not killed one day.

The next moment, we stood at the doors of the floating casino, and i heived a sigh when we found that there was an entry fee of Rs.900. “Ha! No gambling today madam” i shouted in triumph. “not if i can help it” España rushed forward.

“Es la cuota de inscripción para los ciudadanos mexicanos también?” she asked the desk.

Is the entry fee for Mexican citizens too?

Senorita, usted es un Mexicano? The receptionist raised his head. Are you a Mexican?

“Tengo familiares en México” Espana replied in flawless Spanish that she had family in Mexico!

Long hours in the sun gave her a bit Latin American look. The receptionist now looked intregued.

Who do have ther in our country?

“Mi madre es de México!” I have indian father and Mexican mother, my meternal uncle is in Mexico.

Which part of Mexico was she from?

“Yukatan”

the guy at the counter was from Yukatan too. He would not charge a fine young lady from his home province to enter the casino. She was allowd inside for free. “ and a ticket to the gamming arcade for my friend here.” Calculating that i would unwittigly expose her lies, she made sure i would be stuck with the computer games at the other end of the corridor.

I spent an hour in peace driving virtual cars and speedboats but if one is around the explosive España, one’s peace does not last long. I knew something was wrong the moment my cell phone rang.

“we have a problem man” España whispered from the other end

“what, you lost all the cash?”

“No, i won.”

“So?”

“its some eighty thousand rupees.”

I narrowed down on the problem likea hawk on a snake.

Given the littleRs.10000 she was given for this trip, how would she explain the huuge surplus? “alright España..” I immadiately switched on the ‘intelligence chief’ mode and started giving commands for a cover-up. “before you say anything further, get out of the casino.” “ I’m out” came the reply from behind me.

“Aha! Just wanted to see that scared look on your face! Look, i’ve already changed the cash into Rs. 1000 denomination. Hide it quick!”she reached into her backpack and pulled out an air sickness bag. “put all the cash in here, no one dares touch this bag!”

This girl is filled with more excitement than she can handle and has got more knowledge than is actually necessary to her. Result, such situations. Part funny part dangerous just like her personality. As she was talking to me, a lanky guy came up behind her, “hey ya, take my address.”

1st Floor,

Dayanand Smruti Building,

Swami Vivekananda Road,

Panaji, Goa

403001

Ok, gotta go! See you around then!” the boy faded away almost flying like a Frisbee,

“Who was that” “I dunno, some guy called Anthony Fernandes. I met him in the discotheque.” “You just gave him the address of Goa State AIDS control Society!" “pssst..Rule no.1, avoid intimidating strangers at all costs.” She glanced at her watch. “almost dinner time. Come, lets have some Chianti tonight. Dinner’s on me of course.” She said waving the air sickness bag holding casino cash.

España sat on a richly laid table laden with continental food and Italian wine and had one last dinner on the cruise. When we returned, she developed the photographs from the trip and sold them to newspapers making some more money. I went out late one night and quietly deposited a part of the casino cash she gave me in my account via ATM.

From wining and dining to having an eye for photography, España lives her life with passion and fun, at times weaving a web of harmless lies to protect her free spirit. Looking at her I am often reminded of a famous quote

"A person should not be too honest. Straight trees are cut first and Honest people are screwed first." - Chanakya

New Year's Blog

2011-01-01T23:25:00.000-08:00

As the New Year’s Eve unfolded, I remembered the historic speech made by Neharu

“At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will arise to life and freedom.” (Read entire speech )

Life, of course I have it. The energy of youth! But freedom? I work for someone else and people expect me to be happy that I have a job. No doubt I am happy that I have a fixed income. But bare in mind, this income will serve as capital for my own venture.

My dad got a diploma in printing technology because his dad forced him to. He roamed Mumbai searching for jobs but everyone thought he was worthless. Then he got fed up and left his home Today, he is a big name. My resolution for this year is inspired from my dad.

I am going to publish a book of my own in 2011- no matter how small, but something of my own. Second, I am going to try and narrow down on the vision of my own business in future.

When I was unemployed, my dad used to taunt me all the time. “bekaar saala” he used to say. “bapache khato. (worthless kid dependant on his dad)

Now I got a job.

“Gulaam saala” my dad says. Swatache rajya kadi karnar?” (Bloody slave, when will you do something of your own?”)

So here is to the spirit of my dad,

And the spirit of freedom.

A new year ‘s blog

And a new resolution!!

Just an awesome thought.

2010-12-05T10:28:00.000-08:00

I was just trying to do some research in economics and psychology to create a character having knowledge of these topics. By using the story of this character, I wanted to throw light on how students are under intense pressure due to studies I want to ease the burden on students. Its my dream.

When I was in college, I got inspiration from ‘Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince’ and took up one activity. I grabbed a book on international relations and scribbled detailed notes in between the pages about topics that students might find difficult. Chapters dealing with Cold War were my specialty. On the front page of the book, I scribbled this:

In this book hide the clues

That will ease your stress

The tricks of politics neatly explained

Will bring you beaucoup success.

--brilliant bookworm

Unfortunately both the chapters I had explained were deleted from the syllabus.

I wanted to write a story on the plan. The plan is as follows.

Give the project a name- Audacious

Explain the chapters in the pages of the book itself so awesomely, that who ever take that book does not need to attend the classes. Provide free tuitions to the students; give tips on how best they can structure their assignments. Make the students so able, that we won’t need the teachers. The brighter students will teach the not-so bright students. It will lead to students getting better attention and lack of formalities will ensure a free environment.

Second, make the scheme into a full fledge secret service for the students by the students I will need a team of brilliant volunteers like Wikileaks

An economist to raise money (accountant)

A lawyer to handle the legal affairs (consigliere)

Someone who knows where reliable information lies and can get it instantly, a computer geek (please note I am not using the term hacker) (caporegime)

A psychiatrist/counselor to understand and solve the difficulties of the students (caporegime)

Teams of ‘librarians' specialized in different subjects who can scribble excellent notes on the books and provide...ahem... ‘guidance' in assignments. (soldiers)

(to understand the structure of the team, click here)

This plan can eat the class from inside. If you cannot understand what teachers say, just come to Audacious and we will give you what you want. In exchange, you help us in our cause in whatever way you can.

I am not trying to give you any ideas. It’s just a random thought that seemed awesome and I thought I should share it and I gave them Mafia posts to increase the excitement!

hmm.. now now can I write a story on this?

Good bye to friends!

2010-10-14T09:43:00.000-07:00

No matter how they were or what things they did. They were awesome! The things I did with them bring snippets of joy as well as haunt me in lonely moments. Because they were awesome! Their actions created memories that will never be forgotten. As per the universal rule of Jade Buddha however, those days have passed away. With a job, money is raining but time is slipping from my hands. Celebrations have ended and friends have scattered.

Jade Buddha has shockingly chosen profit over principles and decided to work as a real estate developer following the footsteps of his father. The ‘Builder’ went to some remote place in north India to work for the RSS. Thunder burn keeps skipping from company to company deeply entangled in the world of corporate slavery. Mad, still has to figure out what to do. The Jackal on the other hand, is a mechanical engineer in Pune. He earns so much money that he does not know what to do with it.

Our days as students and mischievous kids have ended. We are now responsible men. Everyone remembers those carefree times but knows they cannot be brought back. Even as they try to revive the friendship on the internet, deep within their hearts, everyone has said “Goodbye to Friends”

Good bye

Goodbye to friends

Its time for us to part

i promise to cherish your memories

Deep within my heart

The bonds that were built

To protect and to care

Promises were made

To give and to share

The words will wane

Our bonds will be strained

Sweet and sour

Memories remain

Good bye

Goodbye to friends

Now we go our different ways

Past is evanescent

New opportunities await.

This article along with the poem will be the end of the book that I am writing. The characters which are talked about on the blog but not mentioned here are not included in the book.

My Personal Anthem

2010-10-03T01:15:00.000-07:00

Was just thinking...

Different countries have certain national symbols which remind them of the core values that they believe in for eg, a flag, a coat of arms and a national anthem. I think if an individual had a personal anthem to motivate him/her towards the goal of his/her life, life would be lot more meaningful.

A national anthem generally reflects the culture, strategic thought and aspirations of a nation. An individual would need an anthem reflecting his/her character, principles and goals. I have thus created an anthem for myself.

This song is called ‘The Hope.’ it centers on freedom, prosperity, confidence and my love for Goa.

As long as the divine light

In my eyes still shines

And my mind

Blossoms with dreams

As long as I possess

A cunning brain

And an able hand

My hope will never end

To be a free man

In the land of sea and sand

By the power of my will

May my mind be graced by peace

And my palace by prosperity

May my heart be filled with loyalty

To my homeland

Interview

2010-08-27T02:13:00.000-07:00

Hi all! Wondering where have I been all these days? Well I was busy giving interviews, looking for a job but I think the only job I m good at is axing myself!

First, I went to a famous local daily to get the job of a reporter. Considering my studies in poli sci, the interview panel asked me to explain the current political situation in Britain. I answered. They asked me my opinion on pros and cons of globalization, I answered.

“What’s the distance between Margao and Ponda and Ponda and Panaji?”

I was blank.

“It was nice talking to you Mr. Joshi” they said “you may go.”

Next stop, Vodafone.

“This is a post paid business.” My immediate boss growled as soon as I cleared the interview. (I had studied some local geography by now.) My contacts at the company had given me the impression that I would be getting a desk job. But no, in reality, I had to sell postpaid sim cards to customers on the street, wander from office block to office block, house to house. I had by mistake got myself into the shoes of a salesman!

The monthly target was 40. I managed to sell 4 in one month. “Under performance.” they said “You are fired”

Now I was before yet another interview panel. This time of a local news channel. “What” they asked me “do you intend to do if we give you the opportunity to work with us?” “I can give a voice to different social and environmental problems in Goa” I said “for e.g. problems faced by people living in mining areas” “What problems do you think are faced by people in mining areas?” burst one of the panelists. I gave them a long list of environmental and social problems caused by mining.

Later I discovered that the channel is owned by a mining company!

That might mean I am not done screwing interviews yet. Will this story go on like the unending Arabian Nights? Watch this space for more :)

Time and peace

2010-06-26T09:36:00.000-07:00

I just discovered that half my family is on blogger, the other half on Facebook. (Those who are on Facebook are also on twitter.). It makes me feel like a shadow is following every moment of my life. How addicted have we become to this sharing? Where are those moments when you feel like time has stopped-and it should remain stopped? Or have we wasted that moment in tweeting about how much we are enjoying that moment?

Exams come, results out, got a job, we share everything. Even when there is nothing in our mind, we scratch the bottom of the barrel to scribble something on that social networking site. Comments rain in and we are flattered by that illusion of popularity.

I am walking on sand of a beautiful beach with my friends. The sunset, the softness of sand, the sound of the waves and the company of friends-perfect heaven. But my friends are talking on their cell phones to someone else and I am uploading the pictures of the beach to some site. We just appear to be with each other. Our time together has already been stolen by some one else- thanks to the cellular.

When I (almost) completed my studies, I dreamed of creating a little world of my own. Planting a tree in my mom’s garden, learning some photography from my dad, spending time with an amazing storyteller called grandmother, going fishing with the cousins…

Instead, my cousins became engineers. They have hoards of cash but live alone in a room in some distant city. My dad was a photographer. He went on to buy a comp and became a video editor. Now he edits other people’s videos the way they want them. His time and his creativity is no longer his own. it belongs to the clients. I wanted to be a writer. Instead, I ended up becoming a sales executive in some company. Instead of writing something that would inspire people, my job (as defined by the world outside) is to con people into buying my products.

People laugh at my mom when she tells them she is a house wife. She has no job, no hurry. She cooks what she likes, sews, creates designs with rangoli, makes paper bags and sky lamps, and writes stories, practices yoga, reads books. She gets to live in my world. I live in god knows which!

Watching the happy face of my mom reminds me of the promise to get back to my world.

Autobiography of a sword.

2010-05-24T08:23:00.000-07:00

It is midnight. When the whole world sleeps, I realize that today is my birthday. One might ask why there is no enthusiasm in my words. Why there are no festivities? It is because who I am and what I have done.

I am a sword and I have taken lives.

It is funny how life takes its course sometimes. I was brought out of an iron mine as a crude piece of iron. While other pieces brought out with me became ploughs and hoes that would go on to sustain the human life, I became a sword designed to take that life. I had such a perfect shape and strength that my maker was pleased with me. “Ye shall grace the hand of the king” he said as he ran his hands on my blade. He gifted me to his king. The moment the king took hold of me and gave me a swing, I knew I was in skilled hands. Now I lay in my sheath basking in honor and waiting for valor beside my new master.

Time soon came for me to do my duty when the king invaded a strange land. His massive and disciplined army triumphed the battlefield. I found myself being rubbed against the neck of my king’s defeated enemy. I moved against that neck as swiftly as a knife against butter.

The war was over. Now I figured I would return to my sheath for a long rest. But that was not to happen. The king proclaimed his rule over a land quite different from his own. He had to assert his rule. In the following days, I cut through the hearts and necks of unarmed people.

I am a sward. I am used to the crashing and thudding against other swords and armors. It is my duty to kill the warriors. What had the ordinary people done to my king? I cut the hands of skilled artisans, I beheaded beautiful idols, I became a party to the destruction of a culture.

Why does one man think that his culture is superior to the other? Can’t all be equal and different instead of superior and inferior? The remnants of the very culture I destroyed stand opposite me in a museum today. They are treated like treasures. No one cared about them when they flourished.

When my king died, I was buried with him in his grave as I was his favorite sward. I thought I was finally at peace. I had served my master, fulfilled my purpose. But no, I was again awakened from my sleep centuries later by an archaeologist. Now I stood in a displaying glass in a museum beside my former master’s armor. They put up a sign next to me declaring my master’s deeds reminding me of my past sins. I stood opposite the remains of the very civilization I helped destroy.

Now people come and stare at me. I see modern times have brought about some changes. Rulers have changed, borders have changed. The people of my kingdom and the people, whom we tried to destroy hundreds of years ago, now exist as one nation.

But do they?

To the descendants of my own people, I represent their time of glory. The triumph of their Great King. The descendants of the persecuted see me as a symbol of their persecution. Even though different people have become one nation, they remain divided within. First they stare at me, and then they stare at each other with the same hatred they shared centuries ago. Will the differences ever be bridged? Will the people learn to change with time? Guess I will have to wait for some more centuries for that!

Information technology in developing countries

2010-05-11T00:12:00.000-07:00

Was listening to a lecture by Prof Dattesh Parulekar on information and communication technology in the developing countries. The professor brought out the pros and cons of ICT in Asia and Africa with specific examples.

Approximately 70-80% of cobalt needed to manufacture mobile phones comes from Africa mainly Ethiopia and as such the spread of cell phones in Africa has been awe inspiring! However the Africans are not doing so well with regards to internet connectivity where again taking the example of Ethiopia, he showed that about 90% of the internet connections in the country were concentrated the capital of Ethiopia, Aids Ababa. The rate of spread of cell phones in the developing countries rose from 2% in 1991 to a whooping 41% in 2006! The internet usage in the developing world rose from 0.2% in 1991 to 41% in2006.

Talking about information and technology and political problems in developing countries, we can see how in countries like India, electronic voting machines have made elections a breeze. The time required for counting has been reduced drastically. Employing virtual classrooms for the spread of education in the country can be a boon for the educational sector.

With regard to the access to technology, India despite its haphazard growth is on par with the OECD countries. Absence of government regulations and moderate rates of taxation have immensely contributed to the growth of information and communication technology in India.

In Ethiopia for example, 40% terrif on the ICT equipments make it too costly for the general populace. The government attitude towards ICT has shown signs of change with the establishment of the Ethiopian ICT development authority and some changes in the management of two major telecom corporations in the country. Whereas in Egypt, the innovative steps taken by the Ministry of Communication and Information have brought a steep rise in the internet users from 9 users per thousand citizens in 2001 to 55 users per thousand citizens in 2004

However the developing countries have not been able to employ the ICT to its best because of the concentration of development in urban centers and lack of funds to finance the development projects. The people in some cases are too poor to afford tech gadgets and in some cases even when they do have access, they lack the technical know-how to benefit from ICT. While the growth of access to ICT is steady in Asia, Africa has to take special efforts to ensure its progress. There are initiatives like New Partnership for Africa’s Development (NEPAD) which recognizes the importance of ICT as a key area for promoting development. It focuses on development of ICT infrastructure and dissemination of ICT skills across the African population, by implementing an e-schools programme in primary and secondary schools.

Ref: Parliamentary Office of Science and Technology

POST note March 2006

The fairy and the forest (story for children)

2010-05-05T05:35:00.000-07:00

I just visited my grandmother and remembered my childhood. So I decided to try my hand at writing a story for children! here goes...

A long long time ago, there lived a fairy in the forests of Africa. She loved her forest. Everyday, the fairy hopped from flower to flower and poured honey into it. The flowers greeted her with a smile and the birds sang in her honor. Everyone loved the fairy!

One day the fairy saw a grass hopper happily playing around the grasslands. He was dancing hither and thither and singing a song!

“Work is so boring

Let’s do something thrilling

We sing the songs of freedom!!

Sing and dance!

Now is your chance!

Come on,

Take a vacation!!”

Listening to his song, the fairy began to think. “I have been working all my life.” She though. “My work is indeed boring.” So she decided that she would not work any longer. The next day, she threw her honey pots aside and went for a picnic!

She set out to roam around the jungle and enjoy!

She dived with the elephants in water

She ran a race with the deer

She ate fruits with the monkeys…

For many days, she only kept playing and did no work. After a long time, she became home-sick and decided to return home.

When she came back, she was shocked! To her dismay, the birds no longer sang in her honor! She was very angry with the birds. “Why, didn’t you sing in my honor?” She asked the birds

“We are sorry” the birds replied. “We sing when we are happy. We are happy when the beautiful flowers bloom. The flowers have stopped blooming so we have stopped singing!”

The fairy then went to the flowers. “Why have you stopped blooming?” she asked them.

“We are sorry” said the flowers. “We bloom for the honeybees who come to collect honey. The honeybees no longer come. So we no longer bloom.”

The fairy went to the honeybees and asked them why they had stopped going to the flowers. “We are sorry” the honeybees replied. “The fairy who pours honey in to the flowers has stopped doing her job so we have stopped visiting the flowers!”

“Oh no!” the fairy screamed it was all her fault. The creatures of the forest had become helpless because she had stopped working. She decided to be a good fairy and work again. And she sang while she worked.

“Work is not draggy

It makes everyone happy

Stop being lazy,

Let us get on!

Never skip your job

You will lose if you stop

Let us do

What needs to be done!!”

Meeting 'Espana'

2010-04-26T02:51:00.000-07:00

I can scribble you a poem within minutes. I can write you any shit about any damn international conflict in the world. Writing a short story is however as alien to me as Gandhism to Laden. Apparently unaware of this, the professor of English creative writing, told us to write a short story within one day and present it in class. I had returned from a remarkable Mumbai trip where I had a meeting with a couple of my online friends. I thought I might as well do a story on that!

However, as some of my recent experiences have brought back unwanted consequences of writing the truth, I decided this story would be an elaborate lie. My official position would be that the meeting never happened! The story line was as follows:

I am invited for a meeting by two girls who are damn smarter, sharper and wealthier than me. In my attempt to impress them and perhaps fit in, I decide to learn to drink. This story would have a lot of information between the lines on various alcoholic drinks.

Awesome idea!

I reckoned that before I write something on this subject, I should try something of the things I would be talking about in the story. Accordingly, yesterday, when my parents were out of station, I called some of my friends to ‘sit down’. (Know what I mean :D)

“There are a few rules if you want to learn this dark art.” ‘Taj’ started giving the gyan while ‘Ramu’ unpacked the bottles and glasses.

1. You will not skip your lunch and dinner

2. You will not eat fruits after you‘ve had a drink.

3. You will not say a word after you drink. People go mad and spill out sensitive things.

Rules? Even when you wanna go wild?

“Yes. But first tell me, why would a gentleman like you want to err… drink? The purity of my character made him hesitate before uttering the last word. I told him the story of the story.

“Oh! And just what happened in that meeting that you don’t want to reveal?”

Ah, the memories.

I had received a mail about setting up a meeting from two girls. Without a thought, I agreed.

They pursued studies in mass media (read up about the Indian media) and loved soccer. (Gather info on various league matches.) However, having no time to do this homework, I was like a scared vegetarian standing lost outside a KFC!

Anyway, ‘Espana’ came in time. “How are you?” She asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I am cynical” I blurted out the manner less answer I give to my friends cursing myself from within for not having though of anything better.

She brushed it off with a smile and proceeded to a plush restaurant. I have this habit of giving code names to my friends based on their personality. Since this girl always supported Spain in FIFA World Cup, I decided to call her Espana in case we went on to become good friends. We sat there at the restaurant like two samurais in a battle. The most arrogant would draw the sward first. Needless to say that it was me. “What are you doing these days?” I slipped that emergency question which I use when I run out of words. Things moved on then as we all rambled about everything from current affairs to studies. ‘Espana’ was innocent and expressive like a curious toddler. But her friend- and what a person she was, ‘Italia.’ I called her Italia because she had about her, an air of impeccable style which reminded me of the country known for style in the world- Italy.

“Howz life?” Italia was a high spirited girl with a mischievous smile across her face. “I am just surviving” In an attempt to redress the mistake I had made the last time, I had an even worse one. Italia took it well though.

Italia was just about to finish her studies.

“What do you study” I asked her.

“Oh, now don’t get me started on that”

“What are your future plans?”

“Duh, a job!”

Italia was shrewd as a diplomat of the American State Department. (those who have read the Kaoboys will know what I am talking about)

While I was busy haggling with Italia, Espana quietly finished her lunch. And then she spoke.

“He is helping me with my poli sci assignment!”

I AM? I spit my watermelon juice back into the glass (Italia is watching!)

The meeting was now turning into a trap. Espana, with her lovely smile making me walk straight into it.

Now, while on one front I was trying to get Italia to speak something about herself rather then general things, on the other front, Espana was giving me a briefing on how she wanted her assignment to be structured.

“Your Facebook updates make me think you like this show called ‘Twilight’” I told Italia. (I am a huge fan of your Facebook updates! This I swallowed)

From what I have learnt, this series is about some vampire and his human girlfriend.

“It’s complicated” she snapped.

“We need a second meeting”- me

“I will be working I will have no time” – Italia

“Second meeting? Ok, you can give me my assignment then!!” – Espana

The aimless negotiations ended well past the lunchtime. By the end of the day, Espana thought I was a geek with answers to all her academic questions and Italia thought I was an arrogant freak who gave weird replies to simple questions. On top of that, as if my own assignments were not enough, I was burdened with an assignment (Espana, I will kill you for that smile)

Again, the realization had come to me. The meeting had been a failure. The trilateral dialog had failed because of my own lack of skill to set the tone of the talks. As the featured guest, I should have been in command of the situation. Italia had hijacked the meeting.

Second, I had all the knowledge I needed but I failed to apply it. Espana did. She came, she sat and she got her work done. Extolments to Espana

Third, Italia did not reveal much information about herself but squeezed out all she could from me. This will be a lasting lesson for me. Never try to impress people by telling them your achievements. Try to know more about them instead. Kudos to Italia.

It is in fact a matter of shame that instead of rectifying the errors I had chosen to write a false story to cover them up. If Italia had been shrewd as the State Department, I was like the CIA. In spite of having all the required capabilities, I had failed in the mission.

What is even more shameful, is that it took me six months and some high profile meetings with MEA diplomats to realize my mistake. The lessons have been learnt. In a diary entry that day, I had called the meeting as ‘The Aimless Conference 2009’. Now I went back and changed it.

The Aim-lessons conference 2009. It had taught me how to set an aim for meetings.

Thank you Espana! Thank you Italia!

D.O.E.

2010-03-21T10:11:00.001-07:00

“… Creative writing will give me an opportunity to revisit my human side.” I wrote in my application to the Department of English when I opted for the creative writing paper. My calculation was simple. Creative writing does not involve any ‘theories’. It was easily manageable. Besides, a wide database of politically correct statements made by cunning chiefs of states and the knowledge of contemporary issues in international relations would give me an edge over the English students who read poems and plays and lived in a world of fantasy and fairytales

However the magnitude of my mistake did not strike me till my performance at the Department of English came to resemble a Greek tragedy. Back in the department of political science, there is a department we regard the most dangerous to world peace-the American Department of Defense otherwise known as DOD. The English department posed grave danger to my mental peace. No wonder I referred to it as the formidable D.O.E.
In response to my knowledge of contemporary issues in international relations, the DOE students had impeccable French, Greek and Latin phrases. If I was only searching, packing and marketing the correct words needed to express my feelings, they were CEOs of Vocabulary Inc.! Why speak of the teacher when I could barely understand the words used by the students? Why speak of their writings when I could hardly comprehend what they spoke? Sitting there in the English class I was like a monk in a casino, with wrong cards and fake chips sitting at the ‘no limits’ table! The others knew the game well.

The essential part of creative writing is of course writing a story. The DOE students came out with truly wonderful stories. They wrote stories like ‘Medieval Romance,’ Irony of Fate and Sacred Passion’. On the other hand, “Rockets in the Middle East”, “Fate of Iran” and Secret Prisons” were some of my humble contributions.
Bewildered by my weird stories, the teacher called me in her cabin.
“Young man” she said to me “the art of creative writing demands creativity, vivacity and imagination. But you bring to it, simplicity, stupidity and brutality! You have a talent of analyzing violence nay, of finding it or even worse bringing it into most unlikely situations! I suggest you either see a psychiatrist or stop attending my classes”
I did neither.
One day however, she asked us to write a love story with a happy ending set in pre independence India (given: the boy’s father was the villain). The DOE students of course came out with imaginative stories. Some one showed the mother of the boy helping the two to run away, someone else made the girl take the initiative to ellope; one guy even had a tree by the village tank where the lovers used to meet (and do stuff) magically turn into a human being to reunite the lovers!
My story was something like this:
The boy, whose father is helping the anti British elements, makes a simple deal with the British- you give me my girl, I give you my father! Thus he gets his girl; he gets rid of his tyrannical father and gets a career with the British intelligence! A perfectly happy ending!
I was the last one to submit my assignment. I turned it in and went home satisfied.
I went to class the next day expecting very good marks. However the teacher was nowhere to be seen!
“Don’t know what’s wrong with her,” the office clerk told me. “ Someone has been supplying the old woman with violent stories. She’s gone to see a psychiatrist.”

Letter to Girls !

2010-03-05T21:15:00.000-08:00

Dear girls,

We all are well aware that without you, our life would be a desolate desert. You are the centre of our attention. We, the boys, dress in the most impeccable way, show off the funkiest of hairstyles and sport the coolest cars and bikes just to impress you! But do we think about what you really want? Do we think about what you really feel?

If not, it is time we do.

You are the patient angels who provide us all the support we need, you become the foundation stones of our success! When a boy is a little child, he stands up taking the hand of his mother. When he goes to college, his ego stands on the silent support of his girlfriend and in his career, his wife. But when that mother becomes old and looks up to us for support, we throw her in an old age home. To that sweet girlfriend and later wife, we behave like an intimidating monster. Do we rally give you the space and the respect you deserve?

If not, it is time we do.

It is true that we share a major part of the blame, but is there not the other side to the coin?

We have the guts to ill treat you because you accept. We have the guts to place n number of restrictions on you because you accept. The culture, the society, has become a burden because you accept. Why?

It is time you don’t.

Co-operate but don’t be enslaved. Be brave, don’t be bereaved

To you, my dear girls, who make every day of our life worth living, to you who make every day of our life happy, I wish a happy women’s day!

Truly yours

Jay :)

Travelling in a bus

2010-02-05T09:54:00.000-08:00

At the beginning of every new day, people look forward to little pleasures that make their day delightful. Good weather, a comfortable journey to work and so on.

I look forward to traveling in a bus. This object has been the butt of public antipathy for its crushing crowds and yelling conductors but I am drawn to a bus like a Russian to Vodka. I am addicted to it. The bus is a goldmine of enriching experiences! It is an interesting movie of which the conductor is the director, the hero and the villain.

Even though the driver controls it, it is the conductor who really rules the bus like a king. And he rules in accordance with the principle of equality. Man or woman, rich or poor, dark or fair, he dishes out equal insults to all! In addition to that, if you are lucky enough not to get a seat, congratulations! You become his favorite victim. For those poor standing passengers, the conductor is a jail warden ordering his prisoners around-and he has only one order to give “Fati Vach” (get back).

If you don’t choose to obey him, not only do you get insults but also some irritating nicknames in addition. When I was at school, irritating the conductor was my hobby until one day his patience ran out and he shouted “Oye Chaddi-Kumar… get back!”. Unfortunately I use the same bus to commute to the university and now even though I have shifted from shorts to jeans, for him, I still remain chaddi-kumar!

As opposed to the autocratic conductor, the driver of the bus is like God. He is the one who actually controls that little world. He is well aware of the conductors behavior but still he remains silent. A part of the bus yet detached from it. Omniscient yet aloof.

And finally, the innocent scapegoats, the suffering millions, the passengers. In fact commuting in a bus is no less then a slow suicide. All the passengers commit that. They climb in and wait as the greed of the driver and conductor to squeeze in more people makes the bus roll ahead with the speed of a turtle.

The duo simply rolls the bus back and forth the same spot pretending to go but actually waiting for more victims. They kill a lot of time. Minute by minute time slips through you hands. For the distance that can be covered by car in twenty minutes, the bus takes forty five. And when you think of things that you could have done in all the time that was lost, you feel like you have wasted a part of your life. The bus stops for what looks like hours at stops that the D&C (driver and conductor) think are lucrative. You sit and wait. You are late. The boss, the teachers, target you. It is your fault. You should have set out early! No one tells the D&C to be on time.

We all tolerate the tyrannical conductors. We let them fill the buses beyond their capacity, we let them deny seats to students because they ask for what they deserve-a concession. We let them abuse women, children and senior citizens. Because we need them. But does that mean we should ask no questions at all?

RED.

2010-02-02T06:08:00.000-08:00

This is a digital story that I had made for an event named 'Red'. Red was the inaugural event for a week long series of multimedia workshops offered by Monsoon Gray center for design. The inaugural event of the launch was inspired by a novel written by Turkish author Orhan Pamuk, titled 'My Name is Red'. some 40 people were invited to contribute artwork in medium of their choice. The subject was Red. The participants were free to interpret the concept Red in any manner they liked. There were paintings, poems, essays and sculptures. and i guess only one digital story. this one.

Freedom

2010-01-25T09:20:00.000-08:00

what is there to bend the rules?

i m not breaking them!

man is not a robot bound by rules,

rules are tools for man.

norms and society seem to b burdens

coz you think them to be.

open your eyes, open your mind

know that you are free.

why accept that which is given?

when you can create your own,

far away, beyond the walls of tradition

lies the realm of freedom!!!

New Year's blog.

2010-01-01T10:43:00.000-08:00

The soothing sound of waves was complimented by the rhythmic flicker of a distant light house. The moonlit beach, its beauty graced by unique Goan silver sand, was where Apollo sat deep in thought. A second man stood there with him enjoying the treasure, rarest at this hour of the night-silence.

It was December 31st 2009 and the second man was myself.

In contrast to all the nature around it was the sound of beats echoing from the cruise boats and casino ships floating far away like ghosts in the darkness.
“What brings you here tonight Apollo, when all world is partying?” I asked

“why should it all be the same every year? The beats and beauties, the excited chaos. Cant there be a difference?” He rose from the park bench to dip his feet in water. “I am here to have a laugh at the world which looses its sanity this day. Why are you here?”

“I just love the sound of the waves. It feels like they wash away the past. Listening to sea waves rejuvenating. It’s like cleaning the slate for the New Year. Just then, the rhythm of the beats on those boats changed. Apollo’s lips parted in a smirk. “Funny things, those ships. They try like hyper active children to disrupt the silent tune of nature but still that silence is all pervading. That silence is permanent. That silence is Reality. “ Apollo turned. “and I am drinking silence from the hands of nature to my hearts content now for in the coming days, I may not have enough time.”

With that he walked away,

2009-12-23T09:08:00.001-08:00

Doors of dreamland will open
Fairies will smile again
Be it a boon or a bane
In my heart it will remain.

In corridors of powers
Where scruples are slain
Its innocent voice,
Banal yet sane.

Forget the murky world
Where treachery is certain
Ashes of the past are transient
Phoenix will rise again

Response to specimen 1: Assignment 1

For creative writing in English
23-12-09

In the canteen

2009-12-17T09:04:00.000-08:00

Student 1: You won’t believe what I did today

Student 2: Be careful around this guy. He might scribble everything you say

Student 3: (scribble...scribble...scribble) I will blog this

inspired from this post on Mosi's

I am a man !

2009-11-19T10:11:00.001-08:00

Handsome guys wonder where my secrets lie
I am not that rich or that well built guy
And they stare in disbelief when I tell them,
The secret lies in a good half-truth and a diplomatic lie.
I say..

It’s in the power of my fists
The fire in my eyes
The ego in my heart
And my commanding voice.

I am a man
An undoubtedly invincible man

When I enter the room,
There are these stunned beauties
As if staring at a Greek God,
All his dear devotees

I say

It is in my personality
Calm and cool
My resilient mind
Frank yet shrewd

I am a man
An undoubtedly invincible man
Women themselves cant tell
What they see in me
Is it my looks or my ability?
When I try to ask, they drift away shyly

I say

It is in the dazzle of my wealth
The cunning of my maneuvers
The spark of my wisdom
My will to triumph over fears

I am a man
An undoubtedly invincible man

Now you understand
Why my head is not bowed
In the depths of my mind
Emotions are not allowed

I say

It is in my unshakable confidence
Tactical intelligence
Power, prestige
And practical brilliance
Because I am a man.
An UNDOUBTEDLY INVINCIBLE MAN!

Forgetting supermugger

2009-11-11T01:59:00.000-08:00

'I no longer have patience to listen to you any more’ with these words Señorita Super Mugger had dumped me without there being any question of love and proposal. Without delay, I remembered three things that could lift my sunken spirits- The Jackal, the Nile and hotel Fidalgo. These were the factors that I could count on to stop myself from entering into reminiscence mode.
Happy or sad, good or bad, it is our tradition to mark the milestone moments in life with a party. Within a few hours, ‘the first dumping day’ party was on, that catastrophic day of August 9, 2009.
“Join the club” the Jackal added to my suffering remembering his own heartbreak. “Why oh god, why?” deeply saddened I could not think of anything else to say.
“Maybe it is because you forgot the magic words” enter: the Nile. “Huh? U tellin me I should have said ‘I love you?” “I said magic not tragic words. The magic words are, ‘even this shall pass away.” I knew that principle too well. Everything that has a beginning has an end. That which is there today, wont be there tomorrow. Nothing is permanent in this world. Still I had some involvement with the girl in question.
"Let’s be pragmatic about this. You just lost a strategically placed agent in the university.” -The Jackal. This man is unscrupulousness and over-pragmatism personified. According to him, all the human relations are based on how useful people are to each other. Utility. “Every man has a price. Some demand money, some loyalty. This girl demanded non interference. You messed up there.” True I had helped Super mugger with stuff and I had plans to get some help in return.
“You are a selfish unprincipled diplomat” burst in the Nile. I am not selfish. I liked the girl!
“Stop it. Contacts come and go. Mistakes happen. We are not here to cry with you but to help you rectify your faults”-Jackal
“You talk too much about yourself” –the Nile.
My friends- having dinner on my expenses in an expensive restaurant, finding my faults on my very face. “Forget the Super mugger we might help you. Otherwise, go to hell” they say you are known by the company you keep. I must indeed be selfish and unprincipled. No wonder, such wicked friends.
Following their advice, I proceeded to flush super mugger’s picture down the plush toilet in Jab-We-Met-is manner.
“Good.” “There are three fundamentals of making and keeping friends.” There are rules in making friends? But then, deriving a theory for everything in life is Nile’s favorite pastime. What is even more surprising is that sometimes they really work. With the panache of a university professor, she outlined the three rules of the game.
“satyam bruyaat.
Speak the truth.
Priyam bruyaat
Speak it in a way that the other person likes to hear it. Otherwise don’t speak!
Hitam bruyaat-
Speak only when it is meant for the good of others or is beneficial to others. Otherwise don’t!”
“Knowledge…” the jackal had finally swallowed his last peace of naan after chewing it for two non stop minutes. “Knowledge is another important phenomenon if you need to recruit good agents…Sorry, friends.” The last amendment made in reply to scornful looks from the Nile. Remember,
As is your knowledge, so is your vision
As is your vision, so is your faith
As is your faith, so is your action
As is your action,
So is the quality of friends you gain.”

“There are people waiting to be recruited out there, prettier, smarter and sharper
Utilize the experience of one broken bond to build ten stronger ones. Let the hunt for new friends begin.
Happy hunting!”

Let's play!

2009-11-01T18:52:00.000-08:00

“Don’t tickle the dragon if you can’t take the heat”. Is the line that I should have, as Natasha put it, tattooed across my forehead. But no, as it has done at many crucial junctures, wisdom forsook me and I landed in the hoard of blood thirsty Mongols known in modern times as the university administration. All my batch mates had passed out. Having experienced the pattern of study before, I was confident that I would be able to handle the system this time. No fiascos, no faux pass, no stress. However, to my horror, I was back to square one.

The very people I had intimidated as juniors ages ago, were now my seniors! The university was sprawling with their acquaintances and with my friends passed out, I had a feeling my days at the university were again numbered. The friendly balding clerk at the office was replaced by a skinny black woman averse to me for no reason. Those philosophical people at Chinmay Mission were right after all-things never happen the same way twice! Nothing is permanent in life.

I had joined one month late. I had to attend extra classes to make up for the lost attendance (only one student in the class-me) and considering my turbulent history in the department, I had to submit a written paper on what was taught at the end of each class to prove that I had attended that class. I don’t know why this was being done to me.

However, people evolve through problems.

The university administration knows that it is handling a poor average student seeking justice which, after a lot of song and dance has been delivered. What it doesn’t know is that that student has the attitude of a hero and not a victim.
Faster than you can say spy-web, the network of my friends have done my assignments for me before the topics are given, notes are acquired and bets placed on how much I will score.

With plenty of time to spare, I decided to join French certificate course available at the department of French. The course teacher was an Italian lady who was very particular about pronunciation. To get that right, I gave up my bathroom singing to practice rolling my tongue exactly like the French. People thought I was throwing up! (The French ‘Ra’ is pronounced somewhere between Kha and Ha I suppose) But for all my efforts I cruised through the tests with distinction! Either the teacher was half asleep while correcting or I must be very good at copying.

Now as time flies, exams are a week away and sit before my comp, casually sipping nimboo-pani and scanning Wikipedia. People see the exams as a battle of life and death I don’t know why. Exam is like a card game-just know which answer is to be played for which question. In poker, the magic figure is 21, here it is 40 (or higher for the more ambitious.) The notes don’t tell you what you need to write but in what way you need to structure your answers. The most impressive data regarding international relations hides in the daily news and editorials. It is my assessment that we need to focus on keeping our mind calm than mugging as much as we can. Calmer mind is more receptive. As of the ‘political theory’ paper, I can confidently forecast bad weather. Theory needs some mugging and I suck at it. I am good at analyzing facts but theory gives me goose bumps.

About that , tell you later!
Gotta study now
Bye!

My fellow blockheads, I know you will think this is a very serious article and a fact. However anticipating forthcoming objections, I would like to state that this article is purely fictional and has no relation to anything or anyone on this planate. I totally mean it when I say that the article is FICTIONAL : D

Semester- ended

2009-10-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

Battle plan- actuated

Placidity- obliterated

Failures- accepted

Antipathy- anticipated

Desperation- unlimited!

Consequences- unwanted

Low scores- expected

Result- busted!

A time to mug and a time to dance !

2009-09-26T22:48:00.000-07:00

Damn! It’s been a long time since I scribbled anything here. Now I am rubbing my knees with olive oil that has so long enlightened the philosophers of Greece. At least that will make my brain work.

The unicorn of my creativity has got its horn severed and is running as a horse on the race course of academics! Like a housewife on a Saturday shopping spree, I now search the library for books because the SAP (Submission of Assignments and Presentations) time has come. I have ones again realized how much I suck at studies.
Exams are scheduled on November 5th and time is swooshing out of my hands just like my pet squirrel. A friend asked me the other day whether I was prepared. I have bought enough anti-depressants and fixed my appointment with a psychiatrist so technically, I am prepared for the exams.

As if the SAP coming up at the end of this October wasn’t enough, the French certificate course I had joined three months ago has suddenly announced a test on October 14th. “reemyember.” The Italian teacher has threatened us, “you need feefty percent for passing. No certificate if you fail.” I am not disappointed however, if I can’t learn French, I wil at least learn to speak ‘eetalion accented eenglish’.

My fellow students, the world is conspiring to ruin our Navratri and we will make effort not to let that happen. Leap into action like the agents of the Mossad, raid the data banks of the libraies, get the required information by hook or by crook, buy out other people’s projects and depute your work to your juniors! Dig your tranches like soldiers defending the motherland! Nothing should downsize the pomp and glamour of Dandia night outs! In the name of Durga, kill those academic tasks before they become threats! :D

Exams up!

2009-09-04T07:58:00.000-07:00

With the desperation of an alcoholic searching for a drop of whisky, I searched my peanut sized brain for a drop of information. The instrument of terror they call ‘question paper lay before me. It well deserved its name. It put my very existence in question! The questions posed on international relations started pushing me to the precipice of frustration.

Like a pirate looking for the key to his secret treasure, I made some futile attempts at searching that chit I had hidden in my pocket only to find that it was stolen by the guy behind me. One suspicious look from the supervisor foiled my hopes of getting any external help.
To regain my composure, I then did that deep breathing exercise Baba Ramdev shows on TV and decided to confront the paper with whatever miniscule knowledge I had.
Compare and contrast the Realist and Idealist traditions in the study of international relations.

I answered as follows

Realism is a peculiar view of the world defined by the assumption that the international realm is anarchic and consists of independent political units called states. States are the main players in the system and inherently possess offensive military capabilities or power which makes them potentially dangerous for each other.

A Realist believes that all the governments in the world are suffering form schizophrenia. He believes that in international relations today, only fools and children tell the truth and ambiguity is the name of the game here. In short, he thinks that in today’s world, every nation is Genghis Khan.

An idealist on the other hand, believes strongly in the affective power of ideas. He believes that national opinions can be changed to integrate the values of peace, prosperity co-operation and justice. He hates war and thinks that we can actually achieve a peaceful world.
He believes that all the Genghis Khans can become Gandhis. For an idealist, I only have following words:
Lage Raho Munna Bhai.

Hoping that that answer would give me at least five of ten marks allotted to it, and moved on.

Examine the relevance of the UN in today’s world with appropriate examples.

Answer: The plight of the UN today can be best understood by the following example:
The world is like a big disco where everyone is dancing in a state of complete anarchy and the UN is a geek-among-freaks who is trying to introduce some rules to that chaos but alas! No one has time to listen to him! To sum up, I qute a statement made by some cynic about the UN.
‘The nations that cannot do anything individually, come together and decide that nothing can be done collectively-that’s the UN.

Two questions out of three were enough to get me passing marks in the test. Satisfied that my answers had filled out a considerable number of pages, I submitted my paper and strolled out of the class. Now I anxiously await the results and pray to Lord Ganesha
“Dear lord Ganesha, if you pass me in the exams, I will gift you a gold rat. However if you don’t pass me, I will use that gold to gift a ring to my girlfriend. So if you cant pass me, at least give me a GF.”

No matter what happens, I profit. In International relations, they call ti a ‘win-win situation. Thank you !

References: www.irtheory.com

Indian Defense Policy

2009-08-13T08:57:00.000-07:00

I had always thought that studying the Indian defense policy would be great but the reference books brought out the picture of a defense policy in shambles. If we try to point out that the whatever the policy is, is dismal, there has to be some policy to start with.

For the first 15 years after independence India had no tactical activity at all and as a result, no defense policy outline. India’s first Prime Minister Mr. Jawaharlal Neharu had a weird logic of his own. Pakistan according to him was a manageable threat and as of China, China and India were both age old civilizations with friendship dating back centuries! He saw no reason for China to attack India. It might be due to the influence of Buddhism or even the Bhakti movement and the likes of it that there was a considerable lack of strategic thought in the Indian culture. The art of warfare was never given the attention and the dignity it truly deserves. The Neharu regime kept up this tradition in its wishful neglect of the military institutions. It was only after 1962 that India began to think seriously about its defense.

For about four decades our focus had been the conventional defense that emphasizes increasing the number of troops and weapons. But to defend ourselves successfully from changing nature of threats, we needed to change our thinking and develop non conventional capabilities. However if we look at India’s defense preparedness, we can say that India has been reactive to the issues that have faced it rather than anticipating and preparing for a crisis. The Indian establishment has been caught on the defensive by terrorism insurgency and the like issues and it has always taken a longer time to meet the challenges. India needs to develop its capabilities in non conventional capabilities

The Ascetic v/s The Hedonistic

2009-06-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

“There is nothing wrong with getting married! There is nothing wrong with earning a lot of money!. With his first words, the saffron clad ascetic allayed my fears that I might become like him. “In fact, we are here to learn how to do those things perfectly.” The Youth Empowerment Programme would have its share of surprises for me. Nine young men about to start their careers were there for brainstorming about life. How to live life perfectly? What limits our caliber? What builds our confidence? The questions were endless and then this guy made that statement all spiritual people make “The answers lie within you” Control your mind and you control the world. How do we do that?

Spirituality.

We were going to be introduced to the Vedic ways of how one should lead one’s life. Now I cursed myself. Spirituality to me is red rag to a bull. It is not that I despise religion. I believe in God, I love God, pray to Him because he gives me what I want, but one month? That’s overdose!

Now my defense studies came to my aid. I invoked the intelligence agent inside me, ready to face any situation. This was psychological warfare! I mounted a psy-war operation called ‘Operation Red Wine’ Red to symbolize my anger and Wine to show my love for material pleasures. There were two hermits who were our Gurus for the course. Bramhachari Pralhad Chaitanya and Bramhachari Kedar Chaitanya.

Br. Pralhad-ji is a thinker. He is good at contemplating over ideas and explaining them to the students. We took up for our study, Kindle Life- a book written by Swami Chinmayananda on Vedanta. In this book he has beautifully explained how man becomes the slave of the world around him. How he lets himself be carried away by his emotions and looses his efficiency and creativity. An effective way to keep our life balanced he says, is to take inspiration from the scriptures and have faith in the Supreme Lord. Pralhad-ji took that class. For my personal intelligence operation he bore the code name Saffron-1.

Kedar-ji on the other hand is an artist. A singer and awesome at chanting the Vedic prayers. He plays the harmonium and the harmonica too. He taught us Vedic chanting, Bhajans, devotional songs and that sort of things. He was devotional. He was called Saffron-2.

Kindle Life is a great text to study and Pralhad-ji explained it to us by giving very practical examples. He brought lighter moments in his class by giving us some articles from the magazine Chinmay Udghosh for our reading pleasure. These articles dealt with simple things like what is luck and why do people believe in luck? How we should accept the present and work towards better future than regret over our past actions. However, Saffron 1 at the end of each class explained that this world is an illusion and He is the only Truth.

Now I would be really uncomfortable.

Further on, there was Kedar-ji with his Hanuman Chalisa class. I don’t like Hanuman because he is a Bramhachari and here was I daily singing the Hanuman Chalisa and studying its symbolic meaning! Then we sang prayers and devotional songs for one and half hour straight.

My patience in front of God lasts only fifteen minutes.

All things said and done, there were balancing factors and they manifested themselves in the form of Naresh-ji -code name Hit man. On one side there were the Saffrons trying to teach us dispassion but here was Hit man- “hey guys, do you know how the share market works?” He killed our spirituality with his knowledge of the share market and mutual funds that is why he was Hit man. When he did not talk about the shares, he was our cook. Even when he took the meditation class, he was cool.

“Sit quiet and calm” he used to say “try not to think of what you saw last night.”

One interesting thing in the camp was the ‘movies session’. Pralhad-ji wanted to teach us good values of life and he tried to teach them through movies. What movies he selected! The Last Samurai was about changing values and culture. Pay It Forward was about serving people. Iqbal was about working hard to achieve your goal. We saw some six movies. Those movies are the reason I will never forget what I have learnt.

Again as they all say, boys will be boys. During the day, we sang Hanuman Chalisa with full devotion but as night fell and we returned to our living quarters, cell phones were sneaked in and the internet was turned on. God bless the Bikini Babes for they kept us all sane. (No I won’t give you the link. I know you are smart enough to find it yourself). All was well until the two people who had the net facility on their cell, started taking commission from the rest of us. There were rivalries, locking each other in the rooms, one had to be alert and that is what completed the thrill part of the camp.

The day started at six with Pranayam and meditation, and then continued into Kindle Life class followed by Vedic Chanting. The next was ‘Aspects oh human personality’ where we analyzed ourselves as to what are our pros and cons as an individual. A lot of stress was laid on contemplation. They gave us a hundred concepts but we could choose only one. Understanding one concept was better than memorizing all and knowing nothing. (the ‘Nile had told me this before!)

And then I understood.

Spirituality is not about going away from the world but understanding it. This course taught one to tune ones body mind and intellect to look at the world in a positive manner. It is my honest belief that what I have learnt here is the beginning of a journey to perfection.

“Remember the Geeta” Pralhad-ji had said. “It was told on the battlefield. Lord Krishna did not change the situation, he changed Arjuna’s mind.”

To gain victory over the brutal world around you, change your attitude towards life first.

Think, Try and Raise yourself!

Think!

2009-06-21T10:17:00.000-07:00

“So how many meters of saffron cloth should I order?”

“What? You’re going into Chinmay mission? Did someone ditch you? Are you heart broken? ...”

These were the kind of reactions I got from my family and friends when I decided to join a camp organized by Chinmaya Mission at Zambavli in South Goa. People looked at me with sympathy as if I was going to die, go away forever. What was the camp about? I did not really know. Why was I going there? Well, the company of ascetics would certainly be bearable than my mom’s chiding over my addiction to TV and the internet!

Eat what they offer, hear out what they have to say and sleep as much as possible. Some minor misunderstanding with my parents had disturbed me a bit and I just wanted to be at peace. The last post I wrote is what I told at the selection interview for the camp.

I had no idea that my guesses will come absolutely true!

Gautam Buddha once said, “What we are now is the result of what we have thought. What we will become will be the result of what we think now”

Think about thinking!

Have we ever thought about the way we think? It is our thoughts that govern our actions. We have 60000 thoughts per day! No wonder at times we do or say things that we don’t mean. We have no control over our thoughts.

The camp focused on re-orienting one’s thinking and controlling one’s mind through meditation and contemplation. The moment we entered the camp premises, they threw a simple question at us

We are so careful about the raw vegetables we eat. We wash, clean and boil them- but how careful are we about the thoughts we entertain? We keep using a raw mind full of prejudice, likes and dislikes. Do we know how to clean it?

Swami Chinmayananda defines mind as ‘a flow of thoughts’ just like the flow of a river and the river banks give a direction to its flow. If the banks are not well built, there will be a chaos. If the river is polluted, it will affect entire nature around it

We derived a three point formula to clean our mind. It is called the M.P.L.

Minimize your thoughts
Purify your mind
Lend a direction to your thoughts

Minimizing the thoughts implies that you should not think about useless things. Think creative and constructive. Such a thinking is thinking pondering over useless thoughts is brooding. Think. Don’t brood.

Purify your mind. Be in the present-here and now. When you are doing a job give your hundred percent to it. When you eat, enjoy the food-don’t discuss other matters at lunch. This is called as one-pointed mind.

Lending a direction to your thoughts implies that you build an optimistic ethos. Suffering is a state of mind. Problems are just some situations –our mind labels them as problems. Just as no lock is manufactured without a key, there can be no problem without a solution.

To sum up I would only quote a guest speaker at the camp Mr. Nagraj Honnekeri

“Every successful person has a painful story. Every painful story has a successful ending. Accept the pain and get ready for success!”

.(pics coming soon)

bodybuilding- the insane way

2009-04-27T01:51:00.000-07:00

Like the rest of them, I am a young man very conscious about my looks and style. I was perfectly happy with my appearance- cute face, shining eyes, branded accessories, until…“Yak, your body is nothing but a clothed skeleton.” Now, I am a saintly human being and don’t care what others say but coming form the beautiful ‘Nile’ these words throbbed my heart like spears. In a severe attack of fitness fanaticism, I set out for jogging early the next day. In my newly found determination, I ran up to a kilometer when my troubled legs sought rest in a municipal garden. I threw myself on a bench.I woke up two hours later. A body not seasoned to exercise demanded answers. I decided to first get my body tuned for exercise.

Yoga! After rubbing tones of coconut oil on my aching legs, my determination unbroken, the next morning, I was present on my terrace with an old bed sheet. Neglecting the weird glances of my society’s residents, I started twisting my body trying whatever little yoga asanas I knew. However, after a lot of awkward twisting and tumbling, breaking several ligaments, I realized that building my body was making a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Anyway, for the sake of ‘the Nile’, I had to do it.I tried various exercises. I used to exercise regularly every two to three days. I needed to do it everyday. My constant failure to do so took me to one man who had the discipline, ability and the promise to deliver-the Jackal.The Jackal is man who specializes in solving problems. He is a man who will get a sniper rifle to kill a mouse- just to be sure of perfection. He is a good man. He has compassion but it is his ways to help that I fear the most.“Your problem is not inflexibility, it is motivation” the Jackal said in his cold emotionless voice. In order to get motivation, he as usual suggested a movie. Ghajhini it was. “Got the clue?” he asked as we came out of the movie hall. “What clue?” “Duh” he rolled his eyes and outlined his plan of action“Tell me, have you been insulted before? Very badly, huge embarrassment you remember to this day?” Ah, now I had the clue. The Jackal wanted me to bring back the memories of embarrassment. “Remember your fiasco and concentrate your anger. The energy created by that anger will be taken out in the gym.” And vengefulness will ensure consistency. He drew that idea from the Bourne series.Now I had no time to enjoy the fresh morning air and the early sun rays. My body no longer complained no matter how long I ran, how I twisted or how much I lifted. The jackal had given me one word which functioned like a switch. When it was turned on, the creative writer inside me would vanish to be replaced by a vengeful body builder. The word was ‘Phoenix’His plan smoothly working, the Jackal suggested that my language needed to be changed to showcase my growing confidence. Speak like the Australian cricket team. “I don’t face a catastrophe, I bring one!”As days passed, I cast the coal of painful memories into the fire of my ambition. No one could touch me now no matter how I behaved! My language shifted from courtesy to arrogance. Nothing seemed out of way though. It was, as the Jackal put it, a sign of rising self confidence. Nothing was wrong until…One day, I had some argument with Mad. The poor fellow opened his mouth to cross my point and behold! In a wild outburst of anger, I swung myself over him. “You dare say a word against me?” Friends were shocked to hear such words from a man they knew to be of aristocratic manners. (They said this to me that day. I m not narcissist!) Not understanding what was wrong with me, the Barbarian stepped in to consol-and I gave him one blow. Proud of my newly built body, next I charged on the mighty builder himself. The builder picked me up with one hand and slammed me down on the ground.Friends earned by years of devotion….gone.

The Jackal. It was all because of him and his funny tricks with my mind that my friends deserted me. “How rude” cold and unshaken the Jackal confronted me. “I only rendered my services. Your friends left because of your actions. Not my fault.”
“You laid down the cause of that action”

“Preposterous. It is you who failed to control your mind. I may tell you a thousand things. The decision to act rests with you!”

From hereon, think twice before you accept any advice-more so with that lunatic Jackal.

The league of extremely ordinary gentlemen

2009-04-12T05:38:00.000-07:00

Meddling with multimedia would never have been on my ‘to try before I die’ list had it not been for the people who sat around the table in the International Centre, Goa. That moment in that room would bring back a thousand wishes and a million dreams I had lost in the pursuit studies in political science. The people were as varied as vegetation in the rainforests. A photojournalist, a lecturer of the Goa University, a newspaper journalist, an artist, and some enthusiastic students. Ordinary people with extraordinary ideas. ‘The League of Extremely Ordinary Gentlemen’.
The focal point of the leagues operations is Information and Communication Technology for Development (ICT4D). When I first heard the words, I had a feeling I was venturing into a typhoon with a little raft that was my curiosity. Technology and multimedia were puzzles I could not crack. However, the concern of these individuals was not just multimedia for the sake it. It was bringing out creativity- the caliber of people to dream, to toy with ideas and the most important, ‘tell stories’.
Today it is not just enough to research and write your story. It is important to find out what medium is the best to tell that story in best possible way. GoCreate as the group is officially called, is an experiment in multimedia story-telling and innovative pedagogy. It seeks to bring together individuals of various backgrounds with a common desire to use new-media as a powerful tool for expressing themselves.
The idea in its broadest sense is to encourage people to use new media to tell their stories. Ones this begins in a community, the influence of mainstream media will decrease. Effective use of ITC will steadily promote awareness and development. Digital Storytelling will bring local issues on to the global forum.
To tell our stories we have Windows Photo Story software which lets you make a film with still images on which you can set panning and zooming effects to make your story impressive. Combine this with Picassa, the free image editing software from Google and you are a mini movie director!
Armed with these dirt cheap softwares, the league of extreamly ordinary gentlemen in on an ambitious mission. I don’t see any words more fit to end this post then those of the league’s boss Mr. Gasper D souza,
"This is the basic purpose of GoCreat – to help people tell their own stories without technology coming in the way. Or rather, to use technology for the development of society. Do go on over to the GoCreat blog to check out our work in this area."
Here is a film I made at a digital story telling workshop. Unfortunately for the global readers, it is in Hindi.

The naughty saint

2009-04-12T05:19:00.000-07:00

What is it that makes people suppress their feelings? In whose fear do they sacrifice their hobbies, their joys, laughter and their talents? Circumstances, they all say, make us do things we don’t want to. Some people like Poseidon rebel against the norms and make themselves outcast. Others fake compliance with a wink.

Today I tell the story of a man who was a victim of pressure to perform academically. The spears of expectation were waiting to impale him and pressure was pushing him to the precipice of insanity. Luckily he stayed true to himself. He drew courage from his hobbies and appreciated small joys of life.

He was made to sit behind a locked door to study. He studied. He studied his ideas, his dreams and the pencil in his pocket put those dreams on paper. These pictures were his world. He was a man of colors and craft. No one knew why he loved to be locked in his room to study. No one knew that behind the innocent and pleading eyes was a man who understood how the society lured him into making unwanted choices and knew how to survive it. Obedient to elders as if he owed them his soul, the man was cunning enough to steal- a minute of art here or an hour of cricket there.

His habit remains to this day when he sneaks into the computer lab of his college to have a brief chat with friends, plans a quick Sunday trip while pretending to solve a mathematical problem. This man can be seen doing what he is told to do but quietly squeezes in his part of stress busters. He is ‘the naughty saint’

We grew up side by side. Same school, same class, same bench! We dreamt of becoming business partners and starting a stationary shop. He liked art and craft and I was into books. The naughty saint was a sincere and particular man. He noted down what homework was given at school while I sat lost into day dreaming. He would be present at school fifteen minutes earlier, paid a hundred percent attention in class and did not even indulge in playing after school.

The saint’s parents were strict and demanding. He scored good marks too but unlike Poseidon, he never questioned an order from his parents. His mom would make him sit in his room from 3 to 6 pm. It was expected that at the end of the time, the homework should be completed and a mini test was to be answered correctly. He sat in there for three hours and when he came out, his pockets would be full of paper planes, paper butterflies, boats, little sky lamps and what not! All this done, the home work would sill be complete! He did it during the recess and yoga lectures in school.

The naughty saint was a brilliant craftsman and a mathematician. Numbers were Greek and Latin to me and when I failed in math in fifth grade, the saint took it upon himself to tutor me in math.

The arrangement was good but problems besieged our friendship at that delicate moment. The saint was a scholar. There was no chance he got the permission to hang out with a failure like me. He was in my class but was prevented to share a bench with me. I was not allowed to borrow his notes and one day I was told on my face that I had at least my dad’s business to look at if I sucked at studies. The saint had nothing so I should not visit and disturb him. Let him concentrate on his studies. The message was clear ‘we don’t want you here sucker’. Whatever the stand of his family, they could not stop us from meeting on the playground.

Our ways parted as we took to different fields in grade 11. we were in the same higher secondary school but he went right towards the science lab and I went left to the arts class.

Anyway, as grade 12 approached, the naughty saint was entangled in a busy time table. Classes after classes of tuitions, he was now a rare sight on the field. Now with his life depending on his performance, he studied like hell.

For me, studies were now fun. With languages and history, I was like fish in water. Confidence filled me up to the brim and hopes brightened whereas the saint was now beginning to crumble. His stress busters were given up in the illusion that he had now grown up. I told him to keep on with his art and craft but ‘its time I get matured’ is what I had to hear. In pursuit of ‘maturity’ his talents deserted him and his innocent face wrinkled with tension. Sometimes he just stared blankly at his books. He had to be shaken to present. It was only in holidays that the old naughty saint resurfaced. It was jut shadow of his old self. In Diwali that year, he did not join us in making sky lamp as he had done for last eight years. The old man of 31st did not see our old pal giving finishing touches to him. Buried deep in his books, the naughty saint was preparing for exams.

The pressure and overwork deeply affected his performance and on the day of the results the wall that was already creaking, gave way. He did not live up to his own expectations. I am not supposed to know the marks that left the saint shaken from the bottom of his heart. Shock stricken naughty saint did not utter a word for days. Years of planning, dreams, expectations, came down like a pack of cards. He consoled me when I was a failure in the past. Now I had no words to console him.

Bogged down by insults, the naughty saint struggled to come out of the deep dark pit of frustration. A major factor which helped him with it is going out of state for graduation. Ones free from the pressurizing elements, the naughty saint recovered fast. Staying out of home taught him to be responsible. When he saw other people addicted to alcohol, smoking, when he faced ragging, he forbid those things for himself. Looking at his example, I sometimes think that values are not followed when they are taught but when one sees the consequences of an unrestrained life, one learns his lesson. The naughty saint was wise enough to try everything and judge its consequences. Having experienced freedom at a matured age, the saint accepted the ordinary life that came to him. Again, he started his art and craft, his cricket and the shy smile returned to his face.

He never talks much but when he does, it reflects a lot of experience. He has seen life and knows where the limit of wildness lies. The reason I chose to write about the naughty saint is that both him and Poseidon were faced by same circumstances but Poseidon chose aggression. The saint chose hobbies. He gained back his lost stature and his talents because he chose to fight the situation. Not the people.

Poseidon

2009-03-31T07:49:00.000-07:00

The days of exams have come. It is 8pm.I am staring blankly into the night sky as tears roll down my eyes. Tears, in the memory of an eagle who lost its wings. Every night at eight, in the time of exams I still hear pleading shrieks that echoed in that house ten years ago. I see that innocent child being dragged away by its parents to study. I hear the swoop and thud of cane that slashed down the back of a helpless soul. All in the name of making him a good student. Every night at eight, I go to the grounds where we played cricket as children and faithfully put flowers on the ‘pitch of Poseidon’

He was the best cricket player among all of us. We had the pitch named after him. He was the happiest, jolliest and loveliest guy. He was stylish as a superstar, innocent as a cute kitten and generous as a king. Poseidon was a perfect man.

Both his parents were highly qualified and he enjoyed the fruits of their high end lifestyle and status but on the other hand, there was a curse which all such kids suffer- the pressure to perform. While most of us went to Marathi medium schools for primary education, Poseidon was pushed in to English. Later, we came to the same school but there was a huge difference in our lives. The rest of us were happy with our homework finished but at that tender age of 10-11, Poseidon studied four hours a day. He stood first. But the only time we saw him happy was in the evening while playing cricket.

I was the weakest of all my friends and was banished from the game as a poor athlete. Poseidon did not like this. He insisted on taking me in. He was a great batsman and would hold on to the pitch like a lizard on a wall. Funnily, he gave away his wicket only on my bowling! “This one is for you JJ!” he used to mumble in my ear later, ruining my joy of at last having achieved something. Poseidon was attracted to the weak and the troubled but his parents were a bunch of middle class mentality mortals! One day, he saw a kitten being bitten by a dog. He scared the dog off and brought the kitten home. When his parents found out and gave him a shouting that echoed two floors above, he was wild.

There was nothing he was scared of. He quarreled with his parents with the same high pitch voice they used to threaten him. When he won a cricket match, he gave a party to all friends, the winners and losers alike, to celebrate his victory. I was always the chief guest for his little victory function. I still don’t know what bound him to me. When I stood aside crying on the ground because nobody took me to play with them, Poseidon got himself bowled out and joined me. He was the only reason that kept me on the ground full of jeering friends.

When I passed my SSC with just 49% marks and my best friend the ‘naughty saint’ crossed 80%, everyone went to the party arranged by the saint’s parents but Poseidon, came to me. “Congratulations JJ!” “Go away,” I screamed. I was tired by people’s taunts for underperformance. “No one wants to come to my party”. “what nonsense,” he had every intention to celebrate. “wait, I have an idea” he got up and rushed home “your party will be the best of all, JJ you will see!”

Within minutes he was back with boxes of fireworks and the naughty saint with him. He had convinced the saint to desert his own party! “Ok…”, he arranged his fireworks on our cricket ground, “now by the hands of our chief guest…” he passed me a candle “one…two…THREEEE”. Several flashes of light rose in the sky in a spectacular display of fireworks “This fire works…” Poseidon shouted over the sounds of explosion to the crowd of friends that had gathered at the sound of it. “This fireworks is in the honor of Jay Joshi passing his SSC.! And before anyone knew, he and the naughty saint started shouting “all hail Jay the Great!!” all other friends joined in with the energy of cheerleaders in a soccer stadium “Jay The Great” from that day on, the name stuck to me in that circle of friends.

Study was something Poseidon hated from the bottom of his heart. Like the rest of us, he would want to go out after he finished his homework but his parents insisted that he learn a bit more. They were the elite. How could they permit their son to mix with ordinary people like us? He loved us but he was permitted only from 5 to 7 pm to play. In standard four and five and six, he studied from 3 to 5 pm. And if he did not abide by this time, he wouldn’t be let out to play. When he returned home at 7 pm. It was time to study again at 8pm. Tired from his playtime, Poseidon refused to study. Then he was threatened and locked alone in the verandah of his house. “Please mom,. Please…”he screamed “at least not today..” but his mom said “why did you play so much? Weren’t you told beforehand that you will have to study? Get out of my sight.” She would drag him into the verandah, lock the door and leave him screaming alone. They expected a lot from him and he just wouldn’t be up to it. Rules were strict and punishment was certain if they were broken. Still Poseidon broke them for the sake of our happiness because in our happiness lay his own. He was a saint and they never understood. They only wanted him to be a good student and nothing else.

As time flew, Poseidon became violent and angry with his parents than ever. In his SSC, he scored above 80% but there was no party because his working parents had no time. When his parents pressurized him to study and his patience ran out, he would take out a knife from the kitchen table and threaten them. It would further mess up the situation. He was sending out all signals of distress and his parents were determined not to read them. The volcano would one day blow up.

It did. Soon after his SSC, the teenage Poseidon, filled with the energy and attitude of youth, roared “Now, they will pay for everything they have done to me” The high end lifestyle to which he was accustomed, now became a vice. An expensive cell phone, a bike, an i-pod…Poseidon became an extortionist. If his parents didn’t fulfill his demands, his fury would be unleashed on the furniture. Sometimes he threw his own highly priced belongings out of the window and demand better and more expensive replacements.

An encaged eagle for years, Poseidon broke his cage and flew far, very far-with his force. He went far from us and into the company of people who had everything but a good character. As protest against his pressurizing parents, he deliberately scored low in exams. His parents were shaken.

In a desperate bid to bring back Poseidon to normalcy, they now started visiting expert counselors and psychiatrists who had one clear message- It was too late. In my opinion, the only way he would realize his mistake was by watching the rest of his childhood friends climb high on the ladder of success.

Today, he has faded into obscurity. His kind heart, lost in the shadow of raw aggression. He is a swan who chose to become an ugly duckling.

Night at the Grandmother's

2009-03-11T10:29:00.000-07:00

Summer has come yet again and as always has brought with it, the memories of my childhood. I remember the summer vacations I spent with my cousin Sushrut and grandmother at her place in the village. Those were the best days of my life. Grandmother had a garden complete with mango and cashew trees and our servant Vassant would pick lots of cashew apples for us. There was a huge porch where we would play wrestling, cricket and football. We quarreled a lot over who gets to play with the pet dog. Grandmother would then take us to work with her in the garden. When she asked us which plants we would like to plant, I planted cotton for that would give her cotton for her ‘lugdem’ and Sushrut chose chilly for grandmother grew her cooking chilly in her backyard. She loved trees and she loved children. She never lost her temper with children

Our morning would begin with sound grandmother’s prayers; a breakfast of kanji and a drink of the traditional Goan Ambil after this, we wrestled and raced in the courtyard while grandmother went about her daily business. Our favorite activity was beating Vassanta the servant. He was an orphan found on street and brought up by our grandmother. The moment we started beating him, grandmother came running out of the house and warned him to stay away from us. We used to beat Vassant because he beat grandmother’s cow Kapila. Sadly, even after Kapila died, we did not give up on beating Vassant.

Uncle Bal and Uncle Mahesh would return in the afternoon from their electrical appliances shop in Ponda town for a short rest. They multiplied our fun with their share of practical jokes and surprise gifts. Their stories form another part of the interesting jigsaw puzzle my home is. Those I leave for Sushrut to tell.

Tell our readers about our ‘Genies’ will u Sushrut?

Twilight was time for an evening walk with the grandmother and as night approached, the uncles returned and brought with them things that made us jump with joy. We would be so excited, grandmother could not control us. Then she used her magic wand-stories.

She sat below an old peepal tree and pretended she was talking to the trees “if my grandsons do not come, I tell stories to you o dear trees!” We would quickly sit before her, still as idols of gods. Out in the porch because power would sometimes be out, she lit the sacred lamp Niranjan by the Tulsi plant and begin…

This poem is dedicated to the memory of those nights of storytelling,

A night at grandmother’s

High up in the darkened skies
Stars twinkle as diamonds
By the side of kindling fire
A magical night unfolds.

Long after light has receded
And sun says farewell,
The familiar voice beckons
Grandmother has stories to tell

Lamps are oiled and flamed
And shadows begin to dance
Behold my children
We begin our journey to a trance

Restless and excited
Twittering birds
Are caught still
In grandmothers prism of words

Darkness deepens
And cold winds blow
Children drift to sleep
Steady and slow

The Nile (revised)

2009-03-01T22:31:00.000-08:00

The red lines on the card danced like bloodstains before my eyes. Before I could hide the card somewhere, it was in the hands of the girl I am yearning to impress. She stood in my room clutching my poor report card. My God…I am doomed….how will she react?

“Wow! Your first failure! How does it feel man, how does it feel?”

My mouth fell open.

Was she excited at the fact that I had failed the tests? Her face was stretched in a smile like an innocent toddler, cheeks reddened by the mid-day sun; she was staring at the red-lined card as if it were a wonderful piece of art.
“You are actually happy that I failed?” my face contorted with anger. “Certainly. Don’t you know, it’s a good omen-your first failure!” was she mad?

No.

This river of eternal enthusiasm has a different flow of thoughts. According to her, first failure is a good omen. Something really good will come to you now! You will achieve something in life now, she says. The first failure teaches you how it feels to fail. It shows you the value of success and lights a fire in your mind never to fail again. “So shouldn’t we celebrate the first failure?” I never thought of failure this way but now I see it!
She is right. Let’s party!

Before I realized it, the dimension of my failure was changed. Thanks to this key to the treasure chest of optimism. An angel who’s smile is pretty as a rose petal, who’s words precious as pearls. She turns the desert of my mind into an orchid of wonderful ideas.

That is why she is ‘the Nile’

She casts a spell on troubled minds, takes them into the world of imagination and then back into the real world with a vision of optimism. The party wasn’t enough to sweep the cobwebs of frustration off me. What was I doing? A bad academic performance meant I was ruined! “Is it so?”

“Look in to my eyes dear.” She gently raised my head. “What have you failed in?” Logic. “What are your talents?” nothing. “Says who? You are a writer. Your field is not bound by logic. It’s imagination.” “Imagine… you are a great author. You have won an award, people are applauding! Picturise yourself behind a podium in front of literary intellectuals. You are one of them. How does it feel?” it feels brilliant “And it is achievable! You can do it. Mark my words-you will do it.”

I took her advice to heart. Weeks later I got the prize and the podium-in the Goa Maharashtra Marathi literary convention for students. A place in the intellectuals. She was so right! How can she predict?

The clue to achievement, she says is belief. You have to believe that you will win. Problems will come but believe in the ultimate victory. Optimism in life-blood of this intelligent girl. Combine it with a high EQ, a naughty sense of humor.

There are two things the Nile values the most in life- stability and peace of mind. It is not only essential for you to believe in yourself but also to have a peaceful mind able to focus on the task at hand. How do you achieve that? Humor and parties to bust your stress! And when the Nile summons the spirits from the land of humor, formality is thrown to winds!

There is an Irish prayer we sing aloud when we are stressed out.

May those who love us love us,and those who do not love us,may God turn their hearts,and if He cannot turn their heartsmay He turn their anklesthat we may know them by their limping.

She finds fun in every twist and tumble of life! When she scores less marks sometimes, she says “next time I will ready enough cash to bribe the teachers to give me better grades!” or “boys will be happy to know I am not such a mugger after all! They hate muggers u know!”

She has this quality to inspire people out of ashes. Life is filled with laughter and gaiety when she is around.

She has an amazing ability to defuse tensions but that doesn’t mean she is not serious about life. An under training electrical and electronics engineer, the Nile has no reservations when it is time to work. Just like the Jackal, she is hard worker but the Jackal wants to do everything from his mechanical engineering to sports and now writing as a co-author on this blog. The Nile works slow but sure, sticks to her field. It is better to roll out one Mercedes Benz in two months than two thousand auto rickshaws a month she says.

The jackal works with a cold indifference like a professional. The Nile sits on the study table with potato chips, milk and biscuits. She studies with love and passion, with confidence that she can achieve what she wants. In the middle of her studies she has time to feed the squirrels on nearby trees, she teaches crows and monkeys and thus learns the theories impressively well herself.

She celebrates life. Takes it as it comes. Problems come but she believes not in brooding over them but in solving them. She laughs at her own problems but never at those of others. She gets up every morning and begins a hasty search for he books for she never keeps things in place but knows and ensures that her life, brain and heart is in its proper place. People worship Gods in bad times. When I am troubled, I remember the Nile and I sing

Yatra Naryesthu Pujanthe Ramanthe tatra Devata

(Gods reside in places where women are respected)

p. s. i m still in discussion with the nile for pictures. it is difficult to sneak into the BITS Goa ladies hostel with a camera u know!!

Prophecy of the unemployed youth

2009-02-23T22:11:00.001-08:00

The sea is calm
And air is clean
But gathering storms
Are better foreseen.

Glowing as a pearl
The crystal ball shines
As I make a prophecy
For turbulent times

Tensions will mount
And expectations rise
For every single wasted minute
You’ll pay a dear price

Rise o ye dampened spirits
Rise, I call upon thee
Form chains of idleness, o able hands
Save and set me free

Commit to action or you’ll be doomed
I hear the stars sing
Work hard and you’ll hear
The bells of victory ring

Operation Gandhigiri

2009-02-11T20:55:00.000-08:00

I stood staring at the grill-less window in satisfaction. The final preparation for ‘operation Gandhigiri’ was done. I was ready to face my parents. I demanded something from my dad. He denied. Influenced by the Munnabhai movie I decided to register my protest the Gandhian way- fasting. I did not choose the word hunger strike because fasting will at least give me access to liquid diet (try to understand ya, its my first time!)

Having taken the decision on a full stomach, the magnitude of my mistake did not strike me till lunchtime. Still, the way my mom smiled at me while setting my favorite dishes on the table strengthened my determination. To avoid the sight of my parents and (delicious) food, I decided to take a walk. I took the road to Shiva temple-not for mental peace but because there was a sugarcane juice stall on that road. I had read somewhere that juices are allowed during a fast. I gave the juice guy some cash I had stolen from my dads pocket and gulped a couple of glasses.

“Whoa! So much of juice today?” I looked up. ‘Ked’ stood there enjoying some post lunch juice. I told him the story of my fast. He appreciated my way of protest but pointed out that having sugarcane juice on empty stomach might mean health problems. Now what?

“Khichadi!” he shouted. Khichadi is allowed in fasting. I was fully determined not to touch any solid food but since juice had to be supplemented now (and as he said Khichadi is OK), we headed down to Futi Filmistani’s Gujarati restaurant.

I was happily munching my Khichadi but suddenly… “I thought you were on a hunger strike” the Nile was sitting right in front of me. Not hunger strike, fasting, I corrected her. It’s allowed in fasting. With an understanding smile, she resumed her lunch.
On a full stomach (but officially fasting) I came home and sat in my room.

After some time, as the news of my fasting spread in our residential society, people started coming to see me- my friends of course. Other people did not take my fasting seriously. Visiting friends brought very valuable advice and sometimes gifts. Glucon-D, everyday milk powder, energy substitutes meant for the sick (that made me feel sick).

Someone brought it to my notice that since I was now fasting, I needed to conserve energy. Burn less calories. Sleeping was my priority but again the guy pointed out that watching TV burns lesser calories then sleeping. Soon a pile of movie DVDs was on my computer table and since potato is allowed in fast, some potato chips. Man! I was beginning to enjoy my fasting.

Three movies later in the evening, I skipped my gym and decided to take a walk since I was fasting. After fifteen minute’s tiring walk, I decided to have nothing but a glass of fruit juice since fruits are A.D.F. (Allowed During Fast). The cherry topped mock tale tasted great! So I had another one and came straight home.

As night fell, I sat down to analyze my fasting and its results. Throughout the day, I hadn’t touched a grain of food. Delicious Bhindi massala, Gajar ka Halwa and Chole Bhatura had failed to subdue me. A man true to my principles, I had thrown away dishes full of Gulab Jamoon, fed my fried rice to stray cattle but my patience and passive resistance had failed. Big daddy a.k.a. Hitler did not understand the language of Gandhi. I had calculated this. So I had prepared plan B.

I had removed the grills of my bedroom window and brought in some fifteen meters of rope. Packed in my neighbor’s borrowed backpack were some supplies bought from money stolen from my dad’s wallet. I was ready to run.

Quietly, I slipped out of my second floor apartment and went straight to the house of the Jade Buddha. “I want the key of the room of requirements” JB was confused “why?”
I told him the story of my fasting and fleeing. “WHAT?” he shouted in shock and before I could utter a word, a slap fell on my cheek. “Do you know how much trouble I can fall into if they launch a police complaint? How could you run away just like that?” JB was furious. He asked me two simple questions

“We have agreed that you have run away from home” he said “but where are you going to sleep? What are you going to do to survive?

Secondly, everything they have done, they have done for you. Is that how you want to reward your parents for their two decades of devotion?”

Did I? I had never thought this way before. It was an eye opener. I rushed home.

My mom stood at the door. “Come on,” she knew from the look on my face. “Say it”

“All right” I mumbled “I am sorry”

Crime and punishment

2008-12-21T06:39:00.000-08:00

It was past midnight. The place-Savoi Verem village. We all waited for a friend to come to the fair at the Ananta temple. Tired after an hour’s wait, we decided to take a stroll in the fair. We were walking past the stalls but no one bought a thing. We were window shopping yet waiting. In the end every one ran out of patience and broke into a shopping spree. All but the builder were racing through the crowd of shoppers and vendors. Still anxiety remained until Sam got a text on his cell. “Had some pills; feeling drowsy; unable to come”

Thunder burn. We had lost count of the times he had done this to us. As you sow so shall you ripe. It is this kind of experiences that have led friends to invent innovative ways of punishing each other. Cheater is rewarded with cheating, and warm co-operator with warmer co-operation. He would pay for this offence. We would need some help from a friend in Mumbai for this

Generally when some one cheats like this, people throw him out, don’t talk to him and do all kinds of like things. Here in friends, we have a different way. Breaking contact will alienate the person and form never ending barriers that can ruin the relationship. Our aim is that the punishment should be harmless but irritating.

The next day, builder stood in a Maruti Suzuki showroom. One Mr. Thunder burn was deeply interested in the new Maruti Suzuki A star model. The receptionist took down Thunder burn’s address and phone number.

The guy, from Mumbai was at the Big Bazaar shopping mall. Thunder burn was interested in joining the Country Club Dubai. The mall manager also received thunder burn’s visiting card. He would be informed of new schemes introduced at the mall from time to time.

Two days.

Thunder burn is an officer in an oil company. He sat in his office when the phone rang. “Thunder burn?” “Yes” “good morning sir, I am calling from the Maruti Suzuki showroom. We understand that you are interested in buying our new car ….” Thunder burn was shocked to know that he had taken a test drive of the new car and said he loved it! How could he deny doing that? The caller was confused but kept the offer open and would call again.

In the next few moments, event took a ridiculous turn for thunder burn. A guy from a video store called to ask back a movie CD he had taken for last two days. A sworn enemy of video stores, thunder burn denied having the disc. The store owner refused to give a damn. it became such a heated arguement that Thunder burn had to switch off his cell for a few hours.

Further on, there were calls from the Country club Dubai. If thunder burn paid a premium amount, he would get a chance to spend three nights and four days in such and such hotel. How much was the premium? Seventy five thousand rupees only!

We tried all we could to irritate him, to break the ice-wall of his patience. We wanted to avange him for cheating us but when I see his workload, I wonder how he at all manages to spend time with us. Thunder burn is from a humble family. All was well untill some tragady struck and he lost his dad. Thunder burn found a part time job and funded his own education. he went on to become a mechanical engineer.

He had a night shift that day of the SavoiVerem trip but still he tried his level best to come. He faces a task to balance his work and his place in friends. How selfish are we for we never understood the circus he has to manage everytime he hangs out with us. We expect him to finish his night shift at 12:30 am and still be with us till 2 in the morning-and he comes! When he dosent, we punish him by all ways possible but his wall of ice dos'nt break. he takes it all with his lips pursed. We steal and hide his bike, he goes by bus. We give him all kinds of bad words that there are he says "Finished? May I take your leave now?" and walks on. Not a word in retaliation. He misses his meeting with friends but keeps his date with his responsibilities.

thunder burn rules!

Why?

2008-12-12T09:09:00.000-08:00

Those maniacs struck again. My crown! My pride and prestige! And what did I do?

Nothing. Why?

I like to see people fight against injustice in movies but when I see real troubled people fighting around me, I just stand there like a stone; never pick up one and throw on those responsible for my troubles. Why?

I always lived in fear-of God, of the system, of everything that there was to be scared of. Not even did I rebel in my mind, forget action

Why?

I know I want better governance, better security, and better standard of living. I am taught that the leaders are accountable to me in this democracy. But I never questioned them for what they did and are doing. Why?

I agree that some one must act to get rid corruption, poverty, illiteracy… but ‘someone’ not me. We need pragmatic principles, pragmatic tactics. Someone give me a good leader, someone has to lead and I follow- like sheep I never became an eagle

Why?

I hope to God that some day the people will rise, some day, the politicians will pay, some day my country will take up arms against its enemies, some day I will dare to question. Some day I will punish the people who punished me for no reason. Some day… not today

Why?

Internet Advocacy workshop

2008-12-09T06:25:00.000-08:00

I was attending an internet awareness workshop hosted by Video volunteers on 6th and 7th December at Bagha beach. The whole thing was centered around 'how to promote your site on the net.' Usually a workshop is a boring place where one has to sit and listen to delegates and info goes from the notes of the speakers to notes of the listeners without going to the minds of either but here was this cool American guy Freeman Murrey who had one clear message- get your face on as many social networking sites as possible! By showing us how Barak Obama set up his followers online, this patient of Obama Mania presented in front us the pros and cons of doing business online. The most interesting part was when he told us about Search Engine Optimisation (SEO) that is how to structure the heading of your site/blog post such that it shows up on top in the search engines. He also talked about how several corporate honchos use SEO to promote their own business for eg mining very effectively to that of the NGOs fighting against it. The NGOs should really get tech sevy and smart in order to combat with big anti environment lobbies. All it needs is time and brains. The net has bombarded us with massive amounts of information and the question before us now is not where to get info from, but what to choose from that offered! cudos to the search engines!

The second most important step you have to take is to create your own mailing list. the mailing list helps you to take feedback from your community. Obama used his mailing lists very effectively to garner support online as well as in cash. Replying to any questions from your online community is a key in making you popular so I've only one thing to say to whoever i meet now "give your mail, or I 'll loose your trail" The net has really changed the way we think and connect with people.

Social networking sites help us to peek into other peoples lives and not to forget, keep an eye on our competitors in business. As a part of this workshop, we had to register ourselves on several social networking sites like Fcebook, Twitter, etc.They have made an important contribution to the field of open source intelligence and it is said that secret services like NSA, MI6 have gained crucial info from these sites. MI6, it is rumoured has even entered the field of business intelligence to help British business combat with the growing Japanese Chinese and Indian businesses.

The Jade Buddha

2008-12-03T09:26:00.000-08:00

As the due date for dissertation draws near, time is slipping through my hands like grains of sand. My heart is longing for peace and quiet. Thus I at ones remembere my spiritual guru.

A guy of my age, my type but so accomplished is he in spirituality that he can explain and convince you the ephemeral nature of materialism while having a Café late at the CCD! Prayer books and Playboy lie side by side in his shelf. An amazing fusion of high end lifestyle and deep spiritual understanding, this man is a civil engineering student who supports the cause of Greenpeace!

Thus, for his eye dazzling wealth and for his deep understanding of spirituality and social responsibility, I call him the Jade Buddha

Neither licentiousness, nor total renunciation but a balance between the two is the mantra of his life. “Enjoy the material pleasures that you have now, but remember, they will one day pass away.” Says JB. “Know this also my friend, that it means the things which you don’t possess now, will come to you some day!”

Life is like the Chinese goods in the market. All is well today but may not be so tomorrow. I had no doubt that this man with a philosophical doctrine of balance could give me the peace and assurance I seeked.

“Stress?” Jade Buddha burst out laughing when I told him I was stressed. “There is nothing in this world called stress it is the result of your procrastination. Let’s face it. You are a jerk who hates work.” I was here to discuss measures to end my problems and this man is telling me that I myself am a problem! Before I could open my mouth to protest however, he gave me the chill pill to peace “Remember, even this will evanesce one day, do what you can and leave the rest!”

However as the saying goes that all great men have feet of clay, the awesome JB who advised me to do my work in time and avoid stress, does his own work like any other ordinary student at the eleventh hour. When his workload rose, he resorted to late night study. When his parents objected to this, he had a daring plan.

He sold his notes to his juniors and invested the money in share markets.From the returns of the investment, he rented a room in the hostel in his friend’s name. A secret room! Once his friends came to know of it, not only was it used for late night studies but also for some wild parties!

In accordance with his favorite principle ‘even this shall pass away’ the end approached of Jade Buddha’s college life. End also came for his peace. His principle was universal. The young, calm, focused JB now looked both shaken and stern. It was as if he feared the end of his college life. I had never seen him disturbed to the extent that he was now. He sometimes disappeared in remote jungles or sat alone lost in though in his favorite Shiva temple. Concerned about his un-Jade-Buddhish behavior, I asked him what had disturbed him so much.

“My future” he replied.

He had toiled endlessly for the cause of nature as a member of Greenpeace throughout his college life but followed in the footsteps of his father to become a civil engineer. “If not today, tomorrow, deforestation will be a part of my business. I loved making a garden of flowers. Looks like I will be building a garden of steel flowers on the ruins of green trees.”

Contradiction had always been a part of his personality. It had manifested itself again. Jade Buddha had proved ones more that the realm of principles and that of practical life do not always co-exist in harmony.

The question is, whether one is prepared to sacrifice the values that one believes in or is he willing to pay the price for upholding them. People like JB however, try to find the balance between the two and end up never doing proper justice to both.

The wonder that is Siolim

2008-11-19T21:37:00.002-08:00

Being a complete ‘city guy’, it was only in tales that I had heard of a village. Green fields, grazing cattle, fresh water streams and villas situated by their side. It all seemed a distant dream till I visited the village of Siolim.

I went on a field trip in Siolim as a part of the Go Create group to click some snaps for a digital story. ( to know more about Digital Story Telling, click here) The village is truly enchanting. We started our journey from Francis Xavier Higher Secondary school.

Narrow tree lined alleyways are a joy to walk on and the elegant network of rice fields and roads seems like a giant chess board of Mother Nature. Beautiful churches dot the skyline and their reflections in the spring provide a feast for painters. It is a picture-perfect village and even blinking one’s eye is an insult to the scene.

There are ample open grounds, football fields and above all villas that border the streams are eye dazzling. The streams provide great opportunity for fishing and there is even a little fishing dock where friends meet, catch and party on a menu of fresh fish. This is one of those many locations in Goa where I thank God for gifting me with eyes and curse him for making me a pure vegetarian. Being in Siolim is being into another world away from chaos of the city I sometimes think we city people are very unfortunate. We go to ‘nature camps’ paying thousands of rupees plan special picnics for a few moments of peace and these villagers get it to enjoy everyday! The smell of paddy fields ready for harvest brings the message of prosperity in summer and the rising tide of the streams promises great fish catch in monsoon.

As the students from SFX school took us to spots where they played football, described the excitement of a fishing party, laughed, photographed, we could see the pride and joy in them, the love for their village and everything it had given to them.

Clatter and cling of glasses of beer
Hills and churches they felt so dear
A life of which only tales we hear

Nights spent in fields under the star filled sky
Diving in springs that was a great joy
A wonderful gift for a deserving eye
To its beauty I will return

For now, Siolim, Good bye

Mobile Mania

2008-11-02T20:35:00.000-08:00

Buying a cell phone was something I was eagerly looking forward to when I was in college. Thrilled by the idea of remaining connected 24/7, I went to consult some friends about what model should I buy and immediately regretted my decision. “Nokia 6205, 2112, Sony Ericsson Z550, W200, bombarded with numbers, my mind was thrown into confusion. The budget also had to be modest as I was getting the phone as a gift from my uncle (if I ask for a too expensive one, I might lose his favor). At the end of the day, amidst chaos and confusion, I ended up with a Sony Ericsson K310i. “A VGA camera and infra red connectivity-that’s it! You got a piece of junk man!”-mobile specialist Mad protested. “It will help me keep low profile and divert suspicions” When suffering from low confidence, I summon the ‘James Bond within’. My phone hadn’t many features but I was happy with it.

Soon friends were found, my contact database took shape, messages began to be exchanged and money began to evaporate. The cellular became an important asset for discussing lengthy study topics and most importantly laying out picnic plans with friends. I was also happy for my mom could finally use the land-line phone for her own lengthy conversations. My phone became my regular companion. Wherever I went, whatever I did, it was there by my side.

In course of time, the mobile became a means of maintaining my public relations. Messages on the cell phone had given me a new way to express my feelings. I no longer had to think and search for words. I became an addict of cell phone. When I wasn’t talking on it, I messaged. When I wasn’t messaging, I collected new ring tones and themes through infra red.
A year passed by. I was content with my phone until I began to see the other side of the coin. “Call such and such number and get free caller tunes, ring tones…” Ads-and they only call you in the middle of afternoon siesta. Advertises from free ring tones to fortune telling for Rs. 6/- per minute to banks asking to buy their credit cards. Irritated, I began to switch off my cell phone in the afternoon. What is worse, friends who cared little for what time it was, made casual calls at midnight.

One day I got a message that I was made a member of a group called Property Center for free. It was a group from Mumbai discussing real estate deals. I began to receive free updates of property prices in Mumbai. I neglected the issue as a minor SMS advertise. It was not so. Within days after this membership thing, I started receiving phone calls saying that I had placed an ad in a newspaper (?) that I had a 2 BHK flat in Andheri, Mumbai (??) which was for sale (???) I told the callers over and over again that there had been a mistake. The problem seemed to have ended in a few days but within a month, the ad had reappeared. Irritated and wild, this time I told the people that I had sold that flat to a south Indian guy called D. Ranganathan and had settled in Goa! (Ranganath Dessai age 12). There was also a guy who thought I was one D’ Costa doing business in furniture. I told him D’ Costa had sold me his cell and gone to Germany! There was also one Gujrathi woman who wished me happy wedding anniversary every 8th May.

To top it all there was my mom taunting me about my addiction to mobile phone. She joked that she would have to call me on my phone if she wanted to talk to me properly within the house itself. Phone bills brought down my rate of savings like hell.

Irritated by wrong numbers, troubled by ads and sick of attending calls at wrong time, I thought of destroying my cellular ones and for all. One Sunday, I went to Panaji and stood on the bank of river Mandovi, took a last look at my cell and just as I was about to throw it away, it rang

one last call…

It was a girl. She wanted help with studies. Girl! ‘Throw the cell, lose the girl’
The cell was back in my pocket.

Tale of a tricky trip

2008-10-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

Lately I have come to realize that the most difficult choice someone of my age faces is what to choose between family and friends. People have innovative ways to get out of the above mentioned tight spot and so did I. but I had no idea in my wildest dreams that my master solution to the problem would lend me wandering hungry in deserted streets of a village in Raigadh district of Maharashtra.

My family had arranged a party at our farm house in Pen village-Rigadh Maharashtra but my friends insisted that I accompany them in their trip to Chiplun town in Maharashtra. This is the epic story of a battle the two parties fought over a helpless ‘bakraa’ where one will see how psychological warfare and advertising can sink to new lows of stupidity. The events were to take place on same days.

The two parties started their campaign well in advance 15 days before the events and my opinion swayed like a snake to a charmer. While friends offered the delights of their company, a thrill ride on bikes once we reached and a visit to some famous tourist spots, family manifesto featured expensive farm house, a dip in nearby river and great food and drinks.

As my parents were not at home, I called a meeting of friends to resolve the crisis one day before the departure date. It ran late into night and turned into a propaganda meeting promoting the cause of friends. To add more to the dilemma, my fraternal cousins were pressurizing through cell phone and Internet. The night ended in confusion.

However, thinking like an average guy, sighting the horrible hygiene of the builder and co, I opted to choose family over friends. I did not dare tell this to friends as I our relations were already strained and I did not want to be cast out of the circle at tat time. The next day, friends left my home uncertain of whether I would come with them. In this case, I had to go my own way without giving a slightest clue to friends. I closed my eyes, remembered James Bond and began setting the trail of deception. It was 7 am. We all were to leave at 4 pm. I sneaked out of my house an hour before the h-hour. By the time friends called me, I was already on Margao station and had bought the ticket to Panvel. It was 3 hours farther than their destination. I boarded in a coach while they searched for me on the station. And I took out the SIM card from my cell phone.

I had successfully avoided my friends but the trouble that came next, made me realize that in trying to be Bond, I had actually made Mr. Bean of myself. I had forgotten my dinner box at home and had entered an overcrowded general bogie. I managed to find a seat but the bogie was so crowded that it was impossible to move an inch. In addition to my current problem, there was also lack of sleep due to the previous day’s meeting. Pushed my bag against the window an straightaway threw myself on it. One good thing about the general bogie is that there are no beggers to irritate you here. One can sleep in peace but that is the only good thing about that bogie. It is so crowded that one can hardly find a place to sit properly there. Thanks to my helpful co-passenger, we were sleeping with our feet sticking (and stinking) out in each other’s faces. It was 8 pm. The train would reach Panvel at 4 am the next day.

As a precaution against missing the station, I got up at 2 am and began kicking my co-passenger. I wanted company in my vigil. Ones Panvel came, that poor guy was deprived the company of a great personality (me in this case). I stood alone on the deserted station. I closed my eyes, awakened ‘the Bond within’ ready to break the rules, went straight to the second class waiting room and slept for two hours. Ticket checker never came. At 6am, hungry for past 10 hours, I grabbed two packs of biscuits and boarded the Maharashtra State Transport bus to Pen, Raigadh.

My family farm house is about 5 kilometers away from the main village. I got into a shared Auto Rickshaw and dozed off again. By the time I got up, I had come 5 kilometers ahead of my destination! I got down, paid the rickshaw and waited for another one to take me back. One hour passed; no rickshaw, no bus, I inserted my SIM card back into the phone. No range. (oh, how I hate remote villages.) I swung my backpack and started walking (if I had been with friends, I would be in a restaurant sipping coffee, eating dosa, wada, idli..) it was a nice cool January morning, the birds sang, butterflies danced, green trees decorated the hills around but I was only thinking about food.

I reached my family home at 10 am. And fell down in the doorway. As I stepped over the threshold, I thought that my Royal pleasures had at last returned to me. The sweet smell of food, masala milk seemed like a gift from heaven after 18 hours spent like a starving begger. “breakfast sir,” “ shall I make your bed sir, you look tiered”. God bless these servants! “Go take my luggage” I commanded.

As I lay on the soft bed, I thought about the difficult hours that I had spent all this time. They had taught me the value of a glass of water, food, money… how many times had I wasted my dad’s cash in worthless things, left food in my plate when millions starve in my country. I was broken in a day’s starvation. What about those who suffer it everyday?

The Jackal

2008-10-20T04:52:00.000-07:00

“A few more hours to submission.” I reminded myself as I battled with my assignment. I had no patience to read the reference books and irrelevant information on the internet was only compounding my problems. When governments and intelligence agencies run out of options, they turn to Special Forces. I was a king fighting to protect his academic empire and in moments of desperation, I remembered one such man.

A man who is shrewd like the British, dour and cunning like the Chinese and insane as an Israeli Commando. For him, no task is impossible, no challenge unbeatable and that he is unstoppable so his friends say. Hence for all his coldness and insanity, his cunning and his efficiency, I nicknamed him after the legendary killer in a famous novel.

The Jackal.

This guy, I knew had what I needed the most. The ability and the promise to deliver. What gives him this ability is his attitude filled with cold pride. “Who are the professors to bother us by giving assignments? It is we who are doing them a favor by supplying them the information that they demand.” “Remember, you are the hunter and not the hunted.” And one little assignment is as easy as hunting a rabbit. Anyway, for the sake of our friendship, the great Jackal agreed to help me with such a small job and switched on the music player.

Music helped him get into the mood. It made his brain work as efficiently as a well oiled motorbike. His mood rightly set, the Jackal now remembered a weird rule he had. “If you want a quality product, don’t think like a research scholar, think like a spy.”

For example, if a police officer is investigating a case against the Mafia, he will approach the suspects. But if it is an FBI or a CIA agent, he will infiltrate the Mafia itself. Where would I go if I was a professor who wants to write a paper on War On Terror?

“Ask the commander himself.” He began typing wildly on his keyboard and opened a website.

“Official Site of the United States Central Command!” I was shocked to the core. The US CENTCOM is responsible for running the War On Terror. Going to the CENTCOM for a ten marks assignment was bringing commandos to kill a mouse! But the Jackal liked to leave nothing to chance.

“You will need some counter view to the position taken by the Americans. From what I have seen, there are some students from the Middle East at the university. Due to their weak English, they have Arabic notes from the net. Translate them in English using the online translator. Get the language polished a bit from our friends in Department of English so that they become untraceable should anyone try to trace them online.”

A cold smile spread across his face. That smile had a hidden meaning ‘don’t tell this to the other students.’ “Why are you so secretive about your sources?” I asked him like an innocent toddler. “I don’t want to lose my edge in studies” he replied. Information denial was just another trick he used to guard the keys to his success.

Success. It’s what drives him.. Even though he appears to be a simple student, the Jackal is trying to achieve something big. “One of the great pleasures in life is doing things people say we cannot do” he once told me. “And if you are not strong enough to face the opposition, keep your actions covert.” He has some big goals but he never discloses what they are. Scoring good marks is his habit and if they are not up to his expectations, he is bewildered like a hungry tiger. Projects should be perfect, assignments ready before the due date, present in the classrooms ten minutes before the class starts, but in the pursuit of his goals, he becomes so insane that he won’t hesitate to drive through a no entry zone if he thinks that he is getting late for the class.

A cop intercepted him in a no entry zone one day.

“Name your price”

Without even blinking, the Jackal got straight down to business. The cop’s price was Rs.200.

Believe it or not, that is the Jackal for you. He cares little, fears no one, will stop at nothing to achieve what he wants and will never tell anyone what’s on his mind. Not even his problems. Why? I asked him.

“It puts a dent in my image.” He replied. “People will think I am weak.”

But to you who are intelligent as a secret agent and far sighted as a politician, o great Jackal, may I ask only one question?

What is more important? The image or the peace of mind?

Big Daddy

2008-10-09T04:58:00.000-07:00

When he started earning, he lived in a rented room. Today he has bought an entire floor in a building. He started as a small fine artist and within ten years, became one of the best video grapher in Goa. In his free time he developed the hobby of making paper bags to challenge plastic use. Today he gives demonstrations of his own paper bag designs in schools and colleges around Goa. It is not only for his ability to transform small things into big achievements but also for his big smile and his big well built body that I call him not just daddy but Big Daddy.

People generally speak about their father’s past when they write but Big Daddy is strongly against it. “Why speak of poverty of the past? Talk about dreams of the future my son” he always says. What I love about him is his attitude towards life. He is always ever new, filled with enthusiasm and running with current times. There is a rather different kind of generation gap between my dad and me. I have always been a cold and silent guy as opposed to him. “Son, how about I get you a bike?” he asked me when I went to college. “No I don’t like bikes, I prefer books” I said

It is not that we don’t have issues to fight on. If there is something Big Daddy hates the most, its laziness and I am filled with it. Second thing he does not like about me is my mild manner. He thinks of me as Gandhi of our family and calls me “Bapu” all the time. He wont care much about studies as he will about health and above all- the ability to take two blows and give four. When I was hit in a fight over football in childhood, I came complaining to him. What do you think he did? He said “get back on the ground. Fight it out if need and learn to solve your problems yourself.” He would only give me advice. Not solve my problems for me. I was 10 then. I never took any playground problems to him later. Secondly he won’t tolerate indiscipline. I have always heard from him for not keeping my belongings in their proper place and launching a house wide hunt for them later and trust me people, when Big Daddy is annoyed, you don’t want to cross him. He will speak it out but I am proud to say that he never gave me a beating. Not even ones! I think that today I can treat people especially children with respect because I am treated the same by my parents.

When I went to college, Big Daddy was happy as if he himself had joined the college. He threw a party on the occasion and as we were dining in a restaurant, he said to me “Son, if you meet a girl, and in case you want to run from home, I am ready to sponsor your train tickets!”

I almost passed out.

Sometimes I wonder who the youngster among us is. Being a bookworm, when I demand books from him, “Demand what suits you man! You are 20 not 60. ask for cell phone, i pods, deodorants, no books for you” is what o get to hear! That is the way Big Daddy is.

One major difference between Big Daddy and other dads I came to know on my 18th birthday. There was no party, there were no festivities but my dad said to me “See son, as you are a major now, I understand that your expanses will increase. Let us look at you as a man and say that if we give you pocket money, we will undermine your caliber to work. Work in my studio. Keep all the money you get” It rained cash from that day on.

Big Daddy told me clearly that day that from now on, I was a man. I would be responsible for my own actions and above all I was free to take my own decisions. I would get to decide what to do with money that I earned. To most people, their dad means love and sometimes fear, but for me dad means freedom!

He also made it a point that as I got the rights and privileges, I also got responsibilities of a man. He gave me complete possession of the audio division of his studio while he kept video editing. When I went to him with pricing problems and problems regarding customers, he said “they are your customers, you deal with them!” he is so cool!

His perception of the world is as optimistic as himself. At the end of my graduation, I was worried by what some teachers told us. The world out there is mean and cruel. It is difficult to survive in it. Big Daddy heard it and laughed out loud. These people were stuck in the academic world only due to such kind of thinking. The world is filled with opportunities. You only have to be smart enough to catch them and cunning enough not to be cheated! I am glad I picked up his optimistic attitude.

Big Daddy follows what he says. Sad time came for me when I dropped out of the university. Ones again, in fear of the cruel world I sat saddened in a corner. What will I do? Will I have to wander from door to door looking for a job? Will I be frustrated? But Big Daddy’s enthusiasm and his eye for opportunity know no bounds. He came to me that day and said “hey, why be sad dear? Life takes something away from you because it wants to give you something bigger and better”

“Take this”. He gave me the keys of our house and studio. “Don’t look down; look up and ahead. Now you are the man of the house. It’s all yours my son. Be the king of your castle and let’s together build an economic empire!”

Speaking English

2008-09-29T06:56:00.000-07:00

One day I won the first prize in elocution competition in college. As I descended down the stage, I remembered the teacher who is the architect of my spoken English. (His written English is as dreadful as mine!) – My cousin – ‘the Jackal’

English language for me had long been a feared territory. If it was not for the Jackal and his innovative ways of teaching, English would have been laid peacefully next to math and science in the cemetery of my mind.

We were both in higher secondary then. My inability to speak proper English and mingle freely with the college world severely shocked his saintly soul! Thus with a kind heart and not showing the slightest sign of what was to follow, he invited me to his place in mid term break.

“The key to good English my dear is lots of attitude.” The Jackal said indicating that pride from now on would be considered a virtue. “Become one with the language; feel it! Enjoy speaking it!” He knew his subject well. I had complete faith in his knowledge. It were his ways of teaching that made me feel uncomfortable.

First he forced me to get rid of the ‘nonsense’ college prose and poetry books I had brought. We were here to learn; not to mug. Like Tata Sky satellite TV service, the Jackal is a firm believer in ‘learning through entertainment’. That meant Hollywood movies would replace books as study material. “We start tomorrow at 9” he said dumping the pile of CDs in his drawer.

So it started off with a bang. First we saw some Jackie Chan movies so that his Chinese accented English might be easy for me to understand. Then we moved on to James Bond and stuck to him till I could digest Bond’s slow British English and master his ice cold attitude. The trouble started with the Americans.

The Americans speak so fast that I was not able to understand a word they spoke. ‘Wonderful’ sounded ‘war-full’ to my ears; I never understood why they wanted to kick donkeys when they got angry until Jackal told me the other meaning of ass.

A Traditional ‘hello’ according to Jackal would mean ‘bad manners!’ and would give a ‘conservative impression’ so it was substituted with ‘hi’ (wasn’t this supposed to be an expression of pain in Indic languages? Anyway times have changed!)

Secondly he stressed that I will have to do away with old sayings and proverbs and take to new modern ones that went with the spirit of today’s world.
“It is the headlights that attract attention but it’s the unseen engine that does the work”; “One shot, one kill- one task at a time” ; “Perform or quit” and so on
Two weeks into the course, I could understand ‘The Simpsons’ so he decided to move to next level- confidence building measures. During this time, I had to speak to unknown people on the phone, make enquiries of costs and characteristics of things ranging from bikes to Chinese i-pods. It took me a month to master perfectly the skill of speaking English caught somewhere between American, British and Indian.

Learning English with the Jackal was a life time experience. One thing I liked about this guy is that he never mentioned the fact that I was here to learn from him and he taught me. It was always ‘we’. We learnt, we spoke and we improved. But learning English raised more questions for me than it answered. When I came to him, the Jackal said that my mother tongue influence had to be curbed. He wowed to ‘smoke out’ everything that was Marathi about me- my speech, my expressions, everything. In pursuit of English, I gave up reading Marathi books. That left my mother tongue vocabulary severely depleted. Today I can mix freely in circles of the elite but I can’t explain my feelings to my own grandmother the way I used to. When I try to write poems in Marathi, I scratch the bottom of the barrel in vain. My mother tongue has deserted me. Mythological tales speak of mermaids which hypnotize people into submission. That is what English has done with me. As of the Jackal, it’s just a language, we should adopt to changes and whatever that gets us upwardly mobile. I think that certainly globalization has forced us to take to English but when I think of my mother tongue, I see a dying tiger.

Anyway, at the end of the day, I will be pragmatic and accept English but my nostalgia will return to me when I read the name of Marathi in the web database of extinct languages.