Lalbag in January 2011

Flower show was on at Lalbag a month back. Took many pics with my mobile and my roll SLR. The roll is yet to be developed.

This was the central figure, the minaret.

Some of the exhibits

 

What a match sirjee

So many times the phrase "David and Goliath" has been used to indicate the fall of the mighty in the hands of the under-dog that now it sounds like a cliche. But the things happening lately in and around the world brings the phrase to the fore again.

This blog is not about how Gaddafi, Mubarak have been brought to their knees by the unarmed, unvoiced and uncared for masses. I am not a political commentator or a black swan analyst but a mere spectator (mook darshak). But something happened tonight in Bangalore that was nothing short of David felling Goliath.

When England beat Aussies in the ashes, the word was finally the inventors of cricket are staking claim to their invention. But more than the experts being proved wrong, cricket proved itself and how.

Just two days back when India snatched a tie from the jaws of, first victory, and then defeat against England, every Indian had a piece of advice for the India team. Mind you, every Indian means every Indian because if you don't talk cricket then you are not an Indian.

India touted as the favourites to win the cup had a pedestrian bowling and horrendous fielding in the match against Eng (and BD too). The tie was called a defeat for the Indian team by many; and I agreed too.

But now on hindsight, that was better than a defeat in the hands of Ireland. Just imagine, you score 326 against a team like Ireland and then you take a wicket in the first ball of the match. Lo and behold you lose the match from that point that too when the opposition is reeling at 111 for 5.

An aside to the main subject; Ireland is the same team (in the league with Holland, Kenya) about whom ICC some big shot Haroon Logat commented something not too decent sometime ago, something really unexpected from him. According to this creature these minnows make some of the matches irrelevant and uninteresting. I hope Mr Logat eats few humble pie for saying these. Proves, big designation does not translate into great foresight or greater grey matter.

If the defeat of Eng does not bring DnG story into picture then what does. The match can not be described in words, not by me at least. It was really a stupendous performance and needs a standing ovation. I felt as if suddenly Lord Shiva has himself come down to bless the Irish team. The victory was so unexpected that no other explanation comes to mind.

Last couple of words; India beware, you may be next and what a match sir jee, what a match.

The Bus Ride

Today while travelling to office by bus I saw a small play of life enact in front of me. I was in the aisle seat and the window seat was taken by a father son duo. The man looked in his mid or late thirties, worn out clothes and a well used pair of slippers. The boy on his lap was between 2 to three. He was playing with his father’s pen. One moment he would pull it out and next moment he would put it back in. The father was oblivious to all this. He was just making sure the boy is in his lap or at least in his embrace out of any harm in the moving bus.

In all his playfulness the boy pulled the pen again and held it out of the window and said “main ise faink doon”, shall I throw it. On seeing this I felt a pang of terror. Ages ago, when I was a small boy I had done something similar. I had held my mom’s handkerchief out of the moving bus’s window and the kerchief flew away. I got no noticeable punishment for that but somehow the incidence got etched in my mind as a sad incidence. Today when I saw the kid with the pen in his hand, that pain sprang back to life. I was getting tensed. Under my breath I was praying and praying hard, “Oh God make sure the pen does not slip out of the kid’s hand”.

The kid finally pulled his hand in and replaced the pen in his father’s pocket. I took a breath of relief. The kid jumped down from his father’s lap and for this the father scolded him with just one word ‘oye’. Suddenly before anybody could react the boy snatched the pen and threw it out of the window. My heart skipped a beat. The boy had a look of terror. He just realized what he did. The eyes were swelling with tears. And before the moment was lost the father pulled his son into a big hug. He just made a pretence of looking out of the window to see his pen which is not his anymore and then hugged his son again. The small boy hid his face in his father’s chest.

Disclaimer: Aloof itinerant is in a bad mood

Since morning I’m feeling pissed off. Now, don’t bother to ask why. Even if you do you won’t get anything other than a blank look from me.

I’m feeling sleepy and groggy too. I have to reach home early today, so I came to work early. My PoW (place of work) expects we to do so. If that’s not torture then what is?

The bus to PoW is supposed to drop me at a bus stand 1 kilometer away but it dropped me 1 and half kilometer away. I can do without this forced morning workout. I didn’t like it at all; the walk I mean. Anything out of normal worries me.

I am a sissy at heart. To hide that, I force myself to stare at a lizard or a grasshopper, especially when some nubile nymphet is hovering around. Meanwhile I pray they don’t jump on me, either the bug or the nymph; that would have catastrophic consequences to one and all.

My stomach is upset. When is it not? When the food is good it revolts, when not so good it revolts. I guess my stomach is yet to get used to food even after sub-30 years of conscientious effort on my part to feed it.

That speaks a lot about me. At times I feel I’m so bereft of ambition. That’s scary, isn’t it? But I don’t feel scared about it. For me that’s scary.

Something else is scary too. I am a closeted violent person. Today I saw an ugly guy with a beautiful girl, again. I felt like killing the ugly guy, again. I did not do anything, again.

I think I’m writing junk. I’m sure you agree too.

The CWG games are going on smoothly, at least by the yardstick of the ruckus it created before the games started. That’s adding to my frustration. An event in India is no event unless there’s some foreign hand showing up once in a while. But till now the hand has been conspicuous by its absence. I don’t like that. Since morning I have scourged through 3 national, 1 international and 1 irrational (Dawn Pakistan) papers but none of them have anything bad to say about CWG.

Yesterday men’s Hockey team lost to Australia big time. Well, when it does not? Most of the channels did not care to carry the news. Well when do they?

Road to my PoW is all dug up. I don’t like coming to office jumping about. I can do without this forced morning workout. Oh, I think I’m repeating my words. Ignore this one or the last one; whichever is convenient for you.

Talking about jumping, someone from India won bronze in gymnastics yesterday. The kid was jumping around like a 4 year old but without his shoes on. Yet he got the medal. I don’t know if gymnasts are not allowed to wear shoes or the poor boy could not afford one. Or maybe the security personnel did not allow him in with his shoes on. The kid won a medal. Ahh! repeating again. But he could have done better with some slippers on.

By the way I want to meet the performer who came last. Maybe that poor fellow was also having a bad day.

So there’s somebody who also had a bad day. That makes me feel better already.

Somewhere in England in front of a Church, a man set up a booze shop ("daru ka theka" in local parlance). The members of the church were mighty annoyed. They filed a case against the shop owner. The case was summarily rejected. The shop owner had followed every rule before setting up his biz. So there was no case against him.

The church members did everything legal they could think of to force the man shut his shop but with no success. And at the end, wholly exasperated, they got down to do what they are good at. Every morning and evening after the regular church prayers they would stand at the church gate and point their fingers at the liquor shop and would pray to their Lord with raised voices for thunderbolts to strike the shop.

And one day a big lightning piercing the breast of the clouds did strike the shop and razed it to ashes.

The shop owner now filed a case against the church holding them responsible for the bolt. The court sent a notice to the Church. The church retorted with a "not guilty" response.

The judge commented, "I am confronted with a case where an alcohol seller believes in the existence of God and a Church which does not".

I do not know on whose favor did the judge rule, but what I know for sure is, life is full of many such paradoxes. And Sri Muthalik is a case in point. Beating women in public, doing goondagiri in the name of culture is within the ambit of decency and democracy in the year 2009. But in 2010 when it's time for him to reap what he sowed just one year back, he changes the definition. He was slapped and black paint was smeared on his face, but that was his teaching. Then how could he protect?

Lucky for you Sri Muthalik that not much has changed for me between 2009 and 2010. I did not support what you did last year. So I am forced to lodge my protest against those who did what they did to you.

Our culture is much beyond all the profanities in the world. So we can survive without anyone's moral policing. And democracy, well, we love it the way it is, unchanged in 2009, 2010 and will definitely remain so in many more years to come.

And the pink chaddi above is dedicated to all narrow minded cheap people who think a girl's honour lies only in her repressed sexuality. To know more about what I am speaking click here.

What do women really want?

Heard this great story somewhere...

Young King Arthur was

ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom.. The monarch could have killed

him but was moved by Arthur’s youth and ideals. So, the monarch offered him his freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer and, If after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death.
The question was: What do women really want?

Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, And to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death he accepted the monarch’s proposition to have an answer by year’s end.

He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: The princess, the priests, the wise men, and even the court jester. He spoke with everyone but no one could give him a satisfactory answer. Many people advised him to consult the old witch for only she would have the answer. But the price would be high as the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer the question but he would have to agree to her price first.

The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table, and Arthur’s closest friend! Young Arthur was horrified. She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage and made obscene noises.

He had never encountered such a repugnant creature all his life.. He refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible burden,But Lancelot, having learnt of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He said nothing was too big a sacrifice compared to Arthur’s life. Hence, a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur’s question thus: ‘What a woman really wants?’

She said, ‘Is to be in charge of her own life.’

Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth.

And that Arthur’s life would be spared.

And so it was.

The neighboring monarch granted Arthur his freedom.And Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding.The honeymoon hour approached and, Lancelot, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom.

But, what a sight awaited him.The most beautiful woman he had ever seen lay before him on the bed.The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened.The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she appeared as a witch, She would henceforth be her horrible and deformed self only half the time. And the beautiful maiden the other half.

‘Which would you prefer? She asked him. ‘Beautiful during the day …. or at night?’

Lancelot pondered the predicament.

During the day he could have a beautiful woman to show off to his friends,But at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old witch!

Or, Would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day? But by night a beautiful woman for him to enjoy wondrous, intimate moments with?

(If you are a man reading this…) What would YOUR choice be?
(If you are a woman reading this) What would YOUR MAN’S choice be?

What Lancelot chose, is given below: (BUT… make YOUR choice before you scroll down below… OKAY?)

Noble Lancelot, knowing the answer the witch gave Arthur, said that he would allow HER to make the choice herself.

Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time.Because, he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own
life.

Now… what is the moral to this story?

The moral is…
1) There is witch in every woman no matter how beautiful she is !
2) If you don’t let a woman have her own way, things are going to get ugly.

So, always remember:
IT’S EITHER ‘HER WAY’ OR IT’S ‘NO WAY’ !!!

Jessica, Ruchika, Priyadarshini. Who next?

Why should I feel bad? After all what is the point in trying to harp on something that happened ages ago, 15 years to the day, to a family I never knew existed. Nobody molested my sister, nobody molested my daughter. My brother was not booked for crimes he never committed. My parents never had to live with the memory of a daughter who drank poison for there was no justice for her. So why should I feel bad?

Yet, I am feeling bad. I am feeling guilty. I am feeling ashamed of myself. And I am angry too. I am angry at the judicial system, I am angry at the law of the land which could snuff out a young life like this. And I am angry at myself for feeling so helpless.

19 years ago, Ruchika Girhotra, at the tender age of 14 decided to raise her voice against the then IG of Haryana Police SPS Rathore. When she did that was she aware of what she was getting into, that too in a state that even in the modern 21st century boasts of such grand activities as female infanticide, honor killing and dowry deaths with such alarming regularity? Or maybe she was foolish enough to trust the judiciary and all the judicial machineries. After all fourteen is the age of naivety when we believe democracy has the cure for everything and nobody is above the law.

What can a minion like her or her family do when they are pitted against the wholesome insolent might of the state machinery intoxicated with power. After all don't men in power regularly do these things? Ruchika was neither an adult nor was she raped. So why so much brouhaha. These things are best kept under the carpet. But no, this girl had to prove a point. She was a fool and she was shown her proper place.

Actually there was an overkill. Every single government machinery worked in tandem with an alarming synchronization not generally associated with my country. The police, the doctors, the judiciary, the political class and finally the cog in the grand wheel of democracy- the masses. Everyone made sure that Ruchika paid the price for raising her voice. Her brother was implicated with false cases and severely beaten. Her father was transferred. She was harassed, thrown out of school, thrown out of he tennis coaching where Rathore was the president. Not only was a 14 year old teenager molested and forced to end her life, the whole family was molested mentally and socially. And it culminated when on 28th December, 1993 Ruchika finally decided to end her life.

Justice was done, may be bit too late and may be bit too little. After 19 long years SPS Rathore is convicted with 6 months of jail and fine amount which would out to shame even the word tokenism. Did someone say travesty of Justice. Is that all it takes to drive a girl to suicide. Is that all it takes to kill a family? That's all it takes. And that's how it works.

The judicial system has failed. We have failed. We have had one too many of Ruchikas, Jessicas and Priyadarshinis. But not any more. As a new year dawns upon us it's time for an awakening, a new beginning for our democracy, for our judicial system and for us. Yesterday it was Ruchika, tomorrow it can be be me.

As I sign-off I can not refrain from quoting John Donne.

"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."