Atta Boy!

"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways."

~
Buddha

Mother Nature was at her creative best when she went about creating the world. Mountains, plains, rivers, hills and oceans. Trees, animals, birds, fish and butterflies. The Sun, moon, sky, stars and space. But one day she made a mistake. A big mistake. A mistake bigger than even the dinosaurs. She created what she thought would be her master piece - Man. She couldn't be more mistaken.

Man was her favourite of all creations so far. She fondly crafted him to be the most delicate and superior among all beings. She blessed him with supreme intelligence, and an upright spine. She gave him the rare gift of speech. She caressed him like a spoilt child. Little did she know that she was cradling a Frankenstein, for she failed to curb his selfishness.

As time passed, Man honed his skills. He further developed his intelligence and created his own little world. He met his basic needs with the help of other creatures. He depended on trees and animals for his food because he did not have the ability to make his own, as well as for clothing and shelter because his skin was way too delicate to endure the lashes of changing weather. He was Nature's favourite creation, and the most feeble. No other animal can clothe itself or decorate its house with the remains of a human being, can it?

Soon Man discovered the buried treasures within the heart of the earth. He indiscriminately exhumed the same and used them to operate the gadgets that he had invented to make his life even more comfortable. He created tools and equipment that would make his life more luxurious. With those he cut down trees to make way for 'civilisation'. The trees in the forests were replaced by concrete jungles that Man called cities. He wanted more space to satiate his greed for land. So he ushered all other animals and birds into enclosures. He glorified his bullying by calling them reserves and sanctuaries. Man went to these reserves when he pleased and poached the animals that lived there. He used their skin, claws, teeth, horns, bones and other body parts for absolutely wasteful purposes. When he could no longer push animals aside, he warred with other men to grab their land. He was the centre of his own world and failed to see that land was nature's gift to all living beings as were all other things that he plundered.

Man created a nuisance called money, which became the basis of all his misdeeds. He exploited Nature and extracted money from the other men for doing so. This eventually created a vicious cycle of unending exploitation of natural resources and his fellow human beings. Mother Nature hoped that maybe her spoilt child would cease to be so callous about her. But that was not to be.

Today, there are sparse forest covers remaining, and a good number of species of animals are extinct. Huge amounts of carbon dioxide is emitted every hour into the atmosphere which is depleting the ozone layer. The poles are melting. This phenomenon is also glorified by Man under a term called Global Warming.

He is doing a lot to curb this Global Warming - a thing that he solely caused - by monitoring the carbon emissions and trading them under the label of carbon credits around the world, creating environment friendly things that cost a hell lot of money, engaging people in social activities trying to spread awareness about the ills of animal poaching, consequently asking them to donate money for the cause. He also pastes sheets of paper wherever he can that say, "Save Paper, Trees are Precious!"
~

Diversified We Are

That India is diversified yet united was an overused phrase, and I presume still is, in school books that attempt to impart moral science and value education to little students. Most books say that being such a huge country with people living in all directions, speaking different languages, the difference in lifestyle, eating habits, attire and the likes, Indians are still a united people. And thus follows, 'Unity in Diversity' - a hackneyed phrase that seems to be the definition of the country's character. No doubt it sounds inspiring. But the little students pouring over these books come face to face with reality when they really meet their diverse compatriots.

On more than one occasion, I have been told by natives of South India that I was one of the few non-South Indians they had come across who actually knew the difference and acknowledged the presence of four different states in the southern part of India. The appreciation was genuine and there was hint of a little respect. I did not think it was a matter of pride. I only thought I was aware of the diversity that existed in my country.

Not being aware of a certain thing is one thing, not wanting to get rid of your ignorance is fatal. I chanced to be a part of a rather unfortunate conversation once. I call it unfortunate because there I was listening to a harrowed guy trying to explain to a silly fellow that the former was not a Madrasi but a native of Karnataka, and that the two things were completely different. It was arduous effort on the part of the harrowed guy. He began with the basics, telling the moron that there were four states that comprised south India. He explained that all the four states had a different language each. He went on to clarify that in Karnataka people spoke Kannada in some parts, and Tullu in a particular belt. Then he declared that he was a Tullu-speaking native of Karnataka. The harrowed guy looked content with his effort. The silly one had a sillier expression on his face. All he said was, "Yeah sure. But in the end you all are the same. Madrasis right?" My jaw dropped to the floor. Took me a jack to bring it back. Here was a guy who was not just ignorant, but even refused to accept facts that would only make him wiser. His outright insensitivity left me flabbergasted.

I could relate to the harrowed guy because I've met people who called me a Punjabi. On being corrected that I was a Bihari not a Punjabi they said they thought that all North Indians were Punjabis. What was the difference anyway? At other times I have tried in vain to tell people that Uttar Pradesh and Bihar are completely different states, and so are the natives of the respective states. It is really not cool to call every North Indian a 'bhaiya'. Retards have circulated this misnomer because natives from Uttar Pradesh generally refer to people as 'bhaiya' which is a term of respect for an elder brother. Obviously they don't know the logic. They are retards, remember? All attempts at trying to clarify your nativity are met with weird reactions here. Some don't want to believe you. Most don't care. That Orissa is different from West Bengal is not a big deal. You could be a Bangladeshi for all it's worth! 

I am surprised at the multitude of mentally deranged people in this country. I call this process of mindlessly using an inappropriate term to describe a vast community blanketing. We do this with foreigners as well. Every fair skinned guy is an 'angrez' (British) or an American at the most. And all dark skinned ones are Africans. I can't even imagine how our North-Eastern compatriots must feel. Being called Chinese all the time, or perhaps Nepali, in your own country is not a nice thing. It's a fact that scores of people will not be able to differentiate between a Chinese, a Malaysian, a Thai, a Mongol and a North-East Indian just by looking at them. But did they make an effort to at least find out? Perhaps not, because it doesn't matter until you face it. We are united in our ignorance, and isn't that a great thing! Tell me which book gives this real picture of 'unity in diversity' to our children?

~

Look At It From The Other Side

Aamir Khan's initiative called Satyameva Jayate is a unique and thoughtful one. We could also call it the need of the hour, seeing the sorry social scenario in the world's largest, greatest democracy. No doubt Satyameva Jayate brings to light some the most disgusting and gruesome social evils in India, but it's not difficult to sense the diplomatic tone of the show when it comes to talking about the absolute failure of the governing bodies in tackling these issues.

Indians believe that the people who are a part of the government are people in 'power', our rulers. We first need to tell ourselves that those in the government are 'people's representatives'; which means they have been appointed by a majority of the voting population to serve the populace and not to rule it. We gave up the 'raja-rank' system in 1947. So Mr. Khan and team please stop appeasing the government and call a spade a spade when you need to. Like you took in the chief of MCI today, you have a right to take a dig at the government as well. But then again I know there is a possibility that you could be victimised. The 'people in power' have with them all means to sabotage the well being and peace of mind of whistle blowers in this country.

This initiative will definitely demonstrate the dilapidated state of Indian society. The show can expect to run forever taking into account the oh-so-many social problems that we are infested with. Radio jockeys will incessantly discuss the show and gloat about what a great person Aamir Khan is and how this 'cause' justifies his exorbitant per episode fee. Common people will have something to watch on Sunday mornings. The aggrieved who come to the show each week will have a vent for their agonies. But where is the change we were promised? 

One prerequisite for the 'change' we want is a change in the common man's outlook to shed off the retrogressive traditions that pave the way of people's lives. But is that going to happen? I guess not. Why would someone give up the 'values' their ancestors passed on to them just because some popular guy on TV tells them to? As one bad fish spoils the entire pond, a few people will keep up the various ill deeds in society. The only difference is that in a humongous population of 1.2 billion, a 'few people' will be a figure that could outnumber the entire population of an average east European country.

~

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Every human activity is nothing but an implicit pursuit of happiness. We don't always say it, but that is what we seek at the end of the day. Be it a student burning the midnight oil to fare well in his examination, a priest preaching the scriptures to his disciples, a sportsman practising relentlessly for a big game, a professional roughing it out at work, a sculptor working on his grand scultpture or a dishonest officer accepting bribes - each one of them goes about doing these things to be happy eventually. Our life is a journey, where one thing leads to another and there is always a task at hand to be fulfilled. If we think completing a certain undertaking will finally make us happy, it probably will. More often than not it doesn't, as an even bigger assignment emerges subsequently and we begin our rigmarole all over again before we know what is happening. Another exam will soon be round the corner, another big sculpture will await the artist, and yet another big match will happen. In simple words, that is the flow of life.

So when will we finally find our coveted happiness? We don't have to take a trip to Shangri-La or sell off our Ferraris to unearth the answer to this. We just have to look within, and around. As we are constantly engaged in the process of achieving a certain goal in the hope that it will lead us to our ultimate destination - happiness; we do not realise that happiness is not an end but a state of being. While all of us are busy doing our 'stuff' believing that it will lead us to our larger objective we overlook the little things that happen all around us all the time. We underestimate the power of these little things. Why do we forget that all great things are made up of several small bits? And every small bit in the masterpiece canvas has its own worth and beauty. We do not realise that in life as well it is these little bits that create a state of happiness in and around us.

It is a rare thing to realise the beauty in simplicity. Sharing a random laugh with a stranger in a public bus, a light conversation with the greengrocer, an unexpected encounter with your crush in the elevator, recognising a familiar face in a crowd, seeing a toddler smiling innocently at you, having little puppies saunter around your feet playfully, watching vagabonds race old tyres on the street, watching the sunset at the beach, bumping into an old favourite on the radio, helping an aged lady down a flight of stairs at the railway station or a sudden text from an old friend. Aren't these simple little things? And aren't they sure to bring a smile on our faces and lighten our minds? It is for each of us to realise that each day comes with its own ups and downs and so does life, in the long run. However, nobody has stopped us from encashing the few breathers that life tosses at us in the midst of those ups and downs. We will undoubtedly face constant struggles on our 'journey to bliss' but our mental disposition determines the joy we derive while on that journey.

We don't always need an expensive overseas holiday, lavish meals and designer clothes to be content. Devouring hot vada pavs at the brink of Bushi Dam in the raging monsoons wearing your denim shorts and favourite tee may prove to be far more satiating. Happiness is a state of mind. We are happy if we think we are.

~

The 11th Commandment : Love thy Book

Being an avid reader has numerous virtues. Being a bibliophile has its own thrill. However, being both, at the same time, is a rather worrisome situation. Disastrous if you fall in a category called fussy.

For me books are not just a bunch of printed sheets bound together. They are a lot more. I treat them as if they have life. Every book I buy is chosen carefully after a thorough examination and comparison with all available copies in the store. I am very particular about the condition of the book that becomes mine.

I simply dislike the offer/ discount and other stickers pasted on the covers of books. I cannot stand blunt edges, especially those of hard covers. It breaks my heart. I've mended quite a few paper backs to near perfect but with damaged hard covers there is no hope. Crumpled pages are tantamount to murder. In short, defacing a book is just not allowed. It is a gargantuan sin. And that is the reason why I do not lend books to anybody.

I am not the kinds who can just pick a book off the shelf and begin to read. I never read in book stores. It is not voluntary; I just cannot get myself to read in the presence of other people. Reading is a very private affair for me, and I prefer to do it in solitude.

Every book that I read goes through a set of rituals. Each book that belongs to me bears my name along with the date when and place where it was bought. I sometimes even fuss about the colour of ink I use. A lot of my books are signed in with an ink of a colour that matches the colour scheme on the cover of the book. At other times it's an ink colour that catches my fancy. Which page, and on which part of the page I sign is also a little episode in itself. It has happened, and still happens that I do not immediately read a book after its procurement, because a to-be-read waiting list is always in tow. I always look at the signed details before I begin to read. And I usually remember the day I got the book - be it a gift or otherwise. For me, a book is an occasion.

After the signing ritual every book is covered, very neatly, with cellophane sheet, or glazed paper. I personally cover each of my books. This is one task that I may never outsource. I just cannot read a book that is not covered. Uncovered books, especially those beginning to wear out irk me no end. So much so that many a time I have had to quell my urges to cover books that I borrow from libraries.

All my books have their own bookmarks which stay in them, always. The bookmark is so handy just to make sure that you close the book every time you put it down instead of turning its face on the page you last read. This leaves an indelible crease on the spine and also crumples the sheets.

The way you treat your books speaks a lot about the kind of person you are. For me, it is an art and I am brazenly unapologetic about all the foofaraw. I wonder sometimes if this is the reason I find myself so uncomfortable with e-books. Yet another whimsical feather in my eccentric cap.

~

Monday Morning Go Away, Come Again Another Day

Despite having had sufficient hours of sleep during the night, and waking up not knowing what day of the week it is I feel unusually attracted to my bed on Monday mornings. We're like opposite magnetic poles - the bed and I. I fight with my alarm clock; press the snooze button incessantly; shove it under the mattress and fight with my will not to leave my bed. In the meantime, my somnolent self realises that it's Monday. Hurrah! There goes my all my will. Flat like a punctured tyre; and I fall back on the bed with a vengeance. I had just begun to enjoy my weekend!

I know I will be late if I don't get moving right away. Monday morning traffic jams are the worst - I can never fathom why - but nevertheless. I haven't ironed my clothes. My shoes have to be dusted; bag has to be packed. I have to fix my breakfast, shampoo my hair and make the bed. I must not be late on the first day of the week. But it's Monday, and I hate it.

Like every other Monday, I vow to myself - in the midst of a colossal chaos - that I will keep all things ready on Sunday night so that I don't have to rush around in the morning like this again next week. But these vows fleet pass just as the morning does - in a flurry, leaving me extremely agitated and at times cranky. I curse Monday, for coming back so soon. I curse myself, for getting late and not managing my time. I curse the driver for being late; he, too, is facing the morning blues it seems! I curse the whole world, for the Monday morning panic is on - yet again. This is me on a typical Monday morning, arguing with my alter ego; wrestling the weekend torpor.

Having swallowed half my breakfast and stuffing the rest in my lunch bag, with half the contents of my handbag spilling out and clutching the remaining half somehow, I leave home. Late. Making it on time is besides the point now. The real question is how late am I going to be? All through the way I wear a frown which I realise only when I get out of the car.

Few things are capable of causing as much agony and irritation as does a Monday morning. If I were to be granted just one wish on a Sunday evening, I'd ask for Monday to be sent to Pluto. Even the Sun rises with a glum demeanour on Mondays - it is the Moon's day after all!

Friday, I miss you already.
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